Reformation of the Mind

"Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good." (Romans 12:21).

On October 31, 1517, Martin Luther tacked 95 theses to the castle church of Wittenberg University. As we saw yesterday, Christians need to be able to debate differences in an atmosphere of charity, and this is what Luther hoped to do. When we look back on this event, we call it the birthday of the Protestant Reformation.

The Reformation was a rebirth of biblical theology. It was the concern for scriptural truth that motivated Luther and the other Reformers. Sadly, today we find throughout the evangelical world a great contradiction. On the one hand, there is a great aversion to the study of theology, while on the other hand there is tremendous interest in discovering God’s will. Notice how Paul puts these together here in Romans 12:2. It is by becoming transformed in our minds that we can acquire the wisdom and perspective to be able to discern God’s will for our lives. It is on the basis of the theology of Romans 1–11 that Paul is able to move to the admonitions of Romans 12–16.

This is why we are to study God’s Word. It is not simply to acquire a knowledge that puffs up, but rather to know what is pleasing to God, and to know how to make appropriate decisions in our daily lives. This has been Paul’s concern throughout Romans 12, as he gives us a whole series of particular injunctions for our lives.

Paul concludes these injunctions by telling us in verse 19, “Do not take revenge, my friends, but leave room for God’s wrath.” Revenge, or vengeance, is not itself evil, “For it is written, ‘It is Mine to avenge; I will repay,’ says the Lord.” We are to rest in His perfect justice and not take matters into our own hands.

Read Romans 12:19–21. Here we see how we are to deal with those who abuse us. On this Reformation Day, can you think of any “enemy” to whom you can show love? Find a way to help that person without trying to triumph over him. Make this Reformation Day a day of reformation for yourself.

The Reformation and Peace with God (by David Strain)

“Therefore, since we have been justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ.” Romans 5:1

Martin Luther was a man racked by the agony of a sin-seared conscience. His spiritual struggles, his Anfechtungen, seemed to have no remedy. And so, Luther said, “I stood before God as a sinner troubled in conscience, and I had no confidence that my merit would assuage him. Therefore I did not love a just and angry God, but rather hated and murmured against him.” In the Pauline expression “the righteousness of God,” Luther heard only a terrible thunderclap of divine condemnation. It was that righteousness by which God judges the wicked, and thus also that righteousness thwarted his every attempt to find rest for his troubled soul. But then, one day, the storm clouds parted, and shining from that same expression “the righteousness of God,” Luther at last saw not the justice of God to condemn sinners but the gracious provision of God in Jesus Christ to declare sinners righteous in His sight. The words that once seemed to signal only his exclusion from the presence of God became the instruments by which God drew him into His saving embrace, silencing his troubled conscience and giving him peace. Now he saw that through the gospel he could be simul justus et peccator, both sinner and saint by grace alone through faith alone in Christ alone.

By faith, Paul says, we are justified, and because we are counted righteous in Christ, “we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ” (Rom. 5:1). The cause of the divine hostility—the guilt of our sin—has been washed away in the wounds of Jesus Christ. The wrath of God is satisfied in the cross for all who believe. “While we were enemies we were reconciled to God by the death of his Son” (Rom. 5:10). “In Christ God was reconciling the world to himself, not counting their trespasses against them” (2 Cor. 5:19). “[Having] sent forth his Son, born of woman, born under the law, to redeem those who were under the law,” God makes His enemies into His friends. More than that, we even “receive adoption as sons” (Gal. 4:4–7).

But the great rediscovery of the gospel at the Reformation taught us not only that we may have peace with God, but also that we might have peace from God. Justification by faith alone is a blessed gospel truth, but it is not a truth we experience. It is an objective, legal verdict passed over us in the courtroom of heaven on the basis of the imputed righteousness of Jesus Christ alone. One does not feel justified. It is a status, not a sense. It is a declaration made over us, not a feeling communicated to us. Yet those who have stood in the dock will tell you of the peace and joy that overwhelms them when the “not guilty” verdict is returned. Precisely because our right standing with God is not based on something in us but is wholly based on the obedience and blood of Jesus Christ, we may have the greatest confidence in it. We have peace from God to assure and comfort our hearts because Christ has established peace with God by His cross.

Sadly, it is here that Christians often go wrong. Much like Luther before his spiritual breakthrough, we too readily establish our belief in the solidity and permanence of our salvation on our subjective experience. If we do not feel peace, we assume there can be no peace. If we do not experience the intimate presence of God, we conclude that we must still be alienated from Him. But this is to rest our hope once again on something in ourselves, on some feeling or quality or sense of spiritual things. In contrast, the gospel recovered at the Reformation declares with joy that our “hope is built on nothing less than Jesus’ blood and righteousness.” We have an objective and immovable rock upon which to anchor our confidence before God. It is not to be looked for in the murky depths of our hearts or in the shifting sands of our effort or experience. It is found in Christ crucified, risen, and reigning. We must look to Him for peace.

To be sure, subjectivity is not sin, and the Scriptures themselves call us to self-examination. Paul’s call is to “examine yourselves, to see whether you are in the faith. Test yourselves” (2 Cor. 13:5). The “if . . . then” syllogism that fills the first letter of the Apostle John reminds us that there are practical tests we must apply to our hearts and lives that will help us discern evidences of spiritual life. “If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us” (1 John 1:8). “If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him” (2:15). “If what you heard from the beginning abides in you, then you too will abide in the Son and in the Father” (2:24). “If anyone has the world’s goods and sees his brother in need, yet closes his heart against him, how does God’s love abide in him?” (3:17). One of the tools we have been given to dispel fears and settle our hearts is the discipline of self-examination. Those in whom the Holy Spirit has worked the miracle of new birth are those who bear fruit in keeping with repentance, and we are indeed to seek that fruit in our lives. Yet Robert Murray M’Cheyne was undoubtedly correct to counsel us that for every “one look at self” we should “take ten looks to Christ.”

That is fine pastoral wisdom. If we seek our peace in our own progress in Christian obedience alone, if our gifts and graces are the only source of comfort and assurance in our lives, then we may find ourselves tempted to one of two extremes. Either we will give in to a naive self-congratulation, overestimating the progress we have made and overlooking the sin that still so easily entangles us, or we might find our peace collapsing under the pressure of guilt as we allow our sin and failure, eclipse-like, to obscure all progress and growth. M’Cheyne was right. We must take a look at self, often and carefully. We ought frequently to assess ourselves with sober honesty. But how shall we overcome the danger of false assurance based on a faulty overestimate of our own worthiness if not by looking at the pristine faultlessness of Christ in His obedience to the Father? In the bright sunshine of His perfections, the stains of sin in us are clearly revealed. How shall we answer the accusations of a conscience that sees only failure and sin if not by looking at the Righteous One whose obedience even unto death was for us and for our salvation? His all-sufficient atonement alone can silence the sting of a condemning conscience and humble the boasts of a self-reliant heart. Only by the ballast of the gospel of free grace can the ship of our Christian lives avoid listing to one side or the other. May the Lord help us all to find peace from God because we have first found peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ.

Why the Reformation Still Matter (by Michael Reeves)

Last year, on October 31, Pope Francis announced that after five hundred years, Protestants and Catholics now “have the opportunity to mend a critical moment of our history by moving beyond the controversies and disagreements that have often prevented us from understanding one another.” From that, it sounds as if the Reformation was an unfortunate and unnecessary squabble over trifles, a childish outburst that we can all put behind us now that we have grown up.

But tell that to Martin Luther, who felt such liberation and joy at his rediscovery of justification by faith alone that he wrote, “I felt that I was altogether born again and had entered paradise itself through open gates.” Tell that to William Tyndale, who found it such “merry, glad and joyful tidings” that it made him “sing, dance, and leap for joy.” Tell it to Thomas Bilney, who found it gave him “a marvelous comfort and quietness, insomuch that my bruised bones leaped for joy.” Clearly, those first Reformers didn’t think they were picking a juvenile fight; as they saw it, they had discovered glad tidings of great joy.

At the beginning of the sixteenth century, Europe had been without a Bible the people could read for something like a thousand years. Thomas Bilney had thus never encountered the words “Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners” (1 Tim. 1:15). Instead of the Word of God, they were left to the understanding that God is a God who enables people to earn their own salvation. As one of the teachers of the day liked to put it, “God will not deny grace to those who do their best.” Yet what were meant as cheering words left a very sour taste for everyone who took them seriously. How could you be sure you really had done your best? How could you tell if you had become the sort of just person who merited salvation?

Martin Luther certainly tried. “I was a good monk,” he wrote, “and kept my order so strictly that I could say that if ever a monk could get to heaven through monastic discipline, I should have entered in.” And yet, he found:

My conscience would not give me certainty, but I always doubted and said, “You didn’t do that right. You weren’t contrite enough. You left that out of your confession.” The more I tried to remedy an uncertain, weak and troubled conscience with human traditions, the more daily I found it more uncertain, weaker and more troubled.

According to Roman Catholicism, Luther was quite right to be unsure of heaven. The confidence of a place in heaven was considered errant presumption and was one of the charges made against Joan of Arc at her trial in 1431. There, the judges proclaimed,

This woman sins when she says she is as certain of being received into Paradise as if she were already a partaker of . . . glory, seeing that on this earthly journey no pilgrim knows if he is worthy of glory or of punishment, which the sovereign judge alone can tell.

That judgment made complete sense within the logic of the system: if we can only enter heaven because we have (by God’s enabling grace) become personally worthy of it, then, of course, no one can be sure. By that line of reasoning, I can only have as much confidence in heaven as I have confidence in my own sinlessness.

That was exactly why the young Martin Luther screamed with fear when as a student he was nearly struck by lightning in a thunderstorm. He was terrified of death, for without knowledge of Christ’s sufficient and gracious salvation—without knowledge of justification by faith alone—he had no hope of heaven.

And that was why his rediscovery in Scripture of justification by faith alone felt like entering paradise through open gates. It meant that, instead of all his angst and terror, he could now write:

When the devil throws our sins up to us and declares that we deserve death and hell, we ought to speak thus: “I admit that I deserve death and hell. What of it? Does this mean that I shall be sentenced to eternal damnation? By no means. For I know One who suffered and made satisfaction in my behalf. His name is Jesus Christ, the Son of God. Where he is, there I shall be also.”

And that was why the Reformation gave people such a taste for sermons and Bible reading. For, to be able to read God’s words and to see in them such good news that God saves sinners, not on the basis of how well they repent but entirely by His own grace, was like a burst of Mediterranean sunshine into the gray world of religious guilt.

Luther v. Barth on Scripture

"It is not accurate [...] to equate Luther’s sense of the whole of Scripture as bearing and witnessing to Christ with the Barthian concept of Scripture as a witness to the Word or to revelation. Luther understood all of Scripture to bear witness to Christ precisely because he viewed Scripture as God’s revelatory Word and Christ as the fulfillment of God’s revelation—Barth understood Scripture as witness to Christ because he viewed Christ as the Word and as God’s revelation in an ultimate and ultimately restrictive sense and Scripture as Word only in a derivative sense, and not as revelation. For Barth, Scripture can be said to become God’s Word in the event of God speaking through it to believers concerning the revelation that is Jesus Christ. The difference between the two perspectives is frequently overlooked by theologians who would relate the Reformation to neoorthodoxy and drive a wedge between the Reformation and post-Reformation Protestantism. This fundamentally different understanding of revelation tended to bias Barth’s readings of sixteenth- and seventeenth-century theology, particularly in terms of the question of what could or could not be revealed and known concerning God and God’s will."

--Richard A. Muller, Post-Reformation Reformed Dogmatics: The Rise and Development of Reformed Orthodoxy;  Volume 2: The Cognitive Foundation of Theology, 2nd ed. (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2003), 67.

Halloween?

There, there, Martin. We'll straighten them all out.