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.

 

 

 

Repentance, penance, and absolution

Over the last year or so I've had several difficult conversations with friends and acquaintances who had found themselves overtaken in some fault or another. For whatever reason, they seemed to want to unburden themselves on me. Now, I don't object to being their sounding board: to the extend they think that's something they think they need, it's fine by me. But it seems to me there's a danger of which we should be aware: the danger of allowing repentance to become penance.

It seems to me there's a link between repentance and faith, and another between penance and unbelief. Repentance (at least, godly repentance) hinges on seeing ourselves as we are, and God as He is. Notice how Job 42:5–6 describes getting a right view of God, and how that drives Job to repentance.

Penance on the other hand, is an attempt to earn some sort of righteousness with God. Really, it boils down to unbelief: God has already told us we have no righteousness but Christ. God has already told us that Christ has borne our sins. God has already assured us that when we confess, He forgives. Looking for some sort of assurance outside of the word of God is not faith. Looking for some sort of merit in my own works – no matter how big or how small – is not faith. These things are the opposite of faith. They are unbelief.

So I suppose I would say the difference between repentance and penance is faith. Repentance comes from believing God, penance results from unbelief. Of course that doesn't help us very much in terms of identifying when someone has gone from the one to the other. But it might help me individually know when I've done so: "is this faith? or is it doubting God's word?" That's the real question.

I'm a little less dogmatic on the whole idea of absolution. There are certainly times when we need to seek forgiveness from someone other than God: we might have sinned against someone, for example, and need to seek their forgiveness too. And unlike with God, we might find ourselves needing to make some sort of amends to that person. But that's not really what absolution is.

Absolution is more about confessing my sins to someone else, and receiving from that person assurance of God's forgiveness. Is absolution something we need? No, we have the word of God to assure us that God has forgiven. But what do we do when someone comes to us, looking for assurance from us that God forgives? The more I think this over, the more I think there is value in a true believer assuring someone of God's forgiveness, as long as he or she is pointing them to the word of God. One friend of mine says we should be quick to say, "Jesus loves you, Jesus has forgiven you." I think that's good advice, but I'll add the caveat that we shouldn't ever say that as though we have authoritative knowledge in ourselves. It's not that I know that God has forgiven you because on my spiritual state or insight; no, it's that I know God has forgiven you based on His word, and we can look at it together.

So I think there's a place for absolution, as long as it's grounded in God's word, not in some presumed authority.

And let's be clear about something here: we can't talk about this sort of thing in the abstract. It's not very useful to talk about what a Christian should do in an ideal world. When a true believer comes to us with a guilty conscience, we're not dealing in the hypothetical. We who have sinned really big – so big that our standard evangelical faith collapsed under the weight of our own guilt – know there's a desperation that hypothetical Christianity doesn't really address. But when someone comes to us with that sort of guilt, we ought to lead him or her to the Cross, to God's grace, to Christ's having borne our sins. It's not the time to lecture, it's the time to lead with compassion to the One who is gracious to both of us.

It's important for us to realize that God forgives based on the death of Christ (Romans 3:21–26). Christ died for our sins according to the scriptures (1 Corinthians 15:1–8), and it is this – and only this – that enables God to forgive us. It's easy to lose sight of this when we deal with the question of confession: we're tempted to think that confession is an act of merit, and God forgives us because we confess our sins. That's not true at all. It's true that when we confess our sins He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins (1 John 1:9), but it's not our confession that makes God forgive. In fact, even as we are sinning, Christ is advocating for us with the Father. I don't know another way to understand 1 John 2:1–2. 

Christ doesn't wait for us to confess, repent, or even acknowledge our sins before He takes action on our behalf. We all need to meditate on this. We all need to let this one sink in.

So why do we confess our sins? The simplest reason is our own peace of heart: we need to know that God has forgiven us. That assurance is as simple as confessing our sins, and then believing God. 

It's important, too, to realize that when we have sinned – when we are at our lowest – we are seeing ourselves exactly like God has always seen us. In fact, no matter how low your opinion of yourself is, God's opinion of you is worse. We have a tendency to evaluate ourselves based on our performance, usually our current or very recent past. But God knows all things: on our best days, He knows what our worst days will be, and He sees what we will do. So on our best days, we should be humble. On our worst days, we should remember God's view of us is no different than it was on our best days. God knows what we are.

And this brings us back to repentance. Repentance is a gift from God (Acts 11:18). It is the correct response to understanding that we have sinned (Acts 17:30–31). But it goes much deeper than our understanding of what we have done: it goes to our understanding of what we are (see Isaiah 6:5, Luke 18:9ff). Job repented when he saw who God really is. It's noteworthy that scripture doesn't tell us Job sinned. The closest thing we get to sin on Job's part is Job 32:1–3.

Job 32:1–3 gives a brief summary of the book up to that point. Job's friends "found no answer, and yet condemned [him]" (Job 32:3), but Job was also wrong, because "he justified himself rather than God" (Job 32:2). It seems to me this is a danger to us, particularly when we are doing something right: that we would justify ourselves rather than God.

Philippians 3:8ff tells us that to be "in Christ" is to have "no righteousness of my own."  This means we give up (or have given up) any merit we have. Even the questionable merit we might associate with confessing our sins. Any merit that comes our way from confession or repentance is something we need to give up if we want to be "in Christ."

I know I've offended people in the past by saying that there is a danger of our being no longer "in Christ." I don't mean that God ever sees us as anything other than "in Christ." We are accepted by God always and only "in Christ." I don't mean we can cease to be "in Christ" in God's eyes. I mean that our spiritual health and growth and progress are based on our seeing things the way God sees them (cf. Romans 6:1–11). That's what Philippians 3:8ff is talking about: it's not saying "I hope I can attain being in Christ," it's saying, "I want to see myself in Christ, just as God sees me in Christ." And the key there is to understand that we have no righteousness of our own.

We cease to be "in Christ" in our own minds – not in God's eyes – when we start to think we have righteousness of our own. We need to be very careful here.

One last note: it would be wrong not to mention a wonderful article by J. N. Darby here, "Cleansing by Water: and what it is to walk in the light." I can't recommend it highly enough.

Direct Action

About 30 years ago, I was reading through a Passover Haggadah and was struck by a statement to the effect that God Himself had come down to save Israel from Egypt. "That's odd," I thought, "wasn't it an angel that struck the firstborn?"

I have searched the scriptures for many years, and have been unable to find a mention of this angel. Scripture is consistent on this point: it was God who struck the firstborn, it was God who passed over the houses when He saw blood.

There might have been angelic involvement in the Passover, but scripture doesn't mention it.

Scripture says that God Himself would "go out into the midst of Egypt" and the result would be calamity (Exodus 11:4–7).  God told Moses that He would go through Egypt, "and smite all the firstborn in the land of Egypt, both man and beast; and against all the gods of Egypt I will execute judgment" (Exodus 12:12). But when He saw blood on the lintel and door posts, He would pass over that house (Exodus 12:13).

The closest I can find to such an angel in Exodus is Exodus 12:23. KJV and JND both mention a "destroyer" in that verse. Other translations I have checked render "destroyer" as "plague". Numbers 20:16 might be more promising.

A friend of mine points to Psalm 78:49, which I find unconvincing. In context, Psalm 78:44–50 is a pretty clear reference to the first nine plagues on Egypt, Psalm 78:51 brings in the tenth. Verse 49 appears as a summary of the first nine plagues. You could argue angelic involvement in the first nine plagues, based on Psalm 78, but not the tenth.

On the other hand, scripture refers to the tenth plague in terms of God's direct action, without an intermediate. Exodus 11:4ff and Exodus 12:12ff both make the claim that God would go through Egypt, judging it. That is unique to the tenth plague: in the first nine plagues, God in heaven acted against Pharaoh on earth. Only in the tenth plague does God claim He will come down. In the tenth plague – and only the tenth – God's presence in Egypt is promised.

This isn't some obscure point of minutiae. While I admit this is a subtle point, it is significant. God doesn't entrust the redemption of His people to angels. He takes direct action.

Notice that while Scripture is silent on angelic involvement in the Passover, there are certainly "destroying angels" in Scripture.  2 Samuel 24:15ff, 2 Kings 6:15ff, Psalm 78:49, and Revelation 9:11 are just a few examples. I have no doubt such angels exist. The point isn't that such angels don't exist, the point is that Exodus makes the express claim that God acted directly in the Passover, and makes no mention of those "destroying angels."

Psalm 8:3 describes the heavens as the work of God's fingers. Pharaoh's magicians described the plague of gnats as "the finger of God" (Exodus 8:19). God describes His redemption of Israel from Egypt as requiring His out-stretched arm (Exodus 6:6, Exodus 15:16). There is a progression here: creating the heavens took only God's fingers. But He used His out-stretched arm to redeem His people from slavery. 

Do we appreciate how important God makes redemption? Do we appreciate that He put more effort into redeeming Israel than He put into making the heavens?

Do we appreciate that our full and final redemption from sin cost Him even more? Do we appreciate that the Son of God "bore our sins in His body on the tree?" (1 Peter 2:24).

God, who spoke the world into existence, suffered the pain and loss of giving His Son for us. This ought to touch our hearts.

 

 

  

If anyone sins

I don't think we can talk too much about God's forgiveness, Christ's advocacy, or our own need of Him.

We all sin. " for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God" (Romans 3:23). We are guilty of sin ("all have sinned") and we all continue to fail ("all... fall short"). There is no one who does not continue to sin. 

Our response to this fact is telling. We might respond by leaning into it, perhaps even celebrating it. "We all sin" we might say dismissively, while our passions rule us and drive us deeper and deeper into it. 

We might respond with a less enthusiastic – but equally useless – resignation. "We all sin" we might say, shrugging with a defeated sigh.

But Scripture lays out something different. The first response to our sin is on Christ's part. "If anyone sins" – not, "if anyone repents" – "we have an advocate with the Father" (1 John 2:2). It's important for us to recognize that Christ doesn't wait for us to repent, to confess, or to pray. No, whenever we sin, He is our advocate with the Father. Long before we feel any sense of remorse, He is already working on our behalf with the Father in heaven.

Our response to sin is laid out in 1 John 1:9, "if we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins." It's remarkable that it is Divine justice that is linked to our forgiveness. God's justice demands He forgive us when we confess, because Christ has already paid for our sins. What an amazing thought, that the same justice that we would expect to drive God to wrath to punish us for our sins actually drives Him to forgive us, because Christ has died for us (cf. Romans 3:24–26).

There's a tendency for us to think that we earn God's forgiveness by our confession, which shows just how fallen we are. There is no merit in confession, it's simply an acknowledgment. It's saying what God already knows: we have sinned.

The language of 1 John 1:9 has a sacramental sense. It's for our benefit: we can point to confession and say, "I know God has forgiven, because I have confessed, and He promises to forgiven when I confess." The fact is that we have forgiveness of sins as a present blessing (Colossians 1:14). God doesn't wait for us to confess before He forgives. But we need that assurance of forgiveness. We need to know that He has forgiven, and so we have this answer: "if you have confessed, then I have forgiven." And we can point to that confession as a sort of a receipt of forgiveness.

Of course we still have a tendency to hang on to guilt, and we really insult God in doing so. We act like God's forgiveness is all well and good, but we need something more. It's an unimaginably arrogant thing for us to think that God might have forgiven me, but my standards are higher than His. It's a wicked thing to think.

And of course we might need to make amends to some other person. If we have sinned against our brother or sister as well as against the Lord, we might need to ask their forgiveness as well. But the fact remains that God is the most injured party regardless of whom else we have hurt.

We recognize, too, that our confession of sins is really a tangible result of Christ's advocacy for us, and the Holy Spirit's work in us. It's not our idea to confess our sins to God, but His. When we confess our sins and have that receipt of forgiveness, we come to understand that it's because Christ had already been advocating for us – even while we were still sinning – that we were brought to our knees to confess.

It's worth bearing this in mind. It's worth contemplating this. "Whoso is wise, let him observe these things, and let them understand the loving-kindnesses of Jehovah" (Psalm 107:43).