O Liberté, que de crimes on commet en ton nom!

Freedom and liberty, the clarion calls of those who typically abuse the very things they claim to defend. The news is awash with yet another American mass shooting. President Obama makes his 15th statement about shootings since he took office. He once again makes a plea for tighter gun controls. The usual suspects reply with their standard cry. In the name of freedom, people continue to be killed all the day long.

It is a gross act of sin to use the cause of freedom to persist with a situation that continuously and repeatedly leads to death. Just as the those on the right would (rightly) have no truck with arguments that rely on freedom to continue the systematic destruction of children in utero, the call for tighter gun controls are no less unimpressed with arguments from freedom while people are being repeatedly killed. While human beings are dying, using freedom and liberty as the basis for letting it continue is nothing short of iniquitous.

This side of the pond, where we have never quite had the same national obsession with personal armaments, may seem easy. The Dunblane massacre in 1996 was the impetus to introduce two firearms Acts which effectively banned the private ownership of handguns. However, even prior to the mid-90s, it was not exactly the norm to own a gun. Nevertheless, this same approach to freedom exists as much here as it does in the US. Our approach to abortion rights is often based on this same spurious reasoning and our recent national debate on the 'right to die' also leaned heavily on such arguments. Though it may not be gun control, we are not immune from the questionable application of freedom despite the obvious, dangerous and highly troubling effects on the people.

As Christians, we don't always stand apart from this specious reasoning either. Yes, we may oppose abortion and euthanasia, we may be pro-gun controls, yet this same tendency can exist in Christian circles too. It is called antinomianism. There can be an insistence upon freedom despite the fact that, in the name of the freedom we proclaim, people are lost. In the name of freedom in Christ, gross acts of sin are justified because "we're free". Freedom once again becomes a call from those who, frankly, want to abuse the freedom that is theirs in Christ. By abusing freedom this way, many who think they are safe remain lost in their sin. Christ did not win our freedom so that we may carry on as before. Our freedom in Christ is not a freedom to ignore his commands and continue in our sin. We have been freed from sin in Christ. To carry on sinning, and to use this hard won freedom as the basis to do so, is the most offensive way to treat Jesus. 

Freedom is a most important civil liberty that must be defended. It is a most important Christian concept that must be defended theologically. However, using freedom as a basis to defend/reject law that was intended to protect the individual, is nothing short of perverse. It doesn't matter whether we are talking civil liberty or Christian liberty, freedom is not there to the detriment of the life of the people. Anyone arguing otherwise has neither stared down the barrel of a gun nor come to terms with the doctrine of Hell.

On the historic apology

It can't have escaped your notice that the unstoppable runaway train that is Jeremy Corbyn's Labour leadership bid has been a rich vein of material for this blog of late (see here and here). And today is no exception. In today's Guardian, Corbyn announces that if he becomes leader he will apologise on behalf of the Labour Party for the (most recent) military intervention in Iraq.

I dared to reply to the Guardian twitter update with the following:

@guardian why? He was one of very few who have zero need to apologise!

— Stephen Kneale (@steve_kneale) August 20, 2015

This led to a small twitter-spat (as these things tend to do) which I will not bother boring you with here (for those interested in such things, you can find it here).

This got me thinking about the value of historic and symbolic apologies. On one side of this discussion are those who think they are a symbolic show of future intent. Never mind that Jeremy Corbyn consistently voted against the Iraq war, it doesn't matter that he himself always opposed it, as leader of the Labour Party he would be making an important symbolic gesture moving forward. On the other side of the debate are those who think it is a totally valueless act. His future intent is clear enough when he called for Tony Blair to be tried as a war criminal and has consistently and repeatedly voiced his opposition to military intervention. If the word 'sorry' conveys contrition and remorse, how can those uninvolved in a felony, and who consistently stood against the action, show such penitence? I fall into the latter of these two camps.

Symbolism is only really valid when the symbol applies to the one associating themselves with it. I am sure scores of Iraqi citizens would find value in an apology from the perpetrators. I am far less convinced they will find an apology from a man who consistently voted against the action and has repeatedly and vociferously called out his own government on the decision remotely worthwhile. His views on the issue have been clear from the beginning, remain clear and his plans going forward are no less transparent. An apology under such circumstances is neither symbolic nor meaningful. Only those who are responsible for an act can offer a meaningful apology. An apology from someone who always rejected the action does nothing to change the fact that those responsible are still unrepentant. It is like receiving an apology from the mother of a murderer (who you never held responsible) whilst her son continues to brag publicly about his heinous crime. It is simply a hollow gesture.

That also brings into question the nature of the historic apology altogether. The Japanese Prime Minister, Shinzo Abe, recently apologised to America for Japanese actions during WWII though he has more recently claimed that modern-day Japan shouldn't have to keep apologising for WWII actions. Angela Merkel has made further apologies for German atrocities under the Nazis. And Tony Blair, though unable to apologise for his own actions in Iraq, seems to have no issue apologising for Britain's past involvement in the slave trade and our part in the Irish potato famine.

It is Blair's own apologies that bring into sharp relief the pointlessness of the historic apology. It is easy to say sorry for actions with which we were personally uninvolved and that we have consistently made clear were wrong. There is little doubt in the modern age that virtually everyone in the Western world despises slavery. There are no policy decisions from any party across the political spectrum that suggest, explicitly or implicitly, any desire to return to such days. To apologise for something universally rejected in the West, and for which we bear no personal responsibility, is but a valueless and hollow gesture. We are really apologising on behalf of others which seems to defeat the very purpose of an apology. I can express sorrow and disgust about the actions of others but I cannot be remorseful or penitent on their behalf. An apology is only worth something if there is a recognition of wrongdoing on the part of the perpetrator. For those of us who always rejected the action, apologising on behalf of others does nothing.

It is ludicrous to me that people who openly and repeatedly reject the actions of the Nazis in modern day Germany are expected to continually apologise for something with which they had no part, neither passive nor active. It is silly that a hollow apology from a modern world leader about the horrors of slavery, when they have repeatedly and consistently stated their opposition to it, is deemed of value. It is rather more telling that Tony Blair has no problem whatsoever apologising for historic crimes in which he had no part but cannot bring himself to say sorry for the very real problems his decisions have directly caused for those who are still alive, affected by such things and for whom an apology would be both laden with meaning and of any intrinsic value. It says to me that the only apology worth anything is one from the individuals responsible. It says to me that is a much harder apology to give because it involves owning up, to those affected, to that for which we are personally responsible. It says to me that anyone can express sorrow and remorse for what they have not done; it is much harder to own what we personally and directly have done and admit we were wrong.

It also brings into sharp relief the words of Jesus Christ in Matthew 7:13f: "Enter by the narrow gate. For the gate is wide and the way is easy that leads to destruction, and those who enter by it are many. For the gate is narrow and the way is hard that leads to life, and those who find it are few." Many of us are happy to accept that the way is hard. Jesus also said “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it." And so we expect following Jesus to be tough. But we often don't like the fact that "the gate is narrow... and those who find it are few". It is not simply following Christ that is hard but even entering by the gate - a gate that Christ elsewhere makes clear is himself - is also difficult.

Those from other religions may not understand what is so difficult about salvation by faith alone. What on earth could be difficult about that? It is precisely the same thing that is easy about the historic apology and extremely difficult about the current, only valid, one. To come to Christ necessitates an understanding that we are personally responsible for our own sin. It is not an historic crime in which we have no part and remains entirely the fault of Adam, Paul tells us "for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God" (Rom 3:23). Without acknowledging our own personal responsibility for the sin that separates us from God, there can be no forgiveness. And there is no denying that accepting responsibility for what we have done, acknowledging that we have not lived as we ought and accepting that we have actively pursued what is wrong is difficult indeed!

It also means - if I must accept personal responsibility for my separation from God - that somebody else cannot be penitent on my behalf. If I am separated from God because of my sin, it is simply no good for my father, mother, brother, sister, friend or colleague to be terribly sorry on my behalf. My personal responsibility has in no way been accepted if I am personally unwilling to seek forgiveness for what I have done. It is only when we accept that we have done wrong and that forgiveness is found in repentance and faith in Christ alone that we can be made right with God. It is something that requires a personal and heartfelt penitence. A meaningful apology - that is true repentance and genuine faith in Christ - are the only means of real forgiveness.

By contrast, historic apologies are neither personal, do not accept responsibility and are not an acceptance of wrongdoing. It is pleading on behalf of another who has potentially shown no remorse whatsoever. If we want the word 'sorry' to mean anything at all, let's please stop insisting we use it on behalf of others.

When are the covenant signs appropriate for children?

There has been a conversation doing the rounds regarding polity, ordinances and the place of children within the church. Jonathan Leeman, of 9Marks, started it with this. Mark Jones, writing at Reformation21, countered from a Presbyterian perspective with this. Tom Chantry shot back from a baptist stance with this. Finally, Andrew Wilson - at ThinkTheology - rounds up the whole debate with this.

The main debate centred around a question sent to the 9Marks mailbag. Leeman answered in the context of a discussion between father and daughter:

Daughter: Daddy, am I a Christian?

Me: If you’re repenting of your sins, and putting your trust in Jesus, then yes.

Daughter: I am.

Me: If you are, then praise God! Keep doing that, sweetheart!

Daughter: Can I get baptized?

Me: At some point, honey. Right now, while you’re young, let’s continue to learn and grow. We’ll think about this more when you are older. I want you stand on your own two feet as a follower of Jesus, and not just believe these things because I do. But I’m so glad you want to follow Jesus with me! This is the most important decision you’ll ever make. There’s no one better than him.

Mark Jones responded (in part) this way:

His words, “if you are” (the second time), are regrettable. “Since you are” - based on the judgment of charity - would be a more appropriate response to such a wonderful declaration by a child, in my view.

Does anyone else think the daughter might be really confused after this conversation as to whether she is a Christian or not? She believes she meets the conditions for being a Christian, but she is told she can’t be baptized. Why? Because the church refuses to formally affirm her (child-like) faith. In short, she has to “prove” herself.

From this,  Jones goes on to list four questions - all valid and worth thinking about - and proceeds to explain how (he perceives) baptists and presbyterians differ in answer to them. Andrew Wilson summarises Jones' position this way: 

Presbyterians are confident, reassuring, pastorally sensitive fathers, and Baptists can’t even teach their kids to pray the Lord’s prayer without what-iffing about it. Presbyterians are Lloyd George (“Do it now!”), and Baptists are Asquith (“Wait and see.”) Mark Jones has been much to winsome to put it like this, but that’s certainly the direction it is pointing. How can someone be a Baptist and a good parent at the same time?

As a counter to Jones, Tom Chantry says:

I know there is a theological answer to give, but our concern here seems to be to somehow avoid confusing the kids, so what’s the simple answer? “You’re a Christian, but you cannot come to the Christian feast”? “We’ve baptized you, but now we’re barring you from communion”? We Baptists have a word for that: “excommunication.” It seems a tad harsh, but then, we wouldn’t want to confuse the kids, so let’s use plain language.

The truth is, once we get past the rhetoric, any serious paedobaptist still has to work out how and when to answer the very questions which Jones assigns solely to the Baptists – questions like “Does this toddler really believe in Jesus, or would she also believe in fairies if her mother told her to?” and “How exactly do we say that this little boy is a ‘disciple,’ which Jesus told us involved taking up a cross’?” Sorry, folks, but your baptismal program is not a get-out-of-awkward-conversations-free card.

At least when I baptize someone, I immediately and automatically admit him to the Table. Like, you know, they did in the book of Acts.

Summing up the whole discussion, Wilson states: 

Both paedo- and credobaptists distinguish between the faith commitment of a five year old and the faith commitment of a thirty-five year old, even though we all know that the five year old often perseveres in faith, and the thirty-five year old often doesn’t. For the paedobaptist, communion is delayed until (probably) the teenage years, at confirmation; for the credobaptist, it is baptism which is delayed; but both regard the full receipt and practice of the covenant signs as inappropriate for a young child. In that sense, Anglicans, Baptists and Presbyterians all have the same theological position when their child asks them Jonathan’s question, whether or not it’s what they actually say.

It is here I would like to take the discussion on and depart from what seems to be something of a consensus. I think it is entirely possible to give assurance to our children without presbyterian overconfidence (though still refusing to grant communion) nor uncertain "baptist what-iffing".

Let's start with Jonathan Leeman's imagined conversation. I completely sympathise with Mark Jones' view that the second "if you are" is thoroughly regrettable. The profession of the child is as clear a profession of faith as that of the Ethiopian Eunuch or the Philippian jailer. It strikes me that the only credible response to such a profession is - especially in light of the conversation being in the context of seeking baptism - to give thanks to God and proceed in baptising your child.

We must be clear on the criteria for baptism. It is not works or fruit. Rather, the criteria for baptism is a credible profession of faith. The example given by Leeman strikes me as perfectly credible. The only reason to ask your child to wait is if you have some solid reason, as their parent, to doubt the credibility to their profession. In that case, the correct response would not be "let's wait and see" but rather "we are convinced you are not yet a believer for X, Y and Z reason. Therefore, it wouldn't be appropriate just yet". As Leeman offered no such qualification in the conversation, one can only presume the profession is genuine. To not go ahead and baptise on that basis is to stop your child from obeying a command of Christ (which, given that is what they are requesting to do, is surely some evidence of the fruit of change as well!)

In line with Chantry, and against the Presbyterian position, once I had baptised my child - on the strenghth of their profession of faith alone - I would then permit them to partake of communion. If they are professing faith, have been baptised according to the command of Christ then there can be no reason to deny them admission to the communion table. Like any other baptised church member, unless there is some evidence of ongoing unrepentant sin, what possible reason is there to deny either ordinance?

Let me pick up on Andrew Wilson's comment regarding the faith of a 35 year old compared to a 5 year old. I would make no such distinction. In fact, it strikes me that it flies in the face of various biblical passages to differentiate between faith based on little more than age. If we insist on a "wait and see" approach to children, we must at least be consistent enough to expect the same from adults. If we are happy to take a credible profession from an adult as the sole criteria for baptism, and hence admission to the communion table, it is right and proper to do the same for a child.

To not do this, we can end up creating an unnecessary lack of assurance in our children and potentially crush the faith of some. Certainly the Presbyterians face the same problem in that they deny communion to children. If anything, the Presbyterian is in a worse position. The baptist position advocated by Leeman is at least consistent in doubting the covenant position of the child and therefore denies the ordinances on that basis. The Presbyterian faces the difficult balancing act of insisting the child belongs to the covenant community whilst simultaneously denying them one of the ordinances that belongs by rights to all those in the covenant. Nevertheless, we must be clear on what admittance to the covenant is based upon and how we decide anyone - child or adult - can be deemed a member of the covenant community.

If a credible profession of faith is the base criteria - and I would argue on the baptist position it is - then a credible profession of a child means they are a member of the covenant community. And, if a member of the covenant community, entitled to partake of the ordinances given by Christ to such members. It strikes me as wholly appropriate to then baptise children based on such credible profession and to admit them to the Lord's table once they have been baptised.

Of course, we cannot overlook the inevitable "what if they fall away?" question. But let's not pretend that only pertains to children. Anyone who makes a profession may fall away, child and adult alike. If we then only baptise those who we are certain will not fall away, which one of us would have ever been baptised at the point of our request? In fact, such a line of reasoning leads almost to the Gospel Standard position where many folk never got baptised because they could never be 100% certain they would not fall away. Even after decades of Christian service and clear fruit, the small nagging doubt seemed to override the patent reality of a ongoing practiced faith. We either baptise on a credible profession or otherwise we are tied to the search for fruit or a certain level of assurance that this person will not fall away. The latter position certainly has no biblical warrant, gives the impression that we are counting inclusion in the covenant based on works and can lead to a lifetime of "waiting and seeing" that never quite meets our undisclosed standard of certainty.

This is not a theoretical discussion for me. I grew up in a credo-baptist home and became a Christian aged 6. I certainly made a profession before this age but lacked assurance. My dad took my lack of assurance as a sign I may be a believer, but it was not entirely clear. By age 6, I not only professed faith but had assurance of that faith as well. Had I so requested, I am quite certain my parents would been happy to let me be baptised. Incidentally, it was the strict and particular baptist church in which I grew up that led me to believe I could not request baptism until I was older and I did not do so until my mid-teens, despite being certain I was a believer. To be fair to the church, I don't know what their response would have been had I requested baptism much sooner but I was under the sense that I could not ask until later (though, not doubt, this is something I probably inferred). My faith has clearly proven true, had I requested baptism aged 6 is it really fair - despite my inclusion in the covenant community by faith - for the church to deny me the the blessings of the ordinances given by Christ? It strikes me the church, had I made such a request, would be the only ones stopping me from fulfilling a clear command of Jesus that I was seeking to obey.

To that end, I say the child in Jonathan Leeman's discussion should be baptised. Unless there is solid reason to doubt the profession itself (of which, there is no indication in the discussion), we must surely say that child is a member of the covenant community. And, if a member, then it is sinful of the church to deny the ordinances given by Christ to one who is under no discipline and is simply seeking to do what scripture commands.

Grace & Service

Grace is a great Christian truth. It is the means by which we have faith at all (cf. Eph 2:8f) through which we come into a saving relationship with Jesus Christ. Not only is it the basis of God's saving act toward us, it is also a means to live out the christian life (cf. Rom 5:2; Eph 2:8-10; 1 Pet 5:12). God's effective calling of his children, the means by which he makes us holy, by which we live out our Christian walk, and the basis of how and why He keeps us until the end are all of grace. Little wonder then that Christians are happy to talk about grace. A lot.

However, I have become increasingly convinced that our view of grace can impact in the most direct way on our service for the Lord. If you will forgive the crass terminology (I didn't have anything better to hand), there is a low view of grace (or, cheap grace) and a high view of grace (costly grace). Please don't confuse low and high, cheap and costly, as necessarily indicative of which view is "correct". Both affirm something rightly and deny something wrongly.

The low view of grace rightly affirms that works play no part in salvation or forgiveness. However, it tends toward a form of antinomianism. It establishes grace as the means of forgiveness and then fails to concern itself with individual sin. That is it takes a blasé attitude to sin because, of course, God will just forgive me. It is cheap because in the old analogy - we stand in court, God is the judge and we are unable to pay the fine - this low view treats the price paid by Christ as though it were a mere speeding fine. An inconvenience, for sure, and money we'd rather not pay but hardly an eye-watering sum. Perhaps, to take the analogy further, we may accept we were broke and couldn't pay £60. Yet, it is still only a relatively small price. Thus Christ's forgiveness comes cheaply and easily available.

The high view of grace, by contrast, rightly affirms we are saved from sin and are brought into a relationship with God in order to glorify him. It correctly holds dear the truth that just as God is holy so we are to be holy (1 Pet 1:16). However, it tends toward a form of nomianism (or legalism). It can have a particularly hard attitude to sin as God hates sin and Christ paid such a high price to remove it from us. Grace is, therefore, hard to come by. It is costly because in the old analogy - we stand in court, God is the judge and we are unable to pay the fine - this view treats the price paid by Christ as trillions of pounds that not even the richest man in the world could pay, let alone you or I. Thus forgiveness comes at the highest of costs. To add further sin to the debt is to pile Pelion upon Ossa.

The problem the low view causes for our service is ultimately this. Christ has paid the price for my sin, I am no longer guilty before God and I don't have to continually worry about my standing before him. I don't have to keep working out my righteousness by doing anything. Thus far, thus correct. However, because I am right with God I have no need to prove anything. If I don't fancy serving him I don't have to. If I don't want to do x, y or z for him, so what? I'm forgiven. I don't need to earn my way to Heaven so why bother working hard for the Lord when I don't necessarily fancy it. And, even if I ought to have done something, well, he'll forgive me won't he.

The problem the high view causes for service is this. I'm forgiven and because of what he has done for me, I owe Jesus everything. Thus far, thus correct. However, because I owe Christ so much, I effectively have to pay him back for all he has done for me. Every time I sin, that adds to my debt (which I know he has forgiven and I am no longer liable for it). But every time I do something good, that pays him back in a small way for all he has done for me. Therefore, I must get to every meeting, do all the evangelistic events I can and generally try to do as much good as I can. I can measure my holiness and righteousness by the amount of stuff I do for God. Whilst I know he will forgive me when I sin, I've already got a mountain of debt I owe so I don't want to be adding to that. Though I know I will never (indeed, couldn't) fully pay him back, I'd like to do what I can as best as I'm able.

Both views have hit on some truth to the detriment of an equally important truth. The low view is thoroughly liberating whilst simultaneously dismissing biblical imperatives to pursue holiness and to follow particular commands. It ignores the work of the Spirit in our lives who empowers us to keep God's law. The high view emphasises personal holiness but can lead to a crushing expectation in our spiritual walk. It can also create a two-tier system of believers and super-believers, based on the twin measures of the amount of stuff we do and our personal piety (usually assessed entirely negatively in how much stuff we are willing to shun).

How do we avoid the Scylla of cheap grace and the Charybdis of legalism? The high view primarily errs in presuming we can "pay back" Christ at all. It is not simply that the price he paid was beyond our means, it was that the price he paid was in a currency to which we have no access. No amount of good works will pay him back one penny. Equally, when Christ's righteousness is imputed to us we are clothed in Christ's righteousness. You cannot be more or less righteous, you either are or you aren't righteous at all. If we are in Christ, we have his perfect righteousness. This means there cannot be tiers of believer. Yes, there are those who do more for Christ than others and the scale of our reward in Heaven may differ as a result. But our fundamental righteousness, our standing before God, is a flat platform as our holiness in glory will also be.

The low view errs inasmuch as it treats Christ like an insurance policy. I may aim not to sin but, if I do, it's not the end of the world because Christ will forgive. It equally denies the ongoing work of the Spirit in our hearts. He isn't called the Holy Spirit for nothing. It seems highly unlikely God would put his Holy Spirit into our hearts simply to sit there and care not one jot about our personal holiness. If all true believers receive the indwelling of the Holy Spirit (and they do), it follows that all true believers would pursue holiness. If we are growing in holiness, it follows that such will have a clear a noticeable outworking in our lives and in our service. Though our service is no payback scheme, nor does it earn us righteousness, it does please the Father (as Kevin DeYoung points out here). 

At heart, grace is the means by which we are saved. It is the means by which we receive Christ's righteousness. Yet, it is also the means by which God empowers his children to live lives that are generally pleasing to him. When talking grace, it's always worth keeping these two truths together.

A return to regeneration, indwelling and the coming of the Spirit

Almost exactly a year ago, I began tentatively exploring the nature of belief and salvation; specifically regeneration and the indwelling of the Spirit before and after Pentecost. Briefly stated, I considered passages such as Ezekiel 36:24-28 and John 16:7, among others, which speak of a distinct difference between the pre- and post- coming of the Spirit. However, the Reformed ordo salutis (to which I subscribe) insists regeneration must occur prior to receipt of the Spirit. To state the problem briefly: if the Spirit is required in the work of regeneration and this precedes repentance in the ordo salutis, how did believers come to repentance prior to Christ's ascension when the Spirit was not present in their hearts?

You can read my three previous posts on this issue here, here and here. I last left this discussion having arrived (very tentatively) at the following conclusions: first, and never really in doubt during discussion, salvation was always by faith alone. Second, regeneration was always necessary to counter Total Depravity in both the OT and NT. Third, there appeared to be a distinction between the Spirit 'on' individuals in the OT and the Spirit 'in' believers in the NT (broadly speaking). The mechanics of how this all held together was left unclear.

I was (relatively) OK with this broad position until a recent discussion pointed out 1 Peter 1:10-11: 

Concerning this salvation, the prophets who prophesied about the grace that was to be yours searched and enquired carefully, enquiring what person or time the Spirit of Christ in them was indicating when he predicted the sufferings of Christ and the subsequent glories.

This verse appears to suggest the prophets had the Spirit of Christ indwelling their hearts prior to the coming of the Spirit himself. This sent me back to the issue for a reappraisal. Here are some further (still tentative) thoughts on this topic.

Before I go on, it's important to affirm what I uphold. Principally, I maintain salvation - in both OT and NT - was by faith alone. Similarly, I maintain the Reformed ordo salutis that Total Depravity demands regeneration by the Spirit prior to conversion. However, I want to uphold a legitimate distinction between Christ's going and the Spirit's coming. I also want to maintain a reasonable distinction between Ezekiel's comment (related to a future reality) and the present experience, at the time of writing, of OT believers.

In previous discussions, I posited the idea the Spirit may not necessarily have indwelt OT believers (though they were regenerate). The question follows: is it possible to have regeneration without indwelling? Certainly, the ordo salutis would allow for this. Further, there is no scriptural reason to insist - just because the Holy Spirit indwells believers as a sign and seal of their faith today - that excludes God's work on unbelievers prior to faith. Even in the church age, where we certainly receive the indwelling Holy Spirit, we believe regeneration occurs prior to conversion from which indwelling follows. Indeed, John 16:8-11, Titus 3:5 and James 1:18 would bear this reading out. If such is true, we have good grounds to argue regeneration occurs without indwelling (though receipt of the Spirit follows for believers today). If it is true that regeneration occurs prior to indwelling, this could readily apply to OT regeneration irrespective of their indwelling.

Given that, Jesus words in John 14:16-17 would also bear out this reading:

I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Helper, to be with you for ever, even the Spirit of truth, whom the world cannot receive, because it neither sees him nor knows him. You know him, for he dwells with you and will be in you.

Notice Jesus' construction here. His disciples know the Spirit because he dwells, or abides, with you (present tense) but he will be in you (future tense). As John Hendryx helpfully points out:

This is a future tense of an indwelling. Apparently the saints of the OT enjoyed regeneration but may not have enjoyed indwelling... Regeneration and indwelling are not exactly the same for in regeneration the Spirit works to illumine our minds and renew our hearts prior to our faith in which He comes to indwell us. That pre-salvific action is not called indwelling. "WITH YOU" and "IN YOU" appear to demonstrate qualitative differences.

So, just as the OT believing Jews experienced a type and shadow of things to come, so it may be they were regenerate - that is the Spirit worked on the hearts and minds of OT believers - without indwelling their hearts. Today, the ordo salutis is largely logical (not necessarily sequential). That is, regeneration is logically prior to conversion which is logically prior to indwelling and sanctification though the latter three (broadly) occur simultaneously and end in glorification. For the OT believer, the same logical sequence would be true but regeneration and conversion happen in quick succession, whereas indwelling, sanctification and glorification may all occur later in a much more rapid succession.

There is an argument that OT believers were both regenerate and indwelt by the Spirit. Yet, this quashes any meaningful difference, as outlined in Ezekiel 36 and John 16, pre- and post- the Spirit's coming. It is often argued the difference was between a partial experience of the Spirit and the fullness after his coming, the emphasis falling upon Joel 2:28-29 and the post-Pentecost signs and wonders. However, it can't escape our notice that such things also happened in the OT. Visions and dreams were experienced and miraculous works were done as well. This doesn't really provide us with any quantitative or qualitative difference.

How then do we explain OT believers doing miraculous works and specific tasks? It seems, in the OT, the Spirit came upon people and anointed them selectively and temporarily for particular works (cf. Judges 15:14; 1 Samuel 16:12f; 2 Chronicles 20:14; et al). It is notable that the Spirit of the Lord came upon Saul (1 Samuel 10:10) and yet he is widely regarded to have died in unbelief. As such, the Spirit coming upon an individual did not necessarily indicate their spiritual state. The Spirit thus moved individuals to specific acts without necessarily indwelling. Again, such causes a problem for the view that Pentecost was the dawn of the fullness of the Spirit's coming (these acts of the Spirit were occurring in the OT). 

How then do we explain verses such as Numbers 27:18; Ezekiel 2:2; 3:24; Micah 3:8; Luke 1:15, 41, 67; 1 Peter 1:10f? They are best understood as the Spirit moving these individuals at particular times for particular tasks. So, the prophets who enquired "what person or time the Spirit of Christ in them was indicating" could be read less as a reference to their ongoing, permanent indwelling and more a reference to the empowering of the Spirit at the point they were prophesying. In other words, this is a manifestation of the selective, temporary anointing of the Spirit. It does not speak to permanent indwelling but their anointing by the Spirit as prophets, spokesmen for God, whom the Spirit also anointed to write the canon.

This reading allows us to make a qualitative difference between the pre- and post- coming of the Spirit. It stops us from quashing all meaningful difference in the words of Ezekiel and Jesus. It also allows us to uphold Paul's statements in Romans that the Spirit - the same Spirit who descended on Jesus, anointed him at his baptism and on whom he relied to live out a perfect human life - will empower us to keep God's law in a way OT  believers could/did not. This reading maintains the continuity of Covenant Theology - salvation by faith alone requiring the regeneration of the Spirit of God to overcome our Total Depravity - without flattening any sense of discontinuity from when the Spirit begins to dwell in the hearts of God's people.

How do you sell God in the 21st Century? More Heaven; less Hell

I came across this article in today's Guardian online. The piece recounts a conservative Evangelical journey away from their faith. It outlines the story of somebody growing up in an Evangelical baptist family, going to Moody Bible Institute (a conservative, Evangelical seminary), engaged in evangelism and yet becoming increasingly disaffected with theodicy and theology of Hell. In many ways, it is a common story of an Evangelical unable to square what they see in scripture, the apologetic arguments and theology they are taught and their own internal sense of what is just, fair, moral and right. Though lengthy, the article is certainly worth reading.

Nevertheless, the article's emphasis isn't really autobiographical. The writer isn't ultimately trying to share how they became disaffected with Evangelicalism (though they do share that and do so - in my view - in a way that still exhibits fondness for Evangelicals if not for Evangelicalism nor Evangelical theology.) Rather, the writer is trying to address why the perception of Hell - and certainly the formulation of the doctrine of Hell at a popular level - has changed over time.

The article contends that 30 years ago - whilst the writer was growing up in Evangelical baptist circles - Hell was taught in, what would now be considered, an anachronistic way. It was all fire and brimstone, eternal torment and attempts to scare folk into Heaven. It notes a shift in emphasis, focusing on the preaching and writing of Bill Hybels, toward less of a focus on Hell itself. Certainly when Hell was mentioned, it was brought into focus by empathetic appeals to sin and evil existing in all people. The writer then considers how this has changed again, focusing on the writing of Rob Bell. It argues Hell is now either (a) something to be experienced here on Earth; or, (b) a purgatorial refinement leading to ultimate, universal reconciliation and the end of Hell itself.

The article misses the mark in various respects. Principally, it argues the way to avoid Hell, according to protestant Evangelical theology, is to say the sinner's prayer. It states "For contemporary evangelicals, it’s solely this act that separates the sheep from the goats." Though there are undoubtedly people who hold this view, most at a personal level, it is not mainstream Evangelical belief. 

Paul Washer, a well-known conservative Evangelical couldn't be clearer when he states "We call men to repent and believe. And if they repent and believe, truly in that moment they are saved in that moment. But the evidence is more than just the sincerity of a prayer. It is a continuation of the working of God in their life through sanctification." He has also argued "We have taken that truth [that if you truly believe and you confess Christ, even if it costs you your life, you will be saved]… we have taken that beautiful truth and reduced it down to, “If you pray a little prayer before a bunch of people in a church in America, you can be guaranteed you were saved if you think you were sincere.”"

Denny Burk - Professor of Biblical Studies at Boyce College (Southern Baptist seminary) and associate pastor at Kenwood Baptist Church - has published this comment by David Platt - president of the International Missions Board, the mission agency of the Southern Baptists (a conservative Evangelical denomination). Platt states:

Do I believe it is “wrong” for someone to pray a “prayer of salvation”? Certainly not. Calling out to God in prayer with repentant faith is fundamental to being saved (Romans 10:9-10). Yet as I pastor a local church and serve alongside pastors of other local churches, I sense reasonably serious concern about the relatively large number of baptisms in our churches that are “re-baptisms”—often representing people who thought they were saved because they prayed a certain prayer, but they lacked a biblical understanding of salvation and were in reality not saved. This, in addition to a rampant easy believism that marks cultural Christianity in our context (and in other parts of the world), leads me to urge us, as we go to all people among all nations with the good news of God’s love, to be both evangelistically zealous and biblically clear at the same time (Matthew 28:18-20).

Plenty of other conservative Evangelicals can be found stating categorically that nobody is saved simply because they prayed a "sinner's prayer". Though a prayer of repentance may be an outward expression of the repentance that has already taken place in the heart of a believer, it is this ongoing state of repentance and trust in Christ's atoning work that saves.

However, the article is helpful in pinpointing where the boundaries of belief lie. It quite rightly sees the arguments advanced by Rob Bell as demonstrating "the potential pitfalls of the church’s desire to distance itself too quickly from fire and brimstone." As the writer comments:

Bell claims to address the exact theological problem that motivated me to leave the faith, but rather than offer a new understanding of the doctrine, he offers up a Disneyesque vision of humanity, one that is wholly incompatible with the language biblical authors use to speak about good and evil. Along with hell, the new evangelical leaders threaten to jettison the very notion of human depravity – a fundamental Christian truth upon which the entire salvation narrative hinges.

The issues for the writer were plain enough. The Bible teaches the doctrine of Hell. An internal sense of that which is just and merciful couldn't accept the doctrine of Hell. One either accepts the teaching of the Bible or rejects it. Bell's attempts at "disneyfying" the doctrine seemed too hollow and shallow for credible belief.

What the article helpfully states in the clearest terms is the following:

what made church such a powerful experience for me as a child and a young adult was that it was the one place where my own faults and failings were recognised and accepted, where people referred to themselves affectionately as “sinners”, where it was taken as a given that the person standing in the pews beside you was morally fallible, but still you held hands and lifted your voice with hers as you worshipped in song. This camaraderie came from a collective understanding of evil – a belief that each person harboured within them a potential for sin and deserved, despite it, divine grace. It’s this notion of shared fallibility that lent Hybels’s 9/11 sermon its power, as he suggested that his own longing for revenge was only a difference of degree – not of kind – from the acts of the terrorists.

Without a clear and defined understanding of the doctrine of Hell the message of the gospel is liable to be lost. No amount of rebranding is going to help. For a reformulation of the doctrine of Hell means the gospel, the message of salvation in Christ, ultimately loses its power. No Hell soon leads to a watered down, or non-existent, statement of sin. No sin means no need of salvation. No need of salvation means no need of Christ. No need of Christ makes Jesus a pitiable character indeed.

Efforts to rebrand Hell, or to push it to the sidelines, are misguided at best. That is not to say our preaching must be fire and brimstone every week. Nor is it to say Hell must be the centre of all our gospel presentations. It is to say, that to pretend it doesn't exist or to speak of it in such ways as it seems little more than trifling irritant - like a small wart on God's created order - is to undermine the gospel.

A right view of sin - to see it as God sees it - lends credence to the existence of Hell. To do anything other than present Hell as scripture presents it damages our understanding of sin, salvation and the work of Christ. Whatever else the article made clear, it is apparent that changes to the doctrine of Hell were ultimately unconvincing and - despite the title of the piece - more Heaven and less Hell doesn't do much to win anybody. If anything, it undermines the achievement of Jesus on the cross and the reality of our standing before a holy God.

Something of a conundrum...

An issue cropped up in two separate conversations I had recently. In the first, both I and my fellow interlocutor independently reached the same conclusion on the issue but were both uncertain about the mechanics and the validity of the position. I thought I would share the problem and the tentative solution in the hope some kindly readers would interact with it and share some helpful thoughts. It is very much an honest question with only an attempted answer.

In the reformed view of the ordo salutis, the Spirit regenerates, leading to conversion and justification, and then follows the lifelong work of sanctification which ultimately culminates in our glorification (which can be understood as complete sanctification). Evidently, the work of regeneration which leads to our conversion and justification is a work of the Spirit. Similarly, the ongoing work of sanctification, culminating in our glorification, is also a work of the Spirit.

In Ezekiel 36:24-28, the prophet writes these words:

“I will take you from the nations and gather you from all the countries and bring you into your own land. I will sprinkle clean water on you, and you shall be clean from all your uncleannesses, and from all your idols I will cleanse you. And I will give you a new heart, and a new spirit I will put within you. And I will remove the heart of stone from your flesh and give you a heart of flesh. And I will put my Spirit within you, and cause you to walk in my statutes and be careful to obey my rules. You shall dwell in the land that I gave to your fathers, and you shall be my people, and I will be your God."

Ezekiel is clear there will come a time when God will give his people new hearts and put his Spirit within them. It seems apparent this had yet to happen at the time of writing and, when it did, this would help God's people to walk in his ways.

Similarly, in John 16:4b-7, Jesus says these words:

"I did not say these things to you from the beginning, because I was with you. But now I am going to him who sent me, and none of you asks me, ‘Where are you going?’ But because I have said these things to you, sorrow has filled your heart. Nevertheless, I tell you the truth: it is to your advantage that I go away, for if I do not go away, the Helper will not come to you. But if I go, I will send him to you."

Unless Jesus' is making an arbitrary, or untrue distinction, we must conclude the Spirit [Helper] had not yet come and did not yet dwell in the hearts of believers at the time Jesus was with the apostles. It would appear from Acts 2, the indwelling of the Spirit - as per Jesus' words - followed his ascension.

Jesus teaching in John 3 is clear that one must be born of the Spirit in order to see the kingdom of God. Reiterating this teaching, 1 John 3:24 states "Whoever keeps his [Jesus'] commandments abides in God, and God in him. And by this we know that he abides in us, by the Spirit whom he has given us." John goes on in 4:13 "By this we know that we abide in him and he in us, because he has given us of his Spirit."

The problem is thus: if the reformed ordo salutis is correct, how did believers prior to Christ's ascension come to be regenerate and sanctified if the Spirit, at that time, did not dwell in their hearts?

The dispensationlist has a ready answer to the problem; namely, God works differently across the dispensations. Unfortunately, this view is less tenable than the problem presented to the reformed view. It does not account for the universal nature of Jesus' teaching in John 3 nor John's statements in 1 John. Neither does it account for Abraham's credited righteousness, and the salvation of plethora other characters in the OT, which only ever refer to salvation by faith - belief in a future messiah just as NT believers looked back to a historical messiah.

The tentative answer (to which I am not particularly wedded and of which I am not wholly convinced) seems to lie in the nature of repentance. It is possible God moved individuals to repentance in the OT without dwelling in their hearts. Certainly, our current experience of justification and ongoing sanctification is never complete until our ultimate glorification when we reach Heaven. For OT believers, there could have been a process of justification without the ongoing sanctifying work of the Spirit in their lifetime with sanctification coming simultaneously upon their glorification. Just as there are some further along the road to sanctification than others, but none of us ultimately sanctified until glory, OT believers may have begun and ended their process of sanctification in glory whilst still being justified.

Anyway, thoughts would be appreciated.

Thatcher's funeral and the ultimate democracy

After this, this and this one wondered whether Giles Fraser was ever going to stumble upon something with which I can agree. Just when we may have given up hope, Fraser offers this astute theological observation in today's Guardian:

I have buried some extraordinary wrong 'uns in my time: crooks, murderers, wife-beaters and swindlers. But these funerals were never lies, because unlike a secular send-off, where the past virtues of the deceased necessarily take centre stage, the Christian funeral can leave all that stuff to God. It is not, first and foremost, the celebration of a life or the retelling of achievement. It is an unsentimental acknowledgment that death is the ultimate democracy. It comes to us all – the good and the bad, the rich and the poor, the powerful and the weak. And with death in a Christian context also comes a recognition that we are all subject to the mercy of God for our failings. "However families or states want to dress up and create an occasion, the heart of a funeral is very simple," was how Canon Mark Oakley put it in his sermon last Sunday at St Paul's.

He illustrated the point with reference to the funerals of Habsburg royalty. As the funeral procession approached the closed doors of the Imperial chapel in Vienna, a voice from inside would ask, "who is it?". The grand chamberlain would read out a long list of grand titles. The voice from the church then replied: "We know him not." The chamberlain would try again, with a shortened version, and received the same reply. Finally, the chamberlain knocks on the door. Again comes the question, "who is it?", and this time, eschewing all pomp and ceremony, he answers: "A sinner in need of God's mercy." "Him we know; enter," comes the reply.

Today is the one day that I will not be demonstrating or turning my back. For Thatcher and I share that final description: both of us failed, both in need of forgiveness. Its the ultimate human solidarity. And while I recognise that many find the language of sin and judgment increasingly uncongenial, it is nonetheless for precisely this reason that it is such a theological mistake to use her funeral as an occasion for grand political theatre, inviting comparisons with Winston Churchill. As the Habsburg funerals recognised, none of that makes any difference in the ultimate scheme of things.

Without God, final judgment becomes the domain of the crowd and the newspapers. I once asked the former archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan Williams, what he really wanted to say to Robert Mugabe before his trip to Zimbabwe, back in 2010. The archbishop looked up from his drink, and dropped his voice: "There is no immunity from prosecution when you are dead," he said. And no, this column is not deliberately putting Margaret Thatcher in the company of thieves and dictators to make a political point. I'm putting us all in that company to make a theological one.

Fraser's point is a biblical one. Death is the ultimate leveller from which none of us escape. As the writer to the Hebrews states, "it is appointed for man to die once, and after that comes judgment (9:27, ESV)". Indeed, Peter makes clear that we will all have to stand before a holy God and give account of our lives (see 1 Pet. 4:17f).

Nevertheless, Paul comments:

all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and are justified by his grace as a gift, through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus, whom God put forward as a propitiation by his blood, to be received by faith. This was to show God's righteousness, because in his divine forbearance he had passed over former sins. It was to show his righteousness at the present time, so that he might be just and the justifier of the one who has faith in Jesus (Rom. 3:23-26, ESV)

Fraser is quite correct that we must rely on God's mercy when we stand before Him in the judgment. However, if our reliance on God's mercy is a mere hope we will simply be let off the hook, then we have entirely failed to grasp the nature of God's justice. On the other hand, if we are relying on the redemptive work of Jesus we have good grounds to receive God's mercy. For, in Jesus, God punished the sin of those who receive Christ by faith and there is nothing more to be paid. This meets God's justice whilst simultaneously allowing God to show mercy to the sinner. Thus God is both just - by actually punishing sin in Christ - as well as the justifier, by his grace, of the one who has faith in Jesus.

Therefore the Christian has nothing to fear in death. As the writer to the Hebrews goes on, having spoken of the inevitability of death and judgment, he comments "so Christ, having been offered once to bear the sins of many, will appear a second time, not to deal with sin but to save those who are eagerly waiting for him (Heb. 9:28, ESV)". 

Giles Fraser hates Jesus

Not content with attacking "Evangelical Cheesus", and despising John for being "antisemitic", Giles Fraser has now decided he just hates Jesus. Full stop. To quote the man directly: "I hate Jesus". He comments:

How could Christians not hate Jesus, on some level? Much of his teaching is about the renunciation of desire. And on Good Friday he suffers the most excruciating torture and execution – something he had previously told his followers that they too must be prepared to emulate: "Take up your cross and follow me."

He tries to argue that "Jesus can absorb our hatred and is not destroyed by it. That, in part, is what is going on as he is mocked and spat upon. Mocked by the very same people that once welcomed him with open arms".

Fraser is simply speaking against the fact. Jesus was mocked by those that rejected him. The Roman Soldiers, bar one, ridicule Jesus and the religious leaders - who never followed him and were so envious of his following they sought to destroy him - mocked him alongside. No doubt Fraser is really thinking of the crowd, those that previously followed Jesus from town to town, who now turn on him. However, they rejected Jesus too - he wasn't the messiah they had hoped would save them from the Roman occupation. Indeed, the thief on the cross was saved when he stopped mocking Jesus, treating him with contempt, and accepted who he really was.

Fraser really seems to be saying that he hates Jesus because Jesus demands that he change. Jesus demands he give up sinful desires and turn in repentance to him. In Fraser's own words, he doesn't want to "be crucified". 

As I commented here, Fraser has a real problem when faced with the words of 1 John. 1 John 5:3 says "For this is the love of God, that we keep his commandments. And his commandments are not burdensome". Even Jesus says, in John 14:15, "If you love me, you will keep my commandments". Whilst still representing a problem for Fraser, his words at least accord with 1 John and those of Jesus himself. Fraser's refusal to change, and hatred of Jesus for even asking him to, at least harmonise with the words of scripture. 

The problem Fraser is faced with is the same issue he raises at the beginning of his article:

I hate Jesus. Yes, you read that right. I do. I hate Jesus. Three little words that you may think it absolutely impossible for any Christian to say, especially just before Easter Sunday. Well, I disagree..

I do think such words are impossible for a Christian. Jesus and John both seem to find them impossible for the Christian too. I will let you draw your own conclusion as to what this means for Fraser.

Forgiving the Unrepentant

I have spent the last few days grappling with Mt 18:15-20. The first half of this passage details how we ought to deal with a brother in sin. Jesus appears to say we should try and deal with the issue as privately as possible but, if the brother remains unrepentant, escalate the publicity of the matter - each time with an eye on helping the brother recognise, and repent of, his sin - until it is brought to the attention of the whole church. If repentance is still not forthcoming the individual should be removed from the community of believers.


Given that Matthew places this passage between the parable of the lost sheep and the parable of the unforgiving servant, it seems strange that a clear command to put out the unrepentant brother from the community of believers should be included. It is certainly worth noting how Paul views such a removal in 2 Thes 3:14. He appears to say this is not as a punishment but a corrective measure i.e. the aim is to publicly shame an individual into recognising their sin in the hope that this will lead them to repentance. The theory, so far as I can tell, is to exercise some level of discipline on the individual until there is some repentance.


However, this leads to an interesting question. Is it right for us to forgive an unrepentant person? On first reading, in Mt 18:15-20, the issue is less to do with forgiveness and more to do with encouraging repentance. However, Peter's following question suggests that he saw Jesus' teaching and the nature of forgiveness as closely entwined. It also appears that Jesus' words in 18:15b suggest that forgiveness is involved, 'if he hears you, you have gained your brother', but this seems to follow the repentance rather than representing an automatic response irrespective of whether the individual acknowledges their sin. 


Similarly, when Paul deals with the issue of forgiveness, he says we should be 'forgiving... as God in Christ forgave you (Eph 4:32)'. Now, unless one holds a universalist position, it is apparent that God forgives those who are repentant and does not forgive those who are unrepentant. Given this, and the fact that our model of forgiveness is based on God, does this lead us to conclude that - whilst we should always be ready to forgive and such forgiveness should extend to any sin committed against us - forgiveness only extends to the repentant? Or, to put it another way, is it only possible to forgive those who are repentant?


Of course, Jesus' words in Lk 6:27-38 make it abundantly clear how we are to treat even those who hate us. More to the point, Mt 6:12 and Lk 11:4 suggest our forgiveness should extend to all those who wrong us. More starkly, Jesus goes on in Mt 6:14-15 to state exactly why we should forgive. Nevertheless, the question remains, is Jesus' instruction intended to be indiscriminate and automatic or is it only applied to the repentant?


In truth, I am not sure I have reached any solid conclusion on this issue. In lieu of a solid conclusion, here are three articles outlining different positions. It is fair to say each of them make valid points and have their merits:


'Is forgiveness always right and required?' - Justin Taylor (The Gospel Coalition)

'Forgiving the Unrepentant' - RT Kendall (Christianity Today)

'As we Forgive our Debtors' - John Piper (Desiring God)

Let me know your thoughts by leaving a comment. Should we forgive, and is it even possible to forgive, the unrepentant?