When we were on vacation in the south of England a few weeks ago, we stopped at Bath, England on the way home. Why? It’s the site of an ancient Roman bath. The place has the only naturally occurring, thermal hot springs in England. So, in the 1st [...]]]> This is from my friend and colleague Robert Cavin:

When we were on vacation in the south of England a few weeks ago, we stopped at Bath, England on the way home. Why? It’s the site of an ancient Roman bath. The place has the only naturally occurring, thermal hot springs in England. So, in the 1st century AD, the Romans built an elaborate temple and bathing complex.

A good picture of the inside:

But that’s not what got my blood pumping . . .

On the inside, they had a museum of sorts. As we’re walking through looking at ancient coins, inscriptions, etc., etc., I SAW THIS!

Why would this get me so excited?

Because it illustrates a verse in the New Testament. In the NT book of 1 Peter, the Apostle Peter is writing sometime before about 67 A.D. to Christians living throughout Asia Minor (modern day Turkey).

In 1 Peter 3:3, ‘ole Peter gives this exhortation to Christian women:

And let not your adornment be merely external– braiding the hair, and wearing gold jewelry, or putting on dresses; (New American Standard)

The TNIV translates the greek word as “elaborate hairstyles” . . .

Your beauty should not come from outward adornment, such as elaborate hairstyles and the wearing of gold jewelry and fine clothes.” (Today’s New International Version)

Peter tells Christian women to not be concerned with “braiding the hair” or  “elaborate hairstyles”. What in the world? What’s ‘ole Peter referring to? Well, if you’ll look at the bust, you’ll see that the lady’s hairstyle is in fact a ton of elaborately woven, individual braids! Here’s a picture from the back.

This bust was made in same century that Peter wrote! It illustrates the height of Imperial Roman fashion. What do you think ladies, will it come back in style? In the next verse, Peter writes:

Rather, it should be that of your inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in God’s sight. (1 Peter 3:4, TNIV)

Timeless truth from God’s Word illustrated at the Roman Baths!

Most of us are aware of safety rules that [...]]]> From the Sola Panel:

The UK government has launched a review into occupational Health & Safety laws (OH&S). It seems to be a very popular move. Health is good. Safety is good. But the multiplication of rules purportedly designed to enforce it often leads to madness.

Most of us are aware of safety rules that seem to be either over the top or incomprehensible. We received a note from our school a few months ago, informing us that the last day of the term would be a non-uniform day, but instructing us that the children were not to wear any hats—“for health and safety reasons“. A short while later, the school sent home another note, asking us to send our children to school in hats to protect them from the sun. It’s a great school, and the teachers are wonderful people who provide the kids with an excellent education. But this shows that even with the best intentions and among the best of people, rules can easily take over from common sense.

I used to work for a company that made solar panels. We dealt with quite a number of extremely toxic gases and chemicals. Very early on in the company’s life, we had to introduce OH&S policies. I can still remember my exceedingly wise manager, who had a consistent strategy whenever we had a seminar or meeting about health and safety. If anybody ever began a meeting or seminar talking about rules, legislation or fines, then he would stop them in their tracks. He would insist that we had to begin with health and safety itself. We had to be firm on the idea that a healthy and safe workplace was good for everybody and the idea that there were real risks that we had to work together to avoid. Our aim was not to keep rules or avoid fines; our aim was to be healthy and safe, and whatever rules we put into place were only there to serve that ultimate goal. Needless to say, it was a great place to work.

There’s a parallel here with Jesus’ attitude to the Old Testament law. Jesus came into a situation where there was a lot of rule-keeping going on. People were trying to keep God’s rules. Extra rules had even been added to ensure that God’s own original rules were kept. But in many places, the point of the rule-keeping had been lost: there were rules that were over the top (Mark 2:23-24), rules that were tragically inconsistent and heartless (Luke 13:14-16) and rules that ultimately contradicted God’s own law (Mark 7:9-13). Jesus brought clarity to this situation by insisting that the rules only work when we realize that there is something more fundamental than keeping the rules: we need to know the God who gave these rules, and we need to love what God loves. That’s why the Sermon on the Mount, which talks a lot about God’s law, begins with those sayings about blessedness (Matt 5:3-10). Blessed, for example, are the peacemakers, “for they shall be called sons of God” (Matt 5:9).

As we read more of the Sermon on the Mount, we learn that if we merely live our lives doing what God wants without knowing him as Father or loving what he loves, then, in the end, we will not even enter the kingdom of heaven. But if we know God as Father and love what he loves, then the things he commands (and even more than what he explicitly commands) will be our desires too.

Our relationship with God is not defined ultimately by doing his commandments; it is defined by knowing God as Father, and it is lived through loving what God loves. If we know him as Father, we will do what he commands. If we don’t know him as Father, then no amount of rule-keeping will save us.

The times I remember when nobody expected God [...]]]> On the Sola Panel:

Once I got to church on time, but God arrived 20 minutes late. On the other hand, occasionally I’ve been to church and God didn’t manage to turn up at all. At least, that’s the impression you’d form if you judged by expectations.

The times I remember when nobody expected God to show up at church involved some friendly, relaxed informal gatherings. Don’t get me wrong; I personally like friendly, relaxed informal gatherings. But every so often, I think we may have been so keen on being friendly, relaxed and informal that nobody seems to be expecting the creator and judge of the universe to do anything in particular. We all had a great time of enjoyable fellowship and good coffee, and we talked afterwards about the latest TV shows, and then we went home.

At another church I visited, God did turn up quite spectacularly, but he was 20 minutes late. Church started at 7 pm with a series of slow, reflective songs. The band was excellent; the choir on the stage was full of young, smiling faces; the lighting was comfortably moody. Slowly, imperceptibly, the music started to get more intense. At 7:20 pm, it reached a crescendo, the choir started swaying back and forth, and the lights suddenly became intensely bright. At that point, the bloke on the stage with the microphone said, “Wow. I reckon God’s really here now!“ I kid you not.

What should we expect of God when it comes to church? The Bible does talk about God or Jesus being especially present when we gather. In Matthew 18:20, Jesus says, “For where two or three are gathered in my name, there am I among them“. Paul talks about the “power of our Lord Jesus“ being present when Christians are “assembled in the name of the Lord Jesus“ (1 Cor 5:4). When the “whole church comes together“, Paul says that outsiders should recognize that “God is really among you“ (1 Cor 14:23, 25). We should expect God’s presence in church.

But what should we expect God to actually do when he shows up? Should we expect a buzz of excitement as Jesus electrifies the crowd, rocks our world and transports us to the third heaven? Or should we expect a feeling of awe and holiness in the presence of a semi-tangible divine essence? Perhaps we should expect a sense of inexplicable inner peace, which transcends our busy or humdrum existence and helps us to feel calm and happy.

Well, not exactly. In fact, the Bible verses I just cited are all about people being convicted of their sin. The “two or three“ who are gathered in Matthew 18:20 are two or three witnesses to the sin of a brother (Matt 18:15-16). The power of the Lord Jesus in 1 Corinthians 5:4 is there to judge a sexually immoral church member (1 Cor 5:1, 5). The outsider in 1 Corinthians 14:25 says, “God is really among you“ because he has been convicted and called to account, and has had the secrets of his heart disclosed by the church speaking God’s word (1 Cor 14:24).

What should we expect God to do among us when we gather? In a nutshell, we should expect God to be doing his gospel work. We should expect God to be among us, convicting us of sin (Matt 18:16, 20; 1 Cor 5:4-5; 1 Cor 14:24). We should expect Jesus to be among us, rescuing sinners from God’s judgment (Matt 18:15; 1 Cor 5:5). Or, looking further afield in the Bible, we should expect Jesus to be among us to enable us to do his will and keep his commandments (Heb 13:20-21; John 14:20-21)—especially the command to love one another (John 15:11-12). We should expect Christ to create the hope of glory in us (Col 1:27). Fundamentally, we should be expecting God, our creator, Lord and saviour, to speak to us in church by his creative and powerful and saving word (John 17:20-23; 1 Cor 14:24; Col 1:5-6).

This can happen in all sorts of contexts, can’t it. It’s not ultimately a matter of the formality or informality of the gathering, the leadership (or non-leadership) style, the number of people, the band, the songs or the lighting. What does matter is that God’s word is spoken, heard and taken to heart. When that happens, we should expect great things. That’s because church is always intimately connected to that great heavenly gathering where God, the judge of all, is present and where Jesus’ sacrifice for our sins speaks to us a serious, comforting and awesome message (Heb 12:22-24).

What are you expecting from God when you come to church?

(This post is part of a series)

The immediate question in Galatians 3:17 is that of the status of the Sinai covenant. Paul’s opponents seem to have been arguing that the Gentiles could only be blessed if they joined the covenant people and submitted [...]]]> What is the purpose of the law according to Galatians 3?

(This post is part of a series)

The immediate question in Galatians 3:17 is that of the status of the Sinai covenant. Paul’s opponents seem to have been arguing that the Gentiles could only be blessed if they joined the covenant people and submitted to the covenantal obligations. After all, this seemed to be the path to blessing for Ishmael, the slave-child (Gen 17:20–27). They seem to be reasoning that if God chose to enter into a covenant with his people at Sinai, then the obligations that constituted that covenant had to be kept by anyone who wished to receive the blessing. Paul, however, argues that insisting upon such covenantal obligations would, in fact, invalidate the earlier covenant with Abraham (which has been fulfilled by Christ’s sacrifice) and so make the promise to Abraham void (Gal 3:17–18). Once the “seed” has displayed supreme loyalty and is sacrificed, God keeps his promise and the blessings flow to the nations. What, then, was the purpose of the legal obligations laid upon Israel at Sinai? The answer, “because of transgressions”, is, as we shall see, part of Paul’s integration of the law into the wider scheme of God’s salvation-historical plans (Gal 3:19–25).

We have seen that Paul mentions the existence of a mediator in order to highlight the disunity between God and Israel at the time of the giving of the law (Gal 3:20).

Nevertheless, the Sinai covenant was not useless. It “was added on account of the transgressions until such time as the seed to whom it was promised should come” (Gal 3:19). In the purposes of God, this disunity between the people and God had an ultimately positive effect—to imprison everything under sin so that it would be clear that justification would be by faith, not by works (Gal 3:22–25). The law’s purpose was not opposed to the promise (Gal 3:21). It formalised and focused the curse on humanity (3:10), it highlighted sin, it made the distance between God and his people obvious, and it pointed to the inevitability of faith (3:19–24). But that purpose was limited to Israel’s national life, and it has been achieved. Now that Christ, the seed, has come and has fulfilled the covenant (and taken the curse), the “many nations” are not required to be a party to these (temporary) covenantal obligations. They are simply required to be immersed into the “one” seed, Christ, to be found “in Christ” by faith (3:26–27). However, by becoming “in Christ” by faith, they actually become the one “seed”, and so heirs according to the promise (Gal 3:28–29). This is “the blessing of Abraham coming about in Christ Jesus for the sake of the nations.” (Gal 3:14). In fact, if the Galatians do place themselves under the law, they are in grave danger because they are identifying themselves with the one part of salvation history that was associated unequivocally with the curse (Gal 3:10).

The covenants with both Abraham and Israel, then, were instruments of international blessing. Abraham’s covenantal obedience foreshadows Christ’s sacrifice, and the covenant of law with Israel foreshadows the need for faith. The nations are blessed, not by entering Israel’s covenant with its obligations, but by trusting the seed who has fulfilled the covenant, and so becoming sons and heirs of God.

I’ve just picked up a copy of Douglas A. Campbell’s The Deliverance of God: An Apocalyptic Rereading of Justification in Paul (Grand Rapids / Cambridge: Eerdmans, 2009). Initially, I was a bit daunted. It’s a very big and scary book, running to 1218 pages. But I’ve just realised that I don’t [...]]]> Here’s something I’d like to say:

I’ve just picked up a copy of Douglas A. Campbell’s The Deliverance of God: An Apocalyptic Rereading of Justification in Paul (Grand Rapids / Cambridge: Eerdmans, 2009). Initially, I was a bit daunted. It’s a very big and scary book, running to 1218 pages. But I’ve just realised that I don’t need to read it all to understand its meaning! I have a theory about the book, that makes more and more sense the more I think about it. The book can’t be Doug Campbell’s own position. It’s too full of overly complicated theories and uncalled-for denunciations. On my reading of Campbell, his whole book is actually a presentation of the position of one of his opponents, whom he wants to discredit simply by quoting at length. Campbell’s own position only truly shines through in his very last, highly ironic, sentence, where he sums up his opponent: “It seems that beyond our European conceits, the real Paul awaits us.”

Did I say that?

A mediator is not of one, yet God is one.

The word “one” can mean either “one (as opposed to many)”; or it can mean “united (as opposed to divided)”. What does it mean in this verse? And what does this verse have to do with Paul’s argument about the law and covenants [...]]]> Galatians 3:20 is literally translated:

A mediator is not of one, yet God is one.

The word “one” can mean either “one (as opposed to many)”; or it can mean “united (as opposed to divided)”. What does it mean in this verse? And what does this verse have to do with Paul’s argument about the law and covenants (Gal 3:15-19)?

(This post is part of a series)

Galatians 3:20 verse has spawned a multitude of interpretations, but a common thread in most interpretations is the juxtaposition of plurality and singularity.[1] This is exacerbated by certain translations, which add a concept of plurality into the verse which isn’t there in the original (e.g. the ESV, “Now an intermediary implies more than one, but God is one”).

Wright, for example, understands Galatians 3:20 to mean that God, being one, desires one worldwide covenantal family demarcated by faith, rather than a plurality of different families.[2] However, in normal Greek usage, the existence of a mediator (μεσίτης) usually implied a conflict or underlying disunity between two parties.[3] Hence it seems that Paul’s argument is not about plurality but disunity between Israel and God.

This is backed up by the allusion to an important Old Testament verse. One of the foundational statements of the law was the Shema, with its tight indicative-imperative logic: “Hear, O Israel: The LORD our God, The LORD is One (κύριος ὁ θεὸς ἡμῶν κύριος εἷς ἐστιν). And you shall love the LORD your God with your whole heart, and with your whole soul, and with your whole strength” (Deut 6:4–5 LXX). The logic is that, because God is “one”, there must be “whole” undivided devotion to him.

But this is precisely what had not happened at the time of the giving of the law (Exod 32–34). God was about to destroy Israel for her outright apostasy with the Golden Calf, so a mediator (Moses) was introduced to the covenant, and God’s glory was veiled to Israel. The existence of a mediator proved that God and Israel were not united. Israel was never going to be able to fulfil the promise of international blessing. From her very inception, Israel failed to display the blameless walk required of the seed as a prerequisite for this covenant (Gen 17:1). So Paul adds a further argument to his proof that Christ, not Israel, is the true obedient seed of Abraham, not by means of a semantic trick (cf. 3:16) but here from the Torah itself.

[2] Wright, Climax, 168–72.

[3] Becker, NIDNTT 1:372–76; see also Craig R. Koester, Hebrews: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (The Anchor Bible; New York: Doubleday, 2001), 378–79.

Full bibliography

As you can see, the New Perspective claim that “the righteousness of God” is a cipher denoting “God’s [...]]]> Here’s a very insightful post from Lee Irons critiquing the theory that “righteousness” means “covenant faithfulness”. I’ll quote a sizeable chunk of Irons’ conclusions because they’re highly relevant to both of my series on righteousness and covenant:

As you can see, the New Perspective claim that “the righteousness of God” is a cipher denoting “God’s saving faithfulness to his covenant” rests on the outdated Lowthian theory of Hebrew synonymous parallelism. Rather than equating “righteousness” with “faithfulness” (or “salvation”), it is better to see the instances in the Psalms and Isaiah where these terms are used in parallelism as “binoculars” in which these different concepts mutually interpret one another and lead to a picture that is larger than the sum of its parts.

God’s salvation is the result of his faithfulness to his covenant with Abraham. God’s salvation is also an expression of his righteousness, because he executes salvation in a manner that is consistent with his justice and holiness; indeed, salvation itself is an essentially judicial activity, for salvation comes through judgment. For example, at the Exodus, God’s deliverance of his people was accomplished by judgment on the Egyptians. At the cross, salvation was accomplished because the judgment we deserved was borne by Jesus as our substitute.

In other words, when “God’s salvation” or “God’s faithfulness” and “God’s righteousness” are found in parallel, the conclusion we are to draw is not that the word “righteousness” itself means “salvation” or “faithfulness,” but that God’s saving activity comes in fulfillment of his covenant promises and is an expression of his righteousness. Especially in those cases where “salvation” and “righteousness” are parallel (see, e.g., Psalm 98:2; Isaiah 51:5-8; 56:1), the point is that God’s salvation has a strongly judicial dimension.

To conclude, the static Lowthian theory of synonymous parallelism has been superceded in the last 30 years by a more nuanced understanding, and this scholarly shift in the interpretation of Hebrew poetry undermines one of the pillars of the NPP. When properly understood, Hebrew parallelism provides no support for the theory that δικαιοσύνη θεοῦ is a cipher for God’s faithfulness to his covenant.

In Galatians 3:17, Paul goes on to [...]]]> We have seen that the “seed” of Galatians 3:16 is referring to Genesis 17:8. In Galatians 3:16, Paul is explaining to the gentile Galatians that the “seed” of Genesis 17:8 is the “one” nation Israel, not the “multitude” of nations who will also have Abraham as their father (Genesis 17:5).

In Galatians 3:17, Paul goes on to explain that the covenant has already been ratified. When was this covenant to Abraham and his seed “ratified by God” and thus made inviolable (3:17)?

(This post is part of a series)

As we have seen in our survey of the Old Testament, a solemn oath or ceremonial act is needed to make a covenantal relationship of obligation legally binding. The covenant of land in Genesis 15 was ratified by the events recorded in the chapter—the passing of the flaming torch through the pieces, followed by solemn promises. But it is only after the Aqedah (binding) of Isaac that God finally makes a solemn oath that “in your seed shall all the nations of the earth be blessed, because you have obeyed my voice” (Gen 22:16–18). Almost paradoxically, the primary act of loyal devotion that made Abraham and his seed a fitting covenant partner with God—a fitting agent for blessing to the whole world—was the willingness of Abraham to sacrifice the seed himself. It is only when the seed is placed on the wood and a sacrifice is made that God ratifies his covenant, emphatically vowing to make Abraham’s seed numerous and victorious (Gen 22:17) and thereby to bless the world through Abraham’s seed (22:18).[1] Hahn presents a strong case that this is the “ratification” Paul has in mind, and that the Aqedah is the type for his exposition of Jesus’ crucifixion and the subsequent blessing to the nations in Galatians 3:13–14.[2] In Genesis, the covenant of international blessing is ratified after Abraham’s supreme act of loyalty in being willing to sacrifice the “seed” of the promise by binding him “upon wood”:

Thus, the sense of [Galatians 3:]13–14 is that the death of Christ ἐπὶ ξύλου allows the blessing of Abraham after the Aqedah (Gen 22:18) to flow to the ἔθνη through Jesus Christ (ἐν Χριστῷ Ἰησοῦ).[3]

Hence it is “Christ” who is supremely the seed, the one in whom all nations are blessed (Gal 3:16).[4] This accords with the flow of biblical thought. Psalm 72 focusses the international scope of the promise to Abraham and his “seed” directly onto an ideal Davidic ruler (cf. 2 Sam 7). It is this Messiah-king “in whom all the nations will be blessed / bless themselves” (Psa 72:17, cf. Gen 12:3, 22:18).[5] Christ is the seed who fulfils the covenantal oath that God swore to Abraham by his obedience to death on the cross.

The larger import of this for Paul’s argument with his opponents is that the covenantal obligations laid upon Abraham (circumcision) and his national seed (the law) as a prerequisite for international blessing are not laid upon the nations as a prerequisite for their own blessing.[6] Abraham’s seed has fulfilled the covenantal obligations. The multitude of nations, therefore, are not called to enter this covenant, but to find blessing in the “seed”, to be “immersed” into Christ, to be “clothed” with Christ (Gal 3:27). This comes about by the Spirit and by faith in Christ (Gal 3:14). The blessings include justification (Gal 3:24), sonship (Gal 3:27) and unity with God and others in Christ (Gal 3:28). Hence it is faith in Christ, not covenant membership, that makes the Gentiles “seed of Abraham, heirs according to the promise” (Gal 3:29). Being the “seed of Abraham” does not mean that the Gentiles are subject to the covenantal obligations, for these obligations have been fulfilled by Christ’s sacrifice. Rather, being the “seed of Abraham” means that the Gentiles are now sons of God in the fullest sense, heirs of the inheritance that has now come in Christ (Gal 4:1–7). Even the Jews who were members of the covenant must also be in the “seed” by faith (Gal 2:16, 3:11). Hence Abraham’s international fatherhood is not by means of common covenantal membership, but by means of a common faith in the God who achieves his astounding promises (Gal 3:7, 9), and a common blessing of righteousness; the characteristics that Abraham had before any of the covenants was made (Gal 3:6, Gen 15:6).

[2] Hahn, “Covenant, Oath, and the Aqedah”, 90–94.

[3] Hahn, “Covenant, Oath, and the Aqedah”, 93.

[4] Hahn, “Covenant, Oath, and the Aqedah”, 96–97.

[5] Williamson, Abraham, 167–70.

[6] If this were so, then Carol K. Stockhausen, “2 Corinthians 3 and the Principles of Pauline Exegesis”, in Paul and the Scriptures of Israel (ed. Craig A. Evans and James A. Sanders; Journal for the Study of the New Testament Supplement Series 83; Sheffield: JSOT, 1993), 143–64 (esp. 158–61) would be correct in concluding that Paul saw a real contradiction between the unilateral covenant of Genesis 15 and the bilateral covenant of Genesis 17.

Full bibliography

(This post is part of a series)

In Galatians 3:16, Paul exegetes a phrase from the Abrahamic narrative: “Now the promises were spoken to Abraham and to his seed. It does not say, ‘And to seeds’, as though to a multitude (ὡς ἐπὶ πολλῶν), but as though [...]]]> What is the purpose of Paul’s argument in Galatians 3:16?

(This post is part of a series)

In Galatians 3:16, Paul exegetes a phrase from the Abrahamic narrative: “Now the promises were spoken to Abraham and to his seed. It does not say, ‘And to seeds’, as though to a multitude (ὡς ἐπὶ πολλῶν), but as though to one, ‘And to your seed’ (καὶ τῷ σπέρματί σου), who is Christ.” The phrase in question, καὶ τῷ σπέρματί σου, occurs 3 times in the Abraham narrative (Gen 13:15, 17:8, 24:7). Given that the other key terms “of many” (πολλῶν, Gal 3:16) and “covenant” (διαθήκη, Gal 3:15, 17) also occur in Genesis 17 (Gen 17:2, 4, 5, 7, 9, 10, 11, 13, 14, 19, 21) it seems that the text under discussion is Genesis 17:8, in which God confirms that he will give Canaan to Abraham. This confirmation is part of the larger covenant of international blessing, which is contingent on Abraham’s loyalty (Gen 17:1) and includes the sign of circumcision (Gen 17:9–14). What, then, does Paul mean by his insistence that the promises were not given to a multitude, but to the one seed?

Wright rightly rejects interpretations that conclude that Paul is simply employing a “semantic trick”.[1] According to these interpretations, “Paul appears to be arguing, on the basis of the singular form of σπέρμα, that the promises made to Abraham and his seed point exclusively to Christ, not to the patriarch’s many other physical descendants”. The problem is that “in the LXX σπέρμα in the singular, when referring to human offspring, is in fact almost always collective rather than singular”.[2] Wright proposes an alternative view: that the singular form of σπέρμα is

not the singularity of an individual person contrasted with the plurality of many human beings, but the singularity of one family contrasted with the plurality of families which would result if the Torah were to be regarded the way Paul’s opponents apparently regard it. The argument of vv. 15–18 would then run: it is impossible to annul a covenant; the covenant with Abraham always envisaged a single family, not a plurality of families; therefore the Torah, which creates a plurality by dividing Gentiles from Jews, stands in the way of the fulfillment of the covenant with Abraham; and this cannot be allowed.[3]

Wright’s thesis relies on three questionable premises. The first premise is that Paul’s main problem with the Torah was its tendency to create ethnic “boundary markers” for the “people of God” which were inappropriate because the true “demarcation line” of the covenant family is faith in Christ.[4] But this sort of terminology is not the way either the ot or Paul uses “covenant” concepts; it is more akin to the covenantal grammar of the Qumran sectarians who were preoccupied with defining how to “enter” their community. Secondly, Wright takes the word “Christ” as a “corporate personality”, shorthand for the “family of God” who are incorporated into Christ.[5] While this might be conceivable later in the chapter (Gal 3:26–28, and even there it is possible to distinguish Christ from his people), at this point in the argument Christ is quite distinct from his people (cf. Gal 3:13). Wright seems to have read the text from the perspective of now somewhat discredited sociological theories of “corporate personality”.[6] Thirdly, if the Gentiles are blessed by “joining” the covenant family, then the obligations of the Abrahamic covenant (i.e. explicitly physical circumcision, Gen 17:9–14) have been reordered or nullified (Gal 5:2–3, 6, 11). Yet this is precisely what Paul states never happens. Man does not reject or reorder a ratified covenant (Gal 3:15); neither does God (Gal 3:17).

Furthermore, Wright’s assertion that “the covenant with Abraham always envisaged a single family, not a plurality of families” is false unless it is strictly qualified. The promises in Genesis 12:1–3 envisage that all the families (plural, מִשְׁפְּחֹת) of the earth will be blessed in Abraham (Gen 12:3).[7] Abram has his name changed to Abraham precisely because God has made him “the father of a multitude of nations (πατέρα πολλῶν ἐθνῶν)” (Gen 17:5). In one sense, this multitude is one “family” because Abraham is their father. Nevertheless, they remain a multitude of nations. There is no indication in Genesis that the nations will “join” the covenant of circumcision that God makes with Abraham and his seed. There remains a twofold process: nationhood (seed and land) for Abraham will mean international blessing for the multitude of nations in Abraham (Gen 17:6–8). Even Ishmael, although he receives the sign of circumcision as a member of Abraham’s household and is greatly blessed (17:20), is not a party to the covenant (Gen 17:21). Given this context, it seems that Galatians 3:16 intends to make a precise exegetical point about the covenant of Genesis 17. The promises, while they were “for the sake of the nations” (Gal 3:14), are not, in fact, spoken directly to the multitude of nations (Gen 17:5). Rather, they are spoken to Abraham and his seed. Hence it is only Abraham and his seed who stand under this particular covenantal relationship of obligation, for the sake of the nations. The blessed multitude of nations is not required to be included in the covenant; hence they are not required to be circumcised. It is not that the covenant with Abraham has been reordered by Christ in favour of the Gentiles (Gal 3:15 rules this out),[8] but that the nations are not required to enter the covenant at all.

[2] Wright, Climax, 158.

[3] Wright, Climax, 163–64.

[4] Wright, Climax, 165, 67, see 155–56 for Wright’s use of the term “covenant family”.

[5] Wright, Climax, 165.

[6] Cf. John W. Rogerson, “The Hebrew Conception of Corporate Personality: A Re-Examination”, Journal of Theological Studies 21 (1970): 1–16; Gary W. Burnett, Paul and the Salvation of the Individual (Biblical Interpretation Series 57; Leiden: Brill, 2001), 1–29.

[7] Pace Wright, Climax, 166.

[8] Pace Wright, Climax, 155–56.

Full bibliography

We’ve been looking at Psalm 8 and Hebrews 2, and have discovered that Jesus provides the solution to the puzzle of Psalm 8.

Where do we see Jesus? We see him in the Gospels, those records [...]]]> From the Sola Panel

This is the fifth instalment of a five-part series (Read parts 1, 2, 3 and 4)

We’ve been looking at Psalm 8 and Hebrews 2, and have discovered that Jesus provides the solution to the puzzle of Psalm 8.

Where do we see Jesus? We see him in the Gospels, those records and witnesses to Jesus’ life, death on the cross and resurrection from the dead. The Gospels form the first four books of our New Testaments. And as we look at this man Jesus Christ in those Gospels, we see something very significant: we actually see (if we look at this testimony closely) that God himself became human: Jesus, the Son of God.

This is the reason that we are important to God. It’s because God actually became one of us. God, the creator and designer—the one who is far above and beyond even the 70 sextillion stars—the one whose hands hold the universe—the one for whom and by whom this same universe exists—became human. He became one of us—one of the specks of dust—one of the small, pitiful creatures. He became a baby and grew. And he did it “because of the suffering of death” (Heb 2:9b).

Just as our very existence and value in this universe is a real problem, so too is the fact that suffering and death is also a problem. The Bible doesn’t give us final and neat reasons for suffering and death—especially when it comes to individual cases. But it does tell us that suffering and death are all finally bound up with our rejection of God himself. The fact that we have abandoned our responsibility and ceased to live as God desires means that we are subject to death.

Death is not the way the world should be. It’s wrong. You will know this if you have ever experienced the death of a loved one, relative or friend, as well as thought about your own impending death. But the Bible says that death is all bound up with this terrible reality—the reality that we, as individuals and as a race, have taken our importance for granted and have used it to pretend that we are God, choosing to define our own lives. Death is, in the end, God’s judgement against our rejection of him—our abandonment of who we are, our ignoring of him and our playing God ourselves. Death now; death forever.

But what has Jesus done about death? Again, take a look at the same verse: “so that by the grace of God he might taste death for everyone” (Heb 2:9c). God’s Son became one of us because of God’s grace—his lavish, undeserved love for us. The reason you matter to the God who made the countless stars and supernovas is not because you’re big or good or important to the running of the universe; it’s simply because he decided to love you. And he showed his love in an incredible way: Jesus, in becoming one of us, tasted death for us. Although he was God himself, the perfect human being, he also suffered. He died. He died, in fact, an agonizing death on a Roman cross. And he did it for us, in our place.

What does that mean for us? “For it was fitting that he, for whom and by whom all things exist, in bringing many sons to glory, should make the founder of their salvation perfect through suffering” (Heb 2:10). Jesus died to bring us back to God. Because Jesus has suffered the consequences of God’s judgement, we don’t need to face God’s final judgement against us. Because Jesus died, he has made us ‘sons’, which means heirs—children of God. Those who trust Jesus—those who belong to Jesus—will have ‘salvation’, which means escape from God’s judgement—escape, in the end, from death itself.

Jesus died to bring us to glory—to finally ‘crown us with glory and honour’, as the song goes (Ps 8:5). This means everlasting life in a new creation that God will make—a place where there is no suffering or death, where there is no judgement from him, where we live rightly as God’s children and where we will know him finally and perfectly.

Jesus, who has suffered and been made perfect, has risen from the dead and is now alive. He himself is crowned with glory and honour. One day those who trust in him and know him will see him as he is.

What is your response to this? Do you know Jesus? Do you trust Jesus? Do you believe that the riddle of our existence is actually found, not in yourself, but in him?

We’ve been looking at Psalm 8, and we’ve seen the puzzle it presents us with. On the one hand, we are nothing compared to the majestic God who created the universe. On the other hand, God tells us that [...]]]> From the Sola Panel

This is the fourth instalment of a five-part series (Read parts 1, 2 and 3.)

We’ve been looking at Psalm 8, and we’ve seen the puzzle it presents us with. On the one hand, we are nothing compared to the majestic God who created the universe. On the other hand, God tells us that we are important—that we are created for a purpose in this world.

You know that you and your actions matter, don’t you? You know that what you do or say, how you treat the world and how you treat other people actually matters, don’t you? You know that some things are right and that some things are wrong, don’t you? You know that you will face death one day, like everyone else, and that there’s something scary and horrible about that. What are you going to do about it?

One possibility is that you could just ignore the whole issue. You could just decide that it’s enough to eat, drink and enjoy life as much as you can, minimizing pain as much as possible and maybe along the way, doing great things, loving, laughing and crying, and then dying. You could buy, read and act on Dave Freeman’s book 100 Things to Do Before You Die—carve out your own meaning, define your existence.

But is that really enough? History is littered with the corpses of individuals who have died and suffered under dictators who decided they wanted to define the meaning of their own existence. Maybe you will never be an evil dictator—maybe you will never try to live in a way that hurt anyone. And yet, if you’re honest—if I’m honest, I know I have hurt people. Deeply. Despite the fact that I want to pretend that I can run my life the way I want without any consequences, I also know the guilt of my failures, the pain I’ve cause by my selfish actions and the evil in my heart. And I know that my existence, no matter how full of food and drink and life and love, is not, in the end, going to matter when I die and dissolve into the dust from which I came. I also know that this matters too, somehow.

Back to the song and the riddle of the song. God is great. His creation is enormous. In all of this, what is man? Who am I? Who are you? Why am I so important?

Fast forward hundreds of years.

The claim of the Bible is that this riddle—this puzzle—does have an answer—a profound and great answer. It’s there in the words of the New Testament—where a Christian (that is, someone who knows Jesus Christ) can read the words of the song that we ourselves have just read and not only sees the problem, but also the answer:

It has been testified somewhere,

“What is man, that you are mindful of him,
or the son of man, that you care for him?
You made him for a little while lower than the angels;
you have crowned him with glory and honor,
putting everything in subjection under his feet.”

(Heb 2:6-8a)

Here’s that song—that problem—that age-old issue of our importance: “What is man?” And then, just to make sure we’re all on the same page, our Christian author highlights the particular problem he sees: “Now in putting everything in subjection to him, he left nothing outside his control. At present, we do not yet see everything in subjection to him” (Heb 2:8b)

We might believe that we have a God-given purpose and responsibility to our lives in this world. But we don’t actually see it. When we look up, we still see those majestic and distant heavens. The original Hebrew song speaks of the greatness of stars—the heavenly lights. Here in this letter to the Hebrews, it’s expressed in terms of angels, heavenly superpowers. But in either case, the point is the same: God is above it all, and we don’t and can’t see with our eyes why and how God should care for us.

And then, when we look around, we don’t see human beings living responsibly, caring for God’s world or for each other, or acting rightly as agents of God’s loving rule, do we. We just see ourselves, trying to define our own existence, hurting and being hurt, loving and hating and dying.

But there is something else—somebody else—who we do see, in verse 9: “But we see him who for a little while was made lower than the angels, namely Jesus, crowned with glory and honor” (Heb 2:9a). Whom do we actually see? What is the piece of evidence that should make us turn around and take notice? We see Jesus. This is the Bible’s claim; this is the difference and the answer.

To be continued …

We’ve been looking at Psalm 8 and have discovered that stargazing should make us wonder why God the creator should have anything to do with us.

At this point, if you were sceptical about the existence of the creator himself, I [...]]]> From the Sola Panel:

This is the third instalment of a five-part series (read parts 1 and 2.)

We’ve been looking at Psalm 8 and have discovered that stargazing should make us wonder why God the creator should have anything to do with us.

At this point, if you were sceptical about the existence of the creator himself, I could point you to proofs of a designer in the universe. For example, I could use the ‘fine-tuning’ argument for the existence of God—the fact that there are over 20 fundamental physical constants in the universe that all work together to make the universe work as it does, and that can’t be explained as a coincidence—at least, not yet. If any one of these constants had been a tiny bit different, life couldn’t appear. For example, if the force of gravity was even slightly different by a colossally tiny factor (1 part in 10⁴⁰), no life-supporting stars could exist. Or I could talk about the statistical improbability of life itself emerging—the fact that even a small protein has 10⁹⁵ possible folding combinations, and the chances of a protein folding by accident into a functional life-conducive shape during the lifetime of the universe is something like 1 in 10⁶⁵.

But then you might come back with an answer—the multiverse. Do you know about the multiverse? The multiverse is a philosophical theory, born out of reflection on cosmology and quantum theory. It’s the idea that we are just one out of a gigantic number of different possible universes. The multiverse is a way to solve the problem of the fine-tuning of the universe. Since there’s such a huge or infinite number of possible universes, it’s no problem that our universe just happens to exist by chance—a universe with impossibly fine-tuned life-supporting physical constants, where proteins folded in just the right way. The multiverse is an act of faith; it’s not a scientific hypothesis in the strict sense. There is no scientific evidence for the multiverse; in fact, there’s no experimental test that anyone has conceived that could possibly prove it or disprove it. It’s a philosophy that tries to solve the apparent design of the universe without resorting to a designer. The multiverse theory is complex, physically and philosophically, and it seems to me to be the last resort of the desperate. But if you’re philosophically committed to atheism, that’s what you’ve got at your disposal at the moment.

But actually there’s a bigger problem with my proofs for a designer. You see, even if my arguments for the existence of a cosmic designer were true and irrefutable, and even if you believed them, what does that actually prove? That there is a great designer—a purpose—to the universe doesn’t say anything about you and me.

Let’s assume for the sake of argument that there is a great grand design to the existence of the 70 sextillion-plus stars out there. Say there is some grand 13-billion-year-old design to it all, and that God the creator is behind it all. So what? What on earth would that have to do with you, your life, your relationships, your joys, your sorrows, your acts of kindness, your feelings of guilt at those evil things you’ve said and thought and done, your goals, your children, your ethics, your conviction that it’s wrong to hurt and right to love, and your death as you dissolve back into the dust you came from? What is that to God? Why does that matter at all in this gigantic universe?

Yet this is the question of our poet, as the song continues:

Yet you have made him a little lower than the heavenly beings
and crowned him with glory and honor.
You have given him dominion over the works of your hands;
you have put all things under his feet,
all sheep and oxen,
and also the beasts of the field,
the birds of the heavens, and the fish of the sea,
whatever passes along the paths of the seas.

(Ps 8:5-8)

This is actually a real puzzle—a problem—the crisis of the song—that this God, the one who made the heavens for some reason, deliberately and personally sees you and me as important. You and I are a key part of his creation. We (as the song says) are “crowned … with glory and honor”. We are rulers. We have dominion.

These words ‘rule’ and ‘dominion’ recall the words of Genesis 1-2. They are used to describe the reality that humans are put on the earth by God himself to care for it, not to exploit it for our own ends. It’s a statement of our glory and our responsibility, not a statement of our God-given right to use the world any way we want. Our poet in this biblical song recalls these words to express wonder at the fact that we specks of dust are somehow glorious in God’s eyes. The evidence of the stars suggests that we are nothing, but God himself, the creator of the stars, says we are something. We have been made by God for a purpose in this world: we have responsibility. We have responsibility to God to do what is right—to rule the works of God’s hands. And, as the rest of the Bible points out, we have a responsibility to live rightly in our relationships with each other—to honour God, to care for his world, to care for each other, to live under his loving rule.

But that’s the problem. That’s the puzzle. How is it that such a great creator—such a great and super-powerful supreme being—has given us specks of dust this responsibility?

Verse 9 gives us no answer:

O Lord, our Lord,
how majestic is your name in all the earth!

The song ends where it began. It hasn’t solved the puzzle; it has just expressed it. God is great in the earth, and somehow, for some reason, we are important to him.

To be continued …

We’ve been looking at Psalm 8, and we’ve discovered that stargazing helps us to see how insignificant we really are.

Just think about the size of space for a moment. Imagine you could get [...]]]> From the Sola Panel

In the second instalment of a five-part series, I contemplate the extent of our significance in the universe. (Read Part 1.)

We’ve been looking at Psalm 8, and we’ve discovered that stargazing helps us to see how insignificant we really are.

Just think about the size of space for a moment. Imagine you could get into the fastest jet on earth (last time I checked, this was the SR-71 Blackbird). Its official speed record is almost 2,500 miles per hour. Now imagine you could speed it up 100 times to 250,000 miles per hour. Then imagine that you could take it on a trip to space. It would take you an hour to get to the moon—that’s pretty reasonable! It would take you eight days to get to Mars, the closest planet to Earth. It would take you four months to get to the planet Saturn (remember, we’re travelling 100 times faster than the fastest jet ever built). It would take you a year and a half to get to the planet Pluto at the edge of our solar system. To get to the closest star to the sun, Proxima Centauri, it would take you 12,000 years. To get to the centre of our own Milky Way galaxy, it would take you 80 million years. To the next closest galaxy, Andromeda, it would take you seven billion years. To get to the edge of the visible universe, it would take you 40 million million years. And they think that the size of the non-visible universe is vastly huger than this: that would take you a million million million million, etc. years.

I’ll quote another modern ‘poet’—this time, the late Douglas Adams, writing The Hitchhikers’ Guide to the Galaxy:

Space is big. Really big. You just won’t believe how vastly hugely mind-bogglingly big it is. I mean you may think it’s a long way down the road to the chemist, but that’s just peanuts to space.¹

The ancient biblical poet was ignorant about billions of parsecs or millisecond pulsars. He just knew that space was big, wonderful, majestic and beyond us. That’s the universe we live in.

So the Bible has a question for you: who are you?

what is man that you are mindful of him,
and the son of man that you care for him?

(Ps 8:4)

What is man? Who am I in comparison to this world? Who are you? You are one of seven billion tiny organisms, living on an infinitesimally small pinprick of a dust ball, who are giving birth, breathing, eating, maybe reproducing and dying.

But that’s the Bible’s question: what is it to be human? What is your existence—your family, your career, your study, your relationships, your life—compared to this immense universe with its big bang, its nebulas and its millisecond pulsars?

But did you notice something? That’s not quite the way the song puts it, isn’t it. It’s not just the universe that’s big; this biblical song makes an even more profound point. It’s a point about God himself: God is big. See verse 1:

O Lord, our Lord,
how majestic is your name in all the earth!
You have set your glory above the heavens.

We’re not just talking here about how small we are compared to the universe; this is a song about our relationship to the majesty of the Lord—the God who created that universe.

Now it’s important to realize that this ‘God’ spoken about in the Bible has nothing to do with superstition and magical religion. The Bible’s view of God is the opposite of superstition. In fact, it’s the biblical view of God that enabled the early Christians to throw astrology away and promote astronomy instead. Astrology is the belief that the stars have something to do with our lives. Astrology happens when people look out at the stars, see how distant and high they are, and decide that somehow, in some magical way, these stars have a direct influence on their own personal lives.

But just listen for a moment to Augustine, a Christian theologian who was writing in about 425 AD—a man whose influence over western thought has been profound and continues to this day. This is what Augustine says about astronomy and astrology, and their relative value:

Astronomy … makes possible systematic predictions about the future, which are not speculative and conjectural but firm and certain; but we should not try to extract something of relevance to our own actions and experiences, like the maniacs who cast horoscopes, but confine our interest to the stars themselves.²

Augustine rejected astrology because he believed in the God of the Bible—the God we meet here in this very song—a God whose glory is above the heavens. See verse 3: this is the God who made the heavens, and set the moon and stars in place. This is the God who is majestic and great, and above and beyond those stars themselves. He is a God of order who set those heavenly bodies where they should be. But he’s done it for his glory, not for magical speculation about how your week is going to pan out.

So the question of verse 4 is a question about our place before this God:

what is man that you are mindful of him,
and the son of man that you care for him?

Why on earth would this God, who created the stars, be interested in you and me? There are more stars in the visible universe than grains of sand in all the beaches on the earth. According to an Australian estimate in 2003, there are 70 sextillion stars. This is 7 x 10²². Who are we in all of this? I can’t resist quoting Douglas Adams in the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy again:

Far out in the uncharted backwaters of the unfashionable end of the Western Spiral arm of the Galaxy lies a small unregarded yellow sun.

Orbiting this at a distance of roughly ninety-eight million miles is an utterly insignificant little blue-green planet whose ape-descended life forms are so amazingly primitive that they still think digital watches are a pretty neat idea.³

Even then, he’s talking about one galaxy amongst quadrillions. And that’s just the visible universe.

There is a God who made it all. So what on earth would he have to do with us? Who are you? What is man?

To be continued …

¹ Douglas Adams, The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, Del Ray, 2005 (1979), p. 65.

² Augustine, De Doctrina Christiana, II.113.

³ Adams, p. 3.

(This post is part of a series)

Some interpreters understand the word to mean “last will and testament”.[1] In this understanding, when Paul speaks in “human terms” (κατὰ ἄνθρωπον) about a “human” covenant (ἀνθρώπον [. . .] διαθήκην) he refers to the secular Graeco-Roman practice of will-making. According [...]]]> What does the word διαθήκη (“covenant”) mean in Galatians 3:15?

(This post is part of a series)

Some interpreters understand the word to mean “last will and testament”.[1] In this understanding, when Paul speaks in “human terms” (κατὰ ἄνθρωπον) about a “human” covenant (ἀνθρώπον [. . .] διαθήκην) he refers to the secular Graeco-Roman practice of will-making. According to this understanding, Paul then proceeds, by way of comparison, to show that just as a human will cannot be rejected (cf. ἀθετεῖ) or reordered (cf. ἐπιδιατάσσεται), so it is with God’s covenant.

Hughes, however, marshalling an impressive array of internal and external evidence, shows that διαθήκη in Gal 3:15 cannot possibly be used in the Hellenistic sense of “will”.[2] Throughout the ancient world, a will could, and frequently was, nullified and changed by the testator.[3] If Paul was using a will as his “human” example, the basic premise of his comparison would have been nonsense to his original readers. On the other hand, if Paul meant “covenant” according to our inductive definition (“elected relationship of obligation under oath”), the argument makes perfect sense. Sworn covenants between human beings in the Old Testament were inviolable (e.g. Josh 9:19–20, cf. 2 Sam 21:1–14).[4] So, it seems, was the birds” covenant with Peisetaerus. Hence Paul is arguing from the general inviolability of covenants between human beings (3:15) to the inviolability of the particular covenant with Abraham (3:17).[5] He is not introducing the idea of a “will” into his argument.

[2] John J. Hughes, “Hebrews IX 15ff. and Galatians III 15ff: A Study in Covenant Practice and Procedure”, Novum Testamentum 21 (1979): 27–96 (here 66–96).

[3] Of course, a “last will and testament” couldn’t be changed by anyone other than the testator, nor for this reason could it be changed after the testator’s death; but this is irrelevant, for Paul is claiming that God himself would not change his own previously ratified διαθήκη.

[4] Scott W. Hahn, “Covenant, Oath, and the Aqedah: Διαθήκη in Galatians 3:15–18”, Catholic Biblical Quarterly 67 (2005): 79–100 (esp. 83–86).

[5] Hahn, “Covenant, Oath, and the Aqedah”, 95.