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What is the Reformed Faith?
Posted : 22 Nov, 2011 09:47 AM
How do I go to God?", someone asked the Scottish Presbyterian, Horatius Bonar. The parson
answered, "It is with our sins that we go to God, for we have nothing else that we can truly call
our own."
Much like Lutheranism, the Reformed tradition was forged out of the mighty storm known as the
Protestant Reformation. John Calvin (1507-64) was a Frenchman who, through his own study of
the Scriptures and reading the tracts of Luther and other older Reformers, became a convert to
the "evangelical" faith. Like Luther, Calvin was anxious about the state of his soul. How does a
sinner become acceptable to a pure and holy God who cannot tolerate sin and who has told us
that He has prepared a place of eternal torment? "Just love the Lord," they told Calvin. "Love
Him?" he asked. "How can you love a God who is always pointing His finger at you, just waiting
for your foot to slip?"
But then a marvelous discovery came to the French scholar, much the same way it came to
Luther, and in no small measure through that great Reformer's writings. The Bible declares that
Christians are justified by faith in Christ and not by anything they do. That revolutionized this
timid, shy Frenchman and made him, reluctantly, a major influence on the Western world.
But what did Calvin teach that was so revolutionary in his day? Or Edwards or Whitefield in
theirs? What made Charles Spurgeon such an amazing evangelist and launched the modern
missionary movement, with William Carey, Hudson Taylor, David Livingstone, and John Patton?
What caused the Great Awakening and the Evangelical Revival in Britain and Europe? And why
do we think these ideas--which are no more than the ideas of the Bible itself, could cause another
revolution or reformation in thought and life today? First, the basic beliefs.
This Is My Father's World
Calvin wrote much on the beauty of the world as a "theater" in which God's attributes were
displayed and highlighted. "As ever in my taskmaster's eye," wrote the famous Calvinistic poet,
John Milton, expressing the sense of belonging to this world the Christian ought to feel. Of
course, we are ultimately bound for eternity, but this life really does count.
That's why the Reformed tradition has always had a high doctrine of creation. If a cheap piece of
pottery falls from the cupboard, it's no worry--just sweep it up and that's that. But what if the
vase is a priceless antique in a museum, a master's signature edition and it is destroyed? Surely
this would be a great tragedy. The difference doesn't lie in the quality of the material (both may
have been clay pots), but in the greatness of the artist and the uniqueness of the work. So too,
humans are not merely spirits caged in the prison-house of a body, but great works of art
intended to have a certain enthusiasm and sense of dignity about being human.
Reformed theology has always emphasized the fact that everything has a reason--and that we
have a reason. Nothing happens by chance, but is organized by the Great Director. And we are
all "actors" on God's stage, as Shakespeare put it.
Far from making our own decisions and actions meaningless, it renders them truly significant.
Who would ever say that the significance or freedom of Sir Laurence Olivier or Kathryn
Hepburn is diminished by the existence of a script? Without a script, how could their acting have
any meaning at all?
This means, too, that God did not create a separation between "secular" and "sacred," as many
Christians today often do. Christians were meant to participate alongside non-Christians in every
aspect of life. Reformed theology has no place for "Christian cruises" and "Christian media,"
"Christian books" and "Christian music." There is no "full-time Christian ministry" and "secular
work," but vocations or callings for everyone. In creation, too, there is the gift of "common
grace." "The rain falls on the just and the unjust alike," Jesus told the disciples.
The Fall Is Worse Than You Think
Sometimes we tend to view sin mainly in terms of actions: doing this or not doing that. But sin,
according to Scripture, is mainly a condition which produces actions . "We sin because we're
sinners," as the saying goes. Reformed theology takes sin seriously and argues with St. Paul that
believers "were dead in trespasses and sins" and that "the unbeliever doesn't understand the
things of the Spirit of God; neither can he know them...."
Think of it: Spiritually dead ! Have you ever had a good conversation with a corpse? Just try it
sometime. It's a bore! Similarly, we can expect no life from fallen men and women until God
decides to dispense His grace. "No one understands, there is no one who does good, no one looks
for God, no not even one," lamented the Apostle Paul. This, of course, does not mean that we
simply sit around and wait for unbelievers to be regenerated before we tell them the Gospel.
Rather, we expect the Gospel, together with the Spirit, to regenerate them through our message.
The Reformed, like other Protestants, take the Fall in the garden of Eden seriously. We actually
inherit the moral corruption and the guilt of Adam. We enter the human race as God's enemies,
guilty enough to be condemned even before our first actual act of disobedience. "In sin," the
Psalmist confessed, "my mother conceived me." This means that it is impossible for us to lift a
finger to cooperate with God in our own salvation. Free will, the idea that everybody has the
ability to accept Christ, is unbiblical and the root of serious misunderstandings from the
Reformed point of view.
Election
"Just as He chose us in Christ before the creation of the world, that we would be holy and
blameless before Him. In love He predestined us to be adopted as His children....In Him we also
have an inheritance, having been predestined according to the will of Him who works out
everything in conformity with His own plan and purpose" (Eph.1:4-11).
Here, as in so many places, the Bible tells us that God had His eye on us long before we had ours
on Him. "Herein is love: not that we loved God, but that He loved us." I grew up with the
illustration, "God has cast His vote for your soul; Satan cast his, but you must cast the deciding
ballot." This, however, doesn't square with the Apostle Paul's remark that, "It does not depend on
man's decision or effort, but upon God's mercy" (Rom.9:16). Election is not only a prominent
doctrine in the Bible, but is of immeasurable comfort to those who are always anxious about
whether they are doing enough to secure their salvation. Election teaches us, in Christ's own
words, "You did not choose Me; I chose you and appointed you to bear fruit that would last"
(Jn.15:16).
The Incarnation
Reformed theology has also emphasized the fact that "God became flesh and lived among us"
(Jn.1). I can remember in Sunday school singing, as a child, "Jacob's Ladder." We would make
climbing motions while we sang it. But this is not sound theology, is it? For the ladder Jacob saw
in His dream was not a ladder we were to climb up to God, but a ladder God climbed down to us.
Do you notice a common theme here? God's doing all the work. He's the initiator, the One
moving toward us while we are helpless.
The incarnation also teaches us that God took on our own nature, sanctifying it. While it was
humbling for the Son of God to be subjected to the miseries of a fallen world, He was pleased to
become a human being just like us.
Christ's Life
Wait a second...Christ's life ? We hear about His death, but what did His life accomplish for us?
In Reformed theology (as in Lutheranism), we speak of Christ's active and passive obedience.
His active obedience is His thirty years of perfect obedience to the Law of His Father. It wouldn't
be enough, you see, for Christ to have died for our sins. The glass can't just be empty of guilt; it
must be full of perfect righteousness, and we don't have it. Christ perfectly fulfilled the Law in
our place. The "impossible dream" was finally realized by a human being--one of us, and He
won the prize for us as though we were there with Him in every act of obedience.
His "victorious Christian life," therefore, replaces our own failings and we are saved because He
lived for God, even though we do not.
The Cross
Then there's the other part I mentioned--the passive obedience of Christ. We are saved not only
by His life, but by His death; not only because He lived for the Lord, but because He surrendered
all to the Lord even when that meant His own judgment in our place.
We all know what a substitute is. He stands in for someone else. Christ stood in for us and took
the rap that was justly meant for us. Hanging on that cruel Roman scaffold, Jesus Christ was
considered the greatest sinner who ever lived, carrying the sins of the world and enduring the
outpouring of Divine wrath and hatred for those sins.
The Resurrection
I used to live at Lake Tahoe, high in California's Sierra Mountains. First, there would be an
ominous cover of dark clouds which could turn noon-time into evening in minutes. There was a
storm and it would last for hours. The next day, I would step outside, blinded by the sun as it
reflected off of the fresh snow and the skies would be painted in the deepest shade of blue on the
spectrum.
In a similar way, the cross was the judgment of God on Christ as the believer's substitute. But the
storm passed and the resurrection of Christ confirmed Him as the King of creation, the Lord of
redemption. "He was crucified for our sins and was raised for our justification," according to the
Scriptures.
It's important to remember, too, that all of this is historical. Jesus did not simply rise from the
dead allegorically or as a myth which teaches us about new life. It was real space and time
history, which hostile witnesses could not successfully refute.
Justification and Union With Christ
The central doctrine of the Reformation was justification by grace alone through faith alone. We
believe that by trusting in Christ alone for our salvation, we are declared righteous. All of
Christ's perfect obedience is charged to our account and our sins are regarded as having been
paid for at the cross.
Through faith, we are united to Christ and through that union we share everything in common
with Christ Himself. Is He righteous? Then we're righteous! Is He holy? Then so are we! Of
course, this does not mean that we share His divine attributes, but everything He accomplished in
His life, death, and resurrection is ours.
Many other religious groups believe that somehow, somewhere, we have something to do with
our own salvation. We make some contribution. For some, that may be as little as "making a
decision" or "walking an aisle" or "saying a prayer"; for others, it may demand a great deal more.
But in this view, God's grace is seen as a substance, something that is infused or implanted
within the believer, to enable him or her to live a godly life. In this perspective, the Holy Spirit
and his guidance is the gospel, rather than the life, death, resurrection, and ascension of Christ as
our righteousness before God.
That's why the Reformers said that it was not sufficient to say that it was all God's grace from
beginning to end. That's a good start, of course, but the Bible requires a further safeguard to the
gospel: Not only are we justified (declared righteous or just) before God by grace alone, but it is
by grace through faith alone. In other words, we do not become righteous before God, in a
process of Christian growth, as we cooperate with the Holy Spirit; rather, we are declared
righteous before God in an instant, as the merit of the perfect life and atoning sacrifice of our
Lord is imputed or credited to our account. This kind of righteousness was not something that we
produced; nor was it even produced by God within us. For that is sanctification, and in this life,
even the holiest among us make only a short beginning in that kind of righteousness. What we
need is this "alien" or "foreign" righteousness; that is, a righteousness that belongs properly to
someone else, but is given to us as though it really were our own. Besides the banking image of
credit, the Bible uses the image of a white robe that covers our sinfulness and shame.
It was this robe that God used to cover Adam and Eve, when they realized that their fig leaves
would not hide them from God's judgment. And it was this covering that was prefigured in the
sacrifices, until John the Baptist declared, "Behold! The Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of
the world."
If this were really believed in our churches today, there would be awakening and reformation.
Every great movement in church history has found its impulse in a recovery of these truths. In a
movement that claims to adhere to the Protestant Reformation heritage, evangelicalism bears
hardly any resemblance to that great work of God. The emphasis, once again, is on what's going
on inside, in one's heart, in one's spirit. Gone again in our day is that objective proclamation of
Christ crucified for our sins and raised for our justification outside of us, two thousand years ago
in a city in the Middle East. "Steps To Victorious Living" have replaced the preaching of Christ's
victorious life and death for sinners who cannot keep up a charade and give God the
righteousness his holiness demands.
But for those who, by faith alone, have received this gift of righteousness, there is a process of
growth in holiness. Although it is never the foundation for acceptance before God (for it is
always an imperfect holiness), sanctification is the process through which the Holy Spirit
gradually conforms us to Christ's image. Chipping away at our sinful habits and deeply-rooted
beliefs, the Spirit is the Divine Sculptor who seeks to bring glory to the Savior by making "busts"
of him in every place of business, in every institution and home, in work and in leisure. While
the believer continues to struggle with sin, to the extent that the person even questions whether
he or she has really been born again, the Scriptures promise that the resurrection of Christ, when
applied by the Holy Spirit through the Gospel, raises that person from spiritual death and
attaches him or her to the Living Vine, Christ Jesus. Knowing that godliness is not something
that one must achieve in order to be accepted by God and received or kept in his family, we can
live for the first time as grateful and obedient sons and daughters, rather than slaves.
The Christian Life
Because all of that is true, those who emphasize these truths, as the Reformers did, understand
the Christian life to be something very different from what many Christians are used to. First, it
is liberty within the bounds of God's law that forms the motivation. Fear of punishment and hope
of rewards is not a motivation one will likely see intentionally articulated or followed by those
who take these truths seriously. If, when I am engaged in "spiritual" activities, God smells my
fear, will he not be offended rather than pleased? And if he smells my selfish lust for crowns and
mansions, will he not sooner accuse me of sin than of good works?
For the Reformed believer, "grace is the essence of theology and gratitude is the essence of
ethics," as the Dutch theologian G. C. Berkouwer put it. Instead of analyzing every motive, often
paralyzing the exercise of good works for fear doing them "in the flesh," the believer is to serve
God and neighbor simply because that is what a gracious and loving Father has commanded. It is
not simply because he is all-powerful and may, therefore, command whatever he wants, but
because he is all-compassionate and has transferred us from the kingdom of darkness to the
kingdom of his own Son. Therefore, we belong to him--at the cost of his own blood, not to
ourselves.
All of this means, too, that the Reformed believer can turn his attention from his own salvation to
the salvation and welfare of others. There are so many out there who are lost and who need to
hear this liberating message, the good news of freedom from sin's bondage and guilt.
Furthermore, there are so many out there who are hurting, homeless, in pain or suffering,
grieving, experiencing the ravages of sin--both as victims and perpetrators. That is where the
Christian must be--out in the world, not stuck in a monastic community of super-spiritual zealots
who want to polish each other's halo. To be sure, we need the fellowship of the saints and, more
important even than that, the regular reception of Word and Sacrament, but all of this is for a life
of service in the world, before the face of God.
Dr. Michael Horton is the vice chairman of the Council of the Alliance of Confessing Evangelicals, and is associate
professor of historical theology at Westminster Theological Seminary in California. Dr. Horton is a graduate of
Biola University (B.A.), Westminster Theological Seminary in California (M.A.R.) and Wycliffe Hall, Oxford
(Ph.D.). Some of the books he has written or edited include Putting Amazing Back Into Grace, Beyond Culture
Wars, Power Religion, In the Face of God, and most recently, We Believe.
Reformed Essentials
Dr. Michael Horton
In May, 1989, a conference jointly sponsored by the National Association of
Evangelicals and Trinity Evangelical Divinity School was held at the Trinity campus in
Illinois. Dubbed a consultation on Evangelical Affirmations, the meeting revealed more
than it settled. In the published addresses (Zondervan, 1990), Carl F. H. Henry, the
dean of American evangelicalism, sets the tone for book with his opening line: "The term
'evangelical' has taken on conflicting nuances in the twentieth century. Wittingly or
unwittingly, evangelical constituencies no less than their critics have contributed to this
confusion and misunderstanding." He warned that "evangelical" was being understood,
not according to Scriptural teaching and "the theological 'ought,'" but according to the
sociological and empirical "is." In other words, Henry was disturbed that evangelicalism
is increasingly being defined by its most recent trends rather than by its normative
theological identity. Author after author (presumably, speaker after speaker) echoed the
same fears that before long "evangelical" will be useless as any meaningful
identification.
The term itself derives from the Greek word euangelion, translated "Gospel," and it
became a noun when the Protestant reformers began their work of bringing the "one
holy, catholic and apostolic church" back to that message by which and for which it was
created. People still used other labels, too, like "Lutheran," "Reformed," and later,
"Puritans," "Pietists," and "Wesleyans." Nevertheless, the belief was that the same
Gospel that had united the "evangelicals" against Rome's errors could also unite them
against the creeping naturalism and secularism of the Enlightenment in the eighteenth
century. The so-called "Evangelical Awakening" in Britain coincided with America's own
"Great Awakening," as Wesley, Whitefield, Edwards, Tennant, and so many others
centered their preaching on the atonement. Later, of course, Wesley's zeal for Arminian
emphases divided the work in Britain, but the Reformation emphases were clearly and
unambiguously articulated in the Great Awakening.
Out of this heritage, those today who call themselves "evangelicals" (or who are in these
churches, but might not know that they are in this tradition) are heirs also to the Second
Great Awakening. Radically altering the "evangel" from a concern with the object of
faith, the Second Great Awakening and the revivalism that emerged from it focused on
the act and experience of faith, in dependence on the proper "excitements", as Finney
and others expressed it, to trigger the right response. In our estimation, this Second
Great Awakening was the most important seismic shift in American religious history.
Although the Reformation emphases of sin and grace continued to exercise some
influence, they were being constantly revised to make the "Gospel" more acceptable to
those who thought they could pull themselves up by their own bootstraps.
Only in the last decade of this century have many of the movement's mainstream leaders
considered the loss of an evangelical substance. No longer is the evangel the focus of the
movement's identity, but it is now known more by a sub-culture, a collection of political,
moral and social causes, and an acute interest in rather exotic notions about the endtimes.
At a loss for words, one friend answered a man's question, "Who are the
evangelicals?" with the reply, "They're people who like Billy Graham."
It is at this point that those of us who are heirs to the Reformation--which bequeathed to
evangelicalism a distinct theological identity that has been since lost--call attention once
more to the solas (only or alone) that framed the entire sixteenth-century debate: "Only
Scripture," "Only Christ," "Only Grace," "Only Faith," and "To God Alone Be Glory."
Sola Scriptura: Our Only Foundation Many critics of the Reformation have
attempted to portray it as the invitation to individualism, as people discover for
themselves from the Bible what they will and will not believe. "Never mind the church.
Away with creeds and the church's teaching office! We have the Bible and that's
enough." But this was not the reformers' doctrine of sola Scriptura--only Scripture.
Luther said of individualistic approaches to the Bible, "That would mean that each man
would go to hell in his own way."
On one side, the reformers faced the Roman Church, which believed its teaching
authority to be final and absolute. The Roman Catholics said that tradition can be a form
of infallible revelation even in the contemporary church; one needs an infallible Bible
and an infallible interpreter of that sacred book. On the other side were the Anabaptist
radicals, who believed that they not only did not need the teaching office of the church;
they really didn't seem to need the Bible either, since the Holy Spirit spoke to them--or
at least to their leaders--directly. Instead of one Pope, Anabaptism produced numerous
"infallible" messengers who heard the voice of God. Against both positions, the
Reformation insisted that the Bible was the sole final authority in determining doctrine
and life. In interpreting it, the whole church must be included, including the laity, and
they must be guided by the teachers in the church. Those teachers, though not infallible,
should have considerable interpretive authority. The creeds were binding and the newly
reformed Protestant communions quickly drafted confessions of faith that received the
assent of the whole church, not merely the teachers.
Today, we are faced with similar challenges even within evangelicalism. On one hand,
there is the tendency to say, as Luther characterized the problem, "I go to church, hear
what my priest says, and him I believe." Calvin complained to Cardinal Sadoleto that the
sermons before the Reformation were part trivial pursuit, part story-telling. Today, this
same process of "dumbing down" has meant that we are, in George Gallup's words, "a
nation of biblical illiterates." Perhaps we have a high view of the Bible's inspiration: 80%
of adult Americans believe that the Bible is the literal or inspired Word of God. But 30%
of the teenagers who attend church regularly do not even know why Easter is celebrated.
"The decline in Bible reading," says Gallup, "is due in part to the widely held conviction
that the Bible is inaccessible, and to less emphasis on religious training in the churches."
Just as Rome's infallibility rested on the belief that the Bible itself was difficult, obscure,
and confusing, so today people want the "net breakdown" from the professionals: what
does it mean for me and how will it help me and make me happy? But those who read
the Bible for more than devotional meditations know how clear it is--at least on the
main points it addresses--and how it ends up making religion less confusing and
obscure. Again today, the Bible--especially in mainline Protestant churches--is a
mysterious book that can only be understood by a small cadre of biblical scholars who
are "in the know."
But we have the other side, too. There is a popular trend in many "evangelical" churches
to emphasize direct communication with the Holy Spirit apart from the Word. In these
circles, tradition and the teaching ministry of the church through the ages are not only
treated as fallible (as the reformers believed), but as objects of mockery. The sentiments
of Thomas Muntzer, who complained that Luther was "one of our scribes who wants to
send the Holy Ghost off to college," would find a prime-time spot on the nation's leading
evangelical radio and television broadcasts. Calvin said of these folks, "When the
fanatics boast extravagantly of the Spirit, the tendency is always to bury the Word of
God so they may make room for their own falsehoods."
Christianity is not a spirituality, but a religion. Wade Clark Roof and other sociologists
have pointed out that evangelicals today are indistinguishable from the general cultural
trends, especially when it comes to preferring to think of their relationship to God more
in terms of an experience than in terms of a relationship that is mediated through
words. Ours is a visual or image-based society, much like the Middle Ages, and yet
Christianity can only flourish through words, ideas, beliefs, announcements, arguments.
There can be no communication with God apart from the written and living Word.
Everything in the Christian faith depends on the spoken and written Word delivered by
God to us through the prophets and apostles.
Further, sola Scriptura meant that the Word of God was sufficient. Although Rome
believed it was infallible, the official theology was shaped more by the insights of Plato
and Aristotle than by Scripture. Similarly today, psychology threatens to reshape the
understanding of the self, as even in the evangelical pulpit sin becomes "addiction"; the
Fall as an event is replaced with one's "victim" status; salvation is increasingly
communicated as mental health, peace of mind, and self-esteem, and my personal
happiness and self-fulfillment are center-stage rather than God's holiness and mercy,
justice and love, glory and compassion. Does the Bible define the human problem and
its solution? Or when we really want facts, do we turn somewhere else, to a modern
secular authority who will really carry weight in my sermon? Of course, the Bible will be
cited to bolster the argument. Political ideology, sociology, marketing, and other secular
"authorities" must never be allowed priority in answering questions the Bible addresses.
That is, in part, what this affirmation means, and evangelicals today seem as confused
on this point as was the medieval church.
Solus Christus: Our Only Mediator In the Middle Ages, the minister was seen as
having a special relationship with God, as he mediated God's grace and forgiveness
through the sacraments. But there were other challenges. We often think of our own age
as unique, with its pluralism and the advent of so many religions. But not too long
before the Reformation, the Renaissance thinker Petrarch was calling for an Age of the
Spirit in which all religions would be united. Many Renaissance minds were convinced
that there was a saving revelation of God in nature and that, therefore, Christ was not
the only way. The fascination with pagan philosophy encouraged the idea that natural
religion offered a great deal--indeed, even salvation--to those who did not know Christ.
The Reformation was, more than anything else, an assault on faith in humanity, and a
defense of the idea that God alone reveals Himself and saves us. We do not find Him; He
finds us. That emphasis was the cause of the cry, "Christ alone!" Jesus was the only way
of knowing what God is really like, the only way of entering into a relationship with Him
as father instead of judge, and the only way of being saved from His wrath.
Today, once more, this affirmation is in trouble. According to University of Virginia
sociologist James Hunter, 35% of evangelical seminarians deny that faith in Christ is
absolutely necessary. According to George Barna, that is the same figure for
conservative, evangelical Protestants in America: "God will save all good people when
they die, regardless of whether they've trusted in Christ," they agreed.
Eighty-five percent of American adults believe that they will stand before God to be
judged. They believe in hell, but only 11% think they might go there. R.C. Sproul
observed that to the degree that people think they are good enough to pass divine
inspection, and are oblivious to the holiness of God, to that extent they will not see
Christ as necessary. That is why over one-fourth of the "born again" evangelicals
surveyed agreed with a statement that one would think might raise red flags even for
those who might agree with the same thing more subtly put: "If a person is good, or does
enough good things for others during life, they will earn a place in Heaven."
Furthermore, when asked whether they agreed with the following statement:
"Christians, Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, and others all pray to the same God, even
though they use different names for that God," two-thirds of the evangelicals didn't find
that objectionable. Barna observes "how little difference there is between the responses
of those who regularly attend church services and those who are unchurched." One
respondent, an Independent Fundamentalist, said, "What is important in their case is
that they have conformed to the law of God as they know it in their hearts."
But this cultural influence toward relativism is not only apparent in the masses; it is
self-consciously asserted by some of evangelicalism's own teachers. Clark Pinnock
states, "The Bible does not teach that one must confess the name of Jesus Christ to be
saved. The issue God cares about is the direction of the heart, not the content of their
theology." For those of us who have some inkling of the direction of their heart (see Jer
17:9), that might not be as comforting as Pinnock assumes.
To say solus Christus does not mean that we do not believe in the Father or the Spirit,
but it does insist that Christ is the only incarnate self-revelation of God and redeemer of
humanity. The Holy Spirit does not draw attention to himself, but leads us to Christ, in
whom we find our peace with God.
Sola Gratia: Our Only Method The reason we must stay with the Scriptures is
because it is the only place where we are told that we are saved by the unprovoked and
undeserved acceptance of God. In "The Sound of Music," Maria (Julie Andrews),
bewildered by the captain's sudden attraction to her, rhapsodizes, "Nothing comes from
nothing, nothing ever could. So somewhere in my youth or childhood, I must have done
something good." Deep down, human nature is convinced that there is a way for us to
save ourselves. We may indeed require divine assistance. Perhaps God will have to show
us the way, or even send a messenger to lead us back, but we can actually follow the plan
and pull it off.
The Law is in us by nature. We were born with a conscience that tells us that we are
condemned by that Law, but our reason concludes immediately that the answer to that
self-condemnation is to do better next time. But the Gospel is not in nature. It is not
lodged somewhere in our heart, our mind, our will, or our emotions. It is an
announcement that comes to us as foolishness and our first response, like that of Sarah,
is to laugh. The story is told of a man who fell off a cliff, but on his way down managed
to grab a branch. He broke his fall and saved his life, but before long he realized that he
could not pull himself back up onto the ledge. Finally, he called out, "Is there anyone up
there who can help me?" To his surprise, a voice boomed back, "I am here and I can help
you, but first you're going to have to let go of that branch." Thinking for a moment about
his options, the man looked back up and shot back, "Is there anyone else up there who
can help me?" We are looking for someone to save us by helping us save ourselves. But
the Law tells us that even our best works are like filthy rags; the Gospel tells us that it is
something in God and his character (kindness, goodness, mercy, compassion) and not
something in us (a good will, a decision, an act, an open heart, etc.) that saves us.
Many in the medieval church believed that God saved by grace, but they also believed
that their own free will and cooperation with grace was "their part" in salvation. The
popular medieval phrase was, "God will not deny his grace to those who do what they
can." Today's version, of course, is, "God helps those who help themselves." Over half
the evangelicals surveyed thought this was a direct biblical quotation and 84% thought
that it was a biblical idea, that percentage rising with church attendance at evangelical
churches.
On the eve of the Reformation a number of church leaders, including bishops and
archbishops, had been complaining of creeping Pelagianism (a heresy that denies
original sin and the absolute need for grace). Nevertheless, that heresy was never
tolerated in its full expression. However, today it is tolerated and even promoted in
liberal Protestantism generally, and even in many evangelical circles.
In Pelagianism, Adam's sin is not imputed to us, nor is Christ's righteousness. Adam is a
bad example, not the representative in whom we stand guilty. Similarly, Christ is a good
example, not the representative in whom we stand righteous. How much of our
preaching centers on following Christ--as important as that is--rather than on his person
and work? How often do we hear about his work in us compared to his work for us?
Charles Finney, the revivalist of the last century, is a patron saint for most evangelicals.
And yet, he denied original sin, the substitutionary atonement, justification, and the
need for regeneration by the Holy Spirit. In short, Finney was a Pelagian. This belief in
human nature, so prominent in the Enlightenment, wrecked the evangelical doctrine of
grace among the older evangelical Protestant denominations (now called "mainline"),
and we see where that has taken them. And yet, conservative evangelicals are heading
down the same path and have had this human-centered, works-centered emphasis for
some time.
The statistics bear us out here, unfortunately, and again the leaders help substantiate
the error. Norman Geisler writes, "God would save all men if he could. He will save the
greatest number actually achievable without violating their free will."
Sola Fide: Our Only Means The reformers said that it is not enough to say that we
are saved by grace alone, for even many medieval scholars held that view, including
Luther's own mentor. Rome viewed grace more as a substance than as an attitude of
favor on God's part. In other words, grace was like water poured into the soul. It assisted
the believer in his growth toward salvation. The purpose of grace was to transform a
sinner into a saint, a bad person into a good person, a rebel into an obedient son or
daughter.
The reformers searched the Scriptures and found a missing ingredient in the medieval
notion of grace. To be sure, there were many passages that spoke of grace transforming
us and conforming us to the image of Christ. But there were other passages, too, that
used a Greek word that meant "to declare righteous," not "to make righteous." The
problem was, the Latin Bible everyone was using mistranslated the former and
combined the two Greek words into one. Erasmus and other Renaissance humanists
"laid the egg that Luther hatched" by cleaning up the translation mistakes.
According to Scripture, God declares a person righteous before that person actually
begins to become righteous. Therefore, the declaration is not in response to any spiritual
or moral advances within the individual, but is an imputation of the perfect
righteousness that God immediately requires of everyone who is united to Christ by faith
alone. When a person trusts Christ, that very moment he or she is clothed in his perfect
holiness, so that even though the believer is still sinful, he or she is judged by God as
blameless.
This apostolic doctrine, proclaimed to Abraham and his offspring, has fallen on hard
times again in church history. Not only do most Christians today not hear about the
doctrine of justification by grace alone through faith alone, many cannot even define it.
Although justification is the doctrine by which, according to the evangelical reformers
"the church stands or falls," it has been challenged. Finney openly declared, "The
doctrine of an imputed righteousness is another gospel. For sinners to be forensically
pronounced just is impossible and absurd. The doctrine of an imputed righteousness is
founded on a most false and nonsensical assumption, representing the atonement,
rather than the sinner's own obedience, as the ground of his justification, which has
been a sad occasion of stumbling to many."
In our own time, Clark Pinnock wonders why we cannot even embrace the notion of
purgatory:
I cannot deny that most believers end their earthly lives imperfectly sanctified and far
from complete. [Most? How about all!] I cannot deny the wisdom in possibly giving
them an opportunity to close the gap and grow to maturity after death. Obviously,
evangelicals have not thought this question out. [We have: It was called The
Reformation.] It seems to me that we already have the possibility of a doctrine of
purgatory. Our Wesleyan and Arminian thinking may need to be extended in this
direction. Is a doctrine of purgatory not required by our doctrine of holiness?
Russell Spittler, a Pentecostal theologian at Fuller Seminary, reflects on Luther's phrase
concerning justification: simul iustus et peccator, (simultaneously just and sinner): "But
can it really be true--saint and sinner simultaneously? I wish it were so. Is this correct: 'I
don't need to work at becoming. I'm already declared to be holy.' No sweat needed? It
looks wrong to me. I hear moral demands in Scripture. Simul iustus et peccator? I hope
it's true! I simply fear it's not."
The Wesleyan emphasis has always been a challenge to the evangelical faith on this
point, although in his best moments Wesley insisted on this heart of the Gospel. To the
extent that the consensus-builders and institutional abbots of the evangelical
monasteries have attempted to incorporate Arminianism under the label "evangelical,"
to that extent, it seems to me, it ceases to be evangelical indeed.
Soli Deo Gloria: Our Only Ambition The world is full of ambitious people. But Paul
said, "It has always been my ambition to preach the Gospel where Christ was not
known." (Rom 15:20). Since God has spoken so clearly and saved so finally, the believer
is free to worship, serve, and glorify God and to enjoy him forever, beginning now. What
is the ambition of the evangelical movement? Is it to please God or to please men?
Is our happiness and joy found in God or in someone or something else? Is our worship
entertainment or worship? Is God's glory or our self-fulfillment the goal of our lives? Do
we see God's grace as the only basis for our salvation, or are we still seeking some of the
credit for ourselves? These questions reveal a glaring human-centeredness in the
evangelical churches and the general witness of our day.
Robert Schuller actually says that the Reformation "erred because it was God-centered
rather than man-centered," and Yale's George Lindbeck observes how quickly
evangelical theology accepted this new gospel: "In the fifties, it took liberals to accept
Norman Vincent Peale, but as the case of Robert Schuller indicates, today professed
conservatives eat it up."
Many historians look back to the Reformation and wonder at its far-reaching influences
in transforming culture. The work ethic, public education, civic and economic
betterment, a revival of music, the arts, and a sense of all life being related somehow to
God and his glory: These effects cause historians to observe with a sense of irony how a
theology of sin and grace, the sovereignty of God over the helplessness of human beings,
and an emphasis on salvation by grace apart from works, could be the catalyst for such
energetic moral transformation. The reformers did not set out to launch a political or
moral campaign, but they proved that when we put the Gospel first and give voice to the
Word, the effects inevitably follow.
How can we expect the world to take God and his glory seriously if the church does not?
The Reformation slogan Soli Deo Gloria was carved into the organ at Bach's church in
Leipzig and the composer signed his works with its initials. It's inscribed over taverns
and music halls in old sections of Heidelberg and Amsterdam, a lasting tribute to a time
when the fragrance of God's goodness seemed to fill the air. It was not a golden age, but
it was an amazing recovery of God-centered faith and practice. Columbia University
professor Eugene Rice offers a fitting conclusion:
All the more, the Reformation's views of God and humanity measure the gulf between
the secular imagination of the twentieth century and the sixteenth century's intoxication
with the majesty of God. We can exercise only historical sympathy to try to understand
how it was that the most brilliant intelligences of an entire epoch found a total, a
supreme liberty in abandoning human weakness to the omnipotence of God.
Soli Deo Gloria!
Dr. Michael Horton is professor of apologetics and theology at Westminster Seminary
California (Escondido, California).
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