Matthew often speaks of Christ as fulfilling the Scriptures (e.g., Matt. 1:22; 2:23; 8:17). When the Scripture referenced is a promise or a prediction, the idea of fulfillment is relatively straightforward (as in Matt. 21:4–5). But what can Matthew mean by saying that Christ fulfills the Scripture when the Old Testament passage in question was a historical notice? Consideration of one passage, Matthew 2:13–18, where this is the case may shed some light on the general meaning.

This pericope contains two episodes, each ending with a fulfillment formula (Matt. 2:15, 18). These two episodes relate how Joseph took the child Jesus to Egypt to escape the wrath of Herod, who wound up destroying all the young children in the environs of Bethlehem. In this brief section, there are allusions to Genesis and Exodus, as well as quotations from Hosea and Jeremiah, which will be considered in turn.

Genesis 46

The patriarch Israel and his sons have been summoned to go into Egypt by Joseph, the betrayed brother who has risen to be ruler of the land. This news came as a shock to his father (Gen. 45:26), who had previously refused to be comforted for Joseph’s non-existence (Gen. 37:35; 42:36). As the journey reached its first stage, Jacob/Israel was confirmed in his purpose by speech with God “in visions of the night” (Gen. 46:2).

God promised to go with them into Egypt, and bring them out again, as well as the note that Joseph would be present at Jacob’s deathbed (Gen. 46:4). It was thus by faith in God’s promised presence and restoration that Jacob left the land of promise to sojourn in the land of Egypt.

These thematic echoes make this a suitable passage for Matthew to allusively incorporate into the fabric of his narrative of the early life of Jesus. The question of presence is important for Matthew’s account of Jesus. He is God with us (1:23), he is present wherever two or three gather in his name (18:20), and he is with his disciples as they pursue his commission until the very end of the age (28:20). Thus the promise of God’s presence in Egypt in the text of Genesis was likely to attract Matthew’s attention. Furthermore, Matthew relates the descent of Joseph, Mary, and Jesus into Egypt with a view to explaining that they came out: that juxtaposition of entrance and exodus is also found in Genesis 46.

Although God addresses the patriarch as “Jacob, Jacob” (Gen. 46:2), the text itself speaks of Israel as journeying, and God speaking to Israel (Gen. 46:1–2). There is a certain ambiguity to the name, because it can refer to Jacob as an individual, or to the whole clan and nation springing from him. This ambiguity creates room in which Matthew can present Jesus as Israel, the one who finally recapitulates and encapsulates what is true of God’s people. Jacob went into Egypt, but only his embalmed corpse came out (Gen. 50:2, 13). Jesus went down into Egypt and returned, because God was with him, as the original promise given to Jacob in Genesis 46 guaranteed. How could it be otherwise when Jesus is the locus of God’s presence with his people (Matt. 1:23)?

Exodus

There are multiple allusions to the events of Exodus in this part of Matthew. There are at least tacit comparisons between Jesus and Moses on the score of being infants threatened with death by tyrannical monarchs (Matt. 2:13 and Exod. 2:3).[i] The fact that other infants die when the one special named infant does not is another point of similarity between the two narratives. There is also an echo of God’s words to Moses in Exodus 4:19 when Joseph is told that “those who sought the child’s life are dead” (Matt. 2:20).[ii]

In the text of Exodus itself, it is clear that the experience of Moses the deliverer and Israel the delivered contain parallels. Both left Egypt in haste (Exod. 2:15; 12:39). Both were in a manner drawn out of water (Exod. 2:9; 14:22). Later revelation points out that ultimately both spent forty years in the wilderness (Acts 7:30; Num. 14:33).

The dialectic of individual and people again allows an ambiguity where Matthew can represent Christ as the new Moses, as well as the new Israel.[iii] For instance, when Christ spends forty days fasting in the wilderness and being put to the test (Matt. 4:1–2) this inevitably reminds the reader both of Moses’ extended fast on Sinai (Exod. 34:28) and of Israel’s long years of trial (Deut. 8:2). This dual presentation is not an inconceivable stretch, because Moses was the representative and mediator of Israel as they were constituted a nation.

It should also be noticed that in both Genesis and Matthew, Egypt is a place of safety and provision, whereas in Exodus it is the place of danger and bondage. Herod’s rule, then, makes Bethlehem into an analogue of Egypt, returning the promised land to the state it was in before God’s promises to Abraham were fulfilled through Joshua. The deliverer is born as promised in Bethlehem (Matt. 2:6), but as far as his safety went, pagan Egypt was a better place than the city of David. It is hard to imagine a more stinging indictment of the national condition at the time of Christ’s birth: the only way it could get worse is if they were to succeed in killing Christ…[iv]

The importance of Exodus as a source of Matthew’s portrayal of Jesus is further confirmed by his explicit quotation of Hosea, since he chooses a passage in which Hosea remembers the events of Exodus.

Hosea 11:1

The prophet Hosea addressed an impassioned appeal to the disobedient kingdom of Israel (i.e., the northern ten tribes which had broken away from allegiance to the house of David). As part of that appeal he reminded them of the great watershed event of Exodus – their deliverance from Egypt.

Thus God speaks of his love for Israel as a child, a love which was exhibited in calling his son out of Egypt. Here Hosea himself is alluding to the terms of God’s word to Moses in Exodus 4:22, as well as to the successful departure from Egypt recorded in the following chapters. The affectionate terms as well as the historic facts bore witness to the depth of God’s love for his people. And yet that people did not respond in kind, but were constantly unfaithful (Hosea 11:2).

When Matthew took up that great word that God called his son out of Egypt, the quotation is from Hosea, but that quotation includes the allusion to Exodus 4:22. Thus the affectionate term for Israel, “my son” was applied to Jesus. He is truly God’s Son, the firstborn. The terms of Exodus and Hosea apply most fully and properly to him. The process of inner-biblical exegesis which led Hosea to reflect on Exodus 4 is continuing, with ever-increasing clarity.

The faithlessness of corporate Israel (or “Ephraim” as Hosea says in 11:2, 8–9) placed an enormous question mark over its status as God’s son. Can it be that this is how the son of God behaves? The answer is no; but the full solution of this dilemma awaited the appearance of God’s ultimate Son, who fulfills all righteousness (Matt. 3:15).

Blomberg argues for seeing in Matthew’s usage of Hosea an instance of “pure typology,” that is to say, “divinely intended ‘coincidence’” discerned in “striking parallels between God’s actions in history.”[v] This is not quite strong enough. The striking parallels are present because God is gradually making clear over time the ultimate referent of all these events. It is not that the Exodus was similar to the life of Jesus because God repeats himself. Rather, the meaning of the Exodus was Jesus. The deliverance of Israel from Egypt was a model meant to point to the greater deliverance of God’s true and natural Son, and of all God’s people in and through him. It is thus not sufficient to say that Exodus or Hosea can be appropriated to explain Christ: rather, Christ was the point all along (see Vos on Christology and Hermeneutics).[vi] As Ulrich Luz put it: “It is true for Matthew and for all of early Christianity that the OT alone makes it possible to proclaim and understand the risen Jesus.”[vii]

This was made clear in the unfolding of revelation not only by successive recapitulations and the individual-corporate dialectic already mentioned, but also by the failures of the people which are so strongly emphasized in the context of Hosea 11:1. The deliverance of the people from Egyptian bondage was not an ultimate deliverance; in no small measure, they carried their bondage with them. That was why Herod could recreate Egypt in Bethlehem.

The types necessarily looked forward. Their good features suggested categories within which God’s great work on behalf of his people and presence with them could be understood. But their very imperfections highlighted their prospective nature. Because of this future orientation, it is not the case that God did again with Jesus what he did before through Moses. Moses was just a preparatory prologue.

Because Christ was not just another in a series of parallels, but the culmination and goal of the whole redemptive-history, fulfillment of prophetic utterance comes to its height in him. Matthew shows this by highlighting that even the surroundings of Christ are fulfilling prophetic words, in this case those of Jeremiah.

Jeremiah 31:15

As Blomberg points out, this verse contains one note of sorrow “that reflects the current grief surrounding the Assyrian and Babylonian exiles” in a chapter that is otherwise full of glorious promises.[viii] The sorrow of mothers bereaved of their children is personified as Rachel weeping for her children. As pointed out above, the language here may draw on Jacob’s grief over Joseph’s loss.

Rachel is mentioned only three times in the Hebrew Bible outside of Genesis. There is reference to the location of her grave in 1 Samuel 10:2; her name is linked with Leah’s as a term of blessing in Ruth 4:11; and there is Jeremiah 31:15. The citation of this text in Matthew 2:18 provides the only New Testament reference to her.

It is thus an interesting question why Jeremiah chose to speak of Rachel weeping for her children. The Genesis narrative reveals her as envious (Gen. 30:1), and as seeing herself in conflict with her sister Leah (Gen. 30:8). Her sorrow over her initial barrenness was perhaps only partially alleviated by Joseph’s birth (cf. Gen. 30:22–24). As she died giving birth to her second son and named him “Son of my sorrow”, she was a sufficiently natural choice as a type of grief (Gen. 35:16-19). It seems likely that the text was suggested to Matthew’s mind because of the association of Rachel’s burying place with Bethlehem (Gen. 35:19; 48:7).

She weeps in Ramah because this was “a stopping-off point for the captives from Judah and Jerusalem on their way to exile in Ramah.”[ix] This last point can be verified by a reference to Jer. 40:1, which shows that Jeremiah was taken with other captives of the Babylonians as far as Ramah before being released. Perhaps the sight of the other captives who were not so fortunate added a very immediate pathos to Jeremiah’s composition of these words.

In the sorrow of bereaved mothers, Matthew sees a point of contact between Jeremiah’s words and the aftermath of Herod’s massacre. It is as though all the sorrows of loss in the long record of Israel’s oppressions were now revealed in the desolation surrounding the unsuccessful attempt on the life of Jesus. Perhaps this fulfillment also suggested some comfort. Jesus would return from his time in Egypt, as Matthew goes on to narrate: just as Jeremiah had prophesied that the children who were not would return (Jer. 30:16).[x] Rachel ultimately need not weep for her non-existent children when Jesus has come in fulfillment of the prophetic word, as the presence of God with us, and as the one who saves his people from their sins.

However that may be, it is clear that all kinds of prophetic words are finding their fulfillment in and around Christ. It is not the occasional messianic prediction only that he fulfills, but the meaning of the prophets taken quite broadly.

Conclusion

The preceding discussion leads to the conclusion that Matthew thinks of the prophetic word as something that required fulfillment, even when that word was not obviously predictive. Neither the quotations nor the allusions found in the section considered have any obviously future connotation in their original contexts, but are historical remarks. Even the quotation from Jeremiah, which does come from a context of promise, refers to the sorrow as a past or present event, not as something to be looked for in the future.

For Matthew, however, these historical notices are not mere statements of fact, nor even (as might have been expected from the Hosea reference) the basis for strong exhortation or rebuke. Rather, they have a referent ultimately beyond the boundaries of the historical events considered in themselves. History can be fulfilled only if it had a meaning, a goal whose character was in some sense sketched out in the events leading up to it.

In other words, Matthew’s typology is not simply a question of repeating patterns, but involves the whole concept of redemptive-history. It is a very clear lesson of the fulfillment formula that God is in control of the events. And in the events of the life of Jesus, the plan of God which was adumbrated in the past experiences of Jacob, Rachel, Moses, Israel, and Jeremiah is coming to its culmination.

This has implications for Matthew’s hermeneutical method. If he is interpreting the Scriptures typologically within a redemptive-historical framework, it is not possible to say that he twists the Scriptures[xi] except by rejecting his presupposition of a genuine advance in the progress of redemption that is focused on the coming of Christ. “The concept of fulfillment is at the heart of biblical theology.”[xii] On Matthew’s presuppositions, then, the genuine twisting of the Scriptures would be by trying to understand them without reference to Jesus Christ. He is the fulfillment of all the prophetic word.

For Further Reading

Apart from the books mentioned in the endnotes—Commentary on the New Testament Use of the Old Testament and the collection of essays, The Right Doctrine from the Wrong Text?—readers may find these studies of particular interest.

• R.T. France, Jesus and the Old Testament (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1971)
• Hugh Martin, The Abiding Presence (Fearn, Ross-Shire: Christian Heritage, 2009)
• “Fulfillment in Matthew as Eschatological Reversal” and “The Last Adam: A Theology of the Obedient Life of Jesus in the Gospels”—two interviews with Dr. Brandon Crowe.

[i] Noted by Craig L. Blomberg, “Matthew” in G.K. Beale and D.A. Carson, eds., Commentary on the New Testament Use of the Old Testament (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2007), 7.

[ii] Both parallels are mentioned by Ulrich Luz, Matthew 1–7: A Commentary on Matthew 1–7 (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2007), 119.

[iii] Cf. the explanation of corporate solidarity in terms of “the interchange between the nation and its representative, with the Messiah being the embodiment of Israel’s hopes and the ultimate recipient of God’s promises to his people” by Richard N. Longenecker, “Who Is the Prophet Talking About? Some Reflections on the New Testament Use of the Old,” pp.375–386 in G.K. Beale, ed., The Right Doctrine from the Wrong Texts?: Essays on the Use of the Old Testament in the New (Grand Rapids: Baker Books, 1994), 377.

[iv] Luz, Matthew, 121 is right in saying that “What we have here, however, is not a merely biographical interest in documenting the various stations of Jesus’ vitafrom the OT but a christological statement made with geographical statements.”

[v] Blomberg, “Matthew,” 8.

[vi] Cf. the comment of Douglas A. Oss, “The Interpretation of the ‘Stone’ Passages by Peter and Paul: A Comparative Study,” (JETS1989), 182: “Primary to the approach of the New Testament is a pronounced Christocentric perspective that resulted in interpretations being conducted along Christological lines in a very consistent manner.”

[vii] Luz, Matthew, 131.

[viii] Blomberg, “Matthew,” 9.

[ix] Gerald L. Keown, Pamela J. Scalise and Thomas G. Smothers, Jeremiah 26–52 (Dallas: Word Books, 1995), 119

[x] So Blomberg, ”Matthew,” 10.

[xi] As does S.V. McCasland, “Matthew Twists the Scriptures,” pp. 146–152 in The Right Doctrine from the Wrong Texts, when he says (147–148): “As only Matthew records the flight to Egypt, there is a strong possibility that the entire episode is an inference from the misunderstood Hosea 11:1.”

[xii] Longenecker, “Prophet,” 376.

Geerhardus Vos wisely observed that “on the line of historical progress there is at several points already a beginning of correlation among elements of truth in which the beginnings of the systematizing process can be discerned.”[i] In other words, within the text of Scripture itself there appears a logical ordering of the facts of revelation. The impulse that leads to dogmatic or systematic theology is not exclusively post-canonical, but is found already with the inspired authors of Scripture themselves.

One text where the instinct for logical systematization reveals itself is 2 Thessalonians 2:13–14. Indeed, James Denney spoke of these verses as “a system of theology in miniature.”[ii] This is something of an overstatement, to be sure, for Paul’s interest here is concerned with the way in which salvation is applied. Yet the remark usefully highlights the unmistakeable nature of Paul’s impulse towards dogmatic theology. These statements naturally draw strong interest for the content of what Paul affirms here. My purpose here is more narrowly formal, however, limited to exploring the systematizing instinct in this passage, quoted from the NKJV:

But we are bound to give thanks to God always for you, brethren beloved by the Lord, because God from the beginning chose you for salvation through sanctification by the Spirit and belief in the truth, to which He called you by our gospel, for the obtaining of the glory of our Lord Jesus Christ (2 Thess. 2:13-14).

Paul has in mind the source, process, and culmination of salvation. Salvation takes its rise from God’s choice, is carried on through sanctification and belief (to which the Thessalonians were introduced by the gospel call), and reaches its goal in glory. It is quite clear, then, that the materials of the doctrine of salvation are being coherently correlated. There is thus an indication on the surface of this text of what could be called Paul’s “proto-dogmatics.”

Though it is apparent on the surface, it is far from superficial. Here Paul’s thought reflects a Trinitarian organizing principle. He speaks of God, the Spirit, and the Lord Jesus Christ, each of whom are particularly associated with an aspect of the Thessalonians’ salvation. Thus it is God (meaning especially the Father, as is usual in Paul) who has chosen them for salvation; that salvation is enjoyed through sanctification by the Spirit; and it culminates in obtaining the glory of our Lord Jesus Christ.

This organizing principle is quite significant, for it shows that different loci in Paul’s dogmatics, to speak anachronistically, are inter-connected. Paul’s theology proper is basic for his conception of soteriology. It is quite likely the case that it was through God’s saving acts that Paul came to understand the nature of God,[iii] but that understanding of God then structured the way he spoke of salvation. Paul’s soteriology (and indeed, all of his doctrine) is profoundly theocentric and Trinitarian.

Yet this is no way created a rigid pattern capable of no versatility. On the contrary, one of the striking things about this short passage is precisely the place accorded to Christ. His saving work is not explicitly mentioned, but presupposed. Here Paul does not speak of Christ as the believer’s righteousness, or of Christ delivering us from wrath, or as dying for our sins, as he does in other texts. In this passage, Christ is rather held out as the goal which salvation ultimately reaches. The Thessalonians were chosen by the Father, sanctified by the Spirit, and called by the Gospel for the great end of obtaining the glory of Jesus Christ. The expression of Paul’s dogmatic impulse, then, reveals flexibility as well as form.

Notice, moreover, the perspective from which soteriology is viewed. Paul can explain the aspects of salvation from the standpoint of what the Thessalonians are experiencing. God’s choice of them for salvation has come to expression in the Spirit’s work and their belief of the truth. Those realities entered their lives through the calling received by means of the gospel (which in practical terms refers to the proclamation of the gospel message). Whereas in Romans 8:29–30 Paul would lay down the golden chain of an ordo salutis proceeding in a logical order of means and ends, here his materials are treated somewhat differently. Again, the dogmatic impulse is not a straitjacket, but allows appropriate variety.

Finally, it should be noticed that Paul’s dogmatic impulse does not reflect a tendency to improper abstraction or merely theoretical concerns. Paul begins his miniature system of applied soteriology expressing his obligation to give thanks to the Lord. The materials of dogmatic theology led him to praise. There is no sense here that one could divorce ideas about God and his work from worship of him. Furthermore, the soteriology is followed up with a strikingly appropriate exhortation in v.15: “Therefore, brethren, stand fast and hold the traditions which you were taught, whether by word or our epistle.” The doctrine of salvation undergirds and leads to the call for steadfastness. From this, as well as from the contextual contrast between Thessalonian believers and followers of the “lawless one” (v.8), it is clear that Paul expected doctrine to provide comfort also to believers. To be taught and developed properly, the enterprise of systematic theology should be undertaken for the strengthening of believers and out of love to the church.

It is true that Scripture itself does not offer us a systematic theology. But in 2 Thessalonians 2:13–14 and similar passages one sees the inevitable necessity of a coherent dogmatics, as well as many desiderata for the execution of the dogmatic task. Scripture does not give us a systematic theology, per se: but Scripture drives us to logically systematize the materials it gives, in a worshipful spirit, out of love, unto edification, and carrying out in practice the implications of the truths we coherently confess.

For Further Reading

Those interested in more about the need and place for systematic theology can consult, in addition to the various introductory sections to systematic or dogmatic theologies, two articles by B.B. Warfield, both found in Selected Shorter Writings of Benjamin B. Warfield, Vol 2 (Phillipsburg: P&R Publishing, 1973):

• “The Right of Systematic Theology” (pp. 219–279)
• “The Indispensableness of Systematic Theology to the Preacher” (280–288)

[i] Geerhardus Vos, Biblical Theology: Old and New Testaments (Grand Rapids: Wm. B. Eerdmans, 1948), 16.

[ii] James Denney, The Epistles to the Thessalonians (London: Hodder & Stoughton, 1892), 342.

[iii] Cf. the general argument to this effect by B.B. Warfield, “The Biblical Doctrine of the Trinity” in The Works of Benjamin B. Warfield, Vol. 2: Biblical Doctrines (Grand Rapids: Baker Book House, 1981), 133–172, esp. 143–147.

One of the remarkable things about the writings of the Apostle John is the way he combined great simplicity in his style and vocabulary with immense depth and significance of thought. Those features appear prominently in 1 John 1:5 (ESV): This is the message we have heard from him and proclaim to you, that God is light and in him is no darkness at all.

There are three primary questions to be tackled in expounding this verse. First, who, exactly, is the “him” from whom this message was received? Second, to what does the figurative description of God as “light” refer? Third, what end was served by adding the negation that there is no darkness in God? On the basis of the answers to those questions a pair of concluding observations will be drawn.

The Source of the Message

The first question—regarding the source of this message—should be answered from the immediate context. In 1 John 1:1–4 the Apostle relates the source of the proclamation about eternal life to his own experience. It was what he had heard and seen and touched, that life which had been made manifest. These descriptors point to Christ. John had heard, seen, and touched Christ, who was the ultimate revelation of life.

This means, then, that John heard the message from Christ that God is light, and in him is no darkness at all. Yet this is not something that we read either in John’s own Gospel, or in any of the Gospels. It may be possible that 1 John 1:5 is similar to Acts 20:35, in that both record one of the Lord’s sayings that were not included in the Gospels. However, in light of John’s introductory emphasis on his experience with Christ, it is more likely that this is John’s own summary of what he learned from his interactions with Christ.

In other words, God is light and in him is no darkness at all are not necessarily words that the Lord Jesus uttered while on earth. But it was nonetheless the message that he delivered. Because as John recollected what he had heard, and seen, and handled that message was the overall effect. The person, life, and character of Jesus were a revelation of God; they revealed precisely God’s existence as pure light with no fleck of shadow.

At this point, it may be well to pause for a practical implication. If John could summarize observed events in a proposition about God, then it shows that the narratives of Scripture are legitimate sources of declarations about God. To put it another way, because John here engages in theological reflection, this text joins other passages in Scripture to push us in the direction of developing a system of dogmatics.

It is true, as Geerhardus Vos famously observed, that “[t]he Bible is not a dogmatic handbook but a historical book full of dramatic interest” (Biblical Theology, 17). Without in any way detracting the truth of that remark, it must be admitted also that the Bible itself contains the impetus for coherent, rationally ordered theological reflection on its history. Vos already perceived that both Biblical and Systematic Theology transform the Biblical material, although they do so according to different principles (Ibid., 15–16). But neither transformation is illegitimate, something alien imposed on Scripture. The transformations of Biblical material wrought by theology are the results of lines of development set down in Scripture itself.

Therefore to pit narrative against proposition, the history of special revelation against dogmatics, story against summary, is contrary to the moves the Bible itself makes. John, who had not only heard the story, but actively lived as part of it, could summarize the message of Christ’s earthly ministry in the proposition: God is light, and in him is no darkness at all.

The Content of the Message

And this brings us to the second question. In speaking of God as light, what does John have in mind? The first point to keep in mind is that this is a figurative description. John is not saying that God is the material light, as though God came streaming out of the lightbulb every time we flipped the switch. That’s clear enough from Paul’s description of God as dwelling “in unapproachable light” and the praise of the Psalmist that God covers himself “with light as with a garment” (Psalm 104:2). As Hugh Binning beautifully put it:

The light is, as it were, a visible appearance of the invisible God. He hath covered his invisible nature with this glorious garment to make himself in a manner visible to man. It is true, that light is but, as it were, a shadow of that inaccessible light, umbra Dei. It is the dark shadow of God, who is himself infinitely more beautiful and glorious. (Works, 301)

Given that “light” is a figure, to what does it point? There are several possibilities.

In the Old Testament “light” can speak of knowledge or wisdom (Psalm 119:105; Proverbs 6:23), of glory or beauty (Ecclesiastes 11:7; Isaiah 60:1), of joy or good fortune (Job 30:26; Psalm 97:11), of life itself (Job 18:5; 33:30), and also of holiness or moral uprightness (Job 24:13; Isaiah 2:5).

Each of these would be an understandable usage. Because we need physical light to see, it is a short step to using “light” for the conditions necessary for understanding. Again, light is the precondition for beholding anything beautiful: it is thus in some sort the original beautiful thing. It is natural to humans to use light as a symbol of joy and hope, because happiness feels like radiance and makes us glow, whereas grief and bitterness feel like a darkness of soul. The association of death with absence, finality, and gloom also makes light a natural way to speak figuratively about life. Finally, the concealment of darkness suggests deeds that need to be concealed, whereas light has nothing to be ashamed of (cf. Ephesians 5:7–14; 1 Thessalonians 5:4–10).

Because John uses such a polyvalent and fruitful term, we should not seek to reduce his meaning too narrowly. Ultimately these various points are connected in Scripture. The God in whose light we see light (Psalm 36:9) is the God of knowledge, glory, life, joy, and holiness. Those things cannot ultimately and finally be separated; they are united in God, and will eventually be united and perfected in the experience of God’s people.

Thus in the surrounding context John implicitly references knowledge by speaking of a message and proclamation, and explicitly mentions life and joy. Yet if there is one point on which particular emphasis falls, it is the question of holiness—practical purity in the moral sphere. For John goes on to say, If we say we have fellowship with him while we walk in darkness, we lie and do not practice the truth (1 John 1:6).

The behavior of those summoned into the apostolic fellowship with Father and Son must be in keeping with the nature of God. God is light, and therefore those who have fellowship with him must practice the truth and walk in the light.

In what follows, however, there is a most remarkable juxtaposition. Fellowship with the God of light does not require sinless perfection. It requires, rather, honesty about our sin. But if we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus his Son cleanses us from all sin. If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us. If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness (1 John 1:7–9).

While we attempt to conceal our sins, to deny even to ourselves that we have them, we are locked into darkness. But honest recognition opens the shutters to our heart, and lets the light of God flow in. God in no way compromises his nature as light by entering into fellowship with us. Through the blood of Christ, communion is accomplished and we are brought into the light—into all that the light represents.

The Clarification of the Message

John said more than just that God was light. He immediately strengthened the statement by adding that God was unmixed light, pure light, light with no darkness at all.

This negation that God has a dark side ought to be understood in the moral terms John accents. God does nothing wrong, desires nothing wrong, is not wrong in any way at all. He has no deficiencies, no shortcomings, no vulnerabilities that can exploited. He is the opposite of sin, untemptable and enticing no one (James 1:13).

This ethical understanding should not be separated from a more comprehensive idea. After all, in God there is no darkness at all also in the sense of ignorance, sorrow, death, or disgrace either.

In fact, it is possible to go a step further. The fact that God is light with no mixture at all points to the fact that God is unadulterated deity. He is nothing but himself, he is his own definition (Exodus 3:14). In other words, as the Belgic Confession says, “there is one only simple and spiritual being” (art. 1). Or as the Westminster Confession has it, God is “without body, parts, or passions.”

In other words, God has no ingredients. He is not made up of this and that, but only himself. We distinguish attributes, because they mean different things to us. But these are not detachable qualities that God might or might not have. Because God is what he is and nothing else, ultimately the qualities we distinguish are simply God himself considered from a different point of view. In our limited partiality, we have to do this; but the affirmation that God is light reminds us of the limitations of our point of view.

This doctrine of divine simplicity is also important in that it highlights for us the wonder of fellowship with God. Because the God of undiluted deity is a God of absolute holiness. What amazing virtue there is then in the blood of Christ, to allow us to fellowship with such a God in honesty, in spite of the reality of ongoing sin!

Moreover it highlights the sufficiency of God. Because God is what he is absolutely, he is not glorious or holy or wise or any of the other things that light can represent by participation. That is to say, God did not attain knowledge, or become holy, or achieve glory: no, that’s what he is. He is the origin of them all.

We have seen, then, that it was possible and appropriate to summarize the message of Christ’s life in the simple but inexhaustible statement that God is light and in him is no darkness at all. This statement teaches us about God’s simplicity, and thereby also presents him as the first truth, the highest good, the source of life, the fountain of joy, the wellspring of glory, the absolutely Holy One of Israel who also sanctifies his people.

The Value of the Message

Hopefully what has already been said gives some pointers to the value of the great message Christ brought us, that God is light. But two additional observations can be made from the fact that this message about God comes to us precisely through the life of Christ on earth.

The first has to do with the value of the Gospels for our theodicy. It is not uncommon to have people object to the Christian doctrine of God because of a perceived darkness in God’s character. Statements like, “I don’t see how a loving God could do or allow animal suffering” (or childhood cancer, or war, or many other downsides to life in a cursed world) reflect a sense that God does have a dark side. It may take an intellectual form, or it may appear more viscerally or existentially. It may come in the form of a challenge from unbelievers, or as doubt from one who confesses Christ. On multiple fronts, then, there is often a demand to justify God.

The question of theodicy is far too large to be addressed here. However without entering into the intricacies of the discussion, one point can be made. John learned that God is light and in him is no darkness at all by hearing and seeing the Lord Jesus. Exposing people to the Gospel narratives, then, provides an indirect way to teach them the same lesson. Particularly when accusations against God, or resentment of him, arise from a context of intense suffering, an explanation of the truth or a challenge to false thinking are not always received well, if at all. Of course Paul and Job will remain important tools in dealing with theodicy, the problem of evil, and so forth. But exposure to the Gospel accounts may well lay a solid foundation for resolving the questions. Christ is the revelation of God, and it is in Christ that we see that God is light and in him is no darkness at all.

The second observation, quite closely related, is that what people need to hear is Christ. This is true of non-believers and professing Christians alike. It is through Christ that we know God, have fellowship with him, are cleansed from sin, and walk in the light. Different aspects of Christ’s person, life, work, and words (both Old Testament and New) may be drawn upon in different circumstances; but what everyone constantly needs all of the time is nothing else but Christ. The complexity of ministry finds its unity and simplicity in the presentation of Christ.

For Further Study

With regard to the doctrine of simplicity check out this helpful episode of Christ the Center. There is also an outstanding recent study from Steven J. Duby, Divine Simplicity: A Dogmatic Account (New York: Bloomsbury, 2016), which deserves far more widespread reading and recognition than its high cost seems designed to secure. Richard Muller’s Post-Reformation Reformed Dogmatics, v.3: The Divine Essence and Attributes (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2003) contains an extremely valuable overview of the doctrine of simplicity from an historical standpoint. Heinrich Heppe’s summary drawn from the Protestant Scholastics in Reformed Dogmatics: A Compendium of Reformed Theology (London: Wakeman Trust, n.d.) is a valuable supplement to Muller. A fine older explanation with practical application can be found in John Preston’s, Life Eternall (London: R.E., 1631).

On 1 John 1:5, Hugh Binning’s “Fellowship with God” as found in The Works of Hugh Binning (Morgan, PA: Soli Deo Gloria, 1992) is both beautiful and edifying. Our need for The Whole Christ is well expressed in Sinclair Ferguson’s recent book by that name (Wheaton: Crossway, 2016).

On October 31st, 1517, Martin Luther nailed his ninety-five theses to the church door in Wittenberg. These were dark, dark days; the gospel had been shackled by the superstitions and idolatries of the Roman Catholic Church and consigned to her dungeon where its light was hidden from the world. But Luther’s action that day would initiate its emancipation by sparking the Protestant Reformation. The Reformers rescued the gospel from Rome’s dungeon and brought it to the hilltops from where its light could again emanate as a beacon of salvation for all to see. To remember this day in the history of Christ’s church, brothers from various Reformed denominations have contributed articles on each of the five solas of the Reformation: sola scriptura, sola fide, sola gratia, solus Christus, and soli Deo gloria. Together they form the five-fold light of the gospel that overcomes the darkness.

– Daniel Ragusa

Beginning with the End in Mind

Soli Deo gloria (“to God alone be glory”) is the natural outcome of the preceding four solas that characterize the biblical and Reformed doctrine of salvation. Psalm 3:8 indicates that salvation belongs to the Lord. That primary claim is elaborated by specifying that only God’s word tells us the true doctrine of salvation (sola Scriptura); that only Christ accomplished all that was necessary for salvation (solus Christus); that this salvation is bestowed merely by God’s free grace (sola gratia); and is received by no other instrument than the empty hand of faith (sola fide). If in this comprehensive sense salvation is exclusively of the Lord, it follows that the praise of salvation is likewise due to him alone.

Geerhardus Vos noted in his essay, “The Doctrine of the Covenant in Reformed Theology,” that the root idea of Reformed theology that unlocked the rich treasuries of Scripture was the preeminence of God’s glory. Herein is what distinguished the Reformed tradition: it began not with man, but with God. Vos writes, “God does not exist because of man, but man because of God. This is what is written at the entrance of the temple of Reformed theology” (242). So we begin our study of the five solas with the end in mind, beginning with God purposing to glorify himself in the salvation of sinners by grace alone through faith alone in Christ alone according to Scripture alone.

Romans 11

This soteriological accent leading to doxology is seen in multiple places in Scripture. One clear example is Romans 11. After establishing the principle that election is by grace with works excluded from consideration (11:5–6), Paul goes on to draw the unexpected conclusion that God consigned all, both Jew and Gentile, to disobedience, that he may have mercy on all (11:32). This glorious conclusion was so surprising that Paul breaks into praise of God’s unsearchable wisdom and inscrutable ways (11:33-35). In finalizing his paean to the surprisingly saving God, Paul says: For from him and through him and to him are all things. To him be glory forever. Amen (11:36). That is the point to which the rich and textured depths of Paul’s soteriology leads, an outburst of acclamation of the God of salvation. That same attitude underlies the practical exhortations which begin in the next verse (12:1). Those who have been astonished by God’s plan of salvation and thus motivated to ascribe glory to him are properly situated to yield their bodies to him as living sacrifices, to render all proper obedience to human authority as instituted by God, and to live in peace with their brothers in the midst of imperfection and disagreement.

1 Timothy 1 and 6

Paul shows a similar movement of thought in one of the classic passages relating to his own experience of salvation. In 1 Timothy 1:12-17, he thanks Christ Jesus for transforming him from a blasphemer and persecutor into a faithful minister. This was due to the overflowing grace of our Lord. The heart of Paul’s confession of salvation is the trustworthy saying that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners. That included even such a prime sinner as Paul himself, who was saved as a pattern or example. Given that the Lord saved Paul, there is no reason to doubt that he can also save anyone who believes. This recollection of grace shown to him, and extended to others, again results in praise: To the King of ages, immortal, invisible, the only God, be honor and glory forever and ever. Amen.

This doxological outburst at the beginning of the letter is echoed by another towards its conclusion. There Paul speaks of Christ, who is the blessed and only Sovereign, the King of kings, and Lord of lords, who alone has immortality, who dwells in unapproachable light, whom no man has ever seen or can see. To him be honor and eternal dominion. Amen (6:15–16).

Seven Observations

There are several observations to be made at this point.

First, it is clear from the comparison of 1 Timothy 1 and 6 that ascribing glory to God alone is in no way meant to exclude Christ. Paul’s doxologies are heartfelt acts of worship. And the worship he directs to the only God in chapter 1, he directs to the Christ in chapter 6. From this it follows, of course, that Christ is God.

Second, glory and honor are given to God, essentially considered; that is to say, in view of the divine nature. Because the three persons of the Trinity are “one true eternal God, the same in substance, equal in power and glory” (WLC 9), glory is ascribed to one God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Thus Christians do worship one who is man, but they worship him because he is God.

Third, as God alone receiving glory is the outcome of salvation, so it is also the purpose of salvation. This is abundantly clear from Paul’s letter to the Ephesians. Election unto salvation was to the praise of his glorious grace (1:6). The counsel of God’s will concerning those who hope in Christ (i.e., predestination to faith) was so that we might be to the praise of his glory (1:12). Sealing with the Holy Spirit is likewise to the praise of his glory (1:14). God’s motive in salvation was grace; the end envisioned was his own glory.

Fourth, there is, therefore, an intimate connection between our salvation and God’s glory. The two are not in competition. As stated in the first question of the Westminster Assembly’s Larger Catechism: “Man’s chief and highest end is to glorify God and fully to enjoy him for ever.” Due to the fall into sin, man does not willingly glorify God or enjoy him. Salvation restores both elements. God receives the glory for saving such wretches; and we begin to delight in the God of such sovereign grace.

Fifth, this should not be allowed to obscure the fact that there is a genuine sense in which God’s glory is broader and more ultimate than salvation. In Revelation 4 and 5 there are visions of two heavenly worship services. The first ascribes glory and honor and power to God in view of creation (4:11). The second recounts a song sung to the Lamb for his saving work (5:9–10). The grounds for glorifying God, then, are wider than redemption. Indeed, this could not fail to be the case: ultimately the grounds for glorifying God are as wide as God’s own perfect being.

Sixth, God is therefore worthy of praise even before and apart from salvation. The glory of God is a higher good than the salvation of mankind. While it is only those who experience salvation who willingly glorify God, we must not make an idol of human good. God’s mercy and grace are past all our ability to express or even conceive; but it would be no kindness at all for us to replace God’s supremacy in God’s own purposes.

Seventh, thus the Reformation solas persistently put mankind in his place. We have no knowledge of God apart from his self-revelation. We have no ability to earn our salvation, but Christ must do all for us and in our place. We have no basis on which to claim any of the benefits of Christ’s work except God’s unfettered kindness. Even when we come to receive Christ freely offered in the gospel, we give nothing in exchange: in this connection, faith is a strictly receptive faculty. Thus the first four solas highlight the radical poverty of created and fallen man before the creating and redeeming God.

Conclusion: Where We Stand

The last sola reminds us of where we stand. We are not the center of the universe, God is. The sovereign, covenant Lord tell us: I, I am he who blots out your transgression for my own sake (Isa. 43:25). Even in salvation, we are not central. God will be glorified, and God will be glorified in the salvation of sinners who can contribute nothing to their own salvation. In this way, it is no hindrance to our happiness that it is less important than God’s glory. In fact, it is no small part of our joy and comfort to sing with ancient Israel, Not to us, O Lord, not to us, but to your name give glory, for the sake of your steadfast love and your faithfulness (Ps. 115:1).

For Further Study

• Listen to our interview with David VanDrunen on his book God’s Glory Alone: The Majestic Heart of Christian Faith and Life.
• Camden Bucey speaks about the abiding significance of the five solas today.
• Jonathan Edwards, “God Glorified in Man’s Dependence.”
• B. B. Warfield, “Paul’s Earliest Gospel” in The Power of God Unto Salvation.
• Martyn Lloyd-Jones’ sermons on Romans 11:33-36 (“The Great Doxology”; “The Only Hope”; “All of God”).
• John Brown (Haddington), Questions and Answers on the Shorter Catechism.

The doctrine of man’s creation in the image of God has received considerable attention in the history of the Reformed churches. Zacharias Ursinus provides a reasonably full statement of the main elements of the doctrine:

The image of God in man, is a mind rightly knowing the nature, will, and works of God; a will freely obeying God; and a correspondence of all the inclinations, desires, and actions, with the divine will; in a word, it is the spiritual and immortal nature of the soul, and the purity and integrity of the whole man; a perfect blessedness and joy, together with the dignity and majesty of man, in which he excels and rules over all other creatures.[1]

This definition of the image proper focuses on the constitution of man. Connected to that is the moral status man did and ought to have, and his place and function with reference to creation. For Ursinus, the function of man as ruler depends on his constitution. Man could not excel and rule over other creatures if he were not created with a superior dignity. While the ontological, moral, and functional elements mentioned by Ursinus embrace a great deal of what is comprehended in the image of God, there is at least one point that does not get mentioned.

Dorothy Sayers identifies this point in one of her most fascinating works when she writes:

Man, very obviously, is not a being of this kind: this body, parts, and passions are only too conspicuous in his makeup. How then can he be said to resemble God? Is it his immortal soul, his rationality, his self-consciousness, his free will, or what, that gives him a claim to this rather startling distinction? A case may be argued for all these elements in the complex nature of man. But had the author of Genesis anything particular in his mind when he wrote? It is observable that in the passage leading up to the statement about man, he has given no detailed information about God. Looking at man, he sees in him something essentially divine, but when we turn back to see what he says about the original upon which the “image” of God was modeled, we find only the single assertion, “God created.” The characteristic common to God and man is apparently that: the desire and ability to make things.[2]

In other words, the beginning of the Bible talks about God creating (Gen. 1:1). When it tells about man being made in God’s image (Gen. 1:26), the primary thing revealed so far in the text is that God is the creator.

Believing that “father” has been much more studied than “maker,” Sayers develops the thesis that man, made in the image of God, images God in the creative process. She analyzes the phenomenon of creativity and argues that there is a Trinitarian quality to it. In the mind of the artist at work, it is possible to see the closest image there is in created reality to the original Creator of all. The work thus stands as a serious contribution to Trinitarian theology, as well as a major work of artistic theory.

Sayers had an advantage in pursuing this line of inquiry, she herself was gifted with no small degree of literary creativity. No doubt it would have been quite difficult for someone who was not a creative artist to explore the analogy with suitable insight.

To be sure, there are certainly points to question in the development of her arguments and the dogmatism of her statements. For instance, one of her contemporaries and creative counterparts identified a glaring exaggeration in her thesis:

I must therefore disagree with Miss Sayers very profoundly when she says that ‘between the mind of the maker and the Mind of the Maker’ there is ‘a difference, not of category, but only of quality and degree’ (p. 147 [170]). On my view there is a greater, far greater, difference between the two than playing with a doll and suckling a child.[3]

Another point is perhaps more subtle, but still worth remarking. Even allowing for all the different forms of human endeavor, not everyone is equally creative; yet this does not make one person more the image of God than another. Moreover, creativity must never be equated with or set above godliness. Artistic endeavor is certainly good, but the new man is created after God’s likeness in true righteousness and holiness (Eph. 4:24), not in genius and inventive fertility. Thus the more modest account offered by Philip Edgecumbe Hughes rests on a firmer basis.[4]

Notwithstanding the disagreements it will and should provoke, The Mind of the Maker remains a stimulating and illuminating work, in more than one field. It is perhaps not surprising that it was a creative artist with an interest in theology who put considerable thought into the question of God’s image as it relates to creativity. She was not the only one to make the point, however.

Nearly 1500 years before Sayers wrote, the Antiochene scholar, Theodoret of Cyrus (d.457), made these observations:

Now, when such precision appears in music, listeners marvel at the rhythm and harmony of the strain, yet they do not appreciate human articulation. Art, however, imitates nature, but it is nature that makes the voice articulate. The voice is the creation of God, who is the Maker of all things. … As man is the image of the Creator he strives to imitate the Creator. And the things he makes are like shadows contending with the truth; they are true to their forms but lack their native energy. Seeing such providence manifested in human organs, then, stop calling it want of care.[v]

Man’s artistry is only an imitation of God’s artistry, abundantly found in nature. Imitating nature in our art, we imitate God in our creativity.

It is certainly possible to push this insight too far, as Dorothy Sayers did in places. Yet it is a helpful reminder that in the act of making us in his image, our divine Creator gave us also a creative faculty. This means that in the exercise of creativity, we may reflect the glory of God the Father Almighty, Maker of heaven and earth. This includes the arts, of course, but also innovation in other fields of endeavor. Since that is true, it follows also that creativity is not neutral. Here also we must remember and reflect our Creator (Ecc. 12:1). The God who judged his whole creation very good (Gen. 1:31) does not leave us directionless in the evaluation of our own work.

Because the Creator of all is God the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, the human act of artistic creation provides an analogy to the mode of working among the persons of the Trinity. It should not be overlooked, however, that this work was an exercise of love. The new man is created in Christ Jesus unto good works (Eph. 2:10). Therefore we most truly image our (re-)Creator when we engage in the works of love, even if they are not “creative” in the artistic sense.

[1] Zacharias Ursinus, The Commentary of Dr. Zacharias Ursinus on the Heidelberg Catechism. G. W. Williard, trans. (Phillipsburg, NJ: Presbyterian and Reformed Publishing Company reprint, n.d. [1852]), 30.

[2] Dorothy Sayers, The Mind of the Maker (New York: Meridian Books, 1956), 34.

[3] C.S. Lewis, Image and Imagination (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 168.

[4] Philip Edgecumbe Hughes, The True Image: The Origin and Destiny of Man in Christ (Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 1989) 62–64.

[5] Theodoret of Cyrus, On Divine Providence. Ancient Christian Writers No. 49, Thomas Halton, trans. (Mahwah, NJ: Paulist Press, 1988), 36.

St. Gregory of Nyssa, Anti-Apollinarian Writings. The Fathers of the Church: A New Translation, vol. 131. Translated by Robin Orton. Washington: The Catholic University of America Press, 2015. Pp. xxiii + 285. $39.95.

Theological controversy is messy and confusing. Politics and personalities get mixed up with genuine misunderstandings and obstinate error. This is true when the controversy is taking place between parties still living and relevant documents can easily be accessed or reviewed. When the controversy is ancient, when the sources from one side are only fragmentary, and when the logic binding two apparently disconnected positions into one objectionable view is lost, the difficulty is greatly heightened.

These reflections naturally occur on reading Gregory of Nyssa’s Anti-Apollinarian Writings. The present volume contains Gregory’s Antirrheticus, under the title “Refutation of the Views of Apolinarius,” and also Gregory’s letter to Theophilus of Alexandria (“Ad Theophilus adversum Apolinaristas”).

The first difficulty that arises is simply establishing what Apolinarius’ views actually were. His writings survive only in a fragmentary form, and are by no means perspicuous. Gregory himself, after presenting an exact quotation, comments that “because of a weakness in his powers of explanation, his thought is not absolutely transparent in its lucidity…” (120).

Gregory appears to have had before him a writing by Apolinarius called the “Demonstration of the divine enfleshment according to the likeness of a human being” (Apodeixis), but this has not survived. The translator made a great effort to identify, arrange, and explain Apolinarius’ beliefs from the quotations and summaries given by its opponents. While considerable learning went into the suggestions made on these points, they are still uncertain.

It is clear that Apolinarius held that the Logos took the place of the pneuma in the constitution of the man Jesus. It is less clear what he meant by that. It is far less clear how that was connected to an apparent belief in the pre-existence of Christ’s flesh. Perhaps the clearest element in his concern was fear that the doctrine of two complete and distinct natures wound up representing Christ simply as a God-filled man. This concern in itself was legitimate, and was ultimately resolved by the clarification that the Logos assumed an anhypostatic human nature.

Soteriology and Christology are inevitable related. This was also the case with Apolinarius, who held that in order to salvation, “[t]he flesh needed an immutable mind, one that would not fall subject to the flesh because of the weakness of its knowledge, but that would conform it to itself without any compulsion” (198). This is no less true for Gregory. “So he who died for us was, in his being, what we are; we who are of the same kind as we are invited to imitate him” (167).

It also has to be admitted that Gregory of Nyssa was not himself absolutely transparent in lucidity. Yet on the main lines of engagement he is able to present withering criticism of Apolinarius. If Christ had God as his mind, this would make him sub-human, in that his human nature would not be complete. Moreover, it would simultaneously make him super-human, in that his mind or soul was simply divine (175).

Although the book is rather loosely composed, it is quite valuable for demonstrating Gregory’s Christology. Parts of his argument are entertaining, while others are edifying and profitable. As with many of the earlier writings on Christology, the lack of consistent vocabulary for very precise concepts can lead to ambiguous or perhaps even defective statements. An element of particular interest are his clear statements about the communicatio idiomatum, in both works found in the present volume (140, 267).

Due to the difficulty of these works, this volume takes the unprecedented step of including commentary along with the body of the text. As most of the useful information found in this section is duplicated in the introduction and notes, it might well have been spared. Since the commentary is printed in italic type, however, it is easily skipped. Given the excellence of the translation, it seems a pity that there wasn’t more confidence in the original author. The decision to spell Apolinarius with one “l” and Apollinarian with two also seemed curious.

This book should be of interest to those interested in theological controversy in general, the history of exegesis, the Cappadocian theologians, the development of Christology, and the relation of Christology to soteriology

In a context of impending judgment, Yahweh issued a command to his people: prepare to meet your God, O Israel (Amos 4:12). A similar burden, though in quite a different context, characterizes Exodus 19:10–15.

With Israel camped around Mt. Sinai and Yahweh at the summit, final arrangements were being settled for the tremendous scene of God entering into covenant with the house of Jacob (19:1–3). Moses, functioning as mediator, ascended and descended the mountain to convey God’s words to the people, and their words back to God (19:3, 7, 8, 9, 14).

Since Yahweh was going to manifest himself in the most awe-inspiring theophany yet, a special preparation was called for on the part of the people of Israel. Its four requirements can be summarized in the one word: holiness. The people needed to be consecrated (19:10, 14), a fact which highlights that their default condition was not one of suitable holiness for such an encounter. They had three days in which to be consecrated (19:11, 15).

Four Requirements for Preparing to Meet God

The first requirement was to wash their clothes (19:10). It was inevitable that clothing should become dusty and grimy in traveling through a wilderness. While holiness is not intrinsically related to cleanliness, outward cleansing functions as a sign of inward purification. Israel’s innate lack of holiness did not consist of a spot or two of inadequacy—they were covered with unholiness as with a robe.

The second requirement was to set a boundary around the mountain, not to be transgressed on pain of death (19:12­­­­­–13). Anyone who did was to be shot or stoned. Human pride and daring have no place in an encounter with the holy God. The boundary was for Israel’s own protection.

The third requirement was to assemble at the sound of the trumpet (19:13). They were to be witnesses of Yahweh’s descent and the audience of his voice. United and respectful attention to his voice was the most fundamental requirement of the covenant (19:5), without which there could be no real holiness.

The fourth requirement was a temporary abstinence from intimate marital relations (19:15). In the New Testament, Paul also allowed occasional, brief interruptions of normal sexual activity within marriage for the purpose of prayer and fasting (1 Corinthians 7:1–5). As with washing clothes, this was a ceremonial expression of holiness. It highlighted that the fountain of new human life has been corrupted. So far from being born holy and subsequently becoming defiled, since the fall of Adam humans have been conceived in sin (Psalm 51:5).

Three Lessons from Preparing to Meet God

These four requirements of holiness powerfully held out three lessons fundamental for anyone preparing to meet God.

First, human lack of holiness is a profoundly pervasive problem. There is no moment of our existence that is prior to our defilement. And this lack of holiness is not confined to a small area, but it overspreads our entire existence.

Second, human lack of holiness is a genuine obstacle to meeting with God. The unholiness of mankind puts them in great danger from the holiness of God. Yahweh’s absolute purity of being and act sets him utterly apart from a corrupted humanity.

Third, only God’s grace opens up the way to a safe encounter of God with man. The very obstacles mentioned highlight how surprising this event was. God took the initiative to bring about this encounter and protect the people from the consuming fire of his holiness. The fact that this comes about in context of a covenant and using a mediator is significant, but somewhat in the background in this text.

Meeting God in Christ 

By this point, the connection to Jesus Christ should be apparent. The only way for a defiled people to safely encounter their holy God, is through Jesus Christ. His incarnation, death, and resurrection are the ultimate theophany. In him, God has drawn near to defiled mankind, bringing pardon and purification for sin in his wake. The only true way to prepare to meet our God is to trust in Jesus Christ.

For Further Reflection

For a discussion on the covenant theology of Exodus 19 and 24 listen to episode 25 of Vos Group, The Berith Made between Jehovah and Israel, led by Drs. Lane G. Tipton and Camden Bucey. For more on the topic of holiness see The Message of Leviticus where Rev. Dr. David Graves takes us to this important book of the Pentateuch to demonstrate how Jesus Christ, the once-for-all sacrifice, satisfies the demands for God’s justice.