Dan Olinger

"If the Bible is true, then none of our fears are legitimate, none of our frustrations are permanent, and none of our opposition is significant."

Dan Olinger

Chair, Division of Biblical Studies & Theology,

Bob Jones University

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On Abundance, Part 1: Needs and Wants

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We humans need stuff. We need food, and clothing, and shelter, and we need a way to get those things. The past year has made us aware of how much we need other things, too: love, companionship, interaction, variety.

We also want stuff. We want money—always just a bit more than we have. We want better health—even if we live in ways that seem to contradict that. We want recognition, which these days comes most commonly by way of likes and shares and congratulatory comments.

In Western culture, our natural tendency to want what we don’t have is exacerbated by the advertisements that bombard us pretty much constantly, especially if we’re the kind of person who permanently stores his phone in his hand rather than his pocket. You need this app; you need these shoes; you need that car; you need a vacation in Cozumel.

We’re a needy bunch.

I’ve noticed that my students’ generation, while still inclined to neediness—or wantiness—is trending away from stuff. Minimalism is cool (see under “Marie Kondo”). Newlyweds don’t want fine china anymore.

Good for them. It’s easier to pick up and go when you don’t have to think about tons (literally) of stuff that will be worthless in the long run.

Similarly, my wife and I have reached a stage in life where we really don’t want more stuff for Christmas, or birthdays, or anniversaries. We have what we need, and, apart from the occasional jar of cashews or tub of ice cream, we have pretty much what we want in terms of physical things.

But for a great many people, the wish list on Amazon is still a Very Big Deal. I need. I want. I wish I had.

Now, you’re expecting a blog post excoriating acquisitiveness. There’s a place for that, but my thoughts are running in a different direction.

I’m thinking about wealth.

The Bible says that God is endlessly rich. The old chorus said that “he owns the cattle on a thousand hills,” a concept drawn from Psalm 50.10:

Every beast of the forest is Mine, The cattle on a thousand hills.

When the returnees from exile in Babylon are doing their best to rebuild Solomon’s Temple, and producing a recognizably inferior product (Hag 2.3), God encourages these faithful laborers by telling him that this temple isn’t going to be about the silver and gold; “If you needed silver and gold, I have plenty,” he says (Hag 2.8), but he’s going to make this temple great in other, more substantive and infinitely valuable ways (Hag 2.6-9). And indeed, it was this temple—specifically Herod’s renovation of it—that saw the baby Jesus presented for circumcision, and the boy Jesus astonish the rabbis, and the man Jesus clear out the merchants—and the veil torn open by the Father himself as his Son paid the price for the separation between God and his people.

God is rich in the earthly stuff, and he’s rich in the heavenly stuff as well.

And, as we wish for from the rich, he’s generous too. Over the years he’s blessed a lot of his people financially, starting with Job and continuing to Abraham and many, many others, down to this day. While I’m not rich in American statistical terms, I’m wildly wealthy in comparison with most of the rest of the world, and it’s pretty likely that you are too. I have all I need, as well as a lot of stuff I don’t need.

There’s a word in the Bible that embraces this concept. It’s the word abundance. I’d like to spend a few posts meditating on it—contrasting it with some of the nonsense being proposed by religious shysters these days, and laying out some specifics about the Father’s abundant blessing of his people.

Next time we’ll set out a definition.

Photo by Alexander Schimmeck on Unsplash

Simple Faith. Simple Grace. Part 3: Keeping It Simple

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Part 1: The Basics | Part 2: The Way

Very soon after the apostles began spreading this good news of simple faith, people, some of them undoubtedly well intentioned, began adding things to the list. The first, as far as we know, were the Judaizers, who apparently followed Paul around on his travels and, after he had left a given city, “explained” to the new believers that there was more to the story. You see, the Bible says that God commanded Israel to be circumcised and keep the Law, and since Jesus is the Messiah, the Jewish deliverer, following Jesus means becoming Jewish.  It’s right there in the Bible.

Paul was merciless with these teachers, well intentioned or not. He is at his angriest when he writes to the Galatian church, denouncing the teaching with the explosive words, “I wish those who are troubling you would be castrated!” (Ga 5.12). If circumcision is good, then castration would be even better, right? A fortiori. QED.

Adding to the list is not something to be trifled with.

Simple faith. Simple grace.

Over the years some groups—most notably the Roman Catholic Church and the Church of Christ—have noted the mention of baptism in 2 of the 9 passages listed in Part 2 (Ac 2.38; 8.12), and they’ve argued that getting baptized is part of the requirement for salvation.

What about that? It’s mentioned, right?

Indeed it is. There’s no question that baptism is expected of believers. But that’s not the question here. The question is, “Is baptism a prerequisite for salvation?” or, to put in another way, “Does the gospel apply only to those who have both believed and been baptized?”

That’s a good question, and it deserves a thoughtful response. Several considerations:

  • It’s true that baptism is mentioned in connection with salvation in 2 of those 9 passages. But that means that it’s not mentioned in that way in 7 of them. If it’s necessary, if you’re not going to be saved without being baptized, then it’s inexplicable that both Peter and Paul repeatedly omitted it when instructing people how to be saved—especially since Peter himself is the one who mentioned baptism at Pentecost, the first public offer of the gospel.
  • In one of the accounts, that of Peter’s sermon to Cornelius’s household, the group receives the Spirit before they are baptized (Ac 10.44-48). In fact, Peter’s judgment is that they ought to be baptized because they are showing evidence of a salvation already acquired (Ac 10.47).
  • Paul later says off-handedly that he has baptized almost no one, because “Christ did not send me to baptize, but to proclaim the gospel” (1Co 1.17). He appears to show no interest in even recalling whom he’s baptized (1Co 1.16). Given Paul’s feverish devotion to Christ’s commission to take the gospel to the Gentiles, his words make no sense if baptism is a requirement for salvation.
  • Jesus assured the thief on the cross, “Today you will be with me in paradise” (Lk 23.43), even though he was clearly not baptized, and was not going to be.

So no, we can’t add things—even good things, even significant spiritual exercises—to the gospel. The death of Christ for your sins is applied to those sins when you repent and believe. Like a child (Mk 10.15).

Simple faith. Simple grace.

Jesus said that faith doesn’t have to be strong or great. Faith the size of a (tiny) mustard seed, he said, is all it takes (Lk 17.6). Many of us have had the experience (probably as young teens) of lying in bed night after night, filled with fear, praying, “Lord, if I didn’t really mean it last night, I really mean it tonight.” That’s sad, because it’s completely unnecessary.

Faith doesn’t depend on the intensity of the faith of the one believing; it depends on the faithfulness of the One being believed. You’re not saved because you scrunched your eyebrows sufficiently close together (<7.6mm!) when you asked Jesus to save you; you’re saved because you asked Jesus, and he keeps his promises.

Photo by Alora Griffiths on Unsplash

So away with this “enough faith” nonsense. Jesus directly spoke against that.

Did you believe in Jesus? Even more simply, do you believe now?

Well then. Bask in the sunlight of warm assurance.

It is finished.

There’s one more thing we need to give some attention to—the question of antinomianism, or fruitless faith. We’ll look at that next time.

Part 4: Working It Out | Part 5: Keeping It Going

Photo by Todd Trapani on Unsplash

Simple Faith, Simple Grace, Part 2: The Way

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Part 1: The Basics

In the previous post we let Paul define the gospel:

  • Christ died for our sins,
    • Certainly.
  • And he rose again,
    • Certainly.
  • And all this was planned.

Simple enough.

Now, what does this have to do with us? Why is it gospel—good news? To us?

This death, Paul tells us, was “for our sins” (1Co 15.3). It was about us—about dealing with the problem we ourselves had caused. We’ve sinned—broken the cosmos, including ourselves—and we’re now in deep trouble—

  • We’re defective models of the original design, so we’ll never work right (Ro 3.23).
  • And we’ve broken the world we live in, so it will never work right, either (Ro 8.22).

As the wisest man who ever lived once wrote, this is a recipe for frustration (Ec 1.14).

But it gets worse.

Since sin violates God’s nature, he’s justly angry with us, and the relationship we were designed to have with him is impossible. We cannot love and serve him—now or forever.

Deep trouble, indeed.

But, as Paul has told us, God himself—the angry party—has taken action to solve our problem (Ro 5.8). In the person of Christ, God the Son, he has paid “for our sins.”

That’s really good news.

All this raises another question, of course.

How do we appropriate Christ’s work for us? What causes his death to be applied to the debt of our sins?

There are several places in the Scripture where the answer is given. In many of those places someone asks that very question upon hearing of Christ’s death, and the responses are strikingly similar and simple—

  • 37 Now when they heard this, they were cut to the heart and said to Peter and to the other apostles, “Brothers, what should we do?” 38 Peter said to them, “Repent, and be baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ so that your sins may be forgiven; and you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit. 39 For the promise is for you, for your children, and for all who are far away, everyone whom the Lord our God calls to him” (Ac 2.37-39).
  • “19 Repent therefore, and turn to God so that your sins may be wiped out, 20 so that times of refreshing may come from the presence of the Lord” (Ac 3.19-20).
  • “43 All the prophets testify about him that everyone who believes in him receives forgiveness of sins through his name” (Ac 10.43).
  • “38 Let it be known to you therefore, my brothers, that through this man forgiveness of sins is proclaimed to you; 39 by this Jesus everyone who believes is set free from all those sins from which you could not be freed by the law of Moses” (Ac 13.38-39).
  • “30 Then he brought them outside and said, ‘Sirs, what must I do to be saved?’ 31 They answered, ‘Believe on the Lord Jesus, and you will be saved, you and your household’ ” (Ac 16.30-31).
  • “4 Paul said, ‘John baptized with the baptism of repentance, telling the people to believe in the one who was to come after him, that is, in Jesus’ “ (Ac 19.4).

And in other passages we’re told that people responded to the gospel in specific ways that were effective:

  • “12 But when they believed Philip, who was proclaiming the good news about the kingdom of God and the name of Jesus Christ, they were baptized, both men and women” (Ac 8.12).
  • “12 When the proconsul saw what had happened, he believed, for he was astonished at the teaching about the Lord” (Ac 13.12).
  • “12 Many of them therefore believed, including not a few Greek women and men of high standing” (Ac 17.12).

So what’s called for in our response to this good news?

  • Repent
  • Believe

Repentance is turning from your sin. Faith is turning to Christ. They’re both one action, the action of turning. You say, “I don’t want my sin anymore; I want Christ instead.” And in your mind, your heart, you turn.

We call that turn conversion. One simple act.

Simple faith. Simple grace.

There’s much more to be said, ironically, about the simplicity of the gospel. More next time.

Part 3: Keeping It Simple | Part 4: Working It Out | Part 5: Keeping It Going

Photo by Todd Trapani on Unsplash

Simple Faith, Simple Grace, Part 1: The Basics

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It’s important, every so often, to revisit the basics, to go back to first principles.

These days I’m working on something that has me thinking about how to communicate the gospel, and the basics of the Christian life, to those for whom it is a brand-new concept.

It was a long time ago—about 60 years, in fact—when the gospel was new to me. Over the years I’ve learned a lot about the gospel and about its effects and outcomes. I’ve also had the privilege of teaching Bible and theology in several widely different cultures. Time and experience tend to fill your mind with lots of related and derived concepts, to the point that you need to remind yourself to just go back to the beginning and think about the topic simply, as if for the first time. The first time I heard it, as a five- or six-year-old boy, it was simple enough for me to understand and believe.

Paul defines the gospel for us in 1Corinthians 15.3b-4—

that Christ died for our sins according to the scriptures, 4 and that he was buried, and that he was raised on the third day according to the scriptures.

A lot of people read this as signifying that the gospel has 3 parts: death, burial, and resurrection. But that’s a misimpression that derives from the place where we stop reading—and where I stopped quoting. There’s more in verse 5—

… and that he appeared to Cephas, then to the twelve.

As you know, Paul continues in the next verses to name a good many other witnesses of Christ’s post-resurrection appearances.

Death, burial, resurrection, witnesses.

Is the fact that there were eyewitnesses a part of the gospel? Does it have four parts?

Well, you’ve probably noticed that a phrase appears twice in this passage:

according to the scriptures

If you look at the passage closely, you’ll notice that it’s a pair of couplets:

  • that Christ died for our sins according to the scriptures,
    • and that he was buried,
  • and that he was raised on the third day according to the scriptures
    • and that he appeared.

What’s the point of his appearances? They demonstrate that he rose.

What’s the point, then, of his burial? It demonstrates that he died.

So what’s the gospel?

Two points:

  1. He died for our sins. Certainly.
  2. He rose from the dead. Certainly.

And a corollary:

  • This was predicted. Planned.

That, my friends, is the gospel. God made it simple so that the least of these his brethren could understand it. I was able to understand it as a pre-school child with no previous Christian training. The history of missions tells us that in every culture in the world, in every kingdom, tribe, tongue, and nation, the gospel can be understood and received.

God is not the God of the elite—although the elite are welcome, if they will not count on their elititude.

God is the God of all who will come. And his Good News can be understood and embraced by them all.

So we’ve defined the gospel. But now we face another question:

Why is it good news? What do Christ’s death and resurrection have to do with us?

We’ll survey the biblical data on that in the next post.

Part 2: The Way | Part 3: Keeping It Simple | Part 4: Working It Out | Part 5: Keeping It Going

Photo by Todd Trapani on Unsplash

God of Law, God of Grace

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So which is it?

Is God all about law or all about grace?

Is God the heavenly tyrant who insists that we follow his rules, or else? Who constantly chases the kids off his lawn?

Or is he the kindly old gentleman who always has candy in his pockets for the children?

There are some who see law and grace as enemies—so much so that the God of the Old Testament must be different from the God of the New. And of course they like the latter better.

Even among less reactionary people, there’s the assumption that law and grace are at odds: you have to choose one or the other. The old-timers choose law, because you know, and the hipsters choose grace, because, well, it’s obvious.

But there’s no dichotomy—in fact, there can’t possibly be. The God of the Old Testament is also the God of the New, and he isn’t at odds with himself (Num 23.19; 2Tim 2.13), and he doesn’t change (Mal 3.6; Jam 1.17).

Law and grace are one.

When I was a child in Sunday school, I occasionally heard a teacher say that the Old Testament saints were saved by keeping the Law, and we’re saved by grace.

Nothing could be further from the truth. It’s a wonder I didn’t grow up to be a flaming heretic.

So how are they one? Paul makes that clear in his two sister epistles Romans and Galatians. Abraham, he tells us, lived long before the Law even existed (Gal 3.17), and he was justified—counted righteous, though he was not righteous—by trusting God (Rom 4.2-3). By faith.

That’s grace. It couldn’t be Law, since there wasn’t any.

So if grace was working fine before the Law, why did God complicate the system by ordering Israel to keep the Law?

I’m glad you asked. Paul tells us why. The Law, he says, is designed to lead us to Christ (Gal 3.24).

All of us are really good at justifying ourselves. My case is different, you see; I have good reasons for my, um, idiosyncrasies. I’m a good person. I live by my own set of rules, and I conform to them very nicely, thanks.

God knows that if he doesn’t set the rules for us, we’ll never come to him. We’ll consider ourselves just fine—better than that other guy over there—and he knows that we’ll never be pure, never be fulfilled, never be joyous, unless we come to him. He can’t abide that; he loves us too much.

So he gives us a Law, and it’s impossible. You can try all you want, but you’ll never keep it. He’s not trying to frustrate us, to rub our faces in our own failure; he’s holding out his hands, waiting for us to come to him for forgiveness and cleansing, having realized that we can’t do It without him.

The Law brings us to Christ.

So guess what?

The Law isn’t in conflict with grace; it is grace. It’s the way God leads us stubborn horses to water, where we can drink all we want for free (Is 55.1-2).

The Law is grace. Nowhere is that more obvious than in the Ten Commandments, where God, as he is setting up the rules, reminds us of who he is, and what he has done:

I am the LORD thy God, which have brought thee out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of bondage (Ex 20.2).

I’ve already delivered you, he says. That’s the kind of person I am; I rescue people who don’t deserve to be rescued.

And then he says something that sounds harsh:

I the LORD thy God am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children unto the third and fourth generation of them that hate me; 6 And shewing mercy unto thousands of them that love me, and keep my commandments (Ex 20.5b-6).

But it’s not harsh. Look more closely.

How far does sin reach? To the third and fourth generation.

How far do mercy and grace reach?

Thousands.

Thousands of what?

Thousands of generations, of course.

How long is a generation?

Well, let’s say 20 years. These days couples are having their first child later than that, and in West Virginia they have them a lot earlier ( 🙂 ), but 20 should be close enough, conservatively.

How long is a thousand generations?

20,000 years.

I’m a young-earth creationist. I don’t think we’ve been here that long.

So what’s his point?

Sin has its day, but grace lasts for as long as you need it. It’ll never run out.

And that’s right there in the Ten Commandments.

The Law.

It’s grace.

Photo by Ben White on Unsplash

Responding to Persecution, Part 2

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Part 1

In my previous post I introduced the subject of persecution and how the early church responded to it. As explained there, I’d like to take this post to summarize and extend an excellent discussion of Paul’s teaching on the subject in 1 Thessalonians by Michael Martin in the New American Commentary volume on Thessalonians.

In general, Paul is not playing games with his flock. He “did not attempt to diminish the severity of the Thessalonians’ persecution. Rather, he sought to broaden their vision” (Martin). Rather than fixating on themselves, and how hard and unfair their lives were, Paul called their attention to the Big Picture—to the far greater realities that were at work. These are not platitudes; they’re facts, and they place God’s people in a position to survive, to endure, even to thrive in the most unjust and painful situations.

So what are the big ideas?

  • If you’re a believer, you’re not suffering because people hate you. You’re suffering because they hate your Lord, the one they crucified, and because they hate his plan for his creation. “They suffered for the kingdom of God, not needlessly” (Martin; cf. 2Th 1.5). There is no greater cause, and there is no greater payoff. Jesus told of a man who found a pearl of great price and sold all he had to buy it (Mt 13.45-46). Seriously, now—what greater cause is there? Consider what sacrifices people will make for other, far lesser causes; is the path that God has asked you to walk really all that extraordinary?
  • Jesus is not asking you to walk a path any more difficult than the one he has already walked for you (1Th 1.6-7). This is a point Peter also makes when he remarks that “Christ also suffered for us, leaving us an example, that ye should follow his steps” (1P 2.21). When we follow him, “despising the shame” (Heb 12.2), we demonstrate that our faith in him is genuine—that there’s substance to it. And that in turn gives us further motivation and strength to continue to endure.
  • Like any difficulty, persecution is temporary. At some point—sooner than you can believe while it’s happening—it will be over. And then you have two things to look forward to—
    • Like the athlete suffering through 3-a-day workouts, you can anticipate the strength benefit you will derive from the exertion. “No pain, no gain” may be trite, but it’s wisdom culled from the experience of millions. As the fire refines gold, so suffering refines and improves and strengthens God’s people (1P 1.6-7). Embrace it.
    • God’s plan is to present you perfect at Christ’s coming (1Th 1.10; 3.13). You will not only be stronger in this life, but you will be ultimately sanctified, glorified, when the final reckoning comes.
  • When we look around in our persecution, we see brothers and sisters suffering alongside us. We are not alone. In the case of the Thessalonians, they knew of Paul’s persecution in both Philippi and Thessalonica (1Th 2.2), and they knew of the suffering of the first Christians in Jerusalem, persecution in which Paul himself had long before played a role (1Th 2.14). This isn’t “misery loves company”; it’s support from teammates united in back-breaking effort.
  • We have infinite resources freely available to us in the struggle. We are indwelt, empowered, and gifted by the Holy Spirit (1Th 1.6); God himself gives us the power to “increase and abound” (1Th 3.12) and will “sanctify [us] wholly” (1Th 5.23)—yes, he surely “will do it” (1Th 5.24). This is not a battle God will lose, and if we are in him, we will not lose either.
  • Justice will come. Evil will be judged; the first will be last (1Th 2.16). It’s just the 3rd inning; it’s too soon to take the score seriously. Things are not what they seem.

Martin concludes his summary with these remarkable words:

Knowledge of such truths does not make suffering disappear, nor does it mean that suffering is good or should be sought. But suffering is tolerable when it has purpose, when something of value is gained by it, and when those who inflict it do not do so with impunity. A sufferer gains comfort in the comradeship of shared suffering and can give thanks in all circumstances given the knowledge that the suffering will eventually give way to victory and reward. Peace is the result, an enduring and genuine sense of well-being even in the midst of distress.

May God give us grace to represent him well when suffering comes.

And may we not be whiners in the meantime.

On the Unpardonable Sin

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Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Recently Tim Challies posted some thoughts on the question of the unpardonable sin. I’d like to extend his remarks a bit.

Most Christians have read the passages that raise this question. The unbelieving Pharisees, trying desperately to discount the power of Jesus’ miracles, have accused him of casting out demons by the power of Satan (Mt 12.22-32; Mk 3.22-30; Lk 12.8-10). Jesus responds by saying,

Every sin and blasphemy will be forgiven people, but the blasphemy against the Spirit will not be forgiven. 32 And whoever speaks a word against the Son of Man will be forgiven, but whoever speaks against the Holy Spirit will not be forgiven, either in this age or in the age to come (Mt 12.31-32).

So what’s he talking about?

The first thing I notice is that when you look at the commentaries, they don’t seem to know—at least, not with any certainty. There are several interpretations:

  • Taking the context very narrowly, Jesus is simply saying that if you lived at the time of Jesus, and you ascribed his miracles to demonic power, then you wouldn’t be forgiven. So this is a sin that nobody today can commit, because Jesus is no longer walking around on earth doing miracles.
  • A variation on that view is that you can still commit that sin today; if you say that Christ did his miracles by the power of Satan, then you’ve committed the unpardonable sin. This view, or the previous one, appears to be the position that Challies takes in his post.
  • Some suggest that the unpardonable sin is hardening one’s heart to the degree that the Spirit’s convicting call is no longer heard. This, it is suggested, is where the Pharisees now found themselves. So the problem is not so much a particular sin, but the persistence in sin that hardens the heart over time, making the sinner, in effect, spiritually deaf.
  • Others say that the unpardonable sin is effectively your last one; it is dying without having repented. In this view, everyone in hell has committed the unpardonable sin.

Well, this is a conundrum. We’re not even sure what it is.

I’ll tell you what it isn’t.

It isn’t that God has designated a certain sin as unforgiveable, and boy, you’d better not commit that one, and by the way, when I tell you about it, I’m going to make the definition of the sin really unclear, just to keep you on your toes.

That view seems to me to be blasphemous.

Here’s what we do know.

  • We do know that God delights in repentance and never turns any repentant sinner away, no matter what he’s done.
  • We do know that conviction of sin, and sorrow for sin, are works of the Holy Spirit, and those works are not frustrated.

So if you’re worried that you might have committed the unforgiveable sin, stop the fear and the hesitation and run to the Father, whose arms are open wide to welcome you into his family and to his dinner table. There is forgiveness for all who come. There has been forgiveness for even me. There is certainly forgiveness for you.

But here’s what else we know.

We know that if you harden your heart against the gentle pleading of the Spirit, the day will come when time runs out. It may be at the end of a long period of terminal illness, during which you have plenty of time to think about what’s ahead. Or it may come in an instant, with a vise-grip pain in your chest, or a flash of light in your brain, or the sudden sound of a horn and a screech of tires on pavement.

And when time runs out, there will be no repenting then.

It is appointed for man to die once, and after that comes judgment (Heb 9.27).

So enough of idle speculation about this or that obscure passage. Why test the limits, when repentance—hearing the convicting voice of the Spirit—is the obvious solution to the great problem of sin?

Why play such a deadly game?

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

On Sin: Sometimes, It IS a Sin to Be Tempted.

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Part 1 Part 2

“It’s not a sin to be tempted; it’s only a sin if you give in to the temptation.”

This is one of those axioms of the Christian faith, one of those fundamental propositions that everybody says, and we all accept, first, because it makes so much sense, and second, because it makes us feel a lot better, and we need all the feeling better we can get.

Pretty much everybody teaches this principle as axiomatic. Roman Catholics do. People in the Church of Christ do. Mark Driscoll does. Rick Warren does. Pretty much every conservative evangelical church does. Even the local newspaper in Conway, SC, the center of flooding from the recent hurricane Florence, does. (That’s how the Bible belt works, folks.)

But is it true?

Well, it must be true, right? If everybody says so. And if being tempted is sinful, we’re all toast, right? What chance do we have?

I’d like to suggest that The Axiom is overly simplistic—that the biblical view of temptation is slightly more complex than we’re seeing.

Here’s why.

The key biblical principle underlying The Axiom is that Jesus was tempted, and he never sinned. Since the Scripture says that directly (Heb 4.15), it is of course true.

So it is possible to be tempted without sin. But the question for us is deeper than that. Is there no temptation that is sinful in itself? Is it only entertaining or acting on the temptation that places us in a position of sin? Is no temptation sinful?

The Bible has a lot to say about the nature and sources of temptation. Paul writes that in our lives before regeneration, we found ourselves following “the course of this world, … the prince of the power of the air, … in the passions of our flesh” (Eph 2.2-3). From there Christian theologians, beginning apparently with Peter Abelard, standardized the sources of temptation as “the world, the flesh, and the devil.”

Which of these served as the source of Jesus’ temptation? Well, in the most famous temptation event—we assume that there may well have been others—his temptation came directly from the devil (Mat 4.1ff; Lk 4.1ff). It’s important to note that these temptations originated outside of him; they were imposed on him from an outside source.

The flesh, of course, is internal to us. And John tells us that the world brings to us “the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life” (1Jn 2.16)—which sounds as though it’s at least partially internal to us as well. Did Jesus face the temptation of the flesh? Or the world, in John’s sense of “the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life”? We have to rule both of those out, given that Jesus, conceived without sin by the Holy Spirit (Mat 1.20; Lk 1.35), did not have a fallen, sinful nature.

But what about us? Do any of our temptations come from within us? Do we ever tempt ourselves? We certainly feel as though we do, and James seals that suspicion by telling us that “each person is tempted when he is lured and enticed by his own desire” (Jam 1.14).

I would suggest that temptation is sinful when it starts within you. It’s sinful when you do it to yourself.

And we’ve all had that experience.

There’s a part of us that rises up in rebellion against our good and kind Creator, casts aside his laws and his desires, and seeks to go our own way.

And that, my friend, is blameworthy. It’s culpable. It’s sinful.

Whether you act on those desires or not.

Now, how are we inclined to respond to that?

If I’ve already sinned in being tempted, then I might just as well go ahead and do it. Phooey.

Not so, for two reasons.

First, there are practical consequences in pursuing sinful actions, consequences that limit our future choices and which we ought to avoid.

But much more importantly, we’re God’s children; he is our father; and we ought not do those things. That is reason enough.

But all of this is overshadowed and overwhelmed by a great and glorious truth.

All your sin is obliterated. Nuked. Gone. All of it.

Grace, mercy, and peace to you.

Part 4

Photo by Ben White on Unsplash

On Sin: I’m Guilty of Adam’s Sin? How Is That Fair?

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Part 1

In my last post, on the way to making another point, I briefly mentioned the biblical truth of original sin.

In its simplest terms, original sin is the sinful guilt that you came into the world with. Babies are born guilty. Specifically, they’re born guilty of Adam’s sin.

Babies? Really? But they’re so … cute, with their little round bottoms and their little pearly toes and their gas-induced smiles. We paint cherubs as babies just because they’re so, um, cute, and innocent, and stuff.

What do you have against babies, anyway? What are you, some kind of monster?

I can assure you that I like babies as much as the next guy. I worked with my wife in the church nursery for more than 20 years. And for what it’s worth, I learned there that I like my own babies better than other people’s, but I still like them a lot.

But like it or not, the Bible teaches that all of us, at birth, bear the guilt of Adam’s sin (Rom 5.12). We’re not just born with an inclination to sin; we’re born already guilty of having sinned.

I know what your response to that will be; everyone has the same response.

It’s not fair!

And, perhaps surprisingly, I’m going to agree with you on that. Back to that in a moment.

In the Mosaic Law, God said that a child could not be held guilty of his father’s sins (Dt 24.16). So why should I be guilty of Adam’s sin? How can that be just?

The answer—a partial one—is that Adam was representing us in his sin, just as a legislator can bind us with laws because his vote in Congress represents us.

But I didn’t vote for Adam! I never had a say in this!

True. Though I will note that you’ve spent your life demonstrating with your sinfulness that Adam’s apple didn’t fall far from the tree now, did it? So there’s that. Whether you’re held guilty of Adam’s sin or not, you’re still in deep, deep trouble, and Adam’s guilt isn’t going to make your outcome any worse. But that still doesn’t seem to justify holding you guilty for an act that you didn’t actually commit.

So why? Why has God set me up like this?

Ah, my friend, because what you’ve heard so far is not the whole story. When you were still a (sinful) child, you learned that waiting for the end of the story is always worth it.

So what’s the end of the story?

The official name for what we’ve been talking about so far is imputation. Adam’s sin has been imputed to you—placed on your account, like a credit-card charge—so that you are in debt for it.

But there’s more to imputation than just this.

In God’s gracious plan, your sin has been imputed, too. Your sin—every last bit of it—has been placed on the account of Jesus of Nazareth. He’s guilty of everything bad you’ve ever done.

That wasn’t fair, either.

And while you didn’t agree to receive the guilt of Adam’s sin, Jesus absolutely agreed to receive your sin.

How do you feel about the deal now?

And there’s more.

When Jesus came to earth, born as a man, he came as the Second Adam (Lk 3.38; Rom 5.18-21). Because the first Adam was your representative, you can now be represented by the Second Adam. And what benefit does that bring?

Well, when Christ willingly took your sins upon himself and bore their penalty, that wiped out your sin debt, but you were still broke. You went from owing a bazillion dollars to debt-free, but you still didn’t have any money in the bank.

The Second Adam changed all that.

In the third great act of imputation, all of Christ’s righteousness was placed in your bank account (2Co 5.21). All his perfect obedience to the Father throughout his earthly life is now your record. The Father has not only forgiven your sin, but the very record of that sin has been expunged. It’s not there. That’s why he “will remember it no more” (Jer 31.34). You are rich in righteousness, as rich as it’s possible to be. God sees you through Christ-colored glasses.

Now, you can complain about the unfairness of being guilty of Adam’s sin if you want, but that’s a stupidly short-sighted perspective.

Adam’s sin has traveled from him, to you, to Christ, who has burned it in the fires of eternal judgment. And what he has given us in its place is beyond reckoning.

Grace.

Part 3 Part 4

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On Sin: All. He Paid It All.

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At the core of biblical teaching is the idea of the vicarious atonement—that is, Jesus, the Son of God, took our place of guilt before God (2Co 5.21) and thus took our penalty of death (Rom 6.23).

The reason we’re not constantly overwhelmed with the significance of this is that, unfortunately, we’ve gotten used to it. Most of us have been told since age 3 that “Jesus died for my sins!” and now it’s just part of our ordinary universe.

That’s too bad.

We’ve lost the sense of marvel, of wonder, at what that means.

That means …

  • That God created us knowing that we’d rebel against him.
  • That he determined to rescue us when we were not only not calling for help, but were actively fighting him off, cursing and spitting in his face, determined to drown in our sin.
  • That he knew that his nature required a perfect, infinite payment for our sin, a payment that only he could make.
  • That he knew that making that payment—the death penalty—was something he could not do without himself becoming a mortal. Cur Deus Homo?
  • That he thus knew that by making even one of these creatures, he was committing himself to becoming one of them—to fundamentally altering the very fabric of the cosmos, or rather, the fabric of whatever there was before there even was a cosmos.

In the beginning, indeed.

We must confess that this is mystery. It’s a place where we tread with respect, with reverence, with awe. It’s holy ground.

But it is no mystery what are the results of this magnificent plan. The Scripture reveals them to us with light and delight.

He was made sin for us, the Scripture says, that we might be made the righteousness of God. And because he stood in our place, he has paid the full price for all of our sins (Isa 53.6). All of them.

What does that mean?

  • He has paid for our original sin—our complicity in the sin of Adam, our first father (Rom 5.12).
    • Wait! You say. I’m guilty of Adam’s sin? That’s not fair!
    • We’ll talk about that next time.
  • He has paid for our sin nature—the fact that we’re inclined to sin, left to our own devices. Our sinfulness is not primarily because the devil made us do it; it’s primarily because we tempt ourselves (Jam 1.13-15). You’re your own tempter.
    • Wait! Are you saying it’s a sin to be tempted?!
    • In our case, yes, I’m saying that. We’ll talk about that the time after next.
  • He has paid for every sin you have ever committed. The accidental ones. The momentary flares of evil that we didn’t see coming. And even the ones we planned, hardening our hearts even as we moved purposefully toward some great evil that we recognized as evil and wanted anyway. Every bitter thought. Every evil deed. All of it.
  • And get this. He has paid for all the sins of tomorrow—all the sins you haven’t committed yet but assuredly will. He’s paid for those too. Yes, you’ll need to confess them when they come, and he will forgive you at that time (1Jn 1.9), restoring the relationship and fellowship that your sin will have damaged, but you will never be in peril of eternal torment for that sin, even before you have confessed it. It’s paid for. All of it.

Now, perhaps a handful of you have had a thought on reading this.

My future sins are paid for?! So what’s the problem with committing them? Why not have a little sin party, since those sins won’t count anyway?

Oh, my friend, there are two great problems with that thought. First, those sins do damage your fellowship with your God—see just above—and that is a price far too high. You can’t treat as trivial the love of one who has done all this for you.

And the second problem derives from the first. Since it’s unnatural for God’s children to trivialize his grace, then your thought calls into question whether you know his grace at all. God’s people don’t think like that.

Shall we continue in sin, that grace may abound?!
May it never be!
How shall we, who are dead to sin, live in it any longer?! (Rom 6.1-2)

So revel in God’s grace and forgiveness. Drink it all up to the last drop. It’s an infinite gift.

For the next 2 posts we’ll probe some further related thoughts—

  • Why were we born guilty of Adam’s sin? How is that fair?
  • How can I say it’s a sin to be tempted? Jesus was tempted without any sin (Heb 4.15), right?

See you then.

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Photo by Ben White on Unsplash