Lost and Saved

J. N. Darby wrote:

People don't believe [they are lost]. They believe that they have sinned, and that Christ has died for their sins; but that does not touch this question of being lost.

But if I get the consciousness of being lost now already, and that Christ dealt with that on the cross also; I then get saved, and that now, and that is just what people have not got thoroughly. They know neither what it is to be lost, nor what it is to be saved.

"Salvation and Separation" Notes and Jottings, p. 46

When I read Darby, I notice how he insists again and again on this idea that the believer in Christ has been brought into an entirely new place. It might remind us of Colossians 1:12–13, we have been "translated into the kingdom of the Son of His love." Darby's writing on Romans 7 and 8 centers on this idea: that there is a qualitative difference between someone "in Romans 7" and someone "in Romans 8." It's the change summarized in Romans 7:5–6.

We think a lot about Romans 4:1–8 around here, and remind ourselves that God justifies the one who does not work, but believes (cf Acts 13:38–39). God justifies the one who believes without works. God justifies the ungodly. These are things we can't remember too often, because they are the foundation of peace with God (Romans 5:1).

But Romans 4:1–8 insists these are Old Testament truths. God didn't start justifying the ungodly after the Cross. That's how Abraham (before the Law) and David (under the Law) were justified in God's sight. This is how God justified sinners from Abel on. God has only ever justified sinners on the principle of faith. This isn't something new, although the Cross revealed how God could do it while still remaining righteous (Romans 3:23–26). God can justify justly because Christ has died. God isn't becoming an accomplice to our sins after the fact by helping us cover them up. He has dealt with our sins in the violent and bloody death of Christ.

And notice how completely the Old Testament doctrine of justification is taught (Romans 4:6–8): the one who believes is one "to whom the Lord shall not at all reckon sin" (Romans 4:8). It's not merely that God justifies us from all sins up to the point that we believed: it's that God now considers the believer as one whose sins are not to be counted. 

This Old Testament truth goes far beyond the faith of many who claim to be New Testament saints.

So Romans 1–4 addresses what we sometimes call the "forensic" side of the Gospel. Man is guilty, men and women need to be justified, or they will be condemned. Romans 5 begins to address what we might call the "ontological" side of the Gospel: Man is lost, man is a sinner. 

John 3 addresses Man's "lostness" too. The Lord tells Nicodemus that we must be "born again" if we want to see the Kingdom of God (John 3:1–7). Interestingly, the Lord tells Nicodemus (John 3:10) that he ought to have known this as a "teacher of Israel." So just like Romans 4 builds the doctrine of justification by faith entirely on the Old Testament, John classifies the need for new birth as an "Old Testament truth." We might find it in Deuteronomy 29:4, or maybe in Ezekiel 36:25–27, or maybe in Jeremiah 17:5–9. Either way, it's certain the Lord considered that to be something "a teacher of Israel" ought to have known from the Old Testament.

But then the Lord Jesus beings up something the Old Testament doesn't mention: "eternal life" (John 3:14ff). 

John's Gospel doesn't talk about the Lord dying for sins. John doesn't teach justification, he teaches eternal life. In John's Gospel, Christ dies to give life to sinners who have none. More than half the mentions of "eternal life" in Scripture are in John's Gospel and his first epistle. Paul mentions "eternal life" eleven times (including twice in Acts), so it's not a foreign thing to Paul's writings; but if we want to understand eternal life, we need to look at John.

So here in John's Gospel, we go beyond the Old Testament (if we can say it that way) to something new around John 3:14, when the Lord discusses eternal life. 

In Romans, we go beyond the Old Testament somewhere around Romans 5:10, when we see the discussion of Adam and Christ. One man brought death on us all, the other Man brought life (Romans 5:17).

And this – to get back to our point – is where we deal with salvation. Salvation is an Old Testament truth in the sense that it's both taught and modeled in Exodus 14:13ff. But how God brings us salvation in Romans 5:10ff and John 3:14ff is a new thing. God brings us salvation by union with Christ.

Romans 6:1–11 teaches salvation in terms of baptism. Having been baptized into Christ, I have been baptized into His death. This frees me from who I was "in Adam" and brings me into relationship with God. Being freed from sin, I can now live righteously (Romans 6:13). This isn't Old Testament truth: this is new.

John 15:1–8 teaches this same principle. We are united with Christ as branches are united to the vine they grow out of. The fruit isn't really produced by the branches, but by the vine that produces the branches as well. It's not surprising that John presents this with an organic metaphor: it's very in character for him. But when we examine John's Gospel, we find that all his organic metaphors are built on the Lord's own words in John 3:14 - the Son of Man must be lifted up. So here, too, we have the Crucifixion as the foundation underlying our union with Him.

I don't doubt that John 15:1–8 and Romans 8:1–17 are describing exactly the same thing.

So back to where we started with Darby... there is a difference between being guilty and being lost. Frankly, some of what I've heard from "Christians" sounds like they're not even so sure of the former. But generally speaking, Christians acknowledge their guilt, and their need for justification. But that's really just Old Testament truth. It's not Christianity at all. 

I mean, it's true. But it's only the opening chapters of Romans.

To go as far as Romans goes – as far as the first few verses of John 3 goes – is to understand that I am not only guilty, but also entirely ruined. There's nothing in me for God to work with (Romans 7:18). It's not that I'm basically a good person who did some bad things, I am a bad person who has acted according to his nature. 

And God has dealt with that too.

Salvation is something much bigger than justification. It's not merely that Christ has died for my sins, but that I have died with Christ. It's not merely that my sins are forgiven, but He is my life. It's not just that I have been justified freely from all things (Acts 13:38–39) – although this would be an improvement over most of the "gospel preaching" I have heard in the last 45 or so years – it's that I am accepted in Christ, and have life in the Son. It's not merely that what I have done has been dealt with, but what I am has been dealt with too.

Of course none of this means we should abandon the truth of justification by faith alone in Christ alone. There can be no Christian life when the question of eternal judgment has not been put to rest. But stopping at justification is stopping in Psalm 32. To live out the life that the Apostles lived – to be what the New Testament calls a "saint" – is to live in an entirely new order of things.

And this is why I wrote several years ago that baptism is the gateway to the Christian life. I wasn't meaning to suggest that we are regenerated in baptism, or justified in baptism, or born again in baptism. I was trying to say that the message of baptism ("I have died with Christ") is where Christianity goes on from Judaism. The Old Testament teaches forgiveness of sins. It even teaches the need for new birth. What it doesn't teach is union with Christ. And that union is what differentiates Christianity from what came before.

 

Not that lost

J. N. Darby had a real gift for coining a phrase. One that has been in the back of my mind recently is, "man's pretension not to be entirely lost" ("Letter on Free-will", Collected Writings, Vol. 10, p 185). In context, he was discussing "the doctrine of free-will." I'm going to take his phrase out of context and use it a bit more generally here.

R. A. Huebner used a similar phrase several times in his book The Sovereignty and Glory of God in the Election and Salvation of Lost Men (which is worth a read): "I'm lost, but not that lost!" It's not as clear as Darby's little phrase, but it might be a little easier to throw into conversation.

2 Corinthians 4:6 compares God's work in our hearts to His commanding light to shine out of darkness. I have spent a lot of time contemplating that comparison: it captures so much truth in just a few words. The God who can work in our hearts is the God who calls something from nothing. Any other god isn't enough for lost sinners. A god who needs something to work with isn't going to find the raw materials he needs in lost sinners. But the God who creates something from nothing – that God can do something with us, because what we have to offer (nothing) is exactly the raw materials He needs.

Romans 4:16–17 tells us Abraham believed in the God "who gives life to the dead and calls into being that which does not exist" (LSB). That's the God that can save lost sinners: the God who calls into being what doesn't exist. The God who raises the dead (2 Corinthians 1:9) is the only God who can save truly lost sinners.

That's not to say that lost men and women are nothing. But it is to say that there's nothing in us for God to work with (cf Romans 7:18). And we are thankful for a God who doesn't need raw materials! We are thankful to have been captured by the God who can make something from nothing.

An unbeliever might betray himself by pretending that he's not all that bad. An unbeliever might try to assuage her conscience with the observation that there are others who are worse. But God justifies the one who does not work, and instead believes on Him who justifies the ungodly (Romans 4:5). It's the one who says, "Praise God! He justifies the ungodly, that means me!" who finds peace with God. The one who refuses to stop working, who refuses to admit his own ungodliness: that one finds there's no God who is able to justify him.

The need for men and women to pretend that we aren't entirely lost runs deep. It's not just something the sinners "out there" do, it's something we do. The sinners out there might find there's no God to justify them unless they admit they are ungodly; but we tend to forget that too, and it's as disastrous to our Christian lives as it is to their justification. We, too, like to pretend we're "not that lost." Sure, we were once unregenerate sinners, but we were saved, right? Now we are able to produce something for God.

A friend asked me a what made me realize the Christian life ("sanctification") was based on grace, not works. I replied, "when I sinned so big I knew there was no going back."  There came a point where I realized I had sinned so badly there was nothing I could do to fix it. That is how we learn God's grace.

But it goes deeper even than that: there came a point in my life when I realized the problem wasn't that I was basically a good person who had done some bad things, but that I did those bad things because I am a bad person. We tend to think we are sinners because we sin, but Romans 5:18ff tells us the opposite: we sin because we are sinners. We need to let that sink in: it's not that we are lost because we sin, but that we sin because we are lost.

And this is the problem addressed in Romans 7. It's not the same problem as Romans 6, although there are unifying principles between them. Romans 7:5–6 teaches that the effect of Law on a believer is not to produce righteousness, but to produce passions and lusts. That's an astonishing result, but it follows from what Romans 3:20 teaches us. "[T]hrough the Law comes the knowledge of sin" – not "sins," but "sin." Law teaches us not that this thing or that thing is a sin, but that sin dwells in us (Romans 7:20).

We expect that putting ourselves under Law would push us into righteousness, but we find that Law does exactly what God intended: it reveals to us that we are lost. And it does that by arousing our passions and lusts so that we do "lost" things.

So we might use Darby's little phrase to sum up more than just "the doctrine of free-will," we might use it to sum up all those efforts to use Law to curb our sinfulness: it's just man's pretension not to be entirely lost. If we knew how lost we are – if we believed God when He told us about ourselves – we'd know that applying Law to ourselves must end in condemnation.

If only we weren't lost, then we might be able to do something with Law. If only we weren't lost, we wouldn't need a Savior at all. Think about that.

So what Scripture really teaches is, we need a Savior as much after we believed as we did before. We don't come in to eternal life by God's grace and then walk in it by our efforts. No! We need to be saved just as much as believers as we did when we weren't.

And that's why Darby's little phrase has been in my head so much over the last little while: there are so many things we do that really amount to our pretending not to be entirely lost. And frankly, none of us has time for that kind of pretending. All those things that fail us even though we need so desperately for them to work: all those things are a waste of time to those who really are lost.

The only hope for a man or woman who really is entirely lost is grace. Our hope is that God will act in kindness towards us even though we don't deserve it. And the sooner we learn that applies not only to the sinners "out there," but to ourselves, the sooner we can make progress in our spiritual life.

 

 

 

 

Justifying ourselves, rather than God

 It is striking to read Elihu's reaction to Job and his friends (Job 32:2–3):

Then was kindled the anger of Elihu the son of Barachel, the Buzite, of the family of Ram: against Job was his anger kindled, because he justified himself rather than God; and against his three friends was his anger kindled, because they found no answer, and [yet] condemned Job.

Elihu's anger against Job's friends was because they "found no answer," but they continued to condemn Job. That's something that hasn't changed much since Job's time. There's no shortage of Christians willing to condemn a fellow believer, without the smallest regard to what Scripture says, or what the fellow believer says either. 

Elihu's appraisal of Job isn't that much better: Job justified himself, rather than God. This is a theme that carries through the entire Old and New Testament, and down to our day as well. It might remind us of the argument in Romans 9:18ff and Paul's (really the Holy Spirit's) response, "who are you to judge God?" It reminds us of Adam's excuses in the Garden (Genesis 3:12), it reminds us of the religious leaders in Christ's day, who were looking for glory from men, rather than from God (John 5:44).

We see this tendency in ourselves too. We, like Adam, look to justify ourselves at all costs: even if it means coming up with a reason that it's all really God's fault. We, like Paul's hypothetical objector, feel quite comfortable sitting in judgment of God. We, like the scribes and Pharisees in Christ's day, are a whole lot more concerned with what people think of us than we are with "the glory that comes from God alone."

I am convinced that all spiritual progress comes as we learn to see things as God sees them. God sees that we are guilty and need a savior, but it's only when we come 'round to His way of thinking that we can find salvation. God sees us as having died with Christ, but that doesn't help us all that much until we see it too. I'm sure that's what Paul was getting at in Philippians 3:8ff, "that I may be found in Him." Yes, God sees us always "in Christ," but there are real consequences to seeing ourselves in that same way.

Well, we learn in Philippians 3:9 that a man in Christ is a man with no righteousness of his own. "Not having my righteousness" is a fact that we need to accept. We need to be willing to say, "Christ my only righteousness." As far as I can tell, that's the only remedy for our need to justify ourselves, rather than God.

I can tell you from experience that it's really hard not to try to justify ourselves, even when we're in the wrong. We don't have to put any effort into it: the excuses fly into our minds and off our tongues with no effort at all. We can produce a hundred reasons why our sins are someone else's fault, and we can do it in an instant.

And honestly, we're no better when we really are in the right. This is where the danger really lies. 

As far as I can tell, Job really was blameless. His three friends spent several chapters trying to convince him he was in the wrong, but were unable to do so because he wasn't.  God didn't strike Job for any sin he had committed: he was "perfect and upright" (Job 1:1).

Job's problem wasn't that he was lying to his friends to justify himself: it was that he justified himself rather than God. Job ought to have been justifying God, but he didn't think of that, because he was so concerned with justifying himself.

If we consider Job 32:2–3 alongside Philippians 3:8–10, we see this contrast. On the one hand, we see an upright man justifying himself and forgetting to justify God. On the other, we see a man who says, "I don't want my own righteousness, only the righteousness God gives on the principle of faith." He's not going to justify himself, because he doesn't want credit for any good he has done. He doesn't want whatever goodness is in him, only the goodness that is in God.

I'm speaking practically here. It is true that all who are justified in God's sight are justified apart from their own works (Romans 3:21–24), on the basis of the death of Christ. But learning to accept that truth is a long and difficult process. We find ourselves justifying ourselves over and over again, instead of just accepting what God has already said.

It's possible for us to fear God and abstain from evil (Job 1:1). It's possible for us to do that and still be in the wrong. It's possible for us to be like the Pharisees: falling short of the kingdom of God while still being more righteous than those who do not. The righteousness of God through faith is for those who say, "Christ my only righteousness."

God who

It's likely I've already written something like this before, but I've been thinking about it today, and I wanted to write it down. So this could very well be a sort of rehash.

2 Corinthians 1:9 talks about "God who raises the dead." This description sets a theme for the entire epistle: we're not much, but God is. 2 Corinthians 4:6 carries this idea forward when it talks about "the God who commanded light to shine out of darkness." The God who can command light to shine out of darkness is the God that doesn't need anything to work with. He can shine in our hearts even though there's no light naturally occurring in there. 

He is the God who doesn't need our help.

 

I'm not sure how many places in Scripture we could find "the God who."  Romans 4 doesn't use the exact wording when it introduces "Him who justifies the ungodly" (Romans 4:5), but the idea is the same. The God who doesn't need to find any good in us is able to justify on the principle of faith. 

All told, I found four places in Romans 4 where we get similar statements: 

1. "who justifies the ungodly" Romans 4:5
   
2. "who quickens the dead" Romans 4:17
3.  "who... calls the things which be not as being" Romans 4:17
   
4. "who has raised from among [the] dead Jesus our Lord" Romans 4:24 

We could spend quite a bit of time talking about each of those, and it would be time well spent. In the end, we can think about each of these as a sort of a brush stroke that gives us a glimpse into who God is. He is the God who raises the dead. He is the God who raised our Lord Jesus from the dead.

 

It occurs to me that Psalm 80 starts with some similar statements:

1. "thou that leadest Joseph as a flock" (Psalm 80:1)
   
2. "thou that dwellest between the cherubim" (Psalm 80:1)

We might look into that Psalm to see how those descriptions begin themes that carry through it. I don't know what we'd find, I'm curious to look into that.

 

Just in these eight statements, we have a striking portrait of God. He is the God who raises the dead. It is never too late for Him to help. Even if we should die, we aren't beyond His ability to help us. That might remind us of John 6:39–40. But that falls short of what Paul is saying in 2 Corinthians 1:9. His claim is actually that God had put them (that is, Paul and his companions) into an impossible position with the express intention that they wouldn't be able to trust themselves, but would have to trust Him. That's a claim about God's purpose, not merely His help.

He is the God who justifies the ungodly. As far as I can tell from Romans 4:5, there are only two ways we can put ourselves beyond the Gospel. First, we can work, second, we can refuse to believe God. But the one who – without working – believes God, that person is declared by God to be righteous. He doesn't need any godliness in us: on the contrary, He's the God who justifies the ungodly. If we know ourselves to be ungodly, we know ourselves to be exactly the kind of people He forgives.

He is the God who calls things that are not as though they were. This sounds strange, like God is deluded. That's not what it means, although that's not as far off as your Sunday School teacher might like you to think. He is the God who, in the act of speaking, changes reality. He is not bound by reality: reality is bound by Him. So when He makes a statement, it is true because He said it. He justifies the ungodly by declaring them to be righteous with absolutely no regard to whether they actually are. He gives life to the dead by declaring the to be alive, and they come to life as a result (cf. Ezekiel 37:1–10).

He is the God who commanded light to shine out of darkness. He doesn't need our help. There is a tendency for us to see ourselves as bringing some sort of raw material for God. Like, we provide some raw talent, and He uses it to build. 2 Corinthians 4:6 turns that on its head: the God who made light shine out of darkness doesn't need anything we can offer Him. The shining of the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ is something He does ex nihilo. The weight of glory in our lives is something He does with no help from us.

He is the God who leads His people like a shepherd. Jacob's description of the life of a shepherd doesn't sound like a fun job (Genesis 31:38–40).  That's the role God takes with His people. In the Old Testament and the New, God is a shepherd (see Psalm 23:1–6, Ezekiel 34:11ff, John 10:11ff).  And here's a thought: what does Genesis 33:13–14 say about God as the Shepherd? Jacob had learned he couldn't overdrive sheep, or they would die. How often does our Shepherd go at a frustratingly slow pace, because He knows we just can't keep up?

He is the God who dwells between the cherubim. I'm sure this is a reference to the ark of the covenant (Exodus 25:22), but we notice that when Ezekiel sees God, he describes Him as sitting between cherubim (compare Ezekiel 1:5–26 with Ezekiel 10:20). Ezekiel sees the vision of God enthroned between cherubim four times (Ezekiel 1:1ff, Ezekiel 3:23, Ezekiel 8:1–4, Ezekiel 43:3), which is remarkable. 

Notice Psalm 80 puts Ezekiel's terrifying view of God right next to the view of God the Shepherd.  They go together in Psalm 80. 

We might notice that 2 Corinthians 1:9 calls Him the God "who raises the dead," while Romans 4:17 calls Him the God "who quickens the dead." Very similar, not exactly the same. We could spend some time exploring that.

We didn't even look at 1 Timothy 6:13 ("God who preserves all things in life") and 1 Timothy 6:17 ("the God who affords us all things richly for [our] enjoyment"), I'm sure there are many more we could consider.

I've found it helpful to remember these brush strokes that help us get a glimpse at who God is. They are short and pithy character sketches that help align my thoughts about Him.

 

 

Demystifying Darby

Earlier this year,  Crawford Gribben published his new book J.N. Darby and the Roots of Dispensationalism. I had pre-ordered a copy, so I was reading mine as soon as it could be delivered to the homestead. I wanted to talk about the book, but I have found it difficult to articulate what I want to say. So over the couple weeks, I found myself reading it for a second time: highlighter, pencil and sticky notes at hand. I think I might be ready to talk about it now.

 

Everyone should read Darby. I don't mean everyone should read everything Darby wrote – I haven't done that myself.  I mean reading Darby was a life-changing experience for me, and I would like to see everyone have that same experience. If every Christian would read Collected Writings, Volume 12, we'd be in much better shape. 

 

Everyone who reads Darby should read J.N. Darby and the Roots of Dispensationalism. This is the book I have needed to read for some time now. I hesitate to reuse the term "life-changing," but I think it might just be correct.

One might ask why I'd consider a book like this to be life-changing. I asked myself that question many times. It took me a while to understand that putting Darby into historical doctrinal context had the effect of demystifying "J. N. D."

Like it or not (and I think he would not like it), J. N. Darby has become a larger-than-life figure. A myth has built up around him. Spend enough time in or around "brethren" groups, and you'll hear someone talk about "truths recovered in the 19th Century" or "truths recovered by J. N. Darby."  While the people making these statements mean well, they have the effect of creating a mythic figure. It's only a short step for that figure to become an idol.

The problem with Darby in particular is that he's a good idol. I don't mean he's good at being an idol, but that he was genuinely used by God. William R. Newell wrote:

We know what debt under God all those who have the truth today owe to Darby, through whom God recovered more truth belonging to the Church of God, than through any other man since Paul, and whose writings are today the greatest treasure of truth and safeguard against error known to instructed believers. (Romans, Verse-by-verse,  p. 464)

Newell was not in fellowship among "brethren," which makes his statement much more powerful. This isn't simple sectarianism. But there is a real danger of hero worship here.

What Gribben's book does – like nothing else I have read on Darby quite does – is put Darby into context. It shows that he stood in the tradition of early 19th Century high church Calvinism (see pp. 35ff). It shows that he stood on the shoulders of giants like John Owen. It shows that he didn't spring up out of nowhere like John the Baptist, but was a product of his time.

At the same time, it shows that he wasn't merely parroting some party line. He really did make strides in understanding Scripture. He really did all that tough work and scholarship. He really did recover some truths that were largely ignored until then. His books really are worth reading.

Reading this book was a Nehushtan moment for me. It led me to a place where I could see and appreciate Darby's strengths, gifts, and work; while at the same time allowing me to see him as a man. A godly man, but a man for all that. 

J.N. Darby and the Roots of Dispensationalism is a dense book. It's 256 pages (including the Preface), but the Conclusion ends at page 154, meaning more than a third of the book is in notes, index, and bibliography. The 140 (-ish) pages of the book proper are packed. I felt like I had read a book at least three times as long.

The book is broken into four main chapters: "Soteriology", "Ecclesiology", "Pneumatology", and "Eschatology."  They examine Darby's views on each topic in turn, placing them in context both within contemporaneous "brethren" writings and the wider 19th Century Protestantism. Darby's views are shown to have been "Calvinistic, catholic, charismatic, and catastrophic" (pp. 32–33).

That summary aligns very closely with what I had observed reading Darby. Where the book added value for me was in tracing Darby's views back before his time. If you'll forgive a lengthy quote from the Conclusion:

[Croskery] might have discovered in the works of Johannes Piscator Darby's argument that believers were not justified through the imputation of the righteousness of Christ; he might have learned from John Owen Darby's argument that believers should meet for Bible study without clerical oversight and for the weekly celebration of the Lord's Supper; he might have found in the works of Johannes Cocceius the idea that redemptive history progressed through a sequence of ages, as a consequence of which believers were not bound to keep the Lord's Day as the Christian Sabbath; and he might have located the idea that Jewish people would be converted to Christianity and restored to the Promised Land in the Geneva Bible and many English puritans. (pp. 146–147)

In other words, Darby was in good company when it came to his more radical views. That also means he didn't spring out of nowhere as a larger-than-life figure, some modern John the Baptist. And this is the point I needed to see clearly.

I've said before that whenever I think Darby was wrong on a particular point, it's only a matter of time until I come around to his point of view. There are very few questions on which I think Darby was actually wrong. I might not see completely eye-to-eye with him on sealing, but I think he's generally correct. I'm reluctant to describe myself as paedo-baptist, but I think that's not too far off the truth. So while my views might differ from his in minutiae, I have come around to his way of thinking on almost every question.

The one area where I have real trouble is in his conception of Christian fellowship at the present time. The fact is that we have seen his ecclesiastical ideas work themselves out over the last 150+ years, and they have been disastrous. By "disastrous" I don't mean, "they just don't work." I mean, "they have led into positive sin." My experience among "brethren" has led me to the view that whatever they meant to accomplish by "leaving the systems," what they really did was just set up their own system that is an almost perfect imitation of the systems they claim to have left. Every sin I have heard "brethren" attribute to Christians "in system," I have seen them practice themselves.

Since 2007, I have been asking the question, "how can I live out the truth brethren hold, without falling into the same snares they have fallen into?"  Over time, I've come to some conclusions on that topic that would shock and horrify some. I've shared some of those conclusions here; I've kept others to myself.

To put it another way, the struggle for me has been to know how to tell when walking with the Lord means walking in Darby's footprints, and when walking with the Lord means avoiding pitfalls that Darby fell into. I have spent the majority of my life in gatherings where even suggesting Darby fell into pitfalls would be seen as  dangerous.

It has been helpful to me to read a book that acknowledges Darby's contributions, innovations, and godliness, while at the same time acknowledging where he was one more in a long line of believers who saw the same things in Scripture.

So I still think everyone should read at least some Darby. But I think it might be helpful to read Gribben's new book first. And at the risk of sounding like I'm self-promoting, I posted an "essential Darby reading list" on this blog. In case anyone wants help getting started.

Grace all the way down

The other night a friend was talking about faith, and he commented in passing that it's pretty standard in Protestant theology to put a dividing line between salvation and sanctification. That comment clarified several things, and I found myself mulling over his comment. 

So if we put that into a diagram it would look something like this:

Salvation | Sanctification

 

When I was much younger, I was fully convinced of these categories. In my mind, the Christian life could be divided into two categories like this:

Salvation, New Birth, Justification  | Sanctification, Holiness

 

When I was eighteen, I thought the things on the left were gifts from God, received freely by faith; while the things on the right required discipline, by which I meant hard work.

At some point, I realized that BOTH sides are powered by faith, and "human effort" wasn't really part of either side. But in my mind, there were still two distinct "sides."

And then I read Watchman Nee's book Love Not the World. He makes some surprising statements about salvation, and I followed up on them. It didn't take very long for me to become convinced that the diagram should look more like:

New Birth, Justification | Sanctification, Holiness, Salvation

 

I became convinced that when Scripture uses the word "salvation," it's almost always meaning something that belongs on the right-hand side of that division. So it became more natural to think of it on the right, not the left.

 

That was almost thirty years ago. These days I think of the diagram more like this:

New Birth, Justification, Justification, Sanctification, Holiness, Salvation

 

I've pretty much given up dividing these things into two categories. That's not to say we can't come up with a taxonomy that's meaningful, but I'm not at all convinced Scripture puts them into those two "standard Protestant" categories.

 

A few years ago, I was told I sound very Catholic. My friend's comments the other night helped make sense of that. If I reject those two very Protestant categories, then I'm likely sound at least a little bit Catholic.  

But while I think Catholicism gets it right by not dividing up those things into two categories, it puts them all on the wrong side. In other words, Catholicism teaches something like this:

| New Birth, Justification, Justification, Sanctification, Holiness, Salvation

while scripture teaches something like this:

New Birth, Justification, Justification, Sanctification, Holiness, Salvation |

 That is, Catholicism is correct in not dividing those things, but it wrongly makes human effort a part of all of them. Scripture, on the other hand, puts all of them into the "by grace through faith" category.

So let's stop talking about me and start talking about Scripture. Galatians 3:3 and Colossians 2:6 give us a key principle: we walk as we have received. We don't begin in the Spirit and finish in the flesh. We don't start out by grace and finish by law.  We don't take our first steps with "Done!" and our last with "Do!"

We receive Justification, Forgiveness of Sins, and New Birth all as free gifts from God. We start out on the principle of "by grace through faith" (Ephesians 2:8–9).  That's the very first step. We don't switch to another principle once we have taken a few more steps. We finish the race just like we started it: we set out in grace, we finish the same way. 

 

It's grace all the way down.

 

For me (and I think for a great many people), the big turning point is the realization that freedom from the power of sin is presented in Romans 6:1ff as something Christ has done for us. When He died, I died. And because I have died, I am free from sin. It changes the entire perspective on "sanctification" from something I have to achieve, to something I have to receive.

And notice that's by faith: we have died with Christ, but it's as we accept it (Romans 6:11) that we come into the good of it. So we are freed from sin's power by grace (by the death of Christ) through faith (as we believe what God has said and reckon ourselves to be what He says we are). Just like "salvation" is by grace through faith (Ephesians 2:8–9), "sanctification" is by grace through faith. The key to the entire Christian life, from the first step to the last, is to believe God and accept what He says.

 

There's a hymn in Little Flock that's appropriate to mention here, Appendix #62:

And when in heavenly glory

My ransomed soul shall be,

From sin and all pollution

Forever, ever free,

I’ll cast my crown before Him,

And loud His grace extol — 

"Thou hast Thyself redeemed me;

Yes, Thou hast done it all."

That hymn captures a lot in very few words. We're not called to achieve something for God, but to receive with gratitude what He has done for us.

All judgment given to the Son of Man

 J. N. Darby wrote:

All that has been entrusted to man, man has failed in. And God has put all into his hands first, to be set up perfect in the second Man who never fails.

Adam himself fails and is replaced by Christ.

The law was given, and Israel made the golden calf; hereafter, when Christ comes, the law will be written in the heart of Israel.

The priesthood failed, strange fire was offered and Aaron forbidden to enter the sanctuary, save on the great day of atonement, and then not in his garments of glory and beauty; Christ is a merciful and faithful high priest even now in glory.

The son of David set up in person wholly fails, loving many strange women, and the kingdom is divided. Nebuchadnezzar set by God over the Gentiles makes a golden image, puts those faithful to God into the fire, and becomes a beast. Christ shall take the throne of David in unfailing glory, and rise to reign over the Gentiles.

The Church was called to glorify Christ. I, says He, am glorified in them. But antichrists and a falling away are the result: even in the apostle's time all seek their own; and the last days (John), the objects of judgment (Jude), were there. After Paul's decease grievous wolves would come, and from the bosom of the Church those who turned away the disciples would arise, and perilous times and evil men and seducers waxing worse and worse, and if they did not continue in God's goodness, they would be cut off: but He will come, for all that, to be glorified in His saints and admired in all them that believe. The Church has fallen like all the rest. ("The Church - the House and the Body", Collected Writings, Vol. 14, pp. 98–99)

(My memory is that he makes similar summaries elsewhere, but this is the first example I found.)

This, to me, summarizes Darby extremely well. God has delegated authority to man, man has failed, and so God restores His plan in His own second Man (1 Corinthians 15:47). 

This helps us understand Christ's words in John 5:26–27, "the Father... has given [Christ] authority to execute judgment [also], because he is Son of man." That last clause is striking: we might expect Him to say that the Father has given Him authority to execute judgment because He is the Son of God. That would make sense, right? because we know that God is the Judge of all the earth (Genesis 18:25, Romans 2:3). But that's not what He says, He says it is because He is the Son of Man that He has been given authority to execute judgment.

It takes us back all the way to Genesis 1:27–31, where God puts man over all the creation and calls it "very good," and to Genesis 2:15–20, where God brings every creature to Adam "to see what he would call them" (Genesis 2:19). God has put man over creation, and He works within that delegated authority to fix the ruin man has brought in.

Paul repeats this claim in Acts 17:30–31. God has appointed a Man to judge the whole earth, and has made it clear who that Man is, by raising Him from the dead. Again, it's remarkable that Paul emphasizes Christ's manhood in discussing judgment: it is the Son of Man who will judge.

Of course that doesn't mean that God isn't the judge of all the earth. Paul is explicit that God will judge "by the Man whom He has appointed" (Acts 17:31). It's not that this Man will act independently: He will execute God's judgement. He acts, if we can say it this way, as God's representative.

William Kelly points out that Adam was made "in the image and likeness of God," but that has changed in the fall:

In Genesis 5 we have the generations of Adam. Upon this I would not now dwell farther than to draw attention to the commencing words, "In the day that God created man, in the likeness of God made he him; male and female created he them; and blessed them, and called their name Adam in the day when they were created." But "Adam," it is said, "begat a son in his own likeness, after his image." It was no longer in the likeness of God, but in the image of God always. For man, now as ever, fallen or not, is in the image of God; but the likeness of God was lost through sin. ("Genesis," Lectures on the Pentatuech).

Kelly points out elsewhere that Christ "is the 'image of the invisible God.' But He is never called His likeness, for this were to deny His glory" ("The Revelation of God").

We were made in God's image to represent Him in this creation, acting on authority He had delegated to us. We have ruined that. It is Christ who will eventually make this right. We don't see it yet, but we know it is coming (Hebrews 2:5–9).

And notice how 1 Corinthians 15:21–22 builds on this same theme: since by man came death, by man also resurrection of the dead. There is a symmetry that's explicit in the chapter.

I mentioned before that I was in a meeting where someone said that the point of Romans 6 is that we need to embrace our identity in Christ. That skips over a whole lot of the content of Romans 6:1–11, but it is a profound summary. 1 Corinthians 15:22 says something like that: in Adam all die, in Christ shall all be made alive. There are these two identities, and we are to embrace the one and eschew the other. Our dying with Christ – "with Christ," not "in Christ" – has freed us from what we were "in Adam" to be "in Christ." Again, I know there's a lot more to it, but this is a good thumbnail sketch.

It is very easy for us to lose sight of the significance of Christ's manhood. I remember one day realizing that Christ has never stopped being Man: it was a profound turning point in my mind. One man brought in death, another Man has brought in resurrection. One man was given judgment over this earth, another Man will execute that judgment.

I remember someone saying in meeting, "the only accomplishment of man that will last into eternity are the wounds of the crucifixion." That was a touching and sobering thought, but it's not really true. There is a Man who has redeemed us and will present us to God (Isaiah 53:11).  There are accomplishments of that Man that certainly will last through eternity.