“God, indeed, assumed humanity that we might become God.” Upon first hearing this, my immediate reaction was complete dismissal. The idea seems to be repulsive to Reformed theology, which is almost obsessed with maintaining the doctrine of God’s sovereignty. Not that this is a bad thing. He is certainly that; moreover, our chief end is to glorify and enjoy him forever. We are his creatures, he is our Creator. The distinction must always be maintained; however, it is possible to emphasize certain truths at the expense of others. It isn’t a simple matter of uncritically accepting apotheosis as truth. Had the quote been taken from an incoherent or heretical context, it could easily be rejected. But it wasn’t. These are the words of Athanasius as he is nearing the conclusion of his De Incarnatione Verbi Dei, a work that ranks among the church’s most important expositions of orthodox Christology. The quote is not a superfluous part of this document. If extracted, the argument is considerably weakened. It may be the case that Athanasius is wrong, that he came to orthodox Christological conclusions through decidedly wrongheaded means. Or he could be right. In any event, it follows that, unless we want to risk compromising the doctrine of Christ, we need to give the idea of apotheosis a fair hearing.
I believe that apotheosis is not only Biblically sound, but also compatible with a Reformed understanding of theology. In previous posts, I have alluded to the idea or used it as a supporting point for another argument. After the latest of these, Chris took up the theme and posted his own ideas on the subject. We agree in many respects, but there are differences. Chief among areas of agreement is the notion that Jesus, in his prayer in John 17, expands the intra-trinitarian perichoresis to include his church. As Chris puts it, “In the cross, we see Christ loving his bride as if she were a fourth member of the trinity.”
What right does Christ have to do this, to include us in that love and union that properly belongs within the confines of the Trinity? God values and loves himself because he is intrinsically valuable and lovely. In fact, nothing can be more so. The chief duty, not only of man, but of all moral beings, is to glorify and enjoy God forever. It isn’t just that Christ loved the church enough to die for her, for even this kind of love could be less than the intra-trinitarian love. The kind of love that God has shown and continues to show to the church can only be explained in terms of our destiny. We will be made partakers of the divine nature.
Now for the chief area of disagreement. Chris follows Edwards in seeing the difference between God and man as an infinite gulf. We will spend eternity becoming more and more like God, but, because the distance will always be infinite, will never actually reach it. God, who can see all of eternity in a moment, regards us according to the end product. I have two problems with this view. The difference between God and man is quantitative. God is, in all respects, bigger than we are and that’s it. There is an infinite continuum, but no change in kind. If this is true, then our infinite progression cannot constitute apotheosis. Instead, it must presuppose that we already share the same nature. There will either be a change in our nature that allows for this eternal progress, or the possibility of such progress is already contained in our creation in the imago dei. If so, however, there isn’t any actual apotheosis. How do beings, who have been made partakers of the divine nature, improve in regard to that nature? I may be able to accept the argument that we will increase in our understanding of God throughout eternity; however, I do not see how such progress, even if it were the case, would serve to increase our moral value. It does not serve to explain why God loves us as much as he does. Furthermore, and this is my second objection, if there is no actual end product, not even God can value us as though there were. If there is an infinite gulf between God and us, no amount of progression can ever bridge it. While God may be able to see our progress at any point in the future, he can never perceive it as being complete, for it will never be complete.
Apotheosis is both instantaneous and complete. I mentioned earlier that it was compatible with a Reformed understanding of theology. This needs to be qualified. If such an understanding is frozen in the 17th century, as though the Westminster Standards were the high point of theology from which any change must necessarily be a regression, then there is no compatibility. Reformed theology was both a reaction to and a product of its time. As a reaction, it was an improvement; as a product, it didn’t go far enough. The WS are an exposition of Covenant theology. This theology was developed by the Reformers, but they did not invent it.
Reformed theology defined justification to eternal life in terms of the imputed righteousness of Christ. Before this, the majority view was that eternal life was merited by individuals. There were two different ways of looking at this. The intellecualist school believed that certain acts were intrinsically meritorious. God noted that they had been performed and was obligated to give the exact reward that was due each act. Gradually, however, the voluntarist school began to take over. In this view, an act was meritorious for no other reason than God wanting it to be. God was completely free to do anything he wanted to short of logical contradictions. Since God decided whether there could be meritorious acts, he also decided what they were and how much he wanted to pay for each one. Under the intellectualist school, God had been a cosmic manager who, himself, bowed to an even higher authority. In the voluntarist school, he actually got to be God; however, he was a bit too transcendent. The only way to bring him under control and provide any connection to how people should behave was by having him freely enter into a covenant. Things were the way they were because he said so.
The voluntarists retained an element of intellectualist thought. The state of justification involved an ontological change. Those who were justified were partakers of the divine nature. The problem was that this didn’t last. The Reformers denied that justification was a temporary ontological change. It was not an infusion of grace, but was the imputed righteousness of Christ. As far as it went, the Reformed concept of soteriology was much more biblically accurate than that which it opposed (I merely state this; it is not my purpose here to defend it). Even so, it didn’t go far enough.
Despite a conscious attempt to rely solely on Scripture, Reformed theology did not leave voluntarism. The question was never whether human merit was an effective means of salvation had God wanted it that way. God was still absolutely free to do whatever he wanted; it’s just that he wanted something other than Catholic theologians had imagined. Reformed theology recognized a problem with making a justification a present ontological reality. There solution was to do something that any voluntarist could have done all along: take away the ontological aspect. After all, if God could decree whatever he wanted to accept, imputation was just as good as reality. This was a mistake. As long as the question was, “What does justification look like right now?” then they were correct in denying any ontological change. The Reformers had a narrow focus. They recognized the value of a covenant in which God declared the terms of salvation. They just weren’t all that concerned with the nature of covenants. To them, the covenant itself was a legal framework imposed on the created order. God was under no obligation to enter any covenant, much less this particular one.
The key doctrine of the Reformation was justification. The connection of justification to merit was rightly retained- in order for the righteousness of Christ to be imputed to us, he still has to merit it. Nevertheless, the Reformers never moved away from the medieval debate on the grounds of merit. They saw the problem with tying justification to a present ontology and chose the one option that did not necessitate this. From this point, however, even though other doctrines that they held were orthodox, this was only because God had so decreed it. There was little, if any, connection among the doctrines themselves. The dubious voluntaristic presuppositions of the Reformation had set the course for Protestantism in general. Either maintain technical orthodoxy by retreating into the anti-intellectual propositions of fundamentalism; or go soft on doctrines the contrary of which do not pose an immediate logical contradiction to salvation.
It would be a case of the genetic fallacy to say that, just because a major presupposition of the Reformation was in error, the individual doctrines must be. There is a more consistently biblical support for Reformed theology than voluntarism. This can be found in the eschatological studies of Geerhardus Vos, which were developed in response to liberal theology within Protestantism, and in the further work of Meredith Kline.
Eschatology is often relegated to the order of certain events right around the return of Christ. Sometimes people can get extremely touchy about their particular sequence; others contend that this doctrine causes a lot more polemics than it is worth for something so relatively minor (read: that does not pose an immediate logical contradiction to salvation). But eschatology does not refer to the tying up of loose ends. It speaks of heaven, of the created order of eternal things, of the dwelling place of God and the final dwelling place of man. It exists alongside the temporal creation and is the goal for which man was created. It is not the case that a covenant was superimposed on this creation. Rather, the covenant reflects the order of the heavenly realm. Man was not created as the highest of all animals, but was created in the Image of God. By doing this, God designed man to be a citizen of Heaven. Once God had made a creature in his Image, justice demanded that a way be provided for man to fulfill all that that Image entailed. The first revelation of this way was in the Covenant of Works, whereby obedience thereto would give Adam and all his posterity the right to eternal life. And this was not to be a mere stretching out of the existence that he already possessed, but a translation into the existence of Heaven.
The concept of justice seen in the eschatological view is unlike both the intellectualist and voluntarist schools. It is neither something apart from God and dictating how he must act, nor is it an arbitrary decision on his part. Rather, justice is an integral part of who God is and this justice is revealed by means of the covenant. Contrary to the WCF VII.1, God did not create man first and then decide to enter a covenant with him. Instead, man was already in a covenantal relation with God by virtue of being created in his Image. By keeping the terms of this covenant, Adam would have merited eternal life.
The Covenant of Works is so called because the reward is received only through merit. By actually doing that which is righteous and, thereby, proving that he is righteous, Adam would be declared righteous by God; that is, God would justify him. The promised reward of this verdict of righteousness was eternal life, which would be brought about by changing human nature from a corruptible to an incorruptible condition. As it happened, Adam failed and God entered into a Covenant of Grace. This is not an entirely new covenant but the same Covenant of Works with a different federal head. Since this covenant was made with man created in the Image of God, only such a man would qualify to fulfill its terms. Since the broken covenant brought with it a punishment opposite that of eternal life, no mere man could pay it. The Second Adam had to be both God and man. Not only would he pay the debt of the broken covenant in full, but he would fulfill the terms of that covenant and be declared righteous. Justification is primarily a declaration made of the Federal Head upon his meriting eternal life. Christ had to die in order to pay for sin, but he could not remain dead because he had been justified. Once the promised reward is given, i.e., translation to an incorruptible state, death is impossible.
The medieval church had thought of justification in terms of merit and ontological change. This was correct, they just got the timing wrong. Rather than one future and eternal change, they saw a present change that necessarily reverted to its former state when a person sinned again. The Reformers objected and said that justification was the present imputation of the righteousness of Christ. That is, the merits of Christ are credited to our account. We remain in sin but are declared to be righteous. With this declaration is the guarantee that we will one day be sinless. This is often the furthest that Reformed theology has taken the doctrine of justification and it is inadequate. I am not suggesting that it is wrong as far as it goes, but that there is a deeper level to our justification. Not only did Christ die in our place, but we have been crucified with Christ. Substitutionary atonement is true, but it is also the case that we have died in Christ. Moreover, by virtue of our union with Christ, we have fulfilled the covenant with him. Christ is the firstfruits of the resurrection, ours is yet to come; however, it is just as assured. We who have been one with Christ in his merits, must be one with him in his reward. God’s justice demands this and so, while we await the resurrection, God can both be just and our justifier.
In the opening of his post, Chris agrees with Tim Keller who says that the joy set before Christ, which was his motive for enduring the cross, was not fellowship with the Father but love for his bride. I believe that this is a false dichotomy. While it is true that the Logos had fellowship with the Father before the incarnation, the very act of incarnation created a breach in the divine perichoresis. This is not to say that a great degree of fellowship did not still remain, but he could not enjoy the same level of fellowship in his incarnation as he had before. Because the Son of God had to assume all that we are in order to heal us, he who had once been only God was now one with corruptible humanity. And then when Christ became sin for us on the cross, the Father turned his back. That which had been diminished in the incarnation was ruptured altogether. He descended into Hell.
The third day he rose again from the dead. Remember that eternal life is the promised reward for merit in the Covenant of Works. Christ was resurrected because he had been justified. Now, consider what Romans 1:3,4 says about God’s Son. He was “ descended from David according to the flesh and was declared to be the Son of God in power according to the Spirit of holiness by his resurrection from the dead, Jesus Christ our Lord...” In his The Eschatological Aspect of the Pauline Conception of the Spirit, Vos writes, “The reference is not to two coexisting sides in the constitution of the Saviour, but to two successive stages in His life: there was first a genesthai kata sarka, then a horisthenai kata pneuma. The two prepositional phrases have adverbial force: they descibe the mode of the process, yet so as to throw emphasis on the result than on the initial act: Christ came into being as to His sarkic existence, and he was introduced by horismos into his pneumatic existence."
Compare this with what Peter has to say about the resurrection in Acts 13:32.33- “And we bring you the good news that what God promised to the fathers, this he has fulfilled to us their children by raising Jesus, as also it is written in the second Psalm, ‘You are my Son, today I have begotten you.’” The Logos is the eternally begotten Son of God. Christ was always this according to his divine nature. However, Peter is not referring to this. Nor is Paul referring to the dual natures of Christ in Romans 1, but to the successive stages of Christ’s life as to his human nature. The incarnate Christ was declared to be the Son of God in power. This was not an empty declaration; it reflected reality. And because it depended on the historical event of the resurrection, it was not a mere declaration of that which was already true regardless of that event. He who was and would always remain the Son of God according to his divine nature merited eternal life and, being granted his reward, was declared to be the Son of God according to his human nature. Full participation in the divine perichoresis was now restored. This time, however, Christ had won a place for his bride.
The incarnate Christ will forever be one person in two natures. His human nature was not so transmuted into the divine nature as to be redundant. Nevertheless, it was elevated to the same “value, worth, and loveliness” as his uncreated nature. Apotheosis will be true of us because it has already been true of Christ.
Rummaging through the archives at rabbisaul weblog, I came across the following:
Does it bother anyone else that we say that Jesus earned our inheritance for us by keeping the law on our behalf - and meanwhile, Paul says that if the inheritance comes through the law, then the promise is made void (Gal 3.17-18)?
I well enough know the standard response to this, namely, that if we receive the inheritance by law, the promise is void, but that it is given to us precisely by Christ's law-keeping.
But there is a wee problem with this solution: in the very preceding verse (3.16), Paul has just identified Jesus as the recipient of the promise.
Am I missing something here? Doesn't this mean that Paul is saying that Jesus Himself did not receive the promise by law-keeping, but by inheritance?
The "we" here, at least that part where Christ had to keep the law on our behalf, includes the bulk of confessionally reformed Christianity and, while I am perfectly willing to disagree with this tradition on the basis of a text proving it to have been in error, I would first rather investigate the possibility that this simple reading is not what Paul had in mind. I submit that, within the text, there is an implicit reference to the historia salutis that allows Christ both to receive the promise by inheritance and to be justified by keeping the law (they are not the same thing); that, in the language of inheritance apart from the law, Paul is considering Christ in his resurrected state.
The central question to the churches of Galatia is one of timing. "But now that you have come to know God, or rather to be known by God, how can you turn back again to the weak and worthless elementary principles of the world, whose slaves you want to be once more?" (4:9) The point of inheritance, which Paul is explicitly addressing in 3:16-18, has to do with one's status as a son. The point of keeping the law, dying under its curse, and being raised into the life of the Spirit has to do with how one obtains the status of a son in the first place. Note how this is accomplished for the Galatians (and us): "But when the fulness of time had come, God sent forth his Son, born of a woman, born under the law, to redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive adoption as sons. And because you are sons, God has sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, crying, 'Abba! Father!' So you are no longer a slave, but a son, and if a son, then an heir through God" (4:4-7). The question is not over the function of the law for our final justification; rather, it is whether we have moved from being slaves under the law to being heirs according to the promise. And if so, then, "Are you so foolish? Having begun by the Spirit, are you now being perfected by the flesh?" (3:3)
In Romans 1:3,4, Paul writes about the gospel of God "concerning his Son, who was descended from David according to the flesh and was declared to be the Son of God in power according to the Spirit of holiness by his resurrection from the dead, Jesus Christ our Lord..." Geerhardus Vos, in his The Eschatological Aspect of the Pauline Conception of the Spirit, notes a paradigm shift between sarkic and pneumatic existence that plays out in the person of Christ when he is raised from the dead. He writes, "The reference is not to two coexisting sides in the constitution of the Saviour, but to two successive stages in His life: there was first a genesthai kata sarka, then a horisthenai kata pneuma. The two prepositional phrases have adverbial force: they descibe the mode of the process, yet so as to throw emphasis on the result than on the initial act: Christ came into being as to His sarkic existence, and he was introduced by horismos into his pneumatic existence."
It is as a man according to the flesh who has been raised according to the Spirit, and not according to his eternal existence as the second person of the Trinity, (which is not denied) that Christ is declared to be the Son of God. Paul also connects Christ's resurrection to the initiation of his status as the Son of God in his sermon at the synogogue of Antioch of Pisidia. "And we bring you the good news that what God promised to the fathers, this he has fulfilled to us their children by raising Jesus, as also it is written in the Second Psalm, 'You are my Son, today I have begotten you.'" (Acts 13:32, 33) The same verse is quoted by the author of Hebrews. In the context, he is demonstrating that Christ is better than the angels because he has inherited a more excellent name. This inheritance, however, is not due to his divine status from eternity past. In that case, he would be represented as always better than the angels. But in chapter 2:6-8, the author again quotes from Psalms (8:4-6) and applies it to Christ: "It has been testified somewhere, 'What is man, that you are mindful of him, or the son of man, that you care for him? You made him for a little while lower than the angels; you have crowned him with glory and honor, putting everything in subjection under his feet.'" Christ's inheritance moves him from being lower than the angels to being superior to angels. There is an historical event in which he is declared to be the Son of God and, therefore, worthy of inheritance. "For to which of the angels did God ever say, 'You are my Son, today I have begotten you?" (1:5) Be sure to note the sequence in the verses immediately preceding: "After making purification for sins, he sat down at the right hand of the Majesty on high, having become as much superior to angels as the name he has inherited is more excellent than theirs." The ability to inherit takes place "after making purification for sins," which purification, in turn, falls under the scope of the law.
This paradigm shift, from sarkic to pneumatic, also takes place in the lives of individual believers as a result of their union with Christ. Paul uses himself as an example of this in Galatians 2:19, 20, "For through the law I died to the law, so that I might live to God. I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me." When Paul follows this with, "I do not nullify the grace of God, for if justification were through the law, then Christ died for no purpose," it needs to be kept in context. He is not making a blanket statement against the possibility of the law ever to justify, i.e., to be the grounds whereupon one is declared righteous. In fact, in chapter 3:12, quoting from Leviticus 18:5, he writes, "But the law is not of faith, rather 'The one who does them shall live by them.'" The perfect fulfilling of the law counts, by definition, as righteousness. If one actually is righteous, by whatever means, justice requires that he be declared righteous, which is what 'justification' means. No, Paul is saying that, having been united with Christ, "who was delivered up for our trespasses and raised for our justification" (Romans 4:25), it would be absurd to go back to the law to obtain what he already had. Moreover, it would be dangerous, since this would imply a lack of saving faith on his part.
Not only does this paradigm shift exist in the life of the individual, but it also exists in the redemptive history of Israel, which history both points to Christ and recapitulates itself in his person. The story of slavery and exodus, of exile and return, of law and gospel, is the story of Christ. Furthermore, this same prophetic shift is seen in the smaller histories contained in the Israeli narrative. Specific to the context of Galatians, it is seen in the story of Abraham. Paul also mentions or alludes to four other main characters: Hagar, Sarah, Isaac, and Ishmael. Without a doubt, the part of Christ as the seed of promise is played by Isaac. We cannot, however, leave it at this and assume that Isaac's part portrays the completeness of Christ's person and work. On the contrary, Isaac is Christ as to his pneumatic existence. Concerning the role of the law in the larger history of redemption, Paul writes, "It was added because of transgressions, until the offspring should come to whom the promise has been made, and it was put in place through angels by an intermediary" (3:19).
Whose role the law is in the smaller history is identified in chapter 4:25, "Now Hagar is Mount Sinai in Arabia; she corresponds to the present Jerusalem, for she is in slavery with her children." Paul had just said, "For it is written that Abraham had two sons, one by a slave woman and one by a free woman. But the son of the slave was born according to the flesh, while the son of the free woman was born through promise. Now this may be interpreted allegorically: these women are two covenants. One is from Mount Sinai, bearing children for slavery; she is Hagar." Keeping all of this in mind- the part that Hagar is playing, the fact that she bears Abraham a son, and the fact that Paul explicity identifies her as a woman (he is not being superfluous)- reread 4:4. "But when the fullness of time had come, God sent forth his Son, born of a woman, born under the law.." Certainly this is Jesus born of Mary, but in the smaller history, it is Ishmael born of Hagar. Ishmael is Christ as to his sarkic existence.
In like manner, the smaller history's portrayal of Isaac born of Sarah is the declaration at his resurrection that Jesus is the Son of God. Paul speaks of this birth in terms of life from death when he writes of Abraham's faith in Romans 4:18,19, "In hope he believed against hope, that he should become the father of many nations, as he had been told, 'So shall your seed be.' He did not weaken in faith when he considered his own body, which was as good as dead (since he was about a hundred years old), or when he considered the deadness of Sarah's womb." The vindication of Abraham's faith in the birth of Isaac accounts for his faith during the sacrifice of Isaac: he expected God to raise him from the dead. Hebrews 11:17-19, "By faith Abraham, when he was tested, offered up Isaac, and he who had received the promises was in the act of offering up his only son, of whom it was said, 'Through Isaac shall your seed be named.' He considered that God was able even to raise him from the dead, from which, figuratively speaking, he did receive him back." Isaac, as portrayed in this passage is the pneumatic Christ. And this is also the case in the passage in question (Galatians 3:16-18). Paul is talking about Christ the one who "was declared to be the Son of God in power according to the Spirit of holiness by his resurrection from the dead;" the one who, by virtue of this declaration is now entitled to the inheritance, not by law-keeping, but by a promise.
Furthermore, the promise to Abraham and his seed made after the sacrifice of Isaac is the only one in which 'seed' can be taken in a singular sense, it is this event to which Paul refers. He is not playing loose with the text by distinguishing 'seed' from 'seeds.' In Genesis 12:1-3, the promise is made to Abram, in whom all families of the earth are to be blessed; there is no mention of a seed. In 15:5, the promise is again made only to Abram; his seed will be as the number of the stars. In 17:19, God tells Abraham that after Isaac has been born he will make a covenant with him (Isaac) and with his seed after him. So far then: no seed, Abrams's plural seed, Isaac's plural seed. We need a place in which the seed is a singular referent to Isaac and, prophetically, to Christ. This record of the promise takes place in Genesis 22:17,18 immediatley following the sacrifice of Isaac, "I will surely bless you , and I will surely multilpy your seed as the stars of the heaven and as the sand that is on the seashore. [Plural, but keep reading.] And your seed shall possess the gate of his enemies, and in your seed shall all the nations of the earth be blessed, because you have obeyed my voice."
The connection of this event with Paul's emphasis on the singular seed is further established in God's command to have Isaac sacrificed, "Take your son, your only son Isaac" It is just in the preceding chapter (21:10) that Sarah has said of Abraham's other son, "Cast out this slave woman with her son, for the son of this slave woman will not be heir with my son Isaac." Precisely the verse quoted by Paul in his allegory of the two women/covenants when he wants to establish our union with the resurrected Christ. "But what does the Scripture say? 'Cast out the slave woman and her son, for the son of the slave woman shall not inherit with the son of the free woman.' So, brothers, we are not children of the slave but of the free woman" (Galatians 4:30,31). We, along with the pneumatic Christ, are children of the resurrection, of the Jerusalem that is above. As her children, we receive the promise, not because of what we do, but because we are heirs. How can we even think of returning to our previous existence? Yet, that there was such an existence, both for Christ and for ourselves, cannot be disputed. Christ was born under the law and endeavored to fulfill the law, for "the one who does them shall live by them." And, as to his own person, he was the only man who ever kept the law. However, union with Christ is not limited to our mutual pneumatic existence. He was also united to us in sarkic history and so, sharing in the guilt of our law-breaking, "Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us" (3:13).
It is on the basis of his perfect obedience to the law that Christ, upon bearing the curse of the law in our behalf, is declared righteous. This justification is that, without which, the resurrection cannot take place. It is at his resurrection that God declares of Jesus, "You are my Son, today I have begotten you." Once Christ has entered into this state of being a son, he does not need to keep the law to earn what is his due. It is simply his by inheritance. And what is Christ's belongs to the churches of Galatia by inheritance and to us by inheritance. This much is true, "if the inheritance comes by the law, it no longer comes by promise." Nevertheless, justification, which belongs to Christ as a result of keeping the law and to us by faith in his person and work, is not the same thing as the promised inheritance, which belongs both to Christ and to us by virtue of our mutaul status as sons. We cannot afford to lose sight of the historia salutis.
Phil and I have been having a lengthy conversation on whether or not the Decalogue remains valid for Christians now that Christ has come. My latest response made reference to the three uses of the law, which are 1) to promote civil righteousness, 2) to drive us to Christ, and 3) as a rule of life for those who have been redeemed. This is what was still rolling around in my mind when I came across the following:
Actually, in my response, I wasn't even thinking about the first use of the law. Nor am I sure that I agree with it- there doesn't seem to be any connection to Christ. I misidentified it as the means of justification for the two Federal Heads, Adam and Christ. Perhaps this is not what is called the first use of the law, even so, I do take it as a legitimate use of the law. Furthermore, I do not believe it possible to have a clear grasp of what it means for our justification, and thus our salvation, to be by grace through faith unless we recognize that Christ, the bestower of grace and object of our faith, was justified by the works of the law. Jesus did have a specific call as the Messiah, which was to save his people from their sins. This, in turn, was accomplished when he kept the demands of the law and suffered the penalty due us for breaking that law.
I am in full agreement with the concluding sentence in the above quote: "Anything that brings someone closer to Christ can be a useful tool." My cocern is that Wright's answer quite possibly missed the point of the objection from the professors at Regent. Most of the time, the question WWJD is asked in complete abstraction from Jesus' unique role as the Messiah. Instead of Jesus being the one who fulfills the law in our stead, who then unites us with him in his death and resurrection, he becomes our greatest moral example. It is quite possible to follow the example of Jesus without ever putting our trust in him. And where this is the case, no one is being brought closer to Christ. Jesus has been turned into a mental construct whereby we facilitate and act upon the moral dictates of our own conscience.
A desire to be like Christ, to be conformed to his image, is comendable. But this is not achieved by mere imitation, or, what's worse, second guessing what would have been done so as to imitate that. Wherever there may be legitimate grounds for imitation, it will always be connected to the law in its third use. On the other hand, this use of the law covers a lot more territiory than what Jesus may or may not have provided in the way of situational examples.
The thing is, keeping the law isn't nearly as exiting as having a hero. Besides that, it can devolve into legalism. This is where it may be legitimate to ask WWJD. Not as a first step wherein the answer is ruled by our conscience (which in turn subscribes to a faulty conception of who Jesus is), but in subordination to an intentional knowledge of the word and will of God. Paul writes in 1 Corinthians 11:1, "Be imitators of me, as I am of Christ." Keep the verse in context. Paul is not saying, "Jesus did things that I copy and I'm doing things that you can copy." The emphasis here is on a mindset.
Paul has just finished talking about what to do in the case of meat offered to idols. Should the Corinthians eat it or not? On the one hand, even though idols are nothing, this meat has been offered to demons. "You cannot partake of the table of the Lord and the table of demons" (10:21). So that settles it. Not quite. The creation is a gift from God intended to be used by man. "The earth is the Lord's and the fulness thereof" (10:26). If it is wrong to eat at the table of demons, it is also wrong to cede to them what rightly belongs to God. From two possible options, both of which are wrong, Paul advocates a third. He offeres himself as an example, not of settling with the lesser of two evils, but of glorifying God in either option. "So, whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God. Give no offence to Jews or to Greeks or to the church of God, just as I try to please everyone in everything I do, not seeking my own advantage, but that of many that they may be saved. Be imitators of me, as I am of Christ" (10:31-11:1).
Compare this to Philippians 2:3-8. Here, Paul uses the occasion of Jesus fulfilling his messianic role as an example for us. Not that we might be mini-messiahs, but that we might have the mind of Christ. We lack Christ's office and will never be called to do what he did; nevertheless, we are partakers of his image and are both called and able to have the same motivation that he did. Paul did not seek his own advatage because he longed for the salvation of many. Even so, Christ won the salvation of his bride because he loved her more than his own life. What then is our response? I am chagrined that I do not love the people of God as I ought. And yet I rejoice- Jesus loves me.
In one of the more obscure passages in Paul’s epistles, the apostle asks, “Otherwise, what do people mean by being baptized on behalf of the dead? If the dead are not raised at all, why are people baptized on their behalf?” (I Corinthians 15:29) It looks like a kind of baptism by proxy. The more conservative ideas don’t like to speculate. It must be an undefined early church practice that Paul neither condemned nor endorsed. The Corinthians knew what he was talking about even if we don’t. I am unsatisfied with this lack of an explanation. For one thing, I don’t see Paul using something so indifferent upon which to base an argument of such importance as the resurrection. It is far more likely that Paul is talking about nothing else than the Christian sacrament of baptism and is using it as an argument in favor of the resurrection. I believe that this can be demonstrated by noting the parallels between this verse and Romans 6:3-5. The passage is not only chosen simply because it too talks about baptism but also because both hold a similar place in their respective arguments (I Corinthians 15 and Romans 5-8).
I Corinthians 15 is a treatise on the doctrine of the resurrection. But it isn’t about just any kind of resurrection. Other resurrections had occurred before that of Christ and, in each case, they were the same: the one restored to life would die again. And no wonder, the natural state of humanity is not life but death. Just watch the usual progression. This is a result of the arena, or the temporal age, in which we live. In his discourse with the Corinthians, Paul answers a stupid question: “How are the dead raised? With what kind of body do they come?” Paul’s reaction- calling his interrogator ‘foolish’- indicates the motive behind the question. It isn’t a quest for information but the ploy of a cynic. It comes from someone who has no clue of the power of the Spirit of God. The question lurking behind this one is, “What good is it to bring a body back to life since it will only die again?” Paul’s answer is to draw an analogy to a seed. When it is planted, it first dies and then something new and alive comes out of the ground. The most important factor is that “God gives it a body as he has chosen.” Paul goes on to point out different kinds of bodies on the earth: human, animal, birds, fish. Then he moves to heavenly bodies and includes the sun, moon, and stars. The same point applies to all of these: God gives whatever body he chooses. Just as there is both continuity and discontinuity between a seed and a plant, so it is with the resurrection body. God does not put us back the way we were, but he transforms our bodies into something everlasting. What was once perishable is now imperishable. What was a natural body is now a Spiritual body. It still has material substance, but it derives its life from the Spirit of God and will continue to live as long as it remains in eternal union with Christ.
If any question remains about the kind of resurrection we can look forward to, this is resolved in Romans 8:11: “If the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you, he who raised Christ Jesus from the dead will also give life to your mortal bodies through his Spirit who dwells in you.” In verse 23, Paul refers to this resurrection as “the redemption of our bodies.” He places it in the context of the transformation of creation. The resurrection is only a part of it. When the eschaton comes, the curse will be lifted and everything will be made new. “And not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as Sons, the redemption of our bodies.” This comprehensive renewal of the creation also affects those who have not yet died by the time it occurs. Back in I Corinthians, Paul tells us a mystery. Not everyone will sleep, that is, die, but all of us will be changed. Each mortal body will put on immortality.
In back of Paul’s argument is the contrast between two ages- between this present evil age and the age to come; between the flesh and the Spirit; between the old man and the new man; between the two Federal heads-Adam and Christ. This is a theme that permeates Paul’s writings. No less is this true of his doctrine of the resurrection, in which Christ is the firstfruits and the translation of the body into the realm of the Spirit is, by necessary consequence, into the realm of eternal life.
The occasion for Paul’s argument in I Corinthians was the claim by some who had professed belief in Christ’s resurrection that there was no resurrection from the dead (presumably for anybody else). This could not be, for, as Paul declares, if the dead are not raised, then neither has Christ been raised from the dead. His argument doesn’t seem to follow. Why not just say that Jesus is in a class by himself? Because then there would be no union with Christ. If the Corinthians did not believe in the resurrection, then the most that they could believe about Christ is that he came back to life in much the same way as the son of the widow of Zarephath. This kind of resurrection, however, is hardly a sufficient basis for the gospel. The eschatological resurrection is not piecemeal; it is corporate. Either the entire body of Christ raises to new life or the entire body remains dead. “For as in Adam all die, so also in Christ shall all be made alive” (vs. 22).
This contrast between Adam and Christ is a significant part of Paul’s argument in both passages. Whereas he ties it to the resurrection in I Corinthians, in Romans he is concerned with the doctrine of justification. The two, resurrection and justification, are intimately connected. Romans 5:17 states, “If, because of one mans’ trespass, death reigned through that one man, much more will those who receive the abundance of grace and the free gift of righteousness reign in life through the one man Jesus Christ.” Paul goes on to say that many are made righteous through one man’s obedience. To be made righteous is the guaranteed end result of God’s declaration that we are righteous. This declaration is what it means to be justified. Justification is, for us, a free gift received by faith alone. It was, for Christ, the deserved reward for his obedience. By way of contrast, it was Adam’s disobedience that led to death. It wasn’t disobedience in general, though. No one, except for Adam and Christ, has ever carried such a responsibility for the life or death of so many. Paul calls Adam a “type of the one who was to come.” Both are Federal heads, both preside over the same covenant. What Adam loses by disobeying the terms of this covenant, Christ wins back both by obeying the original terms and by taking the punishment prescribed in the covenant. Salvation is not just an ad hoc plan B that God puts in place after the fall. Its foundation was already built into the Covenant of Works given to Adam. Had Adam obeyed, he would have merited eternal life for all those whom he represented. Put another way, eschatology precedes soteriology. In the act of obedience, Adam would have been declared righteous; that is, he would have been justified. The promised reward of this justification was eternal life. Christ did keep the terms of the Covenant of Works. He was justified; that is, he was declared righteous because he acted righteously. Consequently, he had to receive the promised reward both for himself and for all those in union with him. He must live and so the grave cannot hold him. Not only has death failed to conquer Christ, but Christ will destroy death.
Following the sections on Adam and Christ in both passages are Paul’s comments on baptism. We’ve already seen the passage in I Corinthians, the one that talks about people being baptized on behalf of the dead. Now consider Romans 6:3-5:
Do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death? We were buried therefore with him by baptism into death, in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might walk in newness of life. For if we have been united with him in a death like his, we shall certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his.
There are two themes here: life and death. Because baptism unites us with Christ in his death, we are also united with him in his resurrection. This is both a present and a future event. Our spirits are given new life when the Spirit regenerates us. Our bodies are promised new life in the resurrection. But there is also death. One by one, the members of Christ’s church are each baptized into his death and, one by one, each of them dies. Not just in his death, but literally and physically. But, while we continue in this life, we are also called to die every day. Right after mentioning baptism on behalf of the dead, Paul professes this of himself in I Corinthians, “Why am I in danger every hour? I protest, brothers, by my pride in you, which I have in Christ Jesus our Lord, I die every day!” Obviously, Paul is not talking about physical death. This death is based on the redemptive historic act of which he speaks in Galatians 2:19, “I have been crucified with Christ.” Paul sees the Corinthians denying the resurrection and he writes back, “I protest!” What does it mean for him, for any believer to be baptized into Christ’s death if there is no resurrection? “I have been crucified with Christ,” the apostle declares, “It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me.” Watch how Paul continues his point in Romans by saying that we know our old self was crucified with Christ. Keep this in context. It is not primarily individual; rather, it refers back to our corporate identity with Adam. The old self is that which fell into sin. Christ embraces this old self, unites himself with it, and then crucifies it. Christ alone is resurrected as the new self and he imparts this new life to all whose corporate identity is in him.
The old self and new self are corporate realities of redemptive history; nevertheless, the battle between these two is also reenacted in the life of each believer. Paul uses himself as an example of this in chapter 7. “For I know that nothing good dwells in me, that is, in my flesh. For I have the desire to do what is right, but not the ability to carry it out. For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I keep doing” (vs. 18,19). He paints a rather bleak picture, but it is a portrait of life in the flesh. Chapter 8 turns things around. Here Paul brings out the contrast between the flesh and the Spirit. “For if you live according to the flesh you will die, but if by the Spirit you put to death the deeds of the body, you will live” (vs. 13). The old self will be forever vanquished when Christ returns on the Day of Judgment. Until then, the historic crucifixion of the old self must be reenacted on a daily basis- “I die every day.”
When we are baptized into Christ, we are also brought into union with one another. We are united together in his death. In baptism, we cast our lot, both with the crucified Christ and with all believers. Not only those who, yet living, die every day, but also with those who are dead and buried. And so it is that the grave continues to accept the bodies of believers while more of us keep getting baptized. We believe that he who brought Christ back from the dead will do the same for us. This mutual baptism into the death of Christ is what it means to be baptized on behalf of the dead. If we deny the fullness of the resurrection, we mock both Christ and the members of his body. Baptism with no resurrection is not the promise of everlasting life, but a deathtrap for fools. Having identified with Christ in his death, our only hope is found in the resurrection of Christ.
There is a decided irony here. Go back to Romans 8:13, “For if you live according to the flesh you will die, but if by the Spirit you put to death the deeds of the body, you will live.” Jesus said something similar in Luke 17:33, “Whoever seeks to preserve his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life will keep it.” Life, eternal life, is the possession of those who have been baptized into Christ’s death. It belongs only to those who have been bound together into this dangerous alliance. Perhaps this explains why Paul is so passionate about his participation in the death of Christ. Consider Philippians 3: 8-11:
Indeed, I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things and count them as rubbish in order that I may gain Christ and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but that which comes through faith in Christ, the righteousness from God that depends on faith- that I may know him and the power of his resurrection, and may share his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, that by any means possible I may attain the resurrection from the dead.
Paul’s desire to know Christ at the expense of everything else is the result of the life that he has received. Everyone who has been captured by Christ glories in being crucified with him, both as an historical reality and as a daily experience. This is what living people do. By virtue of the indwelling Spirit of God and our union with the resurrected Christ, we already possess a foretaste of this life. We already desire the things of the Spirit. If not, if, forsaking all else, anyone will not seize upon the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus, then he is no true participant in the fellowship of death. That person has no part in the resurrection unto eternal life but is already and irrevocably dead.
The passage in question is Romans 10, in which Paul quotes from Psalm 19. Paul writes, “But I ask, have they not heard? Indeed they have, for ‘Their voice has gone out to all the earth, and their words to the ends of the world’” (Romans 10:18). Why does Paul quote this particular passage in support of his argument? The question is rarely asked. Instead, people are content with Charles Hodge’s explanation. He writes, “Paul, of course, is not to be understood as quoting the Psalmist as though the ancient prophet was speaking of the gospel. He simply uses scriptural language to express his own ideas, as is done involuntarily almost by every preacher in every sermon” (Commentary on the Epistle to the Romans, 349).
A view such as Hodge’s does not do justice to the nature of Scripture. Everything God does or says occurs within the context of the covenant. Consequently, the activities and words of God have their own meaning. The Holy Spirit, by making creation and Scripture a part of the covenantal context, has revealed himself as a Divine Theologian. The human authors of Scripture, because they are recording the Word of Christ, are also engaged in theology. It is not acceptable to use scriptural language to express one’s own ideas. The language must be used to express the intended idea of the authors. We must, therefore, conclude that any subsequent use within scripture of a prior scriptural passage either assumes or constitutes the proper exegesis of that passage.
How, then, does Paul read David? The most common take on Psalm 19:1-6 is that it is about General Revelation as it is found in nature. When this is combined with the view that Paul is speaking about the Israelites, the following interpretation results: Just as the heavens reveal God to the entire world, even so, the prophets preached to all of Israel. Or, supposing that Paul is speaking about the Gentiles, a similar interpretation results: Just as the heavens reveal God to the entire world, even so, the gospel from the time of Christ to Paul’s time had gone out to the whole world. F. F. Bruce writes, “It is unnecessary to suppose that Paul regarded Psalm 19:4 as a regular prediction of the world-wide dissemination of the gospel; the dissemination of the gospel, it is implied, is becoming as world-wide as the light of the heavenly bodies” (The Letter of Paul to the Romans, 197). Both of these views amount to nothing more than an argument from analogy.
Nonetheless, analogies are not inherently evil. In fact, they are essential to the typological nature of scripture. Paul actually is making explicit an analogy between Natural revelation and the gospel. The point we must remember, however, is that this analogy was already embedded in the words of David. Paul does not reference David to support his own answer to the question, “Have they not heard?” Rather, Paul quotes the Psalm because David has already answered the question. This is rarely acknowledged because the object of Paul’s question is readily apparent from Romans 10:16. Paul is asking, “Have they not heard the gospel?”
Paul’s theology is informed by that of David; therefore, we will now consider this for ourselves. When David writes of the declaration of God’s glory in creation, he is interpreting the creation according to the covenant. While presenting his case that creation is fashioned upon the model of the Glory-cloud and is, therefore, covenantal, Meredith G. Kline observes, “The heavens declare the glory of God in the special sense that they are a copy of the archetypal Glory of God” (Images of the Spirit, 20).
Covenant theology is uniquely about Christ. He receives the blessings of the covenant in exchange for fulfilling its obligations. The basic flow of the covenant can be seen in the WCF (VII.ii), which concerns the Covenant of Works made with Adam. In this covenant, life is promised to Adam and “in him to his posterity, upon condition of perfect and personal obedience.” Adam’s role in the Covenant of Works is modeled after that of the Son of God in the Intratrinitarian Covenant. We also know that, upon Adam’s failure to fulfill the obligations of the Covenant of Works, Christ is made the Federal Head in his place. Adam only exists to serve the purposes of Christ, who alone is the Alpha and Omega of the covenant.
Having presupposed the covenant as the context for the creation, David uses the sun to depict the movement of Christ within the covenant. Consider the threefold imagery in Psalm 19:5, 6. The sun is like a bridegroom leaving his chamber; like a strong man, the sun runs its course with joy; nothing is hidden from the heat of the sun. Christ is the bridegroom of his church (Revelation 21:2,9); Christ ran the race before us, enduring the cross for the joy that was set before him (Hebrews 12:2,3); Christ is the one to whom we must give account, from whose eyes no creature is hidden (Hebrews 4:13). Note that, in all three cases, Christ is depicted in a covenantal relationship.
In the concluding section of Psalm 19, David presupposes the covenant, in terms of the treaty structure of Special revelation, as the context for Redemptive History. This time, he uses himself to depict the movement of Christ within the covenant. The declaration of the covenant is recorded in terms of law, testimony, precepts, commandment, fear, and rules. This covenantal declaration is of those obligations, the keeping of which are necessary for the servant to be rewarded. See Psalm 19:11, “Moreover, by them is your servant warned; and in keeping them there is great reward.” David’s juxtaposition of “your servant” with the first person singular pronoun identifies this servant as himself. However, when we consider the servant in terms of the theology of this Psalm, he is identified as the one who must keep the Covenant of Works. The servant is Christ. Yet, by noting the pleas of the servant to be declared innocent from hidden faults, and kept back from presumptuous sins, the idea that Christ is the servant is rarely considered. Why, after all, would Christ address the LORD as, “My redeemer”?
If Christ is not evident in this passage, it is because due consideration is not being given to the theology of the history of salvation. This history is depicted throughout the Old Testament; however, it objectively takes place within the life of Christ. We are justified because Christ was declared innocent from hidden faults. Presumptuous sins have no dominion over us because Christ was kept back from them. We are blameless and innocent of great transgression because of our union with Christ. David’s identity with Christ is our identity with Christ. Consequently, the words of our mouths and the meditation of our hearts are acceptable to God because he is Christ’s rock and redeemer.
When David wrote, the covenant, of which Christ is the focus, had already been declared. David does not claim that the journey of the sun through the heavens constitutes the declaration of the covenant. That declaration occurred when the Spirit-infused throne room of God served both as the covenantal model for creation and as the paradigm for Adam’s creation in the imago Dei. The journey of the sun is God’s republication of this declaration. Psalm 19 is David’s interpretation thereof.
In this light, witness the theology of Paul, called by God as an apostle to the Gentiles. We have already noted that the content of what has been heard is the same for both David and Paul. David has already made the analogy between the sun in the heavens and the revelation of Christ in the covenant. Paul identifies this revelation as the gospel. Yet, if the original declaration of the covenant is coterminous with the creation, how can it be a declaration of the gospel? Adam had not yet fallen. It is that declaration without which the gospel would be meaningless. This declaration had to be made to Adam before he fell; that is, while all those who are in Adam were still within the favor of God. It could not be a post-fall event; otherwise, not being able to promise the reward of the covenant, it could not form the basis for the future declaration of the gospel to the world.
Paul’s dependence on the theology of David is for the purpose of defending his own ministry to the Gentiles. Despite the insertion of “Israelites” by some translations in Romans 10:16, it does not occur in the original language. Consequently, the “they” of vs. 18 is not limited to Jews. Its meaning needs to be determined by vs. 12, which says, “For there is no distinction between Jew and Greek.” The ones to whom Paul is compelled to preach the gospel are all of those in Adam to whom the first declaration of the covenant was made.
This declaration of the covenant was made by Christ. It was Christ saying to his people, “I will live in union with you forever.” Even so, the declaration of the gospel must also be made by Christ. Paul defends his ministry to the Gentiles, not to exalt himself, but because the preached Word is the means whereby Christ reveals himself. Just as David has taken on the identity of Christ in the form of a servant, Paul takes on the identity of Christ in the form of a preacher. He asks in Romans 10:14, “How are they to believe in him of whom they have never heard? And how are they to hear without someone preaching?” The translation of the first question is misleading. It does not only concern belief in him of whom they have heard; rather, the issue is belief in him whom they have heard. There is no “of.” Ultimately, Paul is defending the right of Christ to preach his own gospel. Romans 10:17 concludes, “So faith comes from hearing, and hearing through the word of Christ.”
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.
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
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.
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.
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.
Once again, it took awhile for Peter to catch on and, before the other disciples could say a word, he was speaking. The next thing anyone knew, he was no longer in the boat with them but was, instead, traipsing across the Sea of Galilee. We’ve heard the rest of the story. Peter sees the wind and begins to sink. And right here we have our first moral lesson: Peter sank because he took his eyes off of Jesus. He didn’t have the faith that it took to maintain his focus. The chronology would seem to bear this out. Upon sinking, Peter calls out, “Lord, save me” (Mt. 14:30, ESV). Jesus does, but not without the comment, “O you of little faith, why did you doubt?” (Mt. 14:31). Peter’s failing seems obvious.
We now have only to apply the lesson to our own situation. In whatever life adversity we may find ourselves, we must always keep our eyes centered on Christ. Never, for a moment, become overwhelmed by the circumstances. Of course, there are those who are quick to come to Peter’s defense. He was, after all, the only disciple to actually get out of the boat. Whatever his faltering upon seeing the wind, he was a shining example of the kind of faith that it takes to risk all and follow Jesus.
It’s actually a shame that this mode of interpretation enjoys such current popularity. Granted, it is about faith and, what’s more, a faith whose object is Christ. Yet, a more laborious faith was never conceived. And what of a Christ who is reduced to all the potency of, and confused with, a positive thought? We need to retrace our steps into what the text actually says. From the subsequent comments of Jesus, we know that Peter’s seeing the wind and beginning to sink constituted a lack of faith. Or do we?
Allow me to suggest an alternative. Peter’s doubt was manifest the moment he uttered the words, “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water” (Mt. 14:28). Faith and doubt are inseparable from the Word. Peter didn’t believe what Jesus had just said, which was, “Take heart; it is I. Do not be afraid” (Mt. 14:27). At first, it is difficult to see just what it is that Peter doubts. The translation obscures it for us. We must not assume that Jesus was merely saying, “Hey guys, it’s me.” Despite what they may have thought before Jesus began speaking, none of the disciples was worried that Peter was about to become the next victim of a mendacious ghost. Everyone knew fully well that it was Jesus. The doubt concerned the claim that Jesus had just made. Not, “It is I.” Rather, “I Am.”
Peter had known Jesus long enough to realize that he wouldn’t let him drown. There was perfect confidence in the man. However, when it came to the claim Jesus had just made, Peter wanted a sign. Jesus obliged him by opening his eyes to what was already there. Peter was a professional fisherman who well knew the temperament of the sea. Noticing the wind was not going to be all that disconcerting for him. No, it wasn’t just the wind that Peter found so suddenly terrifying. It was what the wind revealed.
Previous revelation, which, until now, Peter had disregarded, substantiated the message. When the LORD descended onto Mount Sinai to give the Law, “there were thunders and lightnings and a thick cloud… the whole mountain trembled greatly” (Ex. 19:16,18). Ezekiel begins an extended description of the glory of the LORD with the words, “As I looked, behold, a stormy wind came out of the north, and a great cloud, with brightness around it, and fire flashing forth continually...” (Ez. 1:4). Asaph, in even more descriptive language, clarifies the connection:
When the waters saw you, O God,
when the waters saw you, they were afraid;
indeed, the deep trembled.
The clouds poured out water;
the skies gave forth thunder;
your arrows flashed on every side.
The crash of your thunder was in the whirlwind;
your lightnings lighted up the world;
the earth trembled and shook.
Your way was through the sea,
your path through the great waters;
yet your footprints were unseen (Ps. 77:16-19).
He who had begun walking in unbelief was, in a moment, transported into a full vision of Divine Glory. Peter was standing in the direct path of, and, indeed, was being overwhelmed by, the Storm Theophany. And soon, just as he had once spoken to Job from the midst of the whirlwind, this same Lord would be speaking to another of his servants. The purpose would be the same: restoration born out of Covenant faithfulness. We cannot suppose that Jesus’ words were those of angry chastisement, even though Peter’s earlier statement of unbelief had to be addressed. When Peter saw the wind and began sinking, fear gave birth to faith and, crying out, “Lord, save me,” he embraced the object of his terror.
Matthew is not content to leave us with the story of a disciple’s personal encounter with God. He wants us to consider God’s redemptive encounter with his people. The evangelist is able to do this because he has noted Jesus in the role of another person of the Trinity. The Storm Theophany of the Old Testament is intricately woven together with other imagery; not only winds and waves, but fire and clouds. Consider the presence of the Lord among Israel in the pillar of fire by night or the cloud by day. Or, for that matter, watch the Shekinah Glory descending upon his dwelling place. All of the theophanies in this group depict the Holy Spirit.
But now the inspired author would have us focus on the person and work of the Son of God. He does this by means of an ingenious narrative twist- Peter is cast as the Christ figure and we are plunged along with him into the midst of a water ordeal. Old Testament types of baptism loom before us. We witness both the Flood and the Exodus crossing of the Red Sea. Christ takes on the sin of, and unites with, his people. He enters into the waters of judgment and is overcome by the divine wrath; but then, Resurrection. In images of the original creation, the Spirit of God, hovering over the face of the waters, reaches down and imparts new life.
Not a tame Jesus, one who caters to our every temporal need if only we can muster up the faith; neither Matthew nor the greater author of the text will abide such a presentation. Behold the God of the Storm, the Redeemer of his people, the Creator Spirit and, in the words of those disciples who remained in the boat, worship him saying, “Truly you are the Son of God” (Mt.14:33).