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Faith At The Water’s Edge

The priority, in the order, of faith to all other acts, is illustrated by the following anecdote: “In a beautiful New England village a boy lay very sick, drawing near to death, and very sad. His heart longed for the treasure which was worth more to him now than all the gold of the western mines. One day I sat down by him, took his hand, and looking in his troubled face asked him what made him so sad. ‘Uncle,’ said he, ‘I want to love God. Won’t you tell me how to love God?’ I cannot describe the piteous tones in which he said these words, and the look of anxiety which he gave me. I said to him: ‘My boy, you must trust God first, and then you will love him without trying to at all.’ With a surprised look he exclaimed, ‘What did you say?’ I repeated the exact words again, and I shall never forget how his large, hazel eyes opened on me, and his cheek flushed as he slowly said, ‘Well, I never knew that before. I always thought that I must love God first before I had any right to trust him.’ ‘No, my dear boy,’ I answered, ‘God wants us to trust him; that is what Jesus always asks us to do first of all, and he knows that as soon as we trust him we shall begin to love him. This is the way to love God, put your trust in him first of all.’ Then I spoke to him of the Lord Jesus, and how God sent him that we might believe in him, and how, all through his life, he tried to win the trust of men; how grieved he was when men would not believe in him, and everyone who believed came to love without trying at all. He drank in all the truth, and simply saying, ‘I will trust Jesus now,’ without an effort put his young soul in Christ’s hands that very hour; and so he came into the peace of God which passeth understanding, and lived in it calmly and sweetly to the end.”

(W.G.T. Shedd, Dogmatic Theology, VI.4)

“It was August 1945, and the atomic bomb had just been exploded over Hiroshima. As we commuters boarded our bus, people were shaking their heads and wondering whether this new weapon would destroy the world. A sailor responded quietly, ‘No, the world won’t ever be destroyed by atomic bombs. Jesus won’t let that happen. He’s coming back first.’ As an unbeliever, I was completely silenced by this weapon of unquestioning confidence. It was biblical boldness, grounded on a certainty that came from the Spirit of God, that defeated my unbelief.”

(C. John Miller, Powerful Evangelism for the Powerless, 53)

Anselm to a Dying Brother

In addition to the last words of Bernard of Clairvaux, the advice of Anselm of Canterbury is also a splendidly evangelical gem of truly catholic theology:

There is an exhortation of Anselm to a dying brother, written in the most comforting words: “When a brother seems to be in his death struggle, it is godly and advisable to exercise him through a prelate or other priest with written questions and exhortations. He may be asked in the first place: ‘Brother, are you glad that you will die in the faith?’ Let him answer: ‘Yes.’ ‘Do you confess that you did not live as well as you should have?’ ‘I confess.’ ‘Are you sorry for this?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Are you willing to better yourself if you should have further time to live?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Do you believe that the Lord Jesus Christ, the Son of God, has died for you?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Do you believe that you cannot be saved except through His death?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Do you heartily thank Him for this?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Therefore always give thanks to Him while your soul is in you, and on this death alone place your whole confidence. Commit yourself wholly to this death, with this death cover yourself wholly, and wrap yourself in it completely. And if the Lord should want to judge you, say: “Lord, I place the death of our Lord Jesus between me and Thee and Thy judgment; I will not contend with Thee in any other way.” If He says that you have merited damnation, say: “I place the death of our Lord Jesus between myself and my evil deserts, and the merits of his most worthy passion I bring in place of the merit which I should have had, and, alas, do not have.”‘

“He shall say further: ‘The death of our Lord Jesus Christ I set between me and Thy wrath.’ Then he shall say three times: ‘Into Thy hands, Lord, I commend my spirit.’ And the gathering of those standing about him shall respond: ‘Into Thy hands, Lord, we commend his spirit.’ And he shall die safely and shall not see death eternally.”

Quoted in Martyin Chemnitz, Examination of the Council of Trent I, trans.  Fred Kramer (St. Louis: Concordia Publishing House), 510-11.

The Roman Church since Trent has taught officially that right standing with God comes from a combination of faith and works. Thus Christ’s work becomes enabling rather than efficacious, and salvation contingent upon the works of man: God will do his part, but only if man does his part. How then can Roman Catholics call Jesus ‘Savior,’ when they admit he does not actually save anybody? How can they call themselves ‘catholic,’ when by this teaching they so obviously break with the teachings of their own fathers?

Last Words of Bernard

When I studied medieval church history, my professor read to our class the dying words of Bernard of Clairvaux. A recent conversation provoked me to seek out the exact citation, which my professor graciously provided to me today. I include it here in full:

When [Bernard] appeared to be drawing his last breath, as his mental powers failed, he seemed to be presenting himself before the tribunal of his Lord. But there was also present over against him Satan, assailing him with wicked accusations. But when he had said his say, the man of God also had to speak on his part. Undaunted and unperturbed, he said: “I confess that I am not worthy and that I cannot obtain the kingdom of heaven through my own merits. However, my Lord is obtaining it with a twofold right, namely, through the inheritance of the Father and by the merit of His suffering; with the one He is content, and the other He gives to me; because of this gift, since He vindicates this to me by right, I am not disturbed.” By this word the enemy was routed, etc.

The above citation is from Life of Bernard, ch. 12. Quoted in Martyin Chemnitz, Examination of the Council of Trent I, trans.  Fred Kramer (St. Louis: Concordia Publishing House), 510-11.

“There are many who, like Thomas, are longing for some sensible assurance of the love of Christ, beyond the general declarations of the Bible. They want some inward token that they are born again, some sensible assurance of their acceptance, before they believe and commit their souls wholly to Jesus. They desire to be Christians, but want to know that they have been converted before they trust. This is precisely the error of Thomas. They want the evidence of sense, rather than of faith. They want some inward work in the heart, as a ground of faith, rather than the outward work of Christ, offered in the gospel. Such an assurance will not be given them. Their warrant to believe is in the Word, and to give them any other warrant would be to dishonour that, and to thrust their hands into the Saviour’s side before believing. They must go to Jesus, just as they are, cast themselves on his mercy, and believe that he will do as he has promised, pardon, purify, and save, and then the benediction shall descend upon them, ‘Blessed are they that have not seen and yet have believed.’ They will soon need no other evidence that they have been born again, than the conscious operation of the new life that works within them. They will not so much inquire whether they are spiritually alive, as they will not think of doubting it. In the gradual unfolding of every filial affection, and the instinctive exercise of every filial feeling, the Spirit will witness with their spirits that they are the sons of God.”

(T.V. Moore, The Last Days of Jesus (Edinburgh: Banner of Truth, 1981), 86-87)

“From Jesus’ statements I make an inference and form a corollary: the whole Old Tsetament bears witness to Christ; and, the Old Testament does not bear witness only to Christ. Why this corollary? Because I agree with making an extensive inference from Luke 24:27 and 44 but hold than an intensive inference is illegitimate. What on earth does that mean? It means I think Jesus is teaching that all parts of the Old Testament testify of the Messiah in his suffering and glory, but I do not think Jesus is saying that every Old Testament passage/text bears witness to him.”

(Dale Ralph Davis, The Word Became Fresh, 134-135)

No One So Disturbing

“Hence, for my money, here is the premier presupposition that should undergird all our biblical interpretation: God has given his word as a revelation of himself; if then I use his word rightly, I will long to see him, and he will be the focus of my study. And so we must read Old Testament narrative with a theocentric focus. In all our reading we should keep our eye on God - what he is revealing about himself and how he is working. We should feast our eyes on the triune God. Some may immediately object: Don’t we need to start at the other end? Don’t we need to begin with the needs of people? Shouldn’t we be ‘existential’ before we get ‘theological’? Must we not ensure that our biblical study is relevant? I don’t even care to argue. I will only assert: if you keep your eye on God you will address the needs of (his) people. It happens in the process. And my way is far more interesting, because there is no one so disturbing, so surprising, so steadying, so fascinating as the God of the Bible. So if I had one piece of hermeneutical advice to give it is: keep your focus on God if you want your biblical interpretation to be accurate, interesting, nourishing, and relevant.”

(Dale Ralph Davis, The Word Became Fresh, 121-122)

The Reformations Conflict With Rome (cover)

One may infer the thesis of Robert Reymond’s The Reformation’s Conflict with Rome: Why It Must Continue! from its title. The conflict between the Reformation and Rome was, and continues to be, both real and necessary for the sake of the gospel. Reymond writes specifically for two purposes, to two different audiences.

Firstly, he writes in response to a call from the late John Paul II for Christians to unite around certain “absolute truths.” These “truths” include things such as the indispensability of Roman Catholic Tradition to the interpretation of Scripture, as well as Roman Catholic teaching that Mary is the mediatrix of salvation. Reymond is especially concerned to examine such notions in light of the central conflict of the Reformation: the Protestant doctrine of justification by faith alone. In this he warns Roman Catholics: “if I am right, you will suffer the loss of your soul if your trust is divided… between Christ and anyone (Mary) or anything (the church and/or your works) else. So please, read on… carefully, thoughtfully, and attentively” (9).

Secondarily, Reymond writes to address confusion that may exist in Protestant circles. For example, in the May 1994 issue of Tabletalk, noted Reformed theologian John Gerstner contributed an article entitled, “Aquinas Was a Protestant.” Reymond asserts strongly that such sentiment is wrong, both doctrinally and historically (cf. his extensive footnote, 82-84). He warns his Protestant readers: “Just because you claim to be ‘Protestants’ is no guarantee in itself that you are genuine Christian with your sins forgiven or that you are on your way to heaven. So you too should read – carefully, thoughtfully, and attentively” (9).

The monograph begins with a brief review that exists between the Roman Catholic and Protestant teachings on justification. Reymond’s explanation is both clear and helpful, and he draws from primary sources on both sides. He articulates Roman Catholic teaching with extensive quotations from the Canons of the Council of Trent. Following this, he shows that the Tridentine understanding is still propagated today by quoting from the 1994 Catechism of the Catholic Church. On the Protestant side, Reymond presents the classic Reformation understanding of the teaching of Scripture – drawing heavily from the Pauline epistles. He notes from Luther and Calvin that this doctrine of justification is the “article of the standing or falling of the church” and the “keenest subject of controversy” between Roman Catholics and Protestants (18-19). There is really nothing new in this section, yet it serves as a good foundation for what follows.

Having marked the rims of the great gulf fixed between Rome and the Reformation on justification, the rest of Reymond’s monograph examines the long-standing conflict under four heads. The first two examine Roman Catholic teaching on authority and justification. Following this, the third section surveys modern attempts at rapprochement. Finally, Reymond concludes with an extensive treatment of the radical disjunctions that remain – emphasizing the difference between the ‘alone’ of the Reformation and the ‘and’ of Rome on a number of key issues.

Reymond examines Rome’s teaching on authority in two movements. Firstly, he considers the Roman Catholic view of Scripture and Tradition. Once it is clear what Rome believes on the relation between these, he goes on to examine that institution which Rome alleges to be the defender and interpreter of both – namely, the papacy. The claims of the papacy are called into the dock to face detailed scrutiny from Scripture, tradition, and church history.

The discussion of Rome’s view on Scripture and Tradition is helpful, but somewhat off-balance. Reymond’s point is that “historic Protestantism and Roman Catholicism do not share the same Bible, either extensively as to the number of books or intensively as to the nature of Holy Scripture itself,” (29). This is a fine summary; unfortunately, Reymond spends eight pages exploring the former while less than three articulating the latter! Nevertheless, this section contains much that is helpful. His in-depth discussion of the Aprocrypha’s troubled canonical history is most informative. Moreover, he quite clearly articulates the danger of forging a “dual authority” from Scripture and Tradition. In such an arrangement, “the Scriptures cannot (and in fact do not) really govern the content of Tradition… given Rome’s view of itself as a living organism in its capacity as ‘the depository of Tradition,’ there can never be a codification of or limitation placed upon the content of this Tradition, not even by Scripture,” (30). Thus “the church is left vulnerable to every kind of innovation,” (31).

One of the most fascinating sections of Reymond’s work is his examination of the papacy. He will concede that Peter may have been “first among equals,” yet he challenges Rome to demonstrate that Peter ever held “primacy of power,” (33). Rome cites Matthew 16:18; yet can it demonstrate exegetically that “this rock” refers personally to Peter and exclusively to Peter – that is, not to the other apostles as well as Peter? Can it demonstrate from Scripture that Peter’s apostolic authority “was transmissible to his ‘papal successors’ and was in fact transmitted to his successors,” (35)? Both tradition and Scripture stand against such claims: Irenaeus and Eusebius of Caesarea identified Linus, not Peter, as Rome’s first bishop. Moreover, if Peter were bishop of Rome, why is it that Paul never mentions him in his epistles to or from that city? Reymond goes on to list twenty-two(!) questions which papal advocates ought to be able to answer. Two of these are most incisive. Firstly: if Christ made Peter his vicar in Matthew 16, why do subsequent passages (Matthew 18:1, 20:20-28) find the apostles bickering as to who is greatest? Why did Christ not set them straight? Moreover, it is demonstrable, from a report prepared for the First Vatican Council in 1870, that Petrine supremacy was favored only by about twenty percent of ancient church writers. As Reymond asks, “Where is Rome’s allegiance to this ancient majority church tradition,” (45)? Secondly, regarding Rome’s claim to papal infallibility: how is dogmatizing one’s authority to dogmatize anything more than a textbook example of question-begging? Reymond closes this section by noting how historical events such as the Great Schism and the Councils of Constance and Basel place two large question marks over the papacy – the first over its claim to supremacy over councils, and the second over its claim to legitimate apostolic succession.

Reymond’s discussion of Rome’s teaching on justification is as potent as it is concise. Eclectically quoting from a wide range of church historians (including several whom even Reymond would not place squarely in the “orthodox Reformed Protestant” category), he ably demonstrates that the root of error in the Roman view on justification came from “the early introduction into the Church of… the sacramentarian principle,” (70). If regeneration and remission of original sin comes mechanistically via baptism, it is but a natural consequence to change the meaning of justification “to mean, not, as in Pauline usage, the absolving of a sinner from guilt, and declaring him to be righteous in God’s sight, on the ground of what Christ has done for him, but peculiarly the making of the sinner righteous by the infusing into him a new nature,” (70). As a result, “by the early second century it is clear that Christians had come to think of themselves as being justified through being sanctified, accepted as righteous according to their actual obedience to the new Law of Christ,” (72). “In the Apostolic Fathers grace did not have radical character…. and it is the primary reason for the degeneration of their Christian faith into something so different from the New Testament,” (73-74). Augustine’s strong teachings on grace and predestination were gradually sanded down, and eventually forgotten. By the late Middle Ages, Rome was teaching that salvation came through the sacraments to such as try their best: “God will not deny his grace to those who do what lies within their power,” (77). Reymond is not treading any new ground in this discussion. What makes it valuable is the way in which he clearly traces the danger of sacerdotalism from seed to fruit.

In the third section of his monograph, Reymond discusses the failure of modern efforts at rapprochement between Protestants and Roman Catholics. The point of this brief survey is simple: warm fuzzies notwithstanding, nothing has really changed. At best, both sides have agreed to “postmodern usage of theological terminology by which terms are used in such a way that both parties can read their respective positions into them,” (94). But at what cost to Protestantism? “The word ‘alone’ after the word ‘faith’ in the [“Evangelicals and Catholics Together” statement] proposition on justification is thundering by its absence,” (86-87).

The final section compares the solas of the Reformation with the ets of Rome. The Reformation understood Christ’s sacrifice to be the conclusive, final, and singular event in the accomplishment of redemption. “Unbloody” nuance notwithstanding, the fact remains that Rome would re-sacrifice Christ every single time it celebrates the mass. The Reformation understood that “the only way to have and to retain the solus Christus of salvation is to insist upon the sola fide of justification,” (87). Sadly, Rome denies this and deifies Mary as their co-redemptrix: “Do Roman Catholics not understand that to believe that Mary can hear the prayers of the millions of Catholic faithful who are praying to her at any one time in the myriad languages of the world … is to ascribe the divine attributes of omniscience to her? Do they not understand that they have deified her,” (106-107)? Rome teaches that “faith in Christ and faith in the Church are one act of faith” (110), yet “never does the New Testament church… self-reflectively represent itself in these roles as the object of saving faith,” (112). The same sort of dichotomy exists in the locus of eschatology: purgatory not only denies the sufficiency of Christ’s merits, but flatters fallen men by telling them they will engage in partial self-atonement after death. In sum, “Romanism in perfection is a gigantic system of Church-worship, Sacrament-worship, Mary-worship, saint-worship, image-worship, relic-worship, and priest-worship… it is, in one word, a huge organized idolatry,” (124).

So far from triumphalism, I cannot help but mourn as I come to the end of Reymond’s monograph. Reymond’s discussion is at every point clear, at many points informative, and at several points most insightful. Yet in the end, it is a damning indictment of Roman Catholicism – and makes me most keenly sad for the millions who strive so hard, yet in vain, to “do enough” to be saved. In pointing out this perilous state of every child of the Roman Catholic Church, Reymond has impressed two things upon me. Firstly, I ought to be more grateful for the grace of God which has saved me through faith alone in Christ alone. “But for the grace of God, there go I.” Secondly, I need to have more of a heart for ministry to the lost children of Rome: like those of whom Paul wrote, Roman Catholics have a zeal for God – but not according to knowledge.

Christ’s Mess

There is a real trouble with celebrating Christmas, but it is not the sort of thing you might expect. The trouble with Christmas is not that society says you have to keep religion to yourself (a statement usually made with a religious conviction all its own). Nor is the trouble with Christmas the fact that it has become so rabidly commercialized by secular culture. (Really, what did we expect?) Nor again is the trouble with Christmas the fact that we have to put up with so many hours of insipid music on the radio or movies on the television (though some of them may make you want to shoot your eye out). Nor, lastly, is the trouble with celebrating Christmas the fact that the Bible does not tell us to celebrate it.

The trouble with celebrating Christmas is that this world is a mess. Christ was born into a mess, and two thousand years later things seem to have only become worse – or at least, they haven’t seemed to improve much. Behind all the light-bedecked doors and beneath all the snow-covered roofs, people are still hurting. Some fathers in this world – maybe even in this city – cannot afford to feed their children properly, let alone buy them presents. Some mothers and children have lost husbands and fathers this year. Other families remain wholly alive physically, while living emotionally or spiritually apart – members doing their best to act dismembered. Still others walk alone, without family or friends with whom to celebrate – and to these, even God (if they know him) can seem awfully distant on a cold December night. In short, man’s inhumanity to man is still “dashing through the snow,” making you wonder – what exactly are we celebrating? For whom do the “jingle bells” toll, exactly?

Is celebrating Christmas all just a charade – a collective game being played to cover tears with tinsel? Is it simply an attempt to distract ourselves from death and sin with “brown paper packages tied up with string?” Or is there yet a reason – something real, something true to celebrate – even amidst the ruins?

The trouble with celebrating Christmas is that this world is still as messy as the night Christ was born. Yet the reason to celebrate Christmas is that this is not the end of the story. After thirty years of wading through this mess, Christ died a messy death. And here is where things get exciting: by his messy death, Christ owned this mess. All of this belongs to him now, and he is no derelict landlord. “Behold, I am making all things new.” From the moment he walked out of his tomb, Jesus has been taking ownership. He is working through his Word and Spirit even tonight – cleansing souls and reclaiming communities – and someday he will return in force to finish the job. This is what makes Christmas worth celebrating. This is why we sing, “O Come, O Come Emmanuel.” The world is still a mess, yes – but the world is now Christ’s mess.

We Have Been Cleansed - Really

“In a certain sense, the first three sacrifices [in Leviticus] are God-directed; they are propitiatory. The last two - the sin and the guilt offering - are sinner-directed. They’re expiatory; they cleanse away the accumulated guilt from the sinner, and it points us to the fact - as John says - the blood of Jesus Christ cleanses us from all sin. It not only placates the anger of God, but it cleanses us. And so anybody who is in Christ who has committed a sin and has confessed that sin has no reason to feel guilty about that sin. He has been cleansed. And that’s the good news. Part of the good news of the gospel is that if the sin’s been confessed, it’s been taken care of, and we no longer have the right (if you will) to beat ourselves up with it. And Satan no longer has the right to beat us up with it, because it has been washed away. God’s anger has been placated, and we have been cleansed.”

(Dr. Benjamin Shaw, “Sacrifices and Festivals in the Old Testament,” Christ the Center podcast, November 6, 2009. Available at http://reformedforum.org/ctc95/.)

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