Note 22 April 2008: What follows is very rough draft of the beginning of a commentary on the HC. It is drawn from writing I've been doing at the Heidelblog. © 2008 R. Scott Clark. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, re-published or distributed without the express permission of the author.

Introduction

It is the great need of the confessional Reformed community, i.e., the "sideline" denominations and federations in the North American Presbyterian and Reformed Council (NAPARC) and the "borderline" denominations (e.g. the Evangelical Presbyterian Church or the Christian Reformed Churches) those moving either toward the confessions or moving away from the Reformed confessions, recover the Reformed confession.

.The verb "to recover" signals that something has been lost and needs to be sought and found. That something has been lost seems fairly evident. The list of what has been lost and the list and explanation of the reasons why they have been lost would make the first half of a compelling book (hmm, somebody should write that book; hey, hold on, someone is!). We have lost important elements of Reformed theology (e.g., the Creator/creature distinction), piety (e.g., the preaching of the gospel and sacraments as the objective means of grace), and practice (e.g., the regulative principle of worship). The two chief reasons for these losses are the Quest for Illegitimate Religious Certainty (QIRC) and the Quest for Illegitimate Religious Experience (QIRE). The alternative to these quests is confessional Reformed theology, piety, and practice.

Toward their recovery let us take our catechism to hand and begin working through it step by step.

What is a Catechism?

A catechism is a book of question and answers. It was an ancient way of teaching and remains an effective way of teaching today since, however much the world changes around us, people are still still people. We still have to eat, sleep, and learn and those things don't change fundamentally.

The Heidelberg Catechism was published in three editions with the third and final edition appearing in 1563. It was commissioned by Frederich III upon becoming the elector (governor) of the Palatinate in what we now know as Germany. Heidelberg was the capital city of the Palatinate (political district in the Holy Roman Empire). When he became elector, Frederick inherited a religiously confused situation. Not many years before, of course, everyone had been Roman Catholic. Then, under his predecessor, Otto Heinrich, the Lutheran Reformation had been introduced. Friederich, however, was not a Lutheran but Reformed. So the people were going to change religions for the third time in just a few years. Of course this all sounds strange to us, but it was the 16th century and under the terms of the Peace of Augsburg (1555) the ruler's religion was the peoples' religion (cuius regio, eius religio, whose the rule, his the religion). It's a long story but this arrangement was known generally as Christendom and it was widely assumed in Europe that there must be a state church and that there could be only one church in a country or political district. In the pre-modern world, one did not assume the right to choose one's religion any more than one assumed the right to choose one's ruler.

Thus, Frederick gathered in Heidelberg a group of scholars and pastors to implement a Reformed Reformation. The two best known of this group were Zacharias Ursinus (1534-83) and Caspar Olevianus (1536-87). These two men were the principal authors of the Heidelberg Catechism, though it was edited by a committee. Frederick did not want it known who wrote the catechism. As a result we don't know exactly who wrote which questions in every case. A great deal of research has been done to try to sort out the "source-criticism" of the catechism. It seems likely that Ursinus wrote most of the catechism and Olevianus wrote less. They certainly drew from a number of existing Protestant catechisms including Luther's small catechism, Calvin's catechisms, and many others.

What is Your Only Comfort? The Relevance of the Catechism

The Heidelberg Catechism was intended to explain the Reformed faith to those who were unsure of what Reformed people believed and how the Reformed faith related to what they had learned before, Romanism and a version of Lutheranism.

Like the Heidelbergers in the 16th century, we live in a religiously confused time. Though the faith is not being imposed on us from above, nevertheless, like the Heidelbergers, we are not entirely sure what we believe and why. That much is evident by the bewildering array of "evangelical" options (open theism, closed theism, inerrancy, limited inerrancy, traditional church, emerging churches etc. ad infinitum). Not only were the Heidelbergers confused but they faced the same temptations we do, to confuse the law ("do this and live") with the gospel ("Christ has done for sinners"). They were tempted to present themselves to God partly on the basis of grace and partly on the basis and/or through (does it really matter which?) their cooperation with grace. Like us, they struggled with assurance ("have I done enough? Does God really approve of me?"). Like us, they wondered how they ought to live? Remember, when they lived, it was the "modern" world! People said, "It's the 16th century! We know better than to think that...(fill in the blank)." Though they lived in different times we have much in common with them.

Like the 16th-century Heidelbergers, we too need to learn and re-learn some basic truths. That there is one comfort for Christians and there is one way to obtain that comfort and without it, well, let's just say that this life is hard enough and the next life will be hell.

Recently I saw video footage of some pre-historic beast that, until recently, no one knew existed. Relative to the great ocean of contemporary evangelical options in theology, piety, and practice, the catechism is like that pre-historic beast. It just continues to exist, to swim, to be what it has always been.

That is not to say that the catechism is irrelevant, far from it! If relevance is defined by truth, need, and felicity of expression, then the catechism is more relevant now than ever before. It has been a long time since Christian folk were so confused about theology, piety, and practice. In our time, Reformed folk have probably drifted farther from their moorings than at any time since the 16th century. Many congregants can recite the words to a seeming endless list of repetitive "Scripture" choruses, they can tell you about Joel Osteen's latest message, but they couldn't tell the rudiments of the doctrine of the Trinity or the doctrine of justification or the nature of the Lord's Supper if they were waterboarded.

So, once more into the breach comes the pre-historic catechism starting with the absolute basics of the Christian life a working gradually through the Biblical faith from A to Z -- and when you're learning a new language, starting with the first letter of the alphabet is a the way to go.

The alphabet of the catechism begins with comfort (Trost), but not quite in the way we're used to using the word. It doesn't signify "comfort" as in "comfort foods," something that makes me feel better (but may or may not be of any real help). The Latin translation of the catechism asks, "What is your only consolation in life and in death?"

What is the bedrock truth that you know with heart and mind to be true, that will sustain you when everything else you know in this life goes south? "That I, with body and soul, both in life and in death, am not my own, but belong to my faithful Savior Jesus Christ." This is a comfort, a certainty, a consolation, a hope, a confidence in which one can and must rest because, as long Jesus delays his return, there isn't a mortal alive who isn't resting in something, and will not need some comfort.

It's possible for one's comfort, hope, and consolation to be true! When it comes to the end, when one's skin goes cold and life ebbs away, you will want not just any comfort, but THE comfort. You will not want Joel Osteen by your bedside, you won't want "Shine, Jesus, Shine" but you will want someone singing Ps 77, you will want Ursinus or Olevianus, as it were, with you. You want someone who isn't promising you pie in the sky now but someone who always told you the truth, even it when it was unpleasant. Then you will believe when he tells you this truth: Every mortal who trusts in Christ knows with head, and heart, and his whole soul, that as he lives this life and leaves it, he does so in the arms of the one who loved us and gave himself for us. That's your best life now.

Americans know in their heart of hearts they're going to die but they don't like to admit it. It's a mark of our post-Christianity that this culture is so obsessed with youth and beauty. Most folk don't die at home anymore. Many folk have never seen a dead person. We go away to antiseptic hospital rooms to die and are boxed up and delivered to the funeral home and, in many cases, (even the "open casket" seems to be disappearing) never seen again.

It wasn't so in the 16th century. Death as a routine part of life. Life expectancy was rather shorter than it is today. One of the things that tipped me to this fact was a 16th-century sketch of Olevianus as an old man, except at the time of the sketch he wasn't "old." He was 30 years old.

You know, of course, about the "Black Death," which swept through Europe in the middle ages killing as many as 1/3 of the population. Death was a frequent visitor in everyone's house. So, for the catechism to ask about our comfort in "in life and in death," was a good and necessary question then and it remains so now. No matter how much we exercise (and that's a good thing), diet, and preen, should Jesus delay his return, we're going to die. It's hard enough when friends and loved ones disappoint us, but eventually even our body will disappoint us. When all else fails, on what will you depend? On your good works? Be honest, you know that all of your works are tainted. Never in your life have your motives been completely pure about anything. If in the greatest act of self-denial in your life you hoped secretly that someone would notice. Your obedience isn't perfect so it's not trustworthy. If your obedience isn't perfect then your sanctity isn't perfect, so you can't trust it. Your friends aren't perfect. You can't work forever. Your employer or employees or your business partner will let you down when you need them most. Your spouse will disappoint you. Your best friends will fail you.

On what or whom can you trust?

That I, with body and soul, both in life and in death, am not my own, but belong to my faithful Savior Jesus Christ, who with His precious blood has fully satisfied for all my sins, and redeemed me from all the power of the devil; and so preserves me that without the will of my Father in heaven not a hair can fall from my head; indeed, that all things must work together for my salvation. Wherefore, by His Holy Spirit, He also assures me of eternal life, and makes me heartily willing and ready from now on to live unto Him.

Only Jesus never let anyone down. Only Jesus is a faithful Savior. Lot's of people and things promise help, but, at some point they all become liars. Jesus never did. He told his disciples why he came up to Jerusalem. He told them what was going to happen and why. They tried to talk him out of it and even started a gang fight, but Jesus would not be stopped. He knew what had to be done and he did it --every day of his life. God's justice is relentless and had to be satisfied (just ask the folk of Noah's generation!) and Jesus did it. Jesus knew that without his life and death we would always be in the power of death. Because he was faithful, however, we, for whom Jesus has earned the ground of our comfort and and to whom the Spirit has given faith, are free from the tyranny of death.

Whatever the advertisers tell you -- unless Jesus returns first -- you are going to die. If, however, you trust in Jesus it's just a temporary thing. Death can't hold you because it couldn't hold him and you are united to him and the power of his life by faith and by the same Spirit who raised him. As surely as Jesus lives, so will you.

The Structure of the Catechism

The Heidelberg Catechism, building on the breakthrough of the first stage of the Reformation, is organized in three parts. Remarkably, as basic an insight as this is, it continues to elude nearly all evangelicals and many ostensibly Reformed folk. This should not surprise us because even when the catechism first appeared there was some confusion about how to interpret it. Zacharias Ursinus, whom Frederick III authorized to explain and defend the catechism, mentions some of the alternatives and then proceeds to explain that the catechism is in three parts: Law, Gospel, and Sanctification. He said:

The chief and most important parts of the first principles of the doctrine of the church, as appears from the passage just quoted from the Epistle to the Hebrews, are repentance and faith in Christ, which we may regard as synonymous with the law and gospel. Hence, the catechism in its primary and most general sense, may be divided as the doctrine of the church, into the law and gospel. It does not differ from the doctrine of the church as it respects the subject and matter of which it treats, but only in the form and manner in which these things are presented, just as strong meat designed for adults, to which the doctrine of the church may be compared, does not differ in essence from the milk and meat prepared for children, to which the catechism is compared by Paul in the passage already referred to. These two parts are termed, by the great mass of men, the Decalogue and the Apostles' creed; because the Decalogue comprehends the substance of the law, and the Apostles' creed that of the gospel. Another distinction made by this same class of persons is that of the doctrine of faith and works, or the doctrine of those things which are to be believed and those which are to be done.

There are others who divide the catechism into these three parts; considering, in the first place, the doctrine respecting God, then the doctrine respecting his will, and lastly that respecting his works, which they distinguish as the works of creation, preservation, and redemption. But all these different parts are treated of either in the law or the gospel, or in both, so that this division may easily be reduced to the former.

There are others, again, who make the catechism consist of five different parts; the Decalogue, the Apostles' Creed, Baptism, the Lord's Supper, and Prayer; of which, the Decalogue was delivered immediately by God himself, whilst the other parts were delivered mediately, either through the manifestation of the Son of God in the flesh, as is true of the Lord's Prayer, Baptism, and the Eucharist, or through the ministry of the apostles, as is true of the Apostles' Creed. But all these different parts may also be reduced to the two general heads noticed in the first division. The Decalogue contains the substance of the law, the Apostles' Creed that of the gospel; the sacraments are parts of the gospel, and may, therefore, be embraced in it as far as they are seals of the grace which it promises, but as far as they are testimonies of our obedience to God, they have the nature of sacrifices and pertain to the law, whilst prayer, in like manner, may be referred to the law, being a part of the worship of God.

The catechism of which we shall speak in these lectures consists of three parts. The first treats of the misery of man, the second of his deliverance from this misery, and the third of gratitude, which division does not, in reality, differ from the above, because all the parts which are there specified are embraced in these three general heads. The Decalogue belongs to the first part, in as far as it is the mirror through which we are brought to see ourselves, and thus led to a knowledge of our sins and misery, and to the third part in as far as it is the rule of true thankfulness and of a Christian life. The Apostles' Creed is embraced in the second part inasmuch as it unfolds the way of deliverance from sins. The sacraments, belonging to the doctrine of faith and being the seals that are attached thereto, belong in like manner to this second part of the catechism, which treats of deliverance from the misery of man. And prayer, being the chief part of spiritual worship and of thankfulness, may, with great propriety, be referred to the third general part.

If you've been around churches that use the catechism you might have head these parts expressed as "guilt, grace, and gratitude," or "sin, salvation, service." Those are all right, because they all say the same thing, though law, gospel, and sanctification gets to a basic Reformation truth that is widely misunderstood, denied, or confused: the distinction between law and gospel and the relations between those two categories and sanctification.

By this distinction, the confessional Protestants (e.g., Luther, Bucer, Calvin and the authors of the catechism) meant to reject the old patristic, medieval, and Roman doctrine that the Bible contains two kinds of law, old and new, and that under the new law (wherein Jesus is the "New Moses") there is more grace to keep the law. They meant to say instead that the Bible contains two kinds of speaking, "law" (do this and live) and "gospel" (Christ has done or shall do for you). These two ways of speaking are found throughout the history of redemption, throughout God's Word.

This distinction was essential to the Reformation. It was the foundation for the doctrine of justification sola gratia, sola fide. The Reformation read the apostle Paul to be teaching just this distinction in the book of Romans. Indeed, the catechism itself is patterned on the book of Romans which is in three parts: law, gospel, and sanctification (the Christian life).

The pattern of the catechism is revealed quite clearly in the second question of the catechism:

Q2: How many things are necessary for you to know, that in this comfort you may live and die happily?

Three things: First, the greatness of my sin and misery. Second, how I am redeemed from all my sins and misery. Third, how I am to be thankful to God for such redemption.

The question asks for a number in order to answer the question. The answer is: three (not two - no this isn't a Monty Python sketch! Some folks have tried to re-organize the Reformed as "grace and obligation." Such a move is incompatible with the Heidelberg Catechism). There are three things that the Christian must know, 1) the greatness of his sin and misery; 2) how he is redeemed from the same; 3) how he is to be thankful to God for his redemption.

The third question makes this "law/gospel" reading of the catechism perfectly plain: "From where do you know your misery? A: Out of the law of God." It is not the gospel that teaches us our sins, it is the law. This is exactly what the confessional Protestants before and after the authors of the Heidelberg Catechism taught. This is what we have come to know as the "first" use or the pedagogical use of the law. In this use the law ("do this and live") acts like a school teacher (as they used to act in the ancient world) and beats us and demands perfection. There is nothing wrong with the law. As we shall see, the problem lies with us. This relentless and holy and righteous demand for perfection is an instrument in the hands, as it were, of the Holy Spirit who uses it to drive his elect to see themselves as they really are, outside of Christ: under condemnation and unable to fulfill the law's demand.

The catechism doesn't turn formally to the gospel per se until Q.19, but the gospel section of the catechism begins in Q. 12 and continues through Q. 85. This is important, because some of the revisionists (covenantal nomists/moralists) write and speak as if Q. 86 was a summary of the gospel. It isn't. The gospel section ends with Q. 85. This distinction is important so that we do not slip back into the medieval/Roman/Socinian/Arminian confusion of law and gospel and of justification and sanctification.

According to the catechism (Q. 19) the gospel has been revealed throughout the history of salvation. The gospel is that Christ, as the righteous and holy One, has merited righteousness for his people, he has paid the penalty incurred by their sin, has suffered actively all his life in the place of all his people, died a horrible death for all his people, and has been raised for all his people. The good news is that all that the law requires for perfect righteousness has been accomplished and we benefit from it only be trusting, resting, and receiving Christ and his finished work for us as our own.

The catechism, however, does not stop there. From Q. 86 through 129, the catechism deals with the Christian life, with our new life in Christ, with dying to sin and living to Christ, the dying of the old man and the making alive of the new. The catechism is explicit, as we shall see, that we do not live this new life apart from grace, but in grace, and through faith. We do not live the new life in order to earn God's approval or in a state of probation or under the law's judgment. Rather, we live the new life in Christ, in grace, out of gratitude to Christ for his grace to sinners and his obedience for them, even unto the cross. We live the Christian life according to God's revealed, moral will. Reformed folk call this the "third use" of the law, whereby the law serves as the norm of the Christian life. We cannot present ourselves to God either in part or in whole as law-keepers. To attempt that is legalism of the first order. The law doesn't sanctify or justify or save us, but that doesn't mean that we may dispense with it. Those who would do that are rightly called "antinomian."

The catechism follows the pattern of Romans very closely. Having been redeemed, we belong to Christ and we want to do his will, not to be just but because we are just in Christ and we are his grateful people.

Just as we are theologically confused in our time so we are morally confused. The catechism offers a brilliant exposition of God's law as the norm for our new life. As we meditate on the catechism may God renew our moral vision as the redeemed of the Lord. "...has fully satisfied for all my sins..."

In order to understand our confession we need to know a little about the history of the medieval church before the Reformation. Rome taught (and teaches) that Christ died to make salvation possible (by the way, does this sound familiar? Don't lots of evangelicals speak just this way about salvation?) The Reformed way of speaking about salvation is to say that Jesus accomplished salvation for us and applies it to us by his Spirit. According to Rome, however, Jesus' death makes it possible and the Spirit begins the process of sanctification and eventual justification in baptism. In the Roman scheme, our duty is to cooperate with grace toward eventual, final justification. When we sin, according to Rome, we are obligated to do penance. The Roman Catechism, para. 1468 says:

"The whole power of the sacrament of Penance consists in restoring us to God's grace and joining us with him in an intimate friendship." Reconciliation with God is thus the purpose and effect of this sacrament. For those who receive the sacrament of Penance with contrite heart and religious disposition, reconciliation "is usually followed by peace and serenity of conscience with strong spiritual consolation." Indeed the sacrament of Reconciliation with God brings about a true "spiritual resurrection," restoration of the dignity and blessings of the life of the children of God, of which the most precious is friendship with God.

Rome recognizes that few are capable of doing penance perfectly. The next section of the catechism then turns to the very same doctrine that began to stir the beginnings of the Reformation: indulgences, an instrument instituted by Rome to remove "temporal" (this life and purgatory, para 1478) punishments. To obtain an indulgence, one must draw from the "treasury of merit." One may obtains an indulgence e.g., by traveling to Rome in a jubilee year. Catechism para. 1476 says:

We also call these spiritual goods of the communion of saints the Church's treasury, which is "not the sum total of the material goods which have accumulated during the course of the centuries. On the contrary the 'treasury of the Church' is the infinite value, which can never be exhausted, which Christ's merits have before God. They were offered so that the whole of mankind could be set free from sin and attain communion with the Father. In Christ, the Redeemer himself, the satisfactions and merits of his Redemption exist and find their effficacy

Christ's merits (and those of the saints, para. 1477) compose a treasury from which one draws and in which one participates by trusting and obeying (cooperating with grace, i.e., fulfilling assigned acts of penance). This is an anticipation of the final judgment (para 1470). Christ is said to have satisfied, but it's always conditional. He's has satisfied "if I..." Acts of penance have the virtue (power) of reconciling us with God, ourselves, and others. Not so in the Heidelberg Catechism. According to the Protestant view, Jesus has propitiated God's wrath and expiated our sins. He has satisfied for "all my sins." He has reconciled God to me and all believers. Rome says, "It is begun." Jesus says: "It is finished." He has redeemed me from all the power of the devil. It isn't just "underway." It's done. God is not propitiated, he is not reconciled, and I am not redeemed in any way by anything the Spirit does within me or anything I do in cooperation with grace. It's done for me. The only "condition," (instrument really) is this: "if only I accept such benefit with a believing heart" (HC 60). The whole Reformation can be said to have turned on the difference between two prepositions. When it comes to being right before God the Roman preposition is "in" and the Protestant preposition is "for." Thank God for that little preposition "for!"

"...and so preserves me...."

One of the doctrines that distinguishes the Reformed faith from its competitors (e.g., Lutheranism, Rome) and its derivatives (e.g., Arminianism, Federal Visionism) is that we confess the doctrine of the preservation and perseverance of the saints. Scripture teaches that "I give them eternal life, and they shall never perish; no one can snatch them out of my hand." That is a categorical, unconditional promise. It is Jesus' promise. He didn't make that promise lightly. There is someone who would, were it possible, "snatch" Christ's people from his hand. He began trying to snatch them when he encountered Jesus in the desert. He tried to snatch them by tempting Jesus in the same way he tempted the First Adam. He offered Jesus power and influence. The First Adam accepted this "false covenant" (Olevianus). The Second Adam obeyed God's law without wavering. This adversary tried to snatch Jesus' people when Jesus was at his weakest. He tried to snatch them when Jesus was tempted to doubt. He tried to snatch them as the soldiers mocked Jesus. It never happened. Jesus had all his people firmly in hand and he never let them go, not for a moment. He took us with him into the tomb, as it were, and he took us with him, as it were, when he emerged from the tomb. He took us with him when he ascended to the right hand in power. Our preservation and perseverance is as certain as Jesus' ascension.

Some folk are telling you that, "there are two parts to every covenant, and if you don't do your part, you'll fall away just like those folk in Hebrews and all those Israelites."

As with most errors, this warning is partly true. It's true that there are two parts to every covenant. It's true that some of the Israelites did not enter into the promised land. It's true that some folk in the visible church fall away, but it's not true that they fell away because they failed "to do their part." That would be true if we were in a covenant of works, but we're not. We're in a covenant of grace. Our part is not to "do" anything in order to "keep" what we've been given. Paradoxically, what we have to do is to stop "doing" but to trust him who "did" for us. That's the nature of grace. It's a covenant of grace and that means that it is unconditional for us. It was conditional for Jesus, but it's free for us who believe. "And if by grace, then it is no longer by works" (Rom 11:6).

Ps 95 and Heb 4 warn us about the Israelites but the warning is not to "be good" in order to persevere, but to believe. Heb 4:2 says that the Israelites heard the gospel just as we have. The gospel is the message of Christ's finished work FOR sinners. God's Word says:

Therefore, while the promise of entering his rest still stands, let us fear lest any of you should seem to have failed to reach it. For good news came to us just as to them, but the message they heard did not benefit them, because they were not united by faith with those who listened. For we who have believed enter that rest....

Jesus persevered and entered into his rest. Faith is "receiving and resting" or "resting and relying" on our "elder brother" Jesus who has gone into the promised land ahead of us.

"...indeed, that all things must work together for my salvation." The catechism interprets the word "good" in Rom 8:28 to mean "salvation," i.e., deliverance from condemnation and the consequences of sin. In the providence of God all things work together not just for our general well being but specifically for our salvation. When the writers of the catechism invoked Paul's language, they did so advisedly. They had a rich experience of the consequence of sin. They had a generous understanding of "all things." The plague swept through European cities on a regular basis and it came to Heidelberg. Once infected with the plague, the disease moves rapidly through the body (in about 6 days) and its victims rarely survived and death was miserable.

Life expectancy generally in the sixteenth century was rather less than it is today. Infant mortality rates were much higher. Death was a constant companion. Suffering was rarely far away. Heidelberg was famous for its good wine and that was largely because it was safe. It was difficult to find wine that was not poisonous, so Heidelberg's wine was prized. Most folk subsisted on a black bread. Sanitation as we know it, didn't exist. Clean water was hard to find. You get the picture. So, when the catechism writers said, "all things," they were speaking to a suffering people and in the midst of what most of us would regard as unbearable circumstances.

If life is "solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short" (Thomas Hobbes), from where did they get such confidence in God's goodness? They derived it from the great acts of redemption in God's Word. They derived it from the promises of the gospel. They derived it from the incarnation, obedience, death, resurrection, ascension, and ceaseless intercession for his people at the right hand of the Father. The folk who wrote our catechism knew themselves and their need. They weren't deluded about themselves or their ability to cooperate with grace, to be good enough to stand before God. They were committed to trusting utterly in Christ and his work for them. They also, however, drew confidence from their own personal experience of God's grace. They were encouraged by the stories of remarkable providences that travelers brought to Heidelberg and by the examples in their own lives to which they could point. They were confident because God the Holy Spirit witnessed to them, working through the preaching of the Gospel and the administration of the sacraments, saying: "Yes, it's true and it's true for you." May God grant you this confidence today and on this Lord's Day.

How Many Things?

Some folk would have it that to know anything you must know everything. Others would have it that you can't know anything at all. Because we are Christians. however, we don't start with our mind in a glass jar, in splendid isolation from all else. We begin as human beings and as creatures made in the divine image. Because we are Christians, we start with God and his revelation to us. We do not have to climb a ladder of being or morality to get to God. He has already come to us. He began speaking to us in the garden. He spoke to us about who we are: image-bearers, analogues of the God who is. He spoke to us about how he made us, as good creatures, able to do all that he commanded. He spoke to us about what we were to do: obey his will, to love him and each other with all our faculties. He also spoke to us about a state of blessedness that transcends the garden which, though lovely, was only provisional. The wonderful thing is that we weren't broken. We weren't sinful. We weren't needy, but still there was more (a consummate state) looming before us.

That is the great mystery of the fall. In the medieval and Roman accounts of the fall, we sinned, in effect, because we are finite. We couldn't do anything else really. They set up a scheme which some contemporary moralists describe as "maturity." Implied in this scheme is that the human problem is finitude which has to be remedied by participating in the divine being.

When the Heidelberg Catechism asks, "How many things are necessary for you to know, that in this comfort, you may live and die happily? The answer is not, "We were created finite." The first answer is: "The greatness of our sin and misery." In order to appreciate the greatness of our sin and misery one must have a sense of the exaltation of our position and the glory of the potential blessedness that lie before us.

According to at least some of the older Reformed theologians, that blessedness was symbolized by the tree of life. Herman Witsius describes it as a sacrament. By analogy, we might call the tree of the knowledge of good and evil a sacrament of death: "the day you eat therefore you shall surely die." These are legal words and categories. Adam was in a legal relation to his God. Yes, they were friends, but that friendship was premised on his righteousness and as soon as that righteousness was violated, as soon as Adam made what Caspar Olevianus called a "false covenant" with the Evil One, then the friendship was dissolved and became righteous warfare by God against us and our sin.

It is no small thing then that Paul calls Christ the "second Adam." It's one thing for the first Adam, and all we with him, to face a trial and to fail. It's another thing for the Second Adam to face that trial, for all who believe, bearing the weight of our sin and knowing the consequences of his obedience. For the first Adam, a successful probation would lead to life. For the Second Adam, a successful probation meant suffering and death and only then would he experience the blessedness promised to the obedient.

Give thanks today for the Second Adam who, knowing the greatness of our sin and misery, undertook our obedience that we might have what we do not deserve.

Turning on the television on Sunday morning is probably sufficient reason to become more strictly sabbatarian, but if you persevere you will like see a TV preacher and if he is like most of them, he has a plan for your life. That plan nearly always is about how you can be a better, happier, more fulfilled person. Those are probably good things to know, but why do you need a preacher to learn them? Why can't you learn them from Dr Phil or Dr Laura, or Judge Judy for that matter? They have lots of good advice.

According to the Heidelberg Catechism there are more important things to know in this world. The first thing we need to know our real condition. It is remarkable how hard it is to learn the truth about anything let alone about ourselves. We are so full of self-deception and deceit that the only way to come to true self-knowledge is for God to give it. Only he can overcome the lies we tell ourselves and to others.

The degree of our natural blindness is such that we don't even realize how miserable we are. When I was a kid in Nebraska, we played in the snow until we became numb. That was okay because the cold didn't hurt any more but it carried some risk. Being numb meant that we might actually stay out too long and get too cold and hurt ourselves. That's the danger of being numb.

Outside of Christ we're all numb. We're cold and miserable and we don't even know it. It's only when we are beside a thawing fire that we begin to find out how cold we really are. It hurts at first but it's a good sort of pain. That sensation is the first signal of the truth, of reality breaking through. It's good to know the truth about ourselves and it's absolute imperative that we learn the truth about ourselves. The alternative doesn't bear thinking about.

The tendency in theology before the Reformation, in both the East and West, was to downplay the effects of the fall. The Western church always affirmed unequivocally the fact of the fall and rejected Pelagius as a heretic. We sin because we're sinners and we became sinners in Adam's fall. Formally, the western church agreed thus far with Augustine. Most of the church, however, denied Augustine's conclusions about the extent of the effect of the fall. Most of the western church, almost from the time of Augustine's death (and even before), tended say, "Yes, we're sinful, but we're not so sinful that we cannot do our part, i.e., cooperate with grace." It was a given in medieval theology God begins the process of justification/sanctification/salvation but that our cooperation with grace was of the essence of condign merit which was said to be essential to justification. According to most medievals, that sanctity is Spirit-wrought makes it condign but that it involves our cooperation makes it meritorious. Most medieval theologians were either semi-Pelagian or semi-Augustinian, depending on the degree to which they thought we are corrupted by sin. Most of the medieval church transformed sin from depravity to "deprivity," (to coin a term) i.e., the absence of grace or even divinity. There were exceptions. Throughout the entire history of the medieval church (1000 years) there were genuine Augustinians. For example, Gottschalk stood up for a genuinely Augustinian view of sin and grace. In the late medieval period there was a sort of renaissance of Augustine's doctrines of sin and grace. That neo-Augustinian movement was one of the developments that made the Reformation possible.

The "semi" approach (of whatever sort) to sin and grace, however, remained the dominant view into the sixteenth century. That's why the Reformation was so remarkable. The Reformation not only turned back to Augustine's view of sin and divine sovereignty, but it transformed them in significant ways. Still, almost as a soon as the Reformation re-introduced the Augustinian views of sin and grace (mutatis mutandis) versions of the old "semi" and even versions of the old Pelagian errors reared their heads. The Anabaptists rejected the Protestant doctrine of salvation in favor of the the medieval views. Of course, Rome rejected the renewed Augustinian views and even some of the Protestants were uneasy about the confessional Protestant doctrines mainly because they all feared that if justification is said to be completely free then sinners will have no incentive to be good. About 30 years after the Heidelberg Catechism was published, Jacob Arminius began raising serious questions that would help create a movement that would bring back the old view of "grace and cooperation with grace." Even before the Heidelberg was drafted, however, there were movements within Protestantism do incorporate those ideas, so much so that much of Protestantism was convulsed by a series of arguments over justification, grace, and works in the 1550s.

Thus it is important to notice how clear the catechism is when it says that one of the things we need to know is the "greatness of my sin and misery." According to the Reformed confession, we are not a little sinful. We're not "sinful, but not so sinful that we can't cooperate with grace." No, we're terribly sinful. We're dead in sins and trespasses (Eph 2). According to the HC, our natural inclination after the fall, is to hate God and neighbor. Our natural inclination is to seek our own interests. Our natural inclination is to defy God by setting up idols, by serving those idols, by murder, by theft, by covetousness, by lust, by rejection of authority of all kinds. The fact that we do not act out those impulses is due to the goodness of God's providence whereby he restrains us from doing all that we might. That's no credit to us, however. Left to ourselves, absent the benevolent providence of God, Thomas Hobbes' state of nature would be our daily reality.

The first thing that the revisionists have always done, after Augustine, after Luther, and after Calvin is to downplay the effects of the fall. One of the first things that the Protestants did, which the catechism reaffirms, is to reassert the profundity of human depravity. We can't do "our part." If we could, then grace would not be grace. That's why we have a Savior. He did not make salvation available to those who either "do what lies within them" or to those who "do their part" by cooperating with grace. The only thing that, after the fall, lies within us is sin. We're so sinful that we can't do "our part." The Christian faith is that Jesus earned salvation for all his people and he gives it freely to all of them through faith alone.

"The greatness of my sin and misery." The English noun, "misery" is probably derived from the Latin verb misereo, "to pity." The Latin adjective miser means "wretched." In this phrase "sin and misery" are not synonyms. Rather, in our translation, the noun "misery" (German, Das Elend; Latin, miseria) refers to the consequences of sin. Sin is law breaking. Law breaking has objective and subjective consequences. It shouldn't be a surprise. God promised: "the day you eat thereof you shall surely die" (Gen 2:17). That is what happened. Where, as his image bearers, we should have entered into a state of objective and subjective blessedness, we actually entered into a state of misery. It is objective because the noun misery describes our state. Apart from grace, regardless of our experience at any given moment, our state is miserable, wretched. Subjectively, "wretched" also describes our experience. If you're under 30, just wait. If you're over 30 (depending upon how far over!) you're finding out about misery first hand. For one thing, the body begins to revolt. When we're young, by and large, the body is our servant. It does what we want it to do, when we want, the way we want. Increasingly however, as we age, we become servants of our bodies. The body demands more and more time and attention as it begins to rebel and complain and eventually when it begins to work against us. We experience misery in countless other ways (e.g., emotionally, mentally, spiritually). Paul understood this objective and subjective state of misery: "O wretched man that I am!" (Rom 7:24) He connected his state of misery to the "law at work in the members of my body, waging war against the law of my mind and making me a prisoner of the law of sin at work within my members" (Rom 7:23). This is the confession of a man who is in touch with reality.

Unless and until we are graciously allowed to see ourselves and our state as they really are, grace holds no interest for us.

"How I am redeemed from all my sins and misery." The Heidelberg Catechism was written not just to those who profess the Christian faith but to those who actually believe the Christian faith. The writers of the catechism had to assume, for the purposes of writing the catechism, that the hearers/readers of the catechism are united to Christ by true faith (HC 21) and a vital union with Christ.

According to the catechism, and the Reformed faith generally, there is a great difference between profession of faith and true faith. This is a distinction of the greatest importance and one which some seem bent on blurring. Some folk (who call themselves "the Federal Vision") who are concerned about the ill effects of revivalism and religious subjectivism (as I am) in contemporary Christianity seek to redress the problem by turning to what they call the "objectivity of the covenant." In their scheme, all baptized persons are said to be in the covenant of grace in very same way. They speak of a "covenantal" election, union with Christ, justification etc. By "covenantal" they mean conditional and temporary. They argue from the example of the temporary national covenant with Israel. Just as God chose the Israelites to be his temporary national people so he "elects" individuals today to a temporary conditional status as Christians which status is said to be retained by faithfulness (trust and obedience). "If," they say, "we keep our part of the covenant we will be ultimately righteous before God." Faith is now said to have two parts: trusting and obeying. This, they say, is what God asked of Adam before the fall; what God asked of Abraham after the fall, what God asked of his Son Jesus, and what God asks of us.

Please note how they move from Israel's status as a national covenantal people with Israel to the baptized person today. Does Scripture do this? Not exactly. Both Paul and the writer to the Hebrews to appeal the example of Israel as the old covenant visible church. There is a distinction to be made here. Israel fulfilled a couple of roles in the history of redemption at the same time, that's because there have always been two covenants operating in history: works and grace. By making a national covenant with Israel, our Lord re-instituted a picture of the covenant of works that he had made with Adam. Just as Adam was called to obey the law and enter into glory, so national Israel was called to obey and remain the national people of God. As we all learned in catechism class, Israel failed miserably and lost her status as the national people of God. So this re-institution of the covenant of works on a national basis served to direct national Israel to the true Israel of God who would keep the covenant of works perfectly for all the elect.

The covenant of grace, first announced after the fall (Gen 3:14-16) was also re-published during Israel's national covenant because Israel also served as the visible church under Moses and David. The covenant of grace was unconditional. It was temporarily administered through the national covenant but which, before the national covenant, during the national covenant, and after the fulfillment of the national covenant, included folk from every nation, tribe, and tongue (Rev 5:9). This covenant is a free promise of righteousness by grace alone, through faith alone, in Christ alone.

These are two distinct covenants operating on two distinct principles.

The proposed revisions of the Reformed faith, however, blur the distinction between these two covenants and between these two principles.

With just a moment's reflection, you can see right away how different this proposed revision of the Reformed faith is from what the Heidelberg Catechism actually says. The catechism says "How I am redeemed from all my sins and misery." The catechism does not say that "how I am placed in a temporary relation to Christ and his salvation conditioned upon grace and my cooperation with grace." It does not say, "How I could be redeemed from my all my sins and misery." The catechism speaks of our redemption as present reality. According to the catechism I am now presently redeemed.

In the history of the Christian church there was a covenant theology that did place Christians by baptism into a state of grace conditioned upon grace and cooperation with grace that described faith as trusting and obeying and righteousness as a future possibility but never a present reality. The medieval church taught this system for a millennium and the whole Protestant church rejected that system as one man.

Remember the question: "How many things are necessary for you to know that in this comfort you may live and die happily?"

It is not possible to live happily in a conditional temporary covenant wherein my righteousness is contingent upon my performance of the terms of the covenant. It is impossible because of our sin and misery. Because of sin we're not able or even willing to keep the terms of the covenant.

That's why we have an perfectly obedient and wholly trustworthy Savior who performed all the conditions of the covenant of works and Israel's national for us.

That's why faith, in justification, is not "trusting and obeying" but "a certain knowledge and a hearty trust."

Works and grace are two different systems (1 Cor 11:5).

They are two different religions operating on two different principles.

The Heidelberg Catechism doesn't confuse them and it premises our assurance on Jesus' fulfillment of the covenant of works for us.

The second thing that a believer must know is that "I am redeemed from all my sins and misery." We do not confess that "believers might be redeemed, if they do their part, if they cooperate with grace." We do not confess that "believers are redeemed, but they could lose their redemption." We do not confess "Jesus made it possible for believers to be redeemed, if they do their part." All these alternatives to the theology and language of the catechism are destructive to assurance because each of them subtly changes two of the terms of the second thing that believers must know.

First, the alternatives each redefine the noun "believers." According to the catechism, if one is a believer, then one is united to Christ by grace alone, through faith alone. That union is created by God the Spirit and is irrevocable. True faith is nothing but a certain knowledge and a hearty trust that Christ has kept the law for me, has died for me, was raised for me and lives and intercedes for me. True faith necessarily produces sanctity, but it isn't itself sanctity, at least not as regards justification.

The second revision that is being proposed by some is the addition of the conditional clause, "if I do my part" or "if I cooperate with grace." The first form is more blatantly Pelagian (denying grace). The second is more subtle. It is not openly Pelagian. Indeed, it was universally held and taught in the medieval church. Before Augustine died it became the predominant view in the Western (Latin) church. Most all of the medieval theologians taught that we are sanctified (and hence justified) by grace and cooperation with grace.

One problem with this formulation is that it also subtly downplays the power and effect of sin. It says, in effect, "I am sinful, but not so sinful that I cannot cooperate with grace." Another problem with this formulation is that it introduces a contingency into the doctrine and justification that destroys any ground of assurance of justification. Who can honestly say, "I have cooperated with grace"? Really? Perhaps a Wesleyan might think that one has achieved entire perfection, but no real Augustinian, Calvinist could think that anyone in this life could think that he could achieve entire perfection.

Apart from perfect cooperation, apart from perfect righteousness how could anyone hope to stand before an entirely holy and righteous God?

The medieval theologians understood that problem and because they all held that, in effect, "God says what he says (e.g., "righteous") because we are intrinsically what we are," they had to set up a system whereby we can become intrinsically righteous. In other words, they all assumed that God can only say of us, "righteous" if we really, actually, intrinsically are righteous. Thus they had to set up a scheme where this could be. They set up a scheme whereby we can accumulate sufficient (condign or "worthy") merit in order to be intrinsically just.

Knowing, however, that even with the help of prevenient ("first coming") grace, we don't accumulate sufficient righteousness and condign merit, they also set up a scheme of congruent (or imputed) merit. In this scheme, God is said to recognize when one has done "what lies within him" (either with grace or without) and therefore he has pledged to impute worth to our best efforts.

Even so, all medieval theologians, including those neo-Augustiian theologians in the late medieval period recognized that virtually no one achieves perfect righteousness in this life. That reality necessitated logically, a period of purification during an intermediate state after death known as purgatory. For all medieval Christians, righteousness with God was thought to be a process that would not be culminated in this life.

Thus, the pilgrimage of the medieval Christian was beset with uncertainty. "Have I done enough? "Have I cooperated with grace? Have I done my best?" The honest answer to these questions must be no. Indeed, the medieval church agreed (and Trent made magisterial Roman doctrine) that assurance of righteousness before God, in this life, was impossible apart from special revelation. Doubt was of the essence of faith. That's why the Council of Trent (1547) declared that anyone who says that faith is "confidence in the divine mercy" is eternally condemned. No, for the medieval church and for Rome, faith is cooperation with grace and grace was a sort of medicine (they frequently used metaphor of medicine to describe grace) with which the sinner is infused on the path to becoming a saint.

When, however the the Heidelberg pastors confessed, "I am redeemed from all my sins and misery," they rejected the entire medieval religion of "grace and cooperation of grace" and the religion of uncertainty and purgatory in favor of pure grace (defined as divine approval) which does not just make righteousness possible or contingent upon cooperation by sinners, but it actually accomplishes righteousness definitively, in this life, so that the sinner, though he remains intrinsically sinful, can nevertheless know that his is righteous before God on the basis of a perfect righteousness.

To be sure, that righteousness has been accomplished "outside of us" (extra nos) for us (pro nobis) by Christ alone. He accomplished righteousness and the whole of his perfect righteousness is credited (imputed, reckoned) to all who do nothing but believe.

There have been numerous attempts to resurrect the old "grace and cooperation" with grace scheme. The Arminians tried it in the late 16th and early 17th centuries and it has persisted since. Richard Baxter tried it in the 17th century. The neo-nomians tried it during the Marrow Controversy (18th century) and moralists have tried it repeatedly since and they trying it again today (in the Federal Vision). Some folk even say that "grace and cooperation with grace" toward eventual righteousness is Reformed theology. Well, it isn't, no according to the Reformed confessions.

Some groups, who are Reformed in other respects, have, however, resurrected the notion that certainty of righteousness is dependent upon a special revelation. I've known folks who were Reformed who, nevertheless denied that it was possible for them to have "assurance" in this life apart from "the blessing." Some of these folk won't come to the Lord's Table until they have "the blessing." I've heard stories of ostensibly Reformed congregations where only a few (the "select of the elect") come to the table, where only those few are permitted to come to the table because they have succeeded in convincing the elders that they have had "the blessing." Other predestinarian evangelicals speak about the "sealing" of the Spirit (e.g., Martyn Lloyd-Jones) in similar ways.

Reformed theology rejects the second blessing theology whether of the medievals or the modern evangelicals or the Reformed pietists. These errors are as destructive of assurance as the doctrine of "grace and cooperation with grace." How do you know when you've had "the blessing"? Who gets to say what constitutes "the blessing?" What if I think I've had "the blessing" and you don't think so? Who thinks it's a good idea to chuck the biblical, confessional, and Reformed doctrine of revelation in favor of predestinarian Pentecostalism? Not I and, more importantly, not the Heidelberg Catechism

The basis of one's assurance is neither the degree to which one has cooperated with grace nor a mystical, extra-canonical revelation that, "I am elect." The basis of assurance is the promise of Christ, "who ever believes in him shall never perish." Reformed theology does not ask believers to reckon, "Am I elect?" Reformed theology asks one to reckon, "Do I believe?"

The instrument for receiving the promise is neither cooperation with grace or a mystical, extra-canonical revelation, but true faith as defined by HC 21. As computer folk say, this is a "binary operation." Relative to righteousness before God, faith either exists or it doesn't. There are no degrees. There are degrees of sanctity, but righteousness before God results in sanctity, not the reverse. The sole object of true faith is Christ alone (solo Christo) and his saving work for sinners.

The second thing every believer must know to live and die happily is that I AM redeemed. Who ever knows the greatness of his sin and misery and trusts that the promise of the gospel is true is redeemed.

If you're waiting for "the blessing," stop it. Believe and you are righteous.

If you're trying to attain righteousness by cooperating with grace, give it up. It's not happening in this life. Jesus does not merely make salvation available to those who do their part. He earned it for his people and he gives it freely to all who stop working and who rest in him and receive him and his righteousness through faith alone.

"How I am redeemed from all my sins and misery." It is fashionable now to suggest that we need to move beyond the old idea of a substitutionary atonement. Actually, the substitutionary atonement has been under assault for rather a long time. The old German liberals in the 19th century used to describe the doctrine of the substitutionary atonement as "slaughterhouse theology." Before the rise of higher criticism, the 17th-century rationalists following Hugo Grotius denied that the atonement was substitutionary. Most recently some leaders of the Emergening Movement e.g., Steve Chalke has said recently,

The fact is that the cross isn't a form of cosmic child abuse—a vengeful Father, punishing his Son for an offence he has not even committed [as the doctrine of penal substitution makes it out to be]. Understandably, both people inside and outside of the Church have found this twisted version of events morally dubious and a huge barrier to faith. Deeper than that, however, is that such a concept stands in total contradiction to the statement "God is love". If the cross is a personal act of violence perpetrated by God towards humankind but borne by his Son, then it makes a mockery of Jesus' own teaching to love your enemies and to refuse to repay evil with evil (Steve Chalke and Alan Mann, The Lost Message of Jesus (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2003), 182-183; for more on the EM see Justin Taylor's helpful introductory survey of the EM here

Those who are advocating this approach to the atonement are not simply attacking one "theory" of the atonement (as the did the liberals at the time of the 1924 Auburn Affirmation) but, as Don Carson says, they are attacking the very foundation of the gospel itself.

I have to say, as kindly but as forcefully as I can, that to my mind, if words mean anything, both McLaren and Chalke have largely abandoned the gospel. Perhaps their rhetoric and enthusiasm have led them astray and they will prove willing to reconsider their published judgments on these matters and embrace biblical truth more holistically than they have been doing in their most recent works. But if not, I cannot see how their own words constitute anything less than a drift toward abandoning the gospel itself. . . . (Don Carson, Becoming Conversant, 186-87)

It's true that Scripture uses more than one metaphor for describing the nature and purpose of Christ's death and it's probably true that, in reaction to the liberal rejection of the doctrine of the (penal) substitutionary atonement, fundamentalists (the usual breeding ground of EM types) and conservatives have focused almost entirely this one metaphor or image. It is also true, however, that EM types do not seem simply to be expanding the range of metaphors or images by which we may describe the nature and intent of Christ's work. There is a widespread rejection of the assumptions that lie behind the Biblical doctrine of the atonement. It is widely assumed today that the only category of analysis that we may use today to describe divine-human relations is the relational category. There is a widespread rejection of legal (forensic) or commercial (e.g., accounting) categories of analysis. The rejection of these ways of speaking and thinking lie behind the current discomfort with confessional Protestant doctrine of justification. It lies behind the current move to re-cast Protestant doctrine of justification as a matter solely of union with Christ or even theosis (divinization).

Nevertheless, the Bible does teach unequivocally that we have been "redeemed," i.e., that we have been purchased by Christ (e.g., 1 Cor 6:20, "You were bought with a price.") Before Anselm (11th and 12th centuries) it was often held that God had to pay a ransom to the devil (think of Aslan's death in the Chronicles of Narnia) as if God was in debt to the Evil One. Anselm helped us to understand, however, that the debt was not God's but ours. We were made in righteousness with the ability to obey God. When we sinned against God we incurred a debt to the righteousness of God that had to be satisfied. Since it was humans that sinned, it must be humans that satisfy God's justice. There is much more to say here but let's not get too far ahead of ourselves.

We confess that believers have been "redeemed," i.e., that we have been purchased, bought, delivered from slavery to death and sin. We are owned by another, namely our Redeemer Jesus Christ. Another key assumption behind the doctrine of the atonement is a denial of human autonomy relative to God. Contemporary critics of the Reformed doctrine of the atonement, that Jesus died as the substitute for his people, that he paid the penalty owed by all his people, that by his death he propitiated (turned away) the righteous wrath of God, focus on these aspects of the atonement as "child abuse" or as distasteful, but we all work with these sorts of categories every day. Are the critics of this language saying that we cannot speak this way? Can they make the case that the Scriptures do not or are they asking us simply to discard this category of Biblical language? Is it really the substitutionary language that troubles them or is it the implicit denial of our autonomy (i.e., that I am a law unto myself).

At least old liberals were fairly straightforward about their denial of the atonement. They were children of the Enlightenment and believed that reasonable, modern, enlightened folk could no longer speak about divine-human relations this way. The EM critics of substitutionary atonement (who pose as critics of Modernity!) seem to hold similar views for similar reasons. They want to be regarded as hip, avant-garde critics of Modernity but one wonders if they aren't just rationalist-modernist retreads?

The third thing that one must know "that in this comfort you may live and die happily?" is " how I am to be thankful to God for such redemption."

At first, one of the strangest aspects of the current justification controversy (beyond the fact that it exists! Are the Reformed confessions really so hard to understand?) is that the critics of that doctrine which the Reformed churches confess to be the biblical doctrine of justification seem to have rejected one of the most important premises of the confessional doctrine.

The first part of that premise is that sanctity is neither a ground nor instrument of justification. The second part of the premise is that the sanctity is only and always the fruit of justification, that it flows out of thankfulness for our justification. This idea is essential to the Protestant doctrine of justification (yes, Virginia, there is a pan-Protestant doctrine of justification, but that's another post).

On reflection, however, one remembers that there is a long tradition of rejecting thankfulness as the source of the Christian life. One of the Roman criticisms of the Reformation was that thankfulness is not enough, that it doesn't provide sufficient motivation for sanctity (godliness). That's why Rome teaches that one is justified because and to the degree one is sanctified. According to Rome, justification is a quid pro quo, it is a recognition of the fact that God has infused a one with grace and that one has cooperated sufficiently with that grace. In other words, according to Rome, justification is a recognition of intrinsic or inherent righteousness. According to Rome, God says what he says because you are what you are.

According to Rome, to make sanctity the fruit of justification and thankfulness the motive for sanctity just won't work. If they don't build sanctity into the process of justification (Protestants don't speak of a process of justification; we speak of a process of sanctification and a punctilliar declaration of justification) then folk will not have sufficient reason to strive toward godliness.

The revisionists, moralists, and critics of the confessional Protestant doctrine of justification either don't understand what we mean by gratitude/thankfulness, or they've succumbed to the spirit of rationalism. If so, they've given in to the temptation to make the faith just a little more reasonable by re-introducing the quid pro quo back into the Christian doctrine of justification. If God says, "Righteous" about those who are still intrinsically sinful, then why should anyone be good?

Well, that isn't just a Romanist question. It was also the Socinian and Anabaptist and even a Remonstrant question. It's the question that rationalist moralists always ask. The same spirit which asks, "how can God do this?" is the same spirit that will eventually ask, "Say, is God really one in three persons?" or "is Jesus really one person with two natures?" The logic in inevitable.

Of course, this is essentially the same objection which Paul anticipated in Romans 6. If it is the case that, where sin abounded, grace abounded more, then perhaps we should sin even more so that grace might abound more? You know the answer: NO! Why not? How can Paul escape the logic of his own argument? The answer is that there's nothing to escape. The answer is that the objection assumes a false premise and neglects and implied premise in Paul's argument.

The objection assumes that Paul (and the Heidelberg Catechism) has made justification into a mechanical operation and that, with the machine having worked once, one can keep turning the handle, as it were. Paul rejects this premise. Instead, Paul assumes another premise, namely that anyone who is actually justified by grace alone, through faith alone, in Christ alone, would be horrified by such a notion -- that a justified person would take his gracious justification as license to sin. Why? Because he assumes that we understand that sinners are justified by grace alone, through faith alone, in Christ alone. That the same Spirit who has united the sinner to Christ by faith is also operating within that sinner to sanctify him. That being the case (as he continues to argue in Romans 6) it is impossible that one whom the Spirit has united to Christ by faith alone, cannot live as if nothing has changed. A believer is united to Christ in his death, and therefore has been freed from the reigning power of sin and has been united to Christ in his resurrection and therefore the principle of new life is operating within the believer.

Thus, when the catechism "how I am to be thankful to God for such redemption" it is a rich (as opposed to poor) definition of thankfulness. The catechism will go on to elaborate on the ground of thankfulness and the power of thankfulness and the structure of thankfulness, but it always assumes the Pauline doctrine of union with Christ wrought by the Spirit whenever it speaks of the Christian life being motivated by gratitude.

The Protestant scheme of justification answers another objection I've heard, i.e., that the confessional doctrine of justification reduces sanctity to a second blessing. I respond by saying that this is a false dichotomy (second blessing v moralism). Sanctity is, if you will, the natural, organic result of justification. This is how the Scriptures themselves speak about the Christian life. This is why Paul uses the metaphor of "fruit" (Gal 5) to describe the Christian life. Belgic Confession Art. 24 speaks at some length about how sanctity is the fruit, i.e., the logically and morally necessary result of justification. When my tangerine tree produces tangerines, is that second blessing? No. Frankly, that's just stupid. It's what tangerine trees do: produce fruit. If my tangerine tree didn't produce fruit then either it's not a tangerine tree (it might have been labeled incorrectly at the nursery) or it's dead. Either way, if there's no fruit, then I don't have a living tangerine tree. The fruit, however, as the Belgic Confession hastens to add, doesn't make the tree a tree. The tree makes the fruit. If we say that the fruit makes the tree, then we've gone back to the Roman definition of faith in the act of justification, that faith is formed or made a reality by acts of love (fides formata caritate) or by our cooperation with grace, which the Protestants regarded as "works" in the Pauline sense of the term.

There is one other issue. In place of the "guilt, grace, gratitude" scheme of the catechism (which, as Paul Althaus noted decades ago is the pan-Protestant doctrine) some are proposing an elaborate doctrine of "union with Christ." In this re-construction of the Reformed doctrine of union, we're not justified not by faith alone but by faith and by Spirit-wrought sanctity which is said to be the result of union with Christ. I've written on the HB at some length about about this re-construction of the doctrine of union with Christ so I won't do so here. It's enough to say that justification through sanctity is justification through sanctity whether it's fides formata or "Spirit-wrought" sanctity is a form of moralism. After all, some of the proponents of this scheme have even adapted the Roman doctrine of a two-stage justification whereby one is initially justified in this life (according to Rome and some Federal Visionaries it's in baptism and according to the "unionistas" it's sola fide) and finally (wholly, according to Rome and partly according to the "unionistas") justified by intrinsic sanctity at the judgment.

1. Paul doesn't know anything about a two-stage doctrine of justification ("having been justified" and "having now been justified" Rom 5:1, 9). Believers are now as fully justified as we shall ever be;

2. This is another attempt to "rig" the game, i.e., a way to get folk to behave themselves, by building sanctity into justification;

3. The Protestants distinguish between a) justification as God's declaration that a sinner is constituted righteous on the ground of Christ's righteousness imputed and received through faith receiving and resting alone and b) vindication as the recognition of what was and is true of the justified. James speaks of "vindication" in James 2 and we confess that we shall be vindicated, not declared finally justified, at the judgment.

4. Any two-stage doctrine of justification is necessarily and ironically a second-blessing scheme. In the confessional and historic Reformed doctrine, believers are justified now. In the "two-stage" scheme, we're provisionally justified now and finally justified then. What's that if not a second blessing?

When the Reformed churches adopted the Heidelberg Catechism, they knew what they were doing: consciously rejecting moralism (justification by sanctification) in all its forms and rationalism in all its forms, however seductive it might seem.

Christ, to whom we are united by the Spirit, is the power of the Christian life. The motive of the Christian life is thankfulness. We don't have to choose between these things as we consider the source of the Christian life. When the catechism says "how we are to be thankful for such redemption" it is focusing on the existential, personal, motive for the Christian life. The catechism will turn to our union with Christ later on. Why then, does the catechism start with thankfulness? The first part of the answer is the medieval setting in which the catechism was written. I know that some folk get narcolepsy anytime I use the word "medieval." Don't go to sleep just yet. Can you imagine a religion in which the chief motivations for piety are guilt and fear? I guess you can. That was the medieval religion: Grace and guilt. That's the religion of much of fundamentalism. It's the religion of all the moralists (e.g., the covenant nomists et al).

By contrast, the Protestant religion was guilt, grace, and gratitude.

Thankfulness is not a theme to which most of us probably pay attention in Scripture, but it's a major theme for the Apostle Paul. As part of his law-preaching prosecution of human sinfulness in Rom 1:21 Paul uses the expressions "glorify God" (doxazo) and "give thanks" (eucharisteo) as synonyms. To give thanks is to glorify God. In this case he uses them as part of the first use of the law. It is a fundamental human obligation, as image bearers, to acknowledge God as our Creator and to glorify him as such. As fallen people, in whom the image has been defaced, we refuse to acknowledge God.

In Rom 6:16 Paul says that we are necessarily slaves either to God or to sin. If we sin, we are slaves to sin and death. v. 17: "But thanks (charis) be to God, you who were slaves of sin have become have obeyed from the heart..." The noun for thanks here is the same noun used for "grace." In other words, there is an integral relation between "thanks" and "grace." Only those who have received the grace, i.e., undeserved favor, of God are those who are thankful. When Paul says, "thanks to God" is reflecting a basic Christian impulse.

Imagine that you, in a fit of rage, wantonly and violently and irrationally destroyed your neighbor's car. Imagine that your neighbor was, for the purposes of this story, perfectly innocent. What does your neighbor owe you? Justice! He owes you prosecution to the full extent of the law. If, however, he fixed his car and gave you a 7-series BMW that would be grace. What should your response be? Should it not be humility and profound gratitude? Would you not think of your neighbor's wonderful graciousness every time you thought of or saw that BMW? Of course you would! Wouldn't that sense of gratitude color your life and relation to your neighbor and everyone else?

Of course Christians have committed crimes that are even more inexplicable than this. We violated God's law when we had been constituted righteous and holy. We forfeited glory for what? As Christians, are the recipients of a grace that far transcends an automobile. As Paul says, we were slaves to sin and now we've been made free in Christ.

Paul's doctrine of the Christian life might be described as a doctrine of thanks:

"Thanks (charis) be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!" (Rom 7:25) Even though we continue to struggle with sin, "there is now therefore no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus." (Rom 8:1). "Thanks (charis) be to God who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ" (1 Cor 15:57). "Thanks (charis) be to God who, in Christ, always leads us in triumphal procession...." (2 Cor 2:14) "Thanks (charis) be to God for his inexpressible gift!" (2 Cor 9:15).

For Paul, thankfulness is not a light matter. It is a powerful motive for the Christian life. It is a recognition of who we are and what God in Christ has done for us, and what the Spirit is doing within us, and who we are now in Christ.

"How can we who died to sin still live in it?"

We can't.

With Christ helping us, we won't.

If I may start with something I posted a few weeks ago: The English noun, "misery" is probably derived from the Latin verb misereo, "to pity." The Latin adjective miser means "wretched." In our translation, the noun "misery" (German, Das Elend; Latin, miseria) refers to the consequences of sin.

So, how does one become aware of one's misery? Our catechism is unequivocal and completely clear: Out of the law of God.

In the context of the Reformation there was no other answer. The confessional Protestants (Lutheran and Reformed) were united in their conviction that there are two grammatical moods throughout Scripture: "do" and "done" or law and gospel. The Protestant recovery of what has come to be known as the law/gospel hermeneutic was essential to the Reformation.

For a millennium before the Reformation, the church was agreed that there is only one sort of word in Scripture: law. The church distinguished between the "old" (Moses) law and the "new" (Christ) law. The only difference between the old and new laws was said to be the degree of grace available to aid believers in their obedience to the law. According to the medieval church, there's more grace under the new law than under the old.

The Protestants rejected this entire scheme. They read the Bible to contain two kinds of words throughout: law and gospel. According to the Protestants the law says "do this and live." The law requires perfect obedience and righteousness. The law is utterly unforgiving. The gospel, on the other hand, is a different kind of word. The gospel promises what shall be done and declares that which has been done for Christ's people. The gospel says, "the seed of the woman will crush the serpent." The gospel says, "I will give you rest." The gospel says, "For God so loved the world...."

This distinction is the only way to understand this answer of the catechism. The catechism does not say that the gospel teaches us our misery because that is neither the function nor the nature of the gospel. The gospel is good news! If someone announces to you that you've been given unconditionally a million dollars, you probably wouldn't go into a funk of self-loathing. You would probably go to dinner at a nice restaurant, make some investments, and give your pastor a raise. That' the natural reaction to good news.

If, on the other hand, someone comes to your door to remind you of something dreadful you did back in 1957, something you very much wanted to forget, something you tried to bury into your subconsciousness, something shameful, that would not be good news. That would be bad news. That would be a stark reminder that you are still guilty, that the debt remains, that the potential for punishment lingers.

That's the difference between good news and bad news. It is clearly the latter that teaches us our misery and our need.

Tragically, in reaction to Dispensationalism, many Reformed folk seem to have rejected the law/gospel distinction. This rejection has been in play long enough that a good number of folk don't even seem to be aware of it. More than a few people have said to me, "I don't believe that law/gospel stuff. It's Lutheran."

Well, the law/gospel distinction is Lutheran AND Reformed. I understand that some folk mistakenly think that only Lutherans confess the law/gospel distinction. The idea that only Lutherans hold the law/gospel distinction would surprise the many Reformed theologians and ministers who have taught it, e.g., the principal commentator on the catechism Zacharias Ursinus (1534-83):

Q.36 What distinguishes law and gospel? A: The law contains a covenant of nature begun by God with men in creation, that is, it is a natural sign to men, and it requires of us perfect obedience toward God. It promises eternal life to those keeping it, and threatens eternal punishment to those not keeping it. In fact, the gospel contains a covenant of grace, that is, one known not at all under nature. This covenant declares to us fulfillment of its righteousness in Christ, which the law requires, and our restoration through Christ's Spirit. To those who believe in him, it freely promises eternal life for Christ's sake (Larger Catechism, Q. 36).

Calvin's successor in Geneva, Theodore Beza (1534-1605) said:

We divide this Word into two principal parts or kinds: the one is called the 'Law,' the other the 'Gospel.' For all the rest can be gathered under the one or other of these two headings...Ignorance of this distinction between Law and Gospel is one of the principal sources of the abuses which corrupted and still corrupt Christianity (The Christian Faith, 1558).

I could go on, but these two quotations speak for the entire Reformed tradition. Our theologians repeated this distinction again and again. If you want to read more about this, there is a chapter on it in Covenant, Justification, and Pastoral Ministry.

When we understand the distinction between law and gospel we may understand more clearly why we confess that it is the law, not the gospel, that teaches us our misery.

Q. 4 of the catechism asks, "What does the Law of God require of us?"

First, note how the catechism thinks about the law. It does not ask, "What does the law of God give us?" nor does it ask, "What does the law of God do for us?" but rather "what does the law of God require?" (German: erfordert; Latin: postulat). There's no ambiguity in the verb "to require" in the English or Latin translations or the German original. The German means "to demand" as does the Latin.

The use of this verb is significant. It signals again how the Reformed churches view the law in its first or pedagogical use. Indeed, even if we think of the law in its third or normative use it still never does anything but demand. The law is what it is. It reflects the divine nature. God is what he is (Exod 3:14). He is immutably holy and righteous. He never changes. His holiness and justice never change. His demand for utter justice and holiness is relentless, as it ought to be.

Getting this right is not easy. There has always been a temptation to downplay the demands of the law. Ironically, the downplaying of the demands of the law doesn't always come from the antinomians, i.e., those who deny the abiding validity of the moral law. Rather, it comes just as often from those who want Christians to obey the law. The move to soften the demands of the law or to ignore them altogether usually come in recognition (implicit or explicit) of our inability to keep the law perfectly. Rather than do what Christians ought to do, seek a perfect law keeper, the moralists, whether Roman or "Protestant," who want us to be justified by being sanctified take the sting out of the law by implying or saying that the law doesn't really mean what it seems to say: "cursed is everyone who does not continue to do everything written in the book of the law." They say, "We can't do it. It isn't just for God to demand of us what we can't do. Therefore God must not really demand it." Of course the minor (second) premise is false. It's a rationalist (i.e., man-made) premise. God's Word never says anything about the law relative to justification (righteousness before God) except: "do this and live."

The paradox of seeming to affirm the law while actually denying or softening it so that we can seem to keep it is not new. Jesus accused the Pharisees of doing exactly this. They had their own "fence around the law" whereby they replaced God's law with their own traditions and excused themselves from actually having to obey God's law as it stands. So they could plot the murder of Jesus while posing as righteous men. Thus Jesus called them "whitewashed tombs." Indeed they were.

The medieval church did this in a variety of ways. On the one hand, the medieval church portrayed God as a righteous and fearsome judge. On the other hand, however, the medievals sent the signal that, "well, God doesn't really demand perfection." God was sometimes portrayed as a genial Irish priest (e.g. Father Flannigan of Boys Town - see the Mickey Rooney film) who knows that deep down you're really a good boy/girl but you just had a tough go. This was the effect of the doctrine of congruent merit by which God was said to impute worthiness (merit) to one's best efforts ("to those who do what lies within them, God denies not grace.")

Remarkably, some Reformed folk have resuscitated a version of the doctrine of congruent merit, apparently entirely ignorant of the history of medieval theology and the Reformation's categorical and vehement rejection of it. They have it that Christians are in a temporary, conditional covenant whereby God doesn't really demand perfect righteousness for justification but looks upon our best efforts as if they were perfect.

Q. 4 of the catechism was part of the Reformed rejection of the scheme of congruent merit and the revised version being promulgated by revisionists.

In case you aren't sure, God is not a genial Irish priest.

The wages of sin is death.

Yes Virginia, there is no such thing as congruent merit. God's righteousness demands utter moral and legal perfection.

To paraphrase the milk commercial? "Got perfect righteousness?"

Christ teaches us in sum, Matt 22: "You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength. This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like unto it, you shall love your neighbor as yourself. On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.” (Matt 22:38, 39, 40).

The Reformed churches have always recognized that the law is really very simple: love God with all your faculties and your neighbor as yourself. That's it. Easy, right? Well, not exactly. This is, in effect, what we were called to do in the garden, love God utterly and love one another. Having failed to keep this law, it was re-stated in a much more elaborate, historically conditioned, temporary form for the Israelite national covenant. The moral law, however, remained constant: love God and neighbor. This is the sum of the law expressed under the New Covenant by our Lord himself. It can be expressed in the "10 Words" (the Decalogue) or in just these few words from Matt 22.

It's worth noting that though the law is cast in terms of "love," it law requires total fidelity and obedience. It's substantially the same as that expressed in Gal 3:10, "Cursed is everyone who does not continue to do everything written in the book of the law."

There is a logical order, love God then neighbor. The latter is like the former. The latter flows from the former. Without the former, the latter is impossible. Without love of neighbor, love of God cannot be said (James 2) to exist.

We (all image bearers in all places and times) owe this love to God and neighbor as a matter of natural obligation.

It's also worth noting that this expression of law also entails a certain view of human beings. We are image-bearers created with faculties (heart, mind -- I take soul and strength to be cumulative). We are intellective creatures and affective creatures. All our thought life and everything we love must reflect love of God.

As God's image bearers we owe total devotion of these faculties to God and then to neighbor.

No exceptions. This sobering realization should give us pause before we speak glibly about "love" and about being absorbed with God, at least apart from Christ.

How did you do today? Are you ready to stand before a righteous God on the basis of your love for God and neighbor?

"No for I am prone by nature to hate God and my neighbor."

Q. 5 of the Heidelberg Catechism asks a question the answer to which seems to be obvious. The answer is obvious if one shares the catechism's (and Scripture's) assumption about the results of the fall. In the history of Christianity, not everyone has shared the catechism's view of the consequences of the fall. There are three views about how sinful we are. 1) Pelagianism says that we are not sinners until we sin, that Adam set a bad example for us that we can choose not to follow; 2) Semi-Pelagianism says that we sinned in Adam but we not so sinful that we cannot cooperate with grace; 3) Augustinianism (and the view of the Reformation) says that we sinned in Adam and the consequences were, as God said they would be, deadly. We are unable to do anything toward redemption. We are not even able to cooperate with grace. This is our understanding of Rom 1-3; 1 John 1:8, 10, and Eph 2:1-3. The wages of sin is death. The Black Knight is wrong. It's not "just a flesh wound." The fall inflicted a mortal wound.

The Augustinian and Reformed (and confessional Protestant generally) account of the effects of the fall not only distinguishes us from some of the Fathers and from much of the medieval church (both East and West), but also from much of evangelicalism since the 18th century. Pelagianism seems pretty obviously false on its face and indeed few folk have had the nerve to say, "Right, Adam no relation to us really. He didn't represent me. His actions had no direct consequences for me. I become a sinner only when I choose to sin, therefore I am, in effect, Adam."

More regularly folk have said, "Well, it's not as bad as all that. Sure in Adam's fall sinned we all, but after all, we're only human. We had concupiscence before the fall -- and needed grace even then to control it -- and we need grace after the fall. Yes it was bad, not not so bad that we can't do our part."

This second approach is much more seductive because it seems to acknowledge the fall but it also mitigates it. It makes the whole thing just a little less offensive and a little more manageable and reasonable.

The problem is that the fall wasn't the least bit reasonable. We were created good and righteous and holy. There was no reason we had to fall. Scripture (and the Reformed confession) knows nothing of concupiscence (lust) before the fall. We needed no "grace" before the fall because there was nothing wrong with us before the fall.

There is a great contrast in our states before and fall the fall and it is a great mistake to flatten out the difference. Before the fall we alive, though not glorified yet, and after we were "dead." After the fall, we became unable to obey. All our faculties were affected by sin. We became corrupt in all our parts. Our first, natural inclination became to love self rather than our Creator and our neighbor. Our first inclination (habitus) became to hate God and his law and the truth of this understanding is confirmed by the story of human history immediately after the fall. Think of Cain. Think of the chaos that seems to have enveloped humanity in the years after the fall. Life really did begin to be "solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and (in some cases anyway) short."

This approach to the nature and effects of the fall explains why the confessional Protestant churches have been so insistent on the graciousness of justification. We are sinners. We are not able to help ourselves. We need grace. Grace isn't just assistance for the weakened (that was the medieval and Arminian view). It is salvation for the lost.

This approach also helps explain why we say what we do about the law and about justification. Failure to uphold this confession of the effects of sin also explains why moralists always say what they do. More about this next time.

6. Did God create man thus wicked and perverse?

No, but God created man good and after His own image, that is, in righteousness and true holiness, that he might rightly know God his Creator, heartily love Him, and live with Him in eternal blessedness, to praise and glorify Him.

The Reformed Churches are known for teaching that God controls all that happens. When we think about salvation, this doctrine of divine sovereignty is a great comfort. It means that I did not save myself and my salvation is in the safe and good hands of our all-powerful and gracious Father. When it comes to accounting for sin and evil, the doctrine of divine sovereignty can be a little more difficult, especially for those whose theology begins and ends with divine sovereignty.

To be sure, the problems of sin and evil are no less severe for those who deny divine sovereignty. The idea that God voluntarily withdraws his control or only occasionally exercises control over history faces huge biblical-theological problems. Who gets to say when God is exercising control? If God's decree does not comprehend everything, then is there some sort of vacuum in the universe? Does God get "responsibility" only for the things we like but has no relation to the things we don't like? What if the things we like and dislike change? The idea that God is naturally incapable of ordering all things according to his will is even more bizarre. Did God speak creation into existence? It seems so. If that is the case, why is he incapable of ordering his creation? Did things "get away" from him? Is he incompetent? Where, without employing the most tortured exegesis, would one get the idea from Scripture that God is either unable or unwilling to sovereignly arrange things according to his good pleasure?

These preliminary questions are enough to suggest that there is no great advantage in abandoning the confessional Reformed view, whatever its difficulties.

So, if God is sovereign and the fall happened, how is God not morally responsible for the fall and it's consequences? In other words, if God is sovereign, how can he hold us morally liable for sin and evil?

There are at least two parts to the answer. One part of the answer is in Rom 9:19-22:

You will say to me then, “Why does he still find fault? For who can resist his will?” 20 But who are you, O man, to answer back to God? Will what is molded say to its molder, “Why have you made me like this?” 21 Has the potter no right over the clay, to make out of the same lump done vessel for honored use and another for dishonorable use? 22 What if God, desiring to show his wrath and to make known his power, has endured with much patience evessels of wrath fprepared for destruction?...

Paul says that we lack standing to question God about his ways. The truth is that we're not really able to understand the solution to the problem of evil, at least not as God understands it. Insofar as we are able to think about it, there is no utterly satisfactory answer. There's no way to make the problem go away or to eliminate the mystery.

That doesn't mean that there is nothing to say. We do have something to say. First, as already suggested, it doesn't help to deny God's sovereign control of all things. Second, we should do as Paul and recognize our moral and metaphysical limitations. We're not God. Third, we can mitigate the problem a bit by doing as the Scriptures and the catechism do, by looking at the nature of the creation and fall itself.

One part of the Reformed way to approach the problem of sin and evil is not to look first at eternity and the divine decree (contrary to the assumption that many make about Reformed theology) but rather to look at history. The mainstream of confessional Reformed theology has appealed to the decree as a source of explanation a posteriori i.e., after the fact. In other words, we haven't started with the divine decree and from that truth deduced a whole system of theology from it on the basis of what must be true.

When the Reformed Churches turn to history to begin to explain or mitigate the problem of sin and evil, we are following Scripture. The fact is that God created everything and everyone "good." The affirmation is terribly important. It was widely held in the medieval church that creation (including humanity) was inherently defective by virtue of its finitude. It was widely assumed that there is a sort of scale of being (think of a ladder) at the top of which is God and at the bottom of which is creation and what creation needs is "perfection," i.e., to move up the scale of being toward God. In this scheme, the fundamental human problem is not sin but finitude. Sin is regarded as a symptom of a more fundamental problem.

This doctrine continues to be the magisterial teaching of the Roman Church, which teaches that humans and God both participate in "being." Many evangelicals are also influenced by this way of thinking. Their piety and theology revolve around the quest to deny or over come their humanity. One sees this in the fundamentalist rules that say, in effect, "don't touch," "don't taste" (Col 2:21). The influence of this scale of being idea reflects itself in false dualisms, where that which is immaterial is good and that which is material is either thought to be evil or worthy of suspicious. The old Roman Catholic and fundamentalist view of sex as inherently sinful reflects such a dualism. The evangelical (and fundamentalist and revivalist) neglect of the visible, institutional church. Much of that neglect or denial is grounded in the view that God does not operate through human, created things such as sermons, water, bread, and wine. One sees this tendency in the Roman doctrine of transubstantiation. The elements cannot remain mere elements. The essence of the elements of communion must be transformed into divinity.

Even more fundamental to this whole discussion is the question of the relation of nature to grace. There is much confusion surrounding this topic. There are four basic views

1) Rome says that grace perfects nature. This is the "scale of being" view already described. In this scheme nature, as such, is thought to be defective.

2) The Anabaptists (and many evangelicals) say that grace obliterates nature. Like Rome, these folk regard nature, as such, as inherently defective, but unlike Rome, they expect grace to utterly replace creation altogether. Various forms of perfectionism and the higher life/second blessing doctrine.

3) Pantheists and liberals equate grace with nature. In this scheme there is no distinction whatever between nature and grace. In this scheme there is no distinction the Creator and the creature. There can be no doctrine of sin and redemption except to reduce everything to metaphor and figure. "Sin" can be a lack of awareness of one's potential (or state) and "redemption" becomes realization of one's state.

4) The confessional Protestant view is that grace renews nature, that the latter was created good (and was, therefore, not defective) and has been corrupted or is put to corrupt use by virtue of sin. All human faculties (e.g., the intellect, the will, and the affections) are radically corrupted by sin. Because of the fall, by inclination, we think wrongly, we choose wrongly, and we love wrongly. It is only by grace that we ever come to think, will, or love rightly.

There is no question that humans are fallen and sinful. Rom 1-3 and Eph 1-2 (among other places) is abundantly clear about that. It is less clear to me that creation per se is fallen or sinful nor is it clear to me that creation or creational enterprises need to be redeemed, though evangelicals and transformationalists speak this way routinely. Creation is subject to futility (Rom 8:19-23) and is groaning to be released from the bondage to decay and to enter into the consummate state, but that is not quite the same thing as to say that creation is "fallen." Rocks don't have any faculties. They don't sin. I doubt that dogs sin -- my Scottish Terrier is stubborn, but we wouldn't expect any less from a proper Scotsman would we? Certainly he suffers from the consequences of the fall, but whatever we say in that regard, nothing about the fall makes creation, as such, evil or even something that needs to be "redeemed." I worry about the effect of equivocating about sin and redemption by applying the same terms to humans and creationally generally. The effect is to broaden thus weakening the ideas of sin and redemption.

Nature generally may need to be renewed, but certainly human nature (it was humans who sinned and they who are redeemed) must be renewed by grace. Humanity, however, remains humanity even in a state of grace. Humans shall ever and only be human, even in glorification.

There is one more thing to be said about the Reformed turn to the history creation and the fall as a partial explanation for the problem of sin and evil.

When it comes to accounting for the entrance of sin and evil into God's good creation, the first Reformed move is to turn to the history of creation and redemption.

God made us not only "good," i.e., without defect or lack of being, but also righteous and holy. Strictly defined, the adjective "righteous" speaks to our conformity with the law. We were legally pure. To say that we were created "holy" means that we were created without moral stain or corruption. Holiness is the antithesis of sin. It is the opposite of defilement and impurity. It also refers to being eligible to stand before God in worship.

In other words, our first parents had a right to be in the garden. They were worthy of their estate. They were without legal defect. They were legally just. Further, they not only met the terms of justice (meritum de condigno), they were also worthy of standing before God as priests. Adam, as the first human and the federal head of all humanity, was the priest, the prophet, and the king. He was to rule creation (symbolized by the act of naming the animals) and he was to speak God's Word to all creatures, and especially to those who oppose God and his kingdom and he was to serve as the religious representative of humanity before God and to keep his temple/garden clean from all potential impurity.

Having been created in righteousness and true holiness he had the potential to fulfill these duties. There was nothing about being human before the fall that necessitated the fall.

We confess these things in defiance of and opposition to the Roman doctrine of "super added grace" (donum super additum) before the fall. This doctrine teaches that Adam had concupiscence (lust) before the fall such that he needed a sort of pre-lapsarian grace to restrain this potential for sin inherent in humanity. We deny that Adam had concupiscence before the fall. We confess that Scripture teaches that concupiscence exists only after the fall and because of the fall. We also confess this understanding of Scripture over against those so-called Federal Visionists (e.g., James Jordan and John Barach et al) who have proposed to replace the Biblical and historic Reformed doctrine of merit with "maturity."

Doubtless without knowing it, these earnest Protestants have resurrected the Roman doctrine of the donum super additum. By proposing that Adam needed to mature they are implying that Adam was deficient. This is an unavoidable conclusion. Let's say that we have a 10-year old child who is unusually tall and can physically operate the controls of an auto. Do we let him drive? No, not on the streets anyway (perhaps in a Kansas pasture -- where I learned to drive at 14). Why not? Because the child is immature. The child lacks the necessary judgment to be able to operate an auto on public streets with other autos.

The Reformed confession explicitly denies that Adam was deficient. The Reformed Churches confess that Scripture teaches that Adam was intellectually, morally, volitionally, and legally mature. Just because he was not yet glorified does not mean that he was immature. That is why Paul regards him as the federal head of all humanity (Rom 5; 1 Cor 15:45). If Adam was initially immature and needed to mature then are these revisionists proposing that Adam also became a the federal head at a given point in his maturity? When was he not a federal head?

We confess that had he chosen, he might have obeyed the law, he might have loved God with all his faculties and his neighbor as himself. In Belgic Confession Art 14 we confess, that he was "capable in all things to will agreeably to the will of God." He did, for some period of time, obey the law. We confess that he "willfully subjected himself to sin and consequently to death and the curse, giving ear to the words of the devil. For the commandment of life, which he had received, he transgressed...." It's clear that he was not "under grace" but "under law" and could have kept that "commandment of life" or "covenant of life" or "covenant of nature" or "covenant of works." He was able because he was not a sinner until he sinned.

If Adam had been immature, the standard would have been different. We don't hold children to the same standard as adults. Children are charged as minors and detained in juvenile facilities. Their criminal records are regarded differently because they aren't as fully culpable for most offenses as adults. Scripture knows nothing of a two-stage approach to Adam's probation. Adam is the first head of all humanity. He did not become the head of humanity upon his maturity.

The Reformed Churches also confess that God created Adam with a purpose in view.

Q. 6 pt. 4

The second half of this answer has not received the sort of attention that it needs. It begins with a purpose clause, "that..." or "in order that..." In other words, the Catechism (and the Reformed Churches) teaches that Adam was created in his holy and righteous state for a purpose: "that he might rightly know God his Creator, heartily love him and live with him in eternal blessedness, to praise and glorify him."

For centuries before the Heidelberg Catechism was written, the patristic and medieval church had taught that Adam was in probation. The Reformation theologians and churches continued this doctrine and it appears here in the catechism (and again in Q. 9). The doctrine of Adam's probation held that Adam was under a temporary test. If he passed, he, and we with him, would enter into eternal blessedness and glory. This is the background of the catechism's language "and live with him in eternal blessedness." Adam was not created in eternal blessedness. He was created under the law. It is clear from the narrative in Genesis 2:16-17:

And the LORD God commanded the man, saying, “You may surely eat of every tree of the garden, but of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat, for in the day that you eat of it you mshall surely die.” (ESV)

Implied in the phrases "you shall not eat" and "in the day you eat of it is a test. That this was a test appears in 3;1. The Evil One comes to tempt the first Adam (just as he later came to tempt the Second Adam -- and we know certainly that probation was temporary). He queried the truth of God's Word. He suggested that God was afraid of his creature. That was a test. Would Adam obey his Suzerain? Would he exercise his offices as prophet, priest, and king? Would he fulfill the test and expel the Evil One and crush his head in the name of Yahweh?

Of course we know the answer and so did the writers of the catechism.

That's the tragedy of the modern ignorance of this basic Christian doctrine of Adam's probation. It leads to a denial of our Lord's probation. Jesus becomes not the Second Adam (as he was for Paul) who obeyed for us, but rather, a mere example. This way of thinking tends to make Jesus into the first Christian, rather than the Christ. It's not as if no one has ever taken such steps! The Socinians in the 16th and 17th centuries did just this and a number of the Remonstrants followed them down the same rationalist path.

In the current controversies, it has not been observed often enough how marginalized Jesus' work is in the theology of the revisionists. In their accounts of redemptive history and Reformed theology they move blithely from Adam's faith and obedience to ours -- without passing of or collecting $200. Paul doesn't do any such thing. When it comes to sin, as he should, Paul moves from Adam to us. When it comes to obedience and righteousness, Paul contrasts Adam (and all humans in Adam) and Christ (and all believers united to Christ by faith).

Paul thinks this way because he understood the nature of sin and death and the nature of grace and life. Our catechism thinks, if you will, in Pauline trajectories. It certainly doesn't think like the revisionists.

We confess the faith in the knowledge and confidence that Jesus passed the test. That he was vindicated by his resurrection and glorification. That he has entered into the blessedness that was promised to Adam, but which he failed to earn.

As Adam's children, we are, as he was, created to obey the law. It is, as Mike Horton says, "hardwired" into us. Like Adam, we too are created for immortality. The path to that blessedness and glory is not by our doing, but by trusting in Jesus who has done for for all his people.

The fall was not God's fault. It was comprehended in his providence and decree from all eternity, but, in point of fact, it was not God who sinned. It was we who sinned. We disobeyed. We brought death and condemnation into the world. It was Christ the Word who was "full of grace and truth" for us. He entered glory through the cross and so must we, not so much our own crosses, but through his.

Let us think of Jesus not as the first the first Christian but the only Christ, not so much as our model, but our Savior and let us rest in him and his work for righteousness and life.

We Did It

How many times have you said or heard it said, "I'm only human" as way of excusing or minimizing sin? As we've seen, we were created righteous and holy. As we struggle with the problem of evil and sin we start with the given that God is not morally liable or at fault for the entrance of sin and evil into the world. God did not sin. God does not tempt us to sin. When we pray, "Lead us not into temptation" we are praying that God would not test us beyond that we are able to withstand.

The catechism puts the question directly:

7. From where then comes this depraved nature of man?

From the fall and disobedience of our first parents, Adam and Eve, in Paradise, whereby our nature became so corrupt that we are all conceived and born in sin.

First it's necessary to get some things, such as the nature of sin, straight. The patristic and medieval theologians sometimes spoke of sin not as depravity but as "deprivity," if you will. By coining this word I mean to suggest that the medieval church particularly thought of sin as a fundamental lack in human nature, even prior to the fall. As we've seen, such a view of sin is contrary not only to Scripture but also to our confession. It won't work to make "nature" the problem since that move really makes God liable for sin by virtue of being the Creator.

We have to affirm both that God made us good and that despite that goodness and righteousness, we voluntarily willed to sin. There's no use in flattening out the mystery of sin. The fall, we say, was (and is) disobedience. It was not a "fall from grace" in the sense that folk often speak. Yes, Adam (and we in him) were in God's favor. God approved of us, but that approval was relative to our righteousness and holiness. In other words, when we speak of favor before the fall it does not mean what it means when we speak of favor or grace after the fall.

Second, we must get to grips with the fact that sin is lawlessness. This, of course, his how the Apostle John describes sin. It is also how the catechism characterizes sin. Adam was under the law and he broke that law: the day you eat thereof you shall surely die." This was a negative way of expressing the positive: "Love the Lord your God with all your faculties and your neighbor as yourself."

In the modern period we have had a great deal of trouble with the very idea of sin. Frequently the idea of sin has been denied a priori. It is often assumed that sin could not exist. Modern folk believe in progress above all and human perfectability. These are two of the great religious hereies of the age.

Even within conservative Christian and Reformed circles it is suggested that we can think of relationships without considering legal or forensic categories. It is suggested that to think of God relating to humans on the basis of law, even before the fall, is inappropriate. Why? I submit that we may have been more influenced by modernity than we like to admit. It also seems that we're not as immune from the influence of Pelagianizing ideas as we might like to think. Some of us are tempted to blur the line between humanity before and after the fall, to read the postlapsarian world into the prelapsarian world. This is an ancient error that resurfaces periodically.

It's pretty hard to think of any relationship that is not predicated upon law. Few relationships are as intimate as family but even that most tender bond is premised on the law. I can love them until I'm blue in the face but if I have no legal relationship to them, they aren't my family. If the legal relationship is violated then the familial relationship is destroyed.

So it was with Adam as the Federal head of humanity as he represented us to God. His filial (son-ship) relation to God was premised upon his legal righteousness. When he violated that law, he also violated a relationship.

"Whereby our nature became so corrupt...." The idea that humans are, by nature, corrupt is heresy to modernity. One of the planks of modern and late modern (what folk call "postmodern") religion is the essential goodness of humanity. Even those evangelicals who think of themselves as "postmodern" (who are hardly postmodern at all but rather only "most modern") accept as givens such modernist premises. That humans aren't really very sinful was a fundamental doctrine of the Finneyite Second Great Awakening and continues to undergird the theology of Finney's children.

It was Pelagius who notoriously denied original sin. There were others after him, whom we call semi-Pelagians, who affirmed the existence of original sin, but who denied Augustine's doctrine and Paul's doctrine of total depravity. Most of the medieval church was semi-Pelagian. Most of the medieval church held that we're sinful, we're in need of grace, but we're not so sinful that we cannot do our part to cooperate with grace. Semi-Pelagianism was criticized by a number of medieval theologians beginning as early as the 9th century. By the 14th century criticism of semi-Pelagianism was widespread. There were a number of notable strongly Augustinian theologians in the late medieval church.

In the Reformation, Luther rejected semi-Pelagianism in his lectures on the Psalms (1512-15) and on Romans (1515-16). Luther read Augustine's Lectures on the Psalter and realized that Augustine's account of the theology of the Psalms was much closer to the biblical text than that which he had been taught in university. As he worked through Romans he was confirmed in his view that, by virtue of the fall, we are not only sinful but dead in sin and completely unable to cooperate with grace. This became Calvin's doctrine and the doctrine of the Reformed Churches in the HC.

The Remonstrants (Arminians) rejected the strict Pauline, Augustinian, Lutheran, and Reformed doctrine of original sin. Yes, they said, we're sinful, but not so sinful that...

It's this version of semi-Pelagianism that reigns throughout evangelicalism today. Any theology that says "grace and cooperation with grace" relative to justification is necessarily semi-Pelagian. It's this version of semi-Pelagianism that threatens to re-enter the Reformed churches via movements such as the Federal Vision or via the theology of covenant nomism (NPP) or the theology of Norman Shepherd. The latter says that Adam was to cooperate with grace toward salvation and Jesus cooperated with grace and we're to cooperate with grace toward salvation just like Adam and Jesus. This move from Adam to Jesus to Us, whereby Jesus becomes the first Christian, is not only the move of 19th-century liberalism but it is also the move of a sort of Pelagian. Indeed, Jacob Arminius would blush at Norman Shepherd's construction of the relations between Adam, Jesus, and the believer. Arminius had a more profound doctrine of original sin and its consequences than Shepherd.

The Pauline doctrine and the doctrine of the Reformed Churches, however, is not semi-Pelagian. We do not confess that, by virtue of the fall, we are sinful. We confess that we are corrupt in all our faculties such t