Book review — 1, 2, & 3 John: Evangelical Exegetical Commentary, by Gary Derickson

by Dan Phillips

1, 2, & 3 John: Evangelical Exegetical Commentary, by Gary Derickson

(Logos Bible Software, 2012)

I made 25 pages of notes in reading this book. So while the review is massive, it could have been a lot longer!

Summary: due to the rich thoroughness of exegetical material provided, this is a must-have commentary for anyone who would preach or teach John's epistles, though I strenuously disagree with some of Derickson's interpretations.

Paradoxical? Read on.

Big picture: With this volume, Logos launches a new commentary series titled the Evangelical Exegetical Commentary. Contributors range from the well-known (Walter Kaiser, Jr,; Ronald Youngblood; Robert Thomas) to the unknown.

Taking this volume as a template, the format is superb. After a detailed introduction to the book, the commentary begins along the lines of the author's outline. First is an Introduction to the passage, followed by the Original text (in Greek, in this case), followed by Textual Notes, and the author's original Translation. Then comes thorough, well-documented verse by verse Commentary, then a Biblical Theology section, finishing with Applicational and Devotional Implications, sometimes Additional Exegetical Comments, and finally a Selected Bibliography section. At the volume's end is a list of foreign and technical words (from Actionsart to Synecdoche, this case), a General Bibliography of Journals and periodicals, General books, and unpublished works (dissertations and a thesis).

This is a terrific approach and, depending on the quality of the author, will raise each volume's value.

All of which carries out the editors' stated intent for this series, which they intend for use by ‎"scholars, pastors, and students of the Bible." Each book is written by authors "committed to both the evangelical faith and a careful exegesis of the biblical text," each of whom "affirms historic, orthodox Christianity and the inspiration and inerrancy of the Holy Scriptures" and the whole "reflects the important interpretative principles of the Reformation, while utilizing historical-grammatical and contextual interpretative methods."

Of course, the single trait that distinguishes this series is that it is "the first commentary series produced first in electronic form."‎ This enables the electronic volumes to contain such items as charts, graphs, timelines, and photos. But beyond that, authors will be able periodically to add to their original contribution when new data or insights become available. So your individual volumes may continually be improved from year to year, without having to purchase second or third editions. That's pretty darned cool.

Overview of this volume. ‎Author Gary W. Derickson's acknowledgement includes this: "My greatest desire is that God will be glorified and Christ’s church edified..."

Clearly one way in which Derickson pursues this goal is by unhurried, nearly microscopically-detailed examination of virtually every word and syntactical feature of each verse. Very little escapes Derickson's attention and comment. His diligence shows itself in some of the most thorough documentation I've ever seen: in all, this volume contains one thousand, nine hundred and twenty-one (1921) footnotes. This respectful thoroughness and conversance with the literature alone qualifies the book as indispensable. It is a commentary in its own right, but is also gateway to a wealth of resources.

In addition to clearly having solid academic "chops," Derickson shows a practical eye and God-loving heart in his applications and illustrations.

Introduction. Derickson's first words are refreshingly categorical: "The author of this epistle is John, the beloved apostle." Period. That's different.  Then Derickson wades into internal evidence and external attestation.

As to internal evidence, the author notes that "no extant copy of the epistle is without a title attributing it to John."  Further affirmation comes from the author's "self-disclosure, writing style, and conceptual connection to the Gospel of John." As to date, "For the Gospel, a date between A.D. 80 and A.D. 90 seems plausible, while the Revelation was likely written around A.D. 95. Thus, the first epistle of John most likely was written around A.D. 90, a few years before the writing of the Revelation." I prefer authors who don't excessively pussyfoot, and Derickson doesn't.

I found scores of typos, which I sent to Logos; but very few factual (as opposed to interpretive) errors. One error was on 2:24, where Derickson wrongly calls ἡ ἐπαγγελία ἣν αὐτὸς ἐπηγγείλατο a "cognate accusative."‎ Or again, on ἡ ἀγάπη τοῦ θεοῦ in 2:5, he says it has "three possible meanings" — and then he gives four, and favors the fourth! Similarly, Derickson says there are "four major views" on water and blood in 5:6 — and then details six views. There are other errors, but they are relatively few.

As an example of the Application and Devotional Implications feature, which closes each section, consider Derickson's thoughts on 2:7-11 —

‎Additionally, as is shown by John later in the epistle, this lack of love most often expresses itself, not in anger or conflict but in indifference. How much do we care about the Christians around us? Do we care enough to get involved in their lives, to help them with personal needs? Or are we deceiving ourselves into thinking we are good people while being unengaged in the body of Christ?

Derickson writes as a Christian, and not merely as an academic. In his Biblical Theology Comments on 1 John 2:18-27, he says "the large number of false teachers today is a reminder to our generation that the Antichrist is coming, and also, to our great joy, so is the real Christ!" Then, on the same section of 1 John in his Application and Devotional Implications, Derickson writes:

‎Our best defense against false teachers is not to study false teachings but to know God’s truth. We can only do that by knowing God’s Word. We can only do that by reading and studying it. Listening to good preaching is edifying. Reading devotionals or books by Christian authors is edifying as well. However, neither comes close to knowing God’s Word. It is through His Scriptures that God has chosen to instruct and protect us. That is why Paul commanded the Colossians to “let the word of Christ richly dwell within” them (Col 3:16). That is why John speaks of the “anointing” dwelling in us. The idea of dwelling is not just that we are to know God’s Word. That is part of it. We are also to be influenced (guided) by God’s Word. That is our defense against false teaching today, even as then. The better we know Jesus (have correct Christology), the closer our fellowship can be with Him and God the Father. Any congregation that is serious about communing with God must devote themselves to teaching each member about God

To this, we all would give a hearty "amen."

Back to the larger view: Derickson rejects singling out any single theme for the book.

John states four purposes within his epistle, though they may not exhaust all of his reasons or motives for writing. In 1:3 he writes so that he and his readers may have fellowship with one another and with God. This is immediately followed by a second purpose, that he or they, or better, both, may experience joy (1:4). Then, near the end of his first section of instruction, he writes so that his readers “may not sin” (2:1). Finally, near the end of this epistle, he writes so that his readers might have assurance of their salvation on the basis of their belief in Jesus (5:13).

It is this that brings me to:

Central problem. For all its many strengths, this volume's value is badly compromised by Derickson's doctrinal grid.

My first worries began when Derickson noted that Kostenberger "appears to interpret the epistle through the rubric of the Calvinist doctrine of perseverance, that true believers (the elect) will persevere in good works till the end and that the non-elect will fall away or their faith will fail before their deaths." That's a "Calvinist" view? To Derickson, it is, as he betrays a baleful allegiance to the Zane Hodges approach to Scripture. While his allegiance is far from slavish (he often cites Hodges, then disagrees), it is overwhelming and very troubling.

Derickson takes the view that the letter has multiple purposes, but largely centers around tests of fellowship, and "does not see the tests being related to salvation."

As you might imagine, this leads to some brain-achingly bizarre interpretations and denials of the obvious. His position is a very troubling expression of what I expose at length as "Gutless Grace" in TWTG (195-204).

For instance, on 1 John 2:1, Derickson says

You cannot have sanctifying faith without justifying faith having preceded it. But sanctifying faith does not necessarily follow.

It gets worse on 1 John 2:4, which says "Whoever says 'I know him' but does not keep his commandments is a liar, and the truth is not in him." Derickson says:

‎John is not saying he is unregenerate (contra Burge, 98; Schnackenburg, 102), an unbeliever, but just a liar. ...“Truth” is not equivalent to “salvation” or “gospel message.” Rather, John uses it often and, in this case, to indicate the body of orthodox teachings that impact one’s lifestyle. It is important that we not read every description of a person soteriologically. We must remember that not all saints are saintly in their behavior. Disobedience reveals the lack of a personal knowledge of Jesus in the same way that the apostles, who accompanied Jesus for three and a half years, lacked that knowledge in the Upper Room. Thus, claiming to know Him while disobeying His word is to live a lie, described here by John as “the truth is not in him.” What he means by this is that truth is not a controlling influence in the believer’s life as was possible for John in 1:6, 8, and 10.

Again 2:12-14, Derickson points out that John writes with assurance of his readers' salvation, then triumphally proclaims that John

writes to assure them of their secure status with God. Recognizing this is important if one is to understand the nature of the “tests” in this epistle. Since John is so certain of the spiritual standing of his readers, it conversely stands against reason to think that any test provided in the epistle would be related to the question of whether they are “saved.” The Test of Life view of the epistle cannot be sustained without either ignoring this fact or lessening its significance

It "cannot"? Derickson can't envision any other approach that would do justice to both John's assurance and the plain sense of his tests and warnings? What if John writes with the positive expectation that his readers will apply the tests of life and find that they are saved — though they still remain genuine tests of life? That's all it takes to avoid the gymnastics Derickson's grid requires.

On 1 John 2:19, Derickson has I. Howard Marshall (no Calvinist!) affirming "the Calvinist doctrine of perseverance."  Derickson further says ‎"the idea of perseverance proving election is foreign to John" and "John does not address perseverance." Amazing. Then very oddly, he goes on to say:

‎The departure of the false teachers from the midst of the apostolic band (“us”) revealed they were not true believers; they were never regenerate (Grayston, 77; Smith, 72). ...By saying that these false teachers were “not of us,” John indicates that they were never identified with the apostolic circle and had never agreed with the teachings of the apostles. If their teachings had agreed with those of the apostles, then they would have remained associated with them.

So a person can make a false profession that identifies him as a member of the apostolic group, and when he departs that group we can conclude that he never was a true member — which we know by the departure. If he'd been a true member, he'd've stayed. But that same test can't apply to the visible church? This strikes me as very bizarre.

Then on 1 John 2:29, Derickson says:

‎Finally, what John has affirmed in the positive, that we can see those born of God from their righteous conduct, need not be true in the reverse. He is not saying by this that those who do not practice righteousness are not born of God.

On 1 John 3:6 (emphases added) —

This is much like what he said of those who do not believe in Jesus in John 3:18. They do not believe in Jesus because they have already been judged and stand in a state of judgment. John is affirming here that a sinful character indicates either these people are not eyewitnesses of Jesus (going back to 1:1–4) or they do not really understand God, much like the disciples whom Jesus chided for their ignorance in the Upper Room (Smalley, 164). They are out of fellowship with God (Pentecost, 79). This is parallel in thought with 2:9, where one may claim to be in the light while hating his brother but in actuality is in the darkness. Here someone may claim to know God, but a sinful lifestyle indicates that their knowledge is not personal but cursory; they are spiritually blind and ignorant (Hodges, 146). A child can know who their father is without knowing their father. In the same way, a child of God may know of Him, and may have placed his or her trust in His Son sufficient to save, without knowing Him intimately...

‎Habitually sinful conduct reveals the lack of fellowship with Christ in the life of a believer. Even so, when someone claims to be a Christian while sin remains the characteristic of his or her lifestyle, their conduct makes it legitimate to question their salvation. However, questioning their salvation is different from declaring that it is impossible for him or her to be a sinful believer. Westcott notes well, “St John speaks of ‘abiding’ in Christ and not simply of ‘being’ in Christ, because his argument rests on the efficacy of continuous human effort” (Westcott, 104). When one recognizes John is discussing issues of sanctification within the household of God, it is natural to see the issue of human responsibility in sanctification arising from the text.

Again, on 1 John 3:8 —

...every believer has habitual sins. The need for daily confession of sins indicates that we all habitually sin, though we confess only known individual acts of sin (Matt 6:12). The distinction made by him ignores 1:8–10 and ignores the reality of every believer’s experience. It also ignores John’s use of literary dualism to develop absolute antitheses. John is purposefully making a stark contrast between kinds of people. Whereas the one doing righteousness is described as righteous and is identified with Jesus who is righteous, this person is identified with the devil. John’s use of ἐκ sees Satan, the devil, as the source of the sin-doer’s conduct. Does this necessarily translate into that person being unregenerate? If taken in isolation, this statement might mean such. However, if being used in a purposefully dualistic context, should it not be seen in light of rhetorical license?

Then in the footnote:

‎Even so, the idea that this is describing someone who practices sin and is therefore unsaved is invalidated by the implication of all New Testament commands. Christians are not given positive and negative commands for things that automatically result from their salvation. For example, we are never commanded to be baptized in the Holy Spirit. Why? It is automatic. We do not baptize ourselves. God baptizes us at the instance of our spiritual birth. Without it there is no spiritual birth (Rom 8:9; 1 Cor 12:13). In the same way, when we are commanded not to do something, it must be possible for believers to do it. Otherwise, the command is nonsensical. Also, if a believer can commit a certain sin once, he or she can obviously do it a second time, a third time, and then habitually. Thus even habitual sin proves nothing. In that light, what John is saying here has to be recognized as rhetorical rather than prescriptive.

So the fact that God commands us not to sin means that we can, in fact can do so habitually and characteristically, therefore it has nothing to do with salvation. Does this not strike one as incredibly perverse — in a verse that says Jesus came to destroy the works of the devil, for a commenter to say the works of the devil may not even be budged (let alone destroyed) in the life of a believer?

Derickson  translates 1 John 3:10 "everyone who has been born from God does not sin, because His seed abides in him, and it is not able to sin, because it has been born from God," and actually argues at length that the seed is the new nature, and it is not able to sin, though the believer is able to sin. In fact, once again, Derickson spends a lot of energy arguing that the believer can continue in sin and be enslaved to sin.

‎However when Paul commands believers not to let sin reign in their mortal bodies (Rom 6:12), by implication such is not only possible but the experience of most. Further, sin does not “reign” through occasional lapses. Paul’s warning about becoming enslaved to sin (Rom 6:5–6, 12–14) means that such a believer will habitually sin. Thus, though being born from God gives a person a new nature, that nature does not guarantee immunity to habitual sin any more than occasional sin. The old nature is still resident within and still likes to sin. It has neither been eradicated nor incapacitated. It must still be dealt with in the life of the believer. Thus Paul commands us to “reckon” ourselves “dead to sin” (Rom 6:11). Moreover, he warns that failure to do so results in slavery to sin rather than righteousness.

On 1 John 3:10, John says "By this the children of God and the children of the Devil are apparent: everyone who does not do righteousness is not of God, and the one who does not love his brother. " Does this mean what it appears to mean? Not to Derickson:

‎Christians reveal their new natures by choosing righteous living. The devil’s children reveal their unregenerate natures by sinning. So when a Christian sins, he or she fails to express the new nature but reflects the devil’s pattern by expressing the old nature.

In that case, should John not have said "everyone who does not do righteousness is either not of God, or he actually is of God, but he just isn't expressing his real down-deep new nature"?

Once again, in 1 John 4:7, a verse that says ‎πᾶς ὁ ἀγαπῶν ἐκ τοῦ θεοῦ γεγέννηται καὶ γινώσκει τὸν θεόν, Derickson takes the opportunity to say:

Though we often use the phrase “to know God” to mean “to have exercised justifying faith in God” or “to be a Christian,” John teaches that justified believers may not “know” the God in whom they believe (Grayston, 124). This knowledge of God is conditioned on meeting certain criteria, such as obedience and love of other Christians. The disciples were with Jesus more than three years and still did not “know” Him. Modern disciples can be in the family of God for decades and still not really know Him as well.

So what's important in a verse that says that love indicates regeneration and knowledge of God — what is important to Derickson — is to say it's okay not to know God; you're still saved.

On 1 John 4:16, his constant refrain:

‎Failure to love does not prove one is unregenerate. If it were impossible for a believer to fail to love other believers then we would not have the command to do so. By its very nature, any command, whether positive (“do this”) or negative (“don’t do that”) implies that believers can do the opposite of what is commanded. They can disobey. Thus, believers can and do fail to love other believers with God’s love. The consequence is loss of mutual relationship with God (fellowship) as well as with other believers.

On 1 John 4:20, he says:

‎Love of God is demonstrated by loving Christians. In this verse and the one that follows John affirms that an absence of love denies relationship with God. This denial does not mean a person is unregenerate. It just means that the person is not living according to what is true.

So, if you don't love other Christians, you have no relationship with God, but you're regenerate. Got it. A regenerate person with no relationship with God. Because he's saved by "gutless grace."

‎More twisted reasoning, on 1 John 5:10 —

...‎justifying faith is not always sanctifying faith. What makes justifying faith effective is its object. It is Jesus who saves, not faith. God the Father justifies those whose faith has His Son as its object, not their theology. God justifies them apart from works both at the moment of faith and subsequently (Eph 2:8–9). Furthermore, if justifying faith is workless at salvation, it may remain workless and still justify. However, as Jas 2 teaches, apart from works faith will not sanctify, being ineffectual, being “dead” but not nonexistent.

"Saved by dead faith." Just like the Bible says...the opposite of. I think this may be the single most perverse mishandling of a fairly plain verse that I've ever seen.

This is really troubling. So it turns out a claim to faith can be tested — but only by doctrinal means. If the claim isn't worked out in doctrinally correct ways, it's invalid.

But just think this through: if I am "workless," if I show no submission to the person of Christ, doesn't that mean I "believe" in a Jesus who has no authority over my life, whose teaching about my life is inconsequential and can be ignored safely and soundly, with whom I am free to disagree about literally everything apart from formal acceptance of a couple of propositions? Does such a "Jesus" exist?  Does such a "Jesus" save? Is the testimony that God bore about His Son "Give the nod to a few propositions about Him...then hold His person and everything He actually taught and commanded in contempt and do whatever you want"? I don't recall reading that verse.

On 1 John 5:18, again, ‎Derickson is quick to assure us that all Christians do in fact sin, habitually and all the time, no matter what John's words seem to say. Derickson complains that any other reading "is a deduction necessitated by the doctrine of perseverance and its implications rather than a teaching of Scripture." Derickson further complains that repentance is not stated nor implied in the verse. (And carefree continuance in sin is?) And yet does Derickson not do the same thing he objects to, here?

‎The implication of Jesus’ instructions to confess our sins whenever we pray necessarily means we have sins to confess every time we pray. If we pray every day, which we should, and there are not sins we commit regularly, then either there is a long list of sins we are unconsciously working our way through, or we are just tipping our hats at God and pretending we are sinners. All Christians have habitual sins of which they remain unaware. They have habitual sins that of which they are aware! For a praying Christian, those repeated sins are repeatedly confessed. God forgives them thousands of times in a lifetime, and cleanses that confessing Christian of the other thousands of sins that he or she remains unaware. John cannot be affirming a believer will not persist in some sin as a lifestyle. That becomes equivalent to saying that only intentional sins count in the formula of sinlessness that results from Christ’s protection against Satan. That being said, John is indeed affirming by this that one born of God is not characterized by sin, but only in the sense that divine birth does not give birth to sin and death, but to life.

What a perverse view, when an expositor is driven by a verse saying "everyone who has been begotten by God does not sin" to go on and on about how everyone who has been begotten by God does in fact sin, when the greatest burden he seems to feel is to explain the prevalence of sin (and reassure habitual sinners) rather than talk about its end (and call for repentance and mortification).

Relatively minor problem. The "Gutless Grace" theme is very troubling. The other is more annoying than anything else.

I don't "deduct points" for commenters who stop short of affirming the Biblical doctrine of sovereign grace and effectual atonement. But it is interesting that when he comes to 2:2's οὐ περὶ τῶν ἡμετέρων δὲ μόνον ἀλλὰ καὶ περὶ ὅλου τοῦ κόσμου, Derickson drops what he has done about every issue thus far, down to the tiniest minutiae of grammar and textual criticism. He simply asserts‎ "Through these he makes it clear that Jesus’ propitiatory work is not limited just to believers."  Boom. No evidence, nor respectful discussion of alternative views necessary — unlike every other issue so far.

Again, "This is one of the clearest statements of Scripture that Jesus’ propitiatory work on the cross is universal and not limited only to the elect." Again, "However, dying for sins does not remove them from the unrepentant soul." And in a footnote, uncharacteristically polemically, Derickson says

‎Kistemaker (255) notes that “John chooses the adjective ὅλος (whole) instead of πᾶς (every, all) to communicate the idea of universality.” Even so, he does not see Jesus dying for every human being, but limits Jesus’ death to “all the people who believe in him” (253). He defines κόσμος, then, in terms of “the world in its totality, not necessarily in its individuality.” This demonstrates the difficulty those who would hold to limited atonement face. The text is clear, but their theological system forces them to limit its meaning, and so Jesus’ work on the cross, to the elect alone.

Well, there you have it, then. "The text is clear." Leaving aside the irony of Derickson sniping at people whose "theological system forces them" to mishandle the text, Derickson doesn't even allude to the undebatably varying senses of kosmos in John, doesn't allude to John Owen, and he simply ignores the massive elephant in the room (the fact that John says Jesus is the propitiation, not that He provides or offers it) by asserting that "dying for sins does not remove them from the unrepentant soul." Where is that in the text? In fact, earlier he had noted that "‎the verb εἰμί, ...is ...included for emphasis," so that "John is stressing his point. Jesus is the Propitiation!" So He is...and yet He really isn't, to Derickson.

Apparently it really does depend on what the meaning of the word "is" is.

This becomes still more annoying when Derickson gets to 2:15, at which point he suddenly discovers that the apostle uses the word with several divergent nuances! He doesn't examine those nuances on the first occurrence of the word (because the meaning there is "clear"), but examines it on a later occurrence. Further, here he flatly asserts that the world in this use is evil and anti-God and "a child of God should not love it" — but doesn't wrestle with his earlier insistence that Christ made propitiation for it.

And yet again, on ‎μηδὲ τὰ ἐν τῷ κόσμῳ in 2:15, Derickson says “'World' may be being used in one of three senses here." Here, yes; but somehow not in 2:2, where it can only mean one thing.

Once more, on 4:9, he says ‎"Interpreters are divided on the sense of κόσμος in this verse," and discusses two options. But interpreters aren't divided on 2:2? In Derickson's world, apparently not.

Derickson's theological comments on the issue are so theologically tone-deaf that one wonders whether he has actually ever read opposing literature with half the care he shows in most other cases.

Final summary. Derickson's fondness for the "Gutless Grace" school of thought lessens the value of some of his interpretations, and his failure to deal seriously with some aspects of atonement language can be annoying. Yet I still do recommend this resource to any pastor and teacher, due to Derickson's painstaking thoroughness in going over virtually every detail of the text, his marvellously exhaustive documentation, and the frequent real-world applications characterize Derickson's work.

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"Reformed" "continuationists" and Gutless Gracers

by Dan Phillips

As I was mulling various things over, I hit upon a connection between two seldom-associated doctrinal groups. Perhaps in time this connection I'm making, existing at present only in my head, will prove prescient. I hope not.

On the one hand, we have "Gutless Gracers." This is a term I've used here, denoting a mindset I Biblically deal with at some length in Chapter Ten of... you know, that book. Advocates would call themselves "grace" believers; critics call them "non-Lordship" teachers, I call them "gutless gracers."

As presented by themselves, the position is that we are saved by grace alone through faith alone. So far, so great. However, it is when they go on to define saving faith in such a way as to exclude repentance and submission to Christ's Lordship that these folks run into grave error. To them, such elements involve "works-salvation," and are to be strictly rejected.

The practical result — to put it in terms they would themselves seldom own — is that a man can continue to live like Hell and still go to Heaven. As long as he voices the opinion that Jesus is the Son of God, or assents to the proposition that Jesus died to save him from sin('s penalty), he's okay with God.

A critic (such as I) would say that the real heart of the position is not that one is saved by faith alone (a precious truth), but rather one is saved by claiming-to-have-faith alone (a pernicious error). This "salvation" is sheerly forensic and eschatological, one might almost say theoretical. It doesn't actually save anyone from sin's dominion or power. It does not necessarily result in owning or obeying Christ as Lord. These are optional, albeit desirable, effects.

I have actually known of advocates of this school who say that one can be a Christian Hindu, a Christian homosexual, even a Christian atheist. Now, however it may sound, the case is not that they are actual theoretical relativists or liberals; far from it. As a rule, they are fundamentalistic in their affirmation of Scripture's theoretical inerrancy. Nor would they say that it is a good thing to occupy any of these positions.

It is simply that gutless-gracers are rigorously consistent in the outworking of their fatally-flawed premise: sanctification in any measurable degree is not a necessary result of by-grace-alone-through-faith-alone salvation. If Johnny says he "prayed the prayer" when he was 5, 10, 15 or 20, then no matter what Johnny goes on to do or not do, Johnny is saved, saved, wonderfully saved.

At this point, the reader's patience may be waning. "And what," he may ask, "does this possibly have to do with Reformed continuationism?"

So far, not much. As a rule, formal gutless-gracers tend to be warped dispensationalists, and "Reformed" "continuationists" tend to be non-dispensationalists. Real dispensationalism should be fatal to the gutless-grace position, as real reformed thinking should be to "continuationism"; but that is beside the point at the moment. The point is that both schools of thought are seldom wed, to the point where ignorant "continuationists" often deride all cessationists as being dispensationalists. Which annoys anti-dispensational reformed cessationists no end, and tickles me some. But I digress.

So now I'll show you the connection.

First, have this firm in your mind: the gutless-gracer insists that real, live, saving faith can exist in the heart of someone who never, ever gives the least bit of real-world evidence in his life and priorities and choices that actual conversion has taken place.  In some invisible, inaccessible realm that no eye can see, there has been this massive shift — but observable history is absolutely innocent as to its occurrence. We just have to believe it's there. It's happened, because the professor says so, and the position dictates that it is so.

And so when we look at the Bible and see that Jesus defines saving faith as necessitating submission to His authority (Lk. 6:46; Jn. 14:15; 15;14), that Jesus defines genuine discipleship as involving continuance in His word (Jn. 8:31-32), that Paul insists that it is both impossible and impermissible for a converted person to continue to live in practical denial of Christ's Lordship (Romans 6), that John in his first epistle repeatedly emphasizes that genuine faith will necessarily involve doctrinal soundness and practical holiness, and that James laughs to scorn the notion that saving faith can produce no works — when we see all that, and look at the lives of these professed believers and see nothing like any of those evidences of genuine faith — we are required simply to "dumb down" the definition, in order to accommodate reality and save the theory.

And so the entrance to the Kingdom looks less like a needle's eye, and more like the bar on a Limbo dance — pretty low, and you can dance under it.

I've read leading advocates doing just precisely that. They scramble for shadows, illusions and chimera, call them "fruit," and cling to the theory, though to anyone else it is glaringly obvious that what we are seeing is nothing like what the Bible describes as genuine Christian reality.

Sharp cookies that you are, I wager that virtually every one of you sees the point now — though some of you will generously (if unwittingly) prove my point decisively by arguing against it, simply because you don't like it and change can be unwelcome, even if needed.

Because you see the "reformed" "continuationist" does the exact same thing, in order to prop up his theory.

Every honest objective observer admits that nothing of the caliber of dominical/apostolic revelatory and attesting activity is taking place today. Nothing of that caliber has taken place since the first century. This is a simple, incontrovertible fact. The Bible is not getting bigger, genuine apostles are not ranging about among the churches, dead are not being raised on command. There simply is no post-apostolic continuation of  revelatory/attesting activity, and never has been.

Faced with the evidence, yet formally professing the inerrancy and sufficiency of Scripture, the would-be Reformed continuationist is faced with two choices:

1. Abandon his insupportable "continuationism"; or
2. Mess with the evidence/standard-of-proof nexus.

And, to a man or woman, unable to produce new Scripture or apostolic-level revelatorily-gifted individuals, unwilling to repent of their error, desperate to validate their experience at all costs, they opt for #2.

In this, then, they are mirror images of those very gutless-gracers against whose antinomianism they otherwise rail. They reject the gutless-grace position, with its theoretical affirmation and practical denial of real-life implications of Christ's Lordship... yet, at the same time, they insist on a theoretical affirmation of continuing apostolic/dominical-grade signs and wonders and revelation, while being equally incapable of pointing to any actual examples. So, like their gutless-grace brothers, they are forced to lower the bar so astronomically as to accommodate virtually anything as proof.

So, in both cases, it goes like this:

1. The theory is all-important and must be preserved.
2. The theory suggests there should be evidence, and must be a standard of proof.
3. There is no evidence.
4. But see #1, above.
5. Solution: redefine "evidence," lower "standard of proof."
6. Result: see #1, above.

As a result, then, both echo the famous line from The Treasure of the Sierra Madre:

"Fruits? We ain't got no fruits. We don't need no fruits. I don't have to show you any stinking fruits!"

Ah, if only more Christians as a whole responded with the wisdom of Humphrey Bogart's character "Dobbs," and said, "Better not come any closer!"

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What did Jesus (not) say about... His teaching? (full post)

by Dan Phillips

"I think ______...."

The truth about men. The wisest, smartest, most educated man who ever lived can never honestly go far beyond "I think" — except insofar as he builds on an authority greater than his own.

Imagine the vast, nearly infinite array of facts and information that exist on any subject; then think of the tiny sliver of a portion of a fragment of that which any of us can directly access. Then factor in human fallibility, and any sense of history (e.g. the absolutely certain "scientific" verities that have had to be thrown out and replaced)... and "I think" is about our highest expectation.

The truth about Jesus. Then comes Jesus, to tell us about God — a literally infinite subject which, even if we had access to all the facts, we could never surround. What do we read as coming from His lips? How does He frame his teaching? With "I think"?

Jesus' first recorded preaching in Matthew and Mark certainly cannot be characterized as an invitation for open discussion, debate, or joint exploration. Rather, it is a call for unconditional surrender:

"Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand" (Matthew 4:17)

"The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God is at hand; repent and believe in the gospel" (Mark 1:15)

Now, as far as it goes, this echoes John's teaching (Matthew 3:2). But John was a prophet, and a great one (Matthew 11:9). He too could speak with certainty, because he spoke God's word (cf. Exodus 4:12; 7:1). Did Jesus do more?

We see "more," when Matthew presents Jesus' laying out of His platform, known popularly as the Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5-7). Again and again we read His citation of Law or tradition, countered by "But I say to you" (5:22, 28, 32, 34, 39, 44). This takes the prophet's "Thus says Yahweh," and raises it by a vast factor.

So it is unsurprising to read, at the sermon's conclusion,  that "when Jesus finished these sayings, the crowds were astonished at his teaching, for he was teaching them as one who had authority, and not as their scribes" (7:28-29). And this is characteristic of the whole. Never does Jesus present His teaching about God as the result of speculative reflection, as His best assembly of the facts, as His best stab at a subject that is beyond Him. Never do we sense the least whiff of tentativeness in His doctrine, of uncertainty.

What we have is either the most massive case of unwarranted hubris, ever, or the words of someone with unmatched authority. Where you stand on that divide defines whether or not you are a Christian.

How could Jesus speak with such authority? Because He did not merely hear and tell God's Word — He was God's Word, incarnate (John 1:1, 14), telling truth He knew directly (as only God can know it) of the Father  (John 1:18). He knew God as no mere created being could know Him (John 1:18). So Jesus was simply relaying what He had directly received (John 8:40).

This is why Jesus repeatedly used a phrase found nowhere else: ἀμὴν ἀμὴν, "Amen, amen," "Truly, truly I tell you." (Tobit 8:8 is not a true parallel.) The phrase is found in John's Gospel alone (1:51; 3:3, 4, 11; 5:19, 24-25; 6:26, 32, 47, 53; 8:34, 51, 58; 10:1, 7; 12:24; 13:16, 20-21, 38; 14:12; 16:20, 23; 21:18). It is a very solemn, emphatic insistence that Jesus is telling the absolute, pure, high-grade, industrial strength, unvarnished truth.

How this truth affects us. I see at least three possible effects on two categories of people.

Unbelievers should be awakened and brought to repentance by it. They need to realize that they know nothing whatever with any certainty — except the fact that they can never know anything with any certainty! Their grip on reality is microscopic, evanescent, and baseless. Their greatest teachers are but guessers in a whirlwind; and once they step beyond a small array of facts to claim Certainty, or to expatiate on Meaning, they are 'way out of their depth and self-discredited. They can say nothing authoritative whatever about meaning, value, or significance. Their own premises doom them to walk as blind men in a trackless darkscape.

To them Jesus alone shines as a beacon of light, the Light of the World (John 8:12). His foundation is immovable, His knowledge exhaustive, His authority absolute. He is Lord, and if they are to know anything truly, they must bend the knee and begin knowing on His terms.

Believers should be both emboldened and humbled: emboldened insofar as they echo Jesus' truth, but humbled in the knowledge that their grasp of that truth can only ever be finite.

Christians should never forget that our stance is not and never has been that we are marked off from other men because we are smarter, sharper, wiser, more intelligent. Apart from God's wisdom and grace, we're not an atom better, and may be far worse, than any unbeliever. It is our belief that sheer grace found us dead and blind and obstinate, and sheer grace gave us life and sight and repentance. What we know, we know by divine grant. Our best position is to echo what has been shown us in the Bible, and for that we can take no credit whatever.

And insofar as we are echoing and affirming His word, we should be bold. We aren't standing on our own notions; we're standing on His...if we're doing it right. We aren't preaching ourselves, but Christ Jesus as Lord. It ill-befits heralds to read their King's words bracketed by "I feel" or "for me." Truth would be truth if I'd never been born, and will still be truth if I die. Jesus is the truth, Jesus speaks truth, and if I affirm His teaching, I am also speaking truth. It should be a trumpet-blast, not a kazoo-toot.

At the same time, we must remain humbled, knowing that while we live, we have more to learn, revise, revisit. Our text will never change, but our grasp of it should grow. Virtually every one of us will attest that what we were saved with is not what we were saved to. Many of us were some kinds of Arminians, but were awakened to the Biblical vision of the sovereign Lord. Many of us were some kinds of Charismatics, but had our eyes opened to the sufficiency of the Word. It would be silly to think that, having learned that one lesson, we can close our notebooks and sit still, awaiting our wings and halos.

Above all, when we get into the pulpit to preach (if that is our gift and responsibility), we should be sure that we speak the Word as purely, clearly, and fittingly as God enables us to do. What possible place is there for lengthy guessing and speculation and meandering, when we have barely begun to scratch the surface of revealed truth?

As this post has barely begun to scratch the surface of the significance of the fact that Jesus never prefaced His teaching about God with "I think."

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From 2006: When compassion is Satanic

by Dan Phillips

[On this occasion, it seemeth good unto mine eyes to repost the first post I ever posted on this-here blog. The date was January 26, 2006.]

I take great encouragement from the apostles. What a bunch of goofs. What stunningly thickheaded slow-learners, yet all (metaphorically) wearing "I'm With Stupid" t-shirts.

In Matthew 16, Jesus asks them who people say He is, then after their response He points the finger and asks "But you -- who do you say that I am?" (Matthew 16:15, emphatic humeis). Peter, in one of his brief, shining moments, gives the right answer, and Jesus says he could only know this by divine revelation. As we see Peter in the Gospels, this is almost a truism.

Then Jesus tells them exactly what is going to happen to Him. Does He leave out any essential? Not really. And yet, when it all eventually happens just as predicted, they're still utterly thunderstruck. Had they the chance, I can almost hear them choking out, "But... but why didn't You tell us?" What knotheads. Ahh, my kind of guys. I'd have fit right in without a ripple. (Well, except for speaking Greek with a California accent.)

But as I recently re-read this passage, what struck me is Peter's response to Jesus' dark announcement. Peter had confessed the wonderful truth about Jesus, and had received Jesus' affirmation. It was stacking up as a great day for the Rockinator.

But what does Peter do with this new information about Him whom he'd just crowned the Christ, the Son of the living God? He rebukes Him! He takes Jesus to task, chews Him out, tries to set Jesus straight. (Yes, that was as weird to write as it is to read.)

NOTE: I was just reading that section today (9/23/2010) in Mark 8, and I noticed for the first (remembered) time a striking feature in the Greek text: three occurrences of epitiman, the verb usually translated "to rebuke." You can't see it in any English version I saw, because the first occurrence, in verse 30, is usually translated along the lines of "strictly charged" or "warned."  Second, Peter "rebukes" Jesus in verse 32, then Jesus rebukes Peter in verse 33.

But note how Peter rebukes Jesus. The Greek hileos soi, kurie is hard to capture. Probably the best way to render it is to paraphrase along the lines of the ESV's footnote: "May God be merciful to you, Lord!"

Clearly, Peter is appalled to his very soul at the idea. It horrifies him. I wouldn't charge him with great self-interest or any other such base motivation. Peter clearly loved Jesus, by his best lights, and the idea of Him being treated in this way simply sickens Peter to his very soul. Can we blame Him? In his sandals, would we really have sighed, shrugged, nodded piously and said, "Yes, well, that is what some prophecies seem to suggest..."?

Yet Jesus does blame him. In fact, He scorchingly blames him. "Get behind me, Satan! You are a hindrance to me. For you are not setting your mind on the things of God, but on the things of man" (Matthew 16:23 ESV). So much for Peter's good day.

But why does Jesus call Peter "Satan"? Wasn't Peter motivated by tender, compassionate concern for Jesus? I would not assume otherwise. Jesus does not say otherwise. He does not fault Peter's feelings, so much as Peter's thoughts. The HCSB version has it, "you're not thinking about God's concerns." "Not thinking" renders ou phroneis, pointing to a mindset, a mental framework or attitude. The concern does not come from God's perspective.

How is that like Satan? My mind goes back to Satan's first appearance, where we see him as Man's Best Friend. Isn't that how he presents himself? First, he can't believe that God really roped off all the trees of the garden. "Did God actually say?" he begins. He hates to see the woman so deprived, so repressed.

Then when Eve misquotes God to Satan, he immediately moves to quiet her fears. She should not deny herself such a boon! The fruit she wants is the fruit she needs, and God has no good reason for keeping it from her! God have mercy on you Eve, take the fruit and realize your full selfhood, your full potential!

And so he had worked in Peter's thoughts, imperceptibly, maneuvering this good impulse and that good impulse (unshored from God's perspective) until what came out of Peter's mouth was exactly what Satan wanted him to say. Peter doubtless felt a sort of compassion; but that compassion was Satanic. It did not start from God's starting point in rigorously, Biblically-analytical and self-critical thinking, and it did not stay there.

Compassion is a wonderful, godly human emotion -- or can be, as it is informed and directed in line with the Word. But if Peter shows us nothing else, he shows us that compassion can go wrong. What are some specific ways?

Given the baleful, bloody anniversary we've just passed in America, I think of abortion. Pro-aborts present their position as a compassionate position, in fact as the compassionate position. Those who oppose abortion rights (as they put it) have no compassion for women in crisis. Of course, we have a ready response, and can point out that we have compassion on both the mother and the child.

But what of the "hard cases"? What of rape and incest? Here is where I've heard many Christians' "compassion" overrule their Biblical thinking.

Now look, let me be plain. I think the utmost of compassion is completely appropriate for victims of these awful crimes. I think such women should be given every kind of help, encouragement, and support that can be afforded them.

I just don't think it is compassionate to turn a victim into a victimizer.

In such cases, there are two victims: the mother, and her child. Neither one should be punished for being a victim. Both deserve compassion and support. I just can see no Biblical warrant for encouraging a woman to victimize her child, to contract his or her killing, and calling that "compassion."

"Ah," many will say. "That's a very emotional issue." Yes, it really is. As was Jesus' prediction of His impending violent death. That was a very emotional issue for Peter. Peter let his emotions rule his thinking, and that took his thinking in a Satanic direction.

Will we learn nothing from Peter?

Perhaps you can think of other contemporary issues where Satanic values masquerade under a guise of compassion. Homosexuality leaps to mind. It sounds like the very distillation of compassion to tell such tortured souls that they should give up the struggle, accept their passions, and embrace them, assured of God's approval. But this is the compassion of Hell. This is the compassion that ignores the Cross, with its equally vast threats of judgment, and promises of redemption, deliverance, and freedom. To tell souls struggling with any vile passions, whether they draw one towards homosexuality, adultery, theft, or murder, that they have no hope for deliverance, that their only hope is to redefine and then embrace sin, is no compassion at all.

But my last thoughts here turn to another Satanic form of compassion: the "compassion" we turn to our own sins.

We can read glibly of all the particulars above, if we've never waged those specific battles. It's easy for one who's never had the slightest homosexual urge to sermonize airily on the topic; and so identically with all the others mentioned.

But what of your bad tongue? What of my tendency for faithless despair? What of her arrogant disrespect for her husband? What of his callous, selfish disregard for his wife, or distant unconcern for his children?

Oh, those are different, aren't they? Those are our darling sins. We have compassion on ourselves, compassion on our pet-sins. We create a force-field of rationalizations around them. They're different, because we're different, and our situation is different. Surely they can't be meant for the Cross! Mortify those sins? Put them to a screaming, howling death? Fight and fight, bloodily and incessantly and unsparingly, until they cease struggling and breathing, and have been replaced by God-honoring attitudes and behaviors? God have mercy on us, this can never be!

Sound familiar?

Satanic compassion. God grant we all learn from Peter.

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Something more Sleek and Functional

by Frank Turk

So I ask you: how much faith do you need, really, to be saved?

One answer the NT gives us is this: you don't really have to know anything to be saved. That is, you can the faith of a little child, and God will welcome you (cf. Mt 18:1-6, for the proof-texters and OGs everywhere). You can have a simple faith, a milk-drinking faith (cf. 1Cor 3), and be saved.

But there's another piece of the NT which frequently gets soft-soaked, and it's the answer which James gives: while a simple faith saves, it does not save only in the eternal sense. That is: it saves you to maturity:

the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing.

That is, your simple faith is also a living and breathing faith which grows you through trials to a "complete faith".

Many folks read this – rightly, btw – to mean "a right faith does works", and that's fine. That's a good application. But is it the only application? Is it the only one James intends here?

For example, when James says,

But be doers of the word, and not hearers only, deceiving yourselves. For if anyone is a hearer of the word and not a doer, he is like a man who looks intently at his natural face in a mirror. For he looks at himself and goes away and at once forgets what he was like. But the one who looks into the perfect law, the law of liberty, and perseveres, being no hearer who forgets but a doer who acts, he will be blessed in his doing.

isn’t James saying that God's word is there so that we can take action upon it, and learn how to live in faith?

And glancing up this post a second, isn’t it also Paul's point in 1 Cor 3 that the Corinthians ought not to be forever babies in the faith, but that eventually they have to move on to the meat of the word? That is: their faith ought to make more of them, and be more to them than (as Paul implies) baby food.

So in that, there is a second answer to what you ought to know to have a saving faith: it ought to be true, and correct, insofar as you are mature and maturing in your faith.

Here's what I mean by that – by way of example. Let's think about math for a second. My son loves math (thank God – please Jesus make him a man who has a heart for God and people who is an accountant), and we are working the flash cards. He can add, he can subtract, and he's mastering "times". Which is great, if you ask me: he ought to learn how to do "times" as if it was written in his heart.

The other day, he asked me, "Daddy, do you do math at work?" And the answer, of course, is yes – I do a lot of math at work, a lot of it requiring advanced algebra. So I told him, "yes, son: I do a LOT of math at work."

"Can you show it to me?" he asked.

Well, sure I can show it to him – so I opened up my laptop, opened up some spreadsheets, and I showed him the greek-like formulas we have either borrowed or invented at work to discover things like how many dollars we are earning per hour given the rate of production vs. the standard work for a given work center. And then there's the statistical stuff I have to do verify and compare forecasts. And then there's the financial comparisons vs. plan and vs. last year. And so on.

(hey: wake up. The boring part's over)

So he said to me, "but where are the numbers?" See: in his understanding of math, you need two numbers to make an equation, and those two numbers yield a fixed answer – which, factually, is the right view of arithmetic, and ultimately the right view of how a formula yields an answer you can use.

So I tell him, "Son, we fill in the numbers when they come by. This kind of math shows us how to think about certain problems, and when a problem comes up, we change out the letters for numbers to get an answer."

"WHAT?!" he yelled, sort of laughing. "Daddy, you can't add up two letters!? You can't add 'A' plus 'B' and get 'C' – they're LETTERS!"

Well, really: he's right. Even in algebra II, the formula gets solved down to its simplest state, or most useful state, and you don't really get numbers at the end – you get formulas. But understanding that requires a leap from linear, arithmetic thinking to something more conceptual – something which is taking in the big picture of how adding 2 + 2, or making 3 "times" 4, works.

So my son can have a completely -correct- view of arithmetic, and be -unable- to grasp algebra yet. That doesn't make his view of math "false": it makes it incomplete. He's not a heretic to the math community: he's a student. His view is correct insofar as it is advanced, but it doesn’t account for all of math.

Now, if in 10 years my son and I sit down and he says to me, "Dad, open up your laptop for me – I want to see what you're doing at work," I'll be glad to oblige. My fatherly optimism will be that he's just completed Trig and he's about to show me how to simplify some of my 3-legged-dog formulas into something a little more sleek and functional.

But if we open up the laptop and when he looks at the spreadsheets he says to me, "You know what, Sir Dude? [he uses 'sir' out of respect because he was raised right] I still don't buy the algebra thing. I know what you call it – I just don't buy it. It doesn’t work. 2 + 2 = 4; A + B doesn't equal anything. All this stuff you say you've been doing for the last 10 years is just guff. And there's no way for you to prove to me that it does work."

At that point, we have crossed over from incomplete knowledge to something else – a knowledge which refuses to grow, refuses to receive more. It's willful ignorance.

In Biblical terms, it's what Paul called the "shipwreck of faith" – that is, when someone rejects "love that issues from a pure heart and a good conscience and a sincere faith." "Love" is certainly the product, but one of the components of that love is a "good conscience". In my example, my son can’t be said to have a good conscience – because he establishes what cannot be true apart from the facts which are plainly in evidence. In our faith life, we cannot be said to have a good conscience if we are unwilling to receive the facts of faith.

That's a big deal, for example, for Catholics – because the right-minded Catholic view is that Protestants who willfully refuse the teaching of the Church are unrepentant sinners. And if they are right about what kind of final authority the Church as an institution holds, they're right: you can't have a good conscience when you reject the truth.

But for Protestants – not merely evangelicals, but confessional Protestants – what Scripture teaches us is what we must accept as the truth about our faith. And as we advance out of spiritual immaturity to spiritual maturity, the burden upon us to accept and demonstrate the truth in Scripture becomes a greater responsibility. This is why the warning to teachers is such a serious thing; that's why the anathema against a different gospel – and the criteria for knowing what that is – is an anathema and not just a rebuke.

And for good measure, think about this: that's why John called the Pharisees who came to see him a brood of vipers, and why Jesus called the same men whitewashed tombs -- because the Gospel had not changed, but these men, who ought to have known better, did not know it when they saw it.

You don't need a perfect confession to save you, but you do need a faith which is perfecting you, not leading you into more error.

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Weekend Extra: Our enemies can be reconciled

by Frank Turk



Dr. Russell Moore is my fellow blogger at firstthings.com's Evangel blog, and a well-respected speaker, pastor, and professor at SBTS. He is, in every way, my better, and an example of Christian virtue which I could never be. He is to be widely-admired by the church as a teacher and as a man with a gigantic heart for the lost. His blogging and other writing on the subject of reaching the lost, and on adoption, has been instructive to me, especially when it comes to the matter of dealing with the messy work of pastoring people through their broken lives in the lifelong task of sanctification.

Yesterday, he posted a brief blog entry regarding his thoughts on Anne Rice's recent rejection of Christianity "in the name of Christ". That is, she declared her allegiance to Christ and therefore denounced all Christianity as her best thought on how to deal with the other Christians she witnessed.

Here's the crux of Dr. Moore's 2-page essay:

Anne Rice hasn’t rejected you. Anne Rice hasn’t betrayed you. Would you pray for her, and for the other smoldering wicks and about-to-bolt potential prodigals in your church (and maybe in your home)? It could be Anne has been deeply hurt by what she has seen in Christianity. Or it could be that, like Jesus’ disciples, the closer she’s drawing to Christ, the more she is made uncomfortable by it. Let’s love her.

The sentiment here is well-meant, and pastorally-intentioned. Of course let's please pray for Anne Rice -- at the very least for the same reason we pray without ceasing for all people, but specifically because her experience is an interesting one which, it seems to me, is not very well understood.

Back in 2005 when she went public with her return to Catholicism, I blogged a bit about her confession of faith and her book Out of Egypt. That book in particular seems to me to be extremely instructive as to what Mrs. Rice experienced -- which was more a bout with intellectual honesty than a turn of faith and repentance.

Because the diversion is brief, I'd encourage you to read those three posts as background to this subject.

However, in doing that, I think that background causes me to wonder whether Dr. Moore is giving truly-pastoral advice, or has merely sentimentalized an approach to this sort of behavior.

It seems to me that Mrs. Rice was very able and willing, in 2005, to turn a thoughtful and critical eye to the common objections to the actual story of the Gospel. She was able to make the critical case against liberal readings of the Gospels because let's face it: she's a literate woman. She read the stories as they were told, and found the case against them to be entirely shallow from a literary, hostorical and academic standpoint.

I choose the word "critical" here specifically because I do not think her effort was "apologetic" in the least -- she was not seeking to give an answer for the hope that lies within her, but was in fact narrating the story of her own coming to terms with the story of Jesus. She was giving an academic assessment of non-christian readings of the Gospels, and found them wanting.

This caused her, in her own words, to return to Catholicism -- the religion of her childhood. And in that, she has also stood up for her own belief in the resurrection of Jesus -- which ought to be no surprise. One of her tour guides through the NT literature is N.T. Wright who, in spite of everything else you might say about him, probably writes most vivaciously about the fact of the bodily resurrection of Christ among everyone in the last 200 years. I mean: he's the guy who coined the term, "the life after life-after-death" to make clear what it is the Christian hope truly is.

So yes: she's all about some reverence for the Gospels as compelling stories about Jesus. And yes: she's all about a resurrection. But let's face it: this week, she made it clear she is also, before all that, about these things:

For those who care, and I understand if you don't: Today I quit being a Christian. I'm out. I remain committed to Christ as always but not to being "Christian" or to being part of Christianity. It's simply impossible for me to "belong" to this quarrelsome, hostile, disputatious, and deservedly infamous group. For ten years, I've tried. I've failed. I'm an outsider. My conscience will allow nothing else. [28 July 2010, 12:36 PM]

It's curious that this is a matter of conscience for her. What does that mean, I wonder? It seems to me that this is entirely a moral issue for her -- to be apart from the group "Christianity" because that group is "quarrelsome, hostile, disputatious, and deservedly infamous." I think the primary question to ask, though, is if this is actually true of Christianity -- is it "deservedly-infamous"? Would Dr. Moore own that statement?

I think probably not -- and he would point out that Mrs. Rice's indictment here is primarily emotive. Her accusations aren't primarily rational but visceral for the sake of another agenda -- so taking this statement to task is not actually very wise because it sets the emotive nature of the statement up for defensive behavior, and for taking reproaches as hostility rather than good advice.

To that I say: fair enough. Maybe it was essentially a "bad day" for Mrs. Rice -- or a "bad 10 years", since that's the scope of her complaint. But hard upon that compaint is this one:

As I said below, I quit being a Christian. I'm out. In the name of Christ, I refuse to be anti-gay. I refuse to be anti-feminist. I refuse to be anti-artificial birth control. I refuse to be anti-Democrat. I refuse to be anti-secular humanism. I refuse to be anti-science. I refuse to be anti-life. In the name of Christ, I quit Christianity and being Christian. Amen. [28 July 2010, 12:41 PM]

This is her list of moral objections -- and as such they are accusations against Christianity, specifically Catholicism (a conflation I'll get to in a minute): it is anti-gay (meaning, I suppose, that it forbids gay marriage and at least formally sets sanctions against homosexual behavior and lifestyles); it is anti-feminist (which, I think, is a radicalization of the term as there is no institution in the history of the world which has done more for women socially than the Christian church -- however, I think she probably means that it forbids women as spiritual leaders, and that she also means something relating to "legal, safe and rare" abortions); anti-birth control (again, I think this is about abortion, but it's also a feminist tent pole that women are oppressed if they must have all the children the sex they participate in conceives); anti-Democrat (I sense a pattern …); anti-secular humanism (a phrase which fits into the flow of the complaints in that it ostensibly points to the greatest common good for mankind through human achievement); anti-science (I infer her to mean anti-stem-cell research, which again is in a specific pattern); and of all things after this list, "anti-life".

It's this list which makes Dr. Moore's comments puzzling. Martin Luther, of course, wrote, "Our Lord and Master Jesus Christ, when He said Poenitentiam gait, willed that the whole life of believers should be repentance." That is, our life is not the life of kicking at the goads against the God who is Love: it is knowing His will for us and then dying to sin in order to live in His new life. Yet there's not a drop of repentance in Mrs. Rice's statement -- it is in fact the antithesis of repentance because it frames the problem of the speaker in terms which rather impugn others for holding strong convictions which have been, historically, in the necessary middle of the faith and the church. Some might say this is transference by Mrs. Rice. I would say rather that it is a refusal to accept guidance in the practical matter of spiritual formation. She does in fact make "Christians" her enemies by framing them as immoral and irredeemable.

But there is more:

My faith in Christ is central to my life. My conversion from a pessimistic atheist lost in a world I didn't understand, to an optimistic believer in a universe created and sustained by a loving God is crucial to me. But following Christ does not mean following His followers. Christ is infinitely more important than Christianity and always will be, no matter what Christianity is, has been, or might become. [29 July 2010, 4:06 PM][via Facebook]

I find it difficult not to say, "aha!" here. I can't really find a euphemism for the kind of pride it takes to say, "My faith in Christ is central to my life," when one has frankly already made it clear that keeping his commands is simply right out.

It is this analysis of what Mrs. Rice has posted via Facebook that Dr. Moore's advice lacks. Should Mrs. Rice be heckled and run around like Servetus in 16th century Europe? Wow -- of course not. But this is not the only option when she has already drawn up the rules of engagement.

The first measure of one's approach has to go back to the problem of Catholicism -- a problem I suspect Dr. Moore would minimize. Could it be that Mrs. Rice was an honest-to-God Christian inside Catholicism? Of course -- I think I am famous for saying that there are many lousy Catholics who have great faith in Christ. But it seems to me that her faith is fully informed by Catholic dogma, and that the flaws in her acting out in faith are frankly the flaws of all thoughtful people inside Catholicism: because you have to disassociate so many unbiblical teachings from your core faith, you wind up dismantling your ability to respect right-minded religious authority. Because the only authority she has says it is infallible but in truth it is riddled with falsehood, she applies her skepticism of claims to infallibility to the Bible and makes it her own buffet of truths. What Mrs. Rice first needs is to be disabused of Catholicism to recover her faith in the church and in God's authority over her moral and intellectual life.

The second measure of approach has to be challenging her deeply regarding moral standards -- as in, if they exist and what they are. Her view of what is moral is a consequential view formed after many other a priori commitments have ben made. For example, how deeply flawed is the view that it's anti-life to be anti-abortion? Is treating this like it is not open antagonism to God's view of murder actually pastorally-, evangelically- or apologetically-useful?

And the third measure is that Mrs. Rice has to meet some people someplace who are actually Christians -- and not just moralists or political activists or attenders at a pep rally every Sunday. She needs to meet some people who are like the people at the end of Acts 2 -- devoted to the apostles’ teaching and the fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers, together with all things in common, selling their possessions and belongings and distributing the proceeds to all, as any had need, and day by day, attending the temple together and breaking bread in their homes, receiving their food with glad and generous hearts, praising God and having favor with all the people. This would be an indictment which should stick to us because it is the one which, all told, we wear daily in spite of knowing better.

If she met people like that, I suspect that she would at least have the integrity to take back the ugly things she said. But Dr. Moore's approach to this seems to me to ensure that nobody would treat her as if she said anything wrong. She has said something wrong, and someone needs to be a true friend to her and tell her the depths of her mistakes here -- which do put her at enmity with God and His people.

But, to close up here, this is where Christianity is above all false religions: those who are our enemies can be reconciled -- in fact, this is the purpose of our faith. Christ died that those who live might no longer live for themselves but for him who for their sake died and was raised. Even though we once regarded Christ according to the flesh, we regard him thus no longer. Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come. All this is from God, who through Christ reconciled us to himself and gave us the ministry of reconciliation; that is, in Christ God was reconciling the world to himself, not counting their trespasses against them, and entrusting to us the message of reconciliation. Therefore, we are ambassadors for Christ, God making his appeal through us. We implore you on behalf of Christ, be reconciled to God. For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.

Be reconciled to God, Mrs. Rice. And in that, come prepared to repent for the sake of whom you have believed.

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A Primer on Antinomianism

by Phil Johnson



ntinomianism is one of those theological terms that is notoriously hard to pin down. It has an admittedly sinister sound, and when many people hear the term, they think it speaks of wantonly advocating sin ("Why not do evil that good may come?"—Romans 3:8). Indeed that kind of extreme antinomianism exists. It was the doctrine of Rasputin, for example.

But in normal theological discourse the term antinomianism usually refers to theoretical antinomianism. Theoretical antinomians don't necessarily advocate extreme libertinism (or practical antinomianism). In fact, a great many theoretical antinomians are known for their advocacy of holiness. (And conversely, many who adhere to "Holiness doctrine" and various other perfectionist schemes are also theoretical antinomians.)

In totally non-technical terms, antinomianism is simply the view that Christians are not bound by any of the precepts of Moses' law—moral, civil, ceremonial, or otherwise.

The Reformers saw three proper uses of the moral precepts of Moses' law. Here's a summary from Article VI of the Lutheran Formula of Concord (the "Epitome," or short form):

"The Law has been given to men for three reasons: 1) to maintain external discipline against unruly and disobedient men, 2) to lead men to a knowledge of their sin, 3) after they are reborn, and although the flesh still inheres in them, to give them on that account a definite rule according to which they should pattern and regulate their entire life."

In other words, the "third use of the law" makes the law's moral standards the rule by which the faithful must order their conduct. In this sense, the moral strictures of the law remain binding on Christians, even though we are "not under the law" in the Pauline sense—i.e., not dependent on our own obedience for any part of our justification. (By the way, the entire Formula of Concord's Article VI is a brilliant refutation of antinomianism, and well worth reading.)



Calvin said the third use of the law is "the principle use." He wrote,

The third use of the Law (being also the principal use, and more closely connected with its proper end) has respect to believers in whose hearts the Spirit of God already flourishes and reigns. For although the Law is written and engraven on their hearts by the finger of God, that is, although they are so influenced and actuated by the Spirit, that they desire to obey God, there are two ways in which they still profit in the Law. For it is the best instrument for enabling them daily to learn with greater truth and certainty what that will of the Lord is which they aspire to follow, and to confirm them in this knowledge; just as a servant who desires with all his soul to approve himself to his master, must still observe, and be careful to ascertain his master's dispositions, that he may comport himself in accommodation to them. Let none of us deem ourselves exempt from this necessity, for none have as yet attained to such a degree of wisdom, as that they may not, by the daily instruction of the Law, advance to a purer knowledge of the Divine will. Then, because we need not doctrine merely, but exhortation also, the servant of God will derive this further advantage from the Law: by frequently meditating upon it, he will be excited to obedience, and confirmed in it, and so drawn away from the slippery paths of sin. In this way must the saints press onward . . .

Antinomianism, in essence, is a denial of the third use of the law, claiming that the moral law is not binding on Christians.

There are at least three major strains of theoretical antinomianism:

1. Hyper-Calvinistic antinomianism: Advocates of this view and variations thereof include Tobias Crisp and William Huntington, both 18th-century English preachers. (Some would dispute whether Crisp really fits in this category; I think he does.) They insisted that grace eliminates the moral law as a rule of life.

Hyper-Calvinism places emphasis on God's decretive will at the expense of His preceptive will. Hyper-Calvinists suggest that God's real character is to be discerned from His secret decrees, rather than from actual His commandments and precepts. If God really wanted people to obey this or that commandment, He is sovereign and could have brought it about by His sovereign decree. Since He didn't, it cannot be what He really desires. So the seriousness of the law as an expression of God's will is naturally downplayed by hyper-Calvinism, making most hyper-Calvinists susceptible to antinomianism.

Thus hyper-Calvinistic antinomians deny that the moral law applies in any way to believers, because grace (in their view) is totally incompatible with any law. Furthermore, they deny that the moral law applies to unregenerate people, too—because the unregenerate are not able to obey it.

Nineteenth-century British hypers were notoriously prone to theoretical antinomianism (see Iain Murray, Spurgeon & Hyper-Calvinism, p. 68, n. 1). They concluded that since sinners are unable to obey the moral law, it is wrong to preach that they are obligated to do so. Obviously, if moral inability excuses a sinner from the duty to believe, then on the same grounds he or she can be under no obligation to obey the Ten Commandments, either.

(Iain Murray's excellent book includes an appendix titled "The Injury Done by Hyper-Calvinism and Antinomianism—Words of Witness from Spurgeon"—taken from one of Spurgeon's New Park Street sermons. I happen to have that very sermon on line as part of The Spurgeon Archive. It's "The Minister's Farewell," and to read the bit Murray quotes, do a search for the words "the true minister of Christ"—and start reading at that point.)

This hyper-Calvinistic brand of antinomianism is far more common in England than in the US, but it is not unknown among the "Gospel Standard" people on this side of the Atlantic.



2. Dispensationalist Antinomianism: The idea here is that the relevance of the law was confined entirely to the Mosaic dispensation. The whole law has been abrogated in this dispensation of grace. All passages with a legal emphasis, such as the Sermon on the Mount, are assigned to other dispensations.

This type of antinomianism is found in differing degrees. Lewis Sperry Chafer's book Grace is the classic statement of the view. Charles Ryrie advocates a modified (softened) version of Chafer's view, but he still would fall in the dispensational antinomian category. Zane Hodges, on the other hand, went miles further than Chafer, and he devised a novel, radical antinomianism that deserves a category of its own:

3. No-lordship antinomianism: Those who hold this view make sanctification an optional aspect of the believer's experience. This view (like the other two) makes a hard-line dichotomy between law and grace, treating the two as utterly incompatible. (It is closely related to dispensationalist antinomianism, using the same fundamental rationale—but pushing antinomianism to much further extremes.)

This version of antinomianism suggests that if salvation is by grace through faith, then nothing can possibly be viewed as essential to salvation if it involves the believer's obedience, or surrender, or submission to Christ's lordship—or anything more than a notional "assent." In this view, sanctification itself is seen as legal in character and is therefore regarded as an optional, purely elective, aspect of the Christian experience.

This is what the "lordship salvation" controversy was about a few years ago. Zane Hodges would be the most extreme advocate of this brand of antinomianism. Jody Dillow has tried (in vain, I think) to give this view some academic respectability with his book Reign of the Servant Kings.

Here's a classic sample of modern antinomianism from Bob George's booklet "A Closer Look at Law & Grace." Bob George has combined dispensationalist antinomianism and deeper-life passivity into his own designer variety of antinomianism. But note how plainly he states the antinomian agenda:

The purpose of the law is to show us our need for salvation and then point us to Christ. Once it has done this, the law serves no other purpose.

That's about as blatant a statement of antinomianism as you'll find anywhere. It is a straightforward denial of the third use of the law. It is also a significant departure from the historic evangelical perspective.

Someone will no doubt ask, "Doesn't Scripture itself set grace and law against one another? Doesn't the biblical idea of grace eliminate law?"

While it is true that Scripture never mingles grace and works as grounds for justification, it is not the case that grace rules out law altogether, or vice versa. Paul's whole point in Galatians is that the proper uses of the Law are all compatible with grace. In fact, the true purposes of the law are all gracious. Law only impinges on grace when the sinners own legal works are seen as means of salvation or as instruments of justification.

And when Paul says we are "not under law," he's speaking about our relationship to the law with regard to our justification (cf. Galatians 5:4).

Finally, here are some definitions of antinomianism from some standard theological dictionaries:

1. From Walter A. Elwell, ed., Evangelical Dictionary of Theology (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1984), p. 57:

[Antinomianism] refers to the doctrine that it is not necessary for Christians to preach and/or obey the moral law of the OT.

2. From Baker's Dictionary of Theology (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1960), 48:

ANTINOMIANISM. The word comes from the Greek anti, against, and nomos, law, and signifies opposition to law. It refers to the doctrine that the moral law is not binding upon Christians as a rule of life.

And here's a bonus, from John MacArthur's Faith Works (p. 95):

In short, antinomianism is the belief that allows for justification without sanctification.
    Antinomianism makes obedience [to the moral law] elective. While most antinomians strongly counsel Christians to obey (and even urge them to obey), they do not believe obedience is a necessary consequence of true faith . . .. And that is what makes no-lordship theology antinomian.

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Do We obey out of Love, or out of Duty?

by John MacArthur

I'm in Denver for a day-long conference today, and my back is still killing me. I had an MRI Tuesday, and the doctor called yesterday with an urgent referral to a neurosurgeon. So evidently the fix will require something more radical than the calisthenics and pills prescribed so far. But I could have told you that 3 weeks ago. Anyway, I haven't the strength or the time to write fresh material for our series on legalism, so here's something even better. It's a piece by John MacArthur, excerpted from a chapter in Trust and Obey (Pittsburgh: Soli Deo Gloria, 1997).

t the height of the Lordship controversy a few years ago, a fellow pastor wrote me:

Dear John, I am sympathetic to your stance on the lordship of Christ. You are quite right in teaching that the gospel calls sinners to repentance and calls for their obedience to Christ as Lord. His lordship is as crucial to the gospel message as His deity. In fact, as you point out, His deity and His lordship are so inextricably bound together that a christ who is not Lord of all is not the Christ who saves. The modern notion that the sinner can reject Christ as Lord but receive Him as Savior is foreign to all the historic creeds. To my way of thinking, any message that excludes the lordship of Christ is not the gospel at all. If you don't mind, however, I would like to offer a criticism that I hope you will find helpful, not hurtful: I notice that you present Christian obedience as a duty. You often cite the biblical passages that speak of the Christian as a bondservant—as if this meant we are abject slaves to Him. Your stress is on the Lord's authority to command obedience. And therefore you speak of obedience as an obligation to which the believer is bound. I see a different emphasis in Scripture. Faith works through love (Gal. 5:6). The Christian obeys Christ out of sheer love for Him. Obedience for the Christian is not so much a duty as it is a delight. Believers obey because that is where they find their satisfaction—not because they are bound to do so. We obey out of love for Christ, not out of fear, and not out of duty. I believe this perspective is essential to joyous Christian living. It is the whole difference between legalism and true Christianity.

I sincerely appreciated that man's comments. And I agree that it is possible to place so much stress on the duty of obedience that we lose sight of the joy of it. After all, the Christian's obedience should be a delight. Love for Christ is a higher motive than fear. So there is certainly some sound truth in what this man wrote.

Nonetheless, the danger of overemphasis is very real on both sides of this truth. It is not quite right to say "We obey out of love for Christ . . . and not out of duty." Duty and love are not incompatible motives. A father provides for his children because he loves them. Yet it is also his legal and moral duty to do so. The fact that a man loves his children does not lessen his duty to them. The more he loves them, the more he will see the duty as a joy and not a drudgery. But even when the duty is a delight, it should not diminish the father's solemn sense of duty.

Our obedience to Christ is like that. Certainly we ought to obey Him out of a deep love for Him. And the sheer joy of pleasing Him should permeate our obedience. Yet we should never think of obedience as anything less than a sacred duty. Our love for Christ does not make submission to Him elective. Christ is still our Master, and our relationship with Him carries a great weight of responsibility. We ought to serve Him as loving, devoted bond servants. "Abject slaves" is not too strong a term.

Jesus Himself underscored this very thing:

But which of you, having a servant plowing or feeding cattle, will say unto him by and by, when he is come from the field, Go and sit down to meat? And will not rather say unto him, Make ready wherewith I may sup, and gird thyself, and serve me, till I have eaten and drunken; and afterward thou shalt eat and drink? Doth he thank that servant because he did the things that were commanded him? I trow not. So likewise ye, when ye shall have done all those things which are commanded you, say, We are unprofitable servants: we have done that which was our duty to do (Lk. 17:7-10).

That imagery paints a clear picture of the kind of servitude we are expected to render to Christ as His servants.

But that's only half the picture. Our Lord also called for the obedience of love: "If ye love me, keep my commandments" (Jn. 14:15). And He elevated those who obey to the level of friends:

Ye are my friends, if ye do whatsoever I command you. Henceforth I call you not servants; for the servant knoweth not what his lord doeth: but I have called you friends; for all things that I have heard of my Father I have made known unto you (Jn. 15:14-15).

Obviously, our Lord viewed our love for Him and our duty to Him as motives for obedience that are inextricably and necessarily bound together: "He that hath my commandments, and keepeth them, he it is that loveth me" (Jn. 14:21). "If ye keep my commandments, ye shall abide in my love; even as I have kept my Father's commandments, and abide in his love" (Jn. 15:10).

Far from being a drudgery, Christian obedience is thus the bond of our relationship with Christ and the source of our deepest joy. And the fact that we are obliged to submit to His lordship should never alter the joy we find in doing so.

Of course, because we are still fleshly creatures, our obedience is not always joyful. And so we must realize that even when our hearts are not brimming with the joy of the Lord, obedience remains our duty. We are to obey when it brings us pleasure, but we also must obey even when we do not feel like it. Both our love for the Lord and our sense of duty to Him should motivate this obedience. One must never cancel out the other.

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