This address was delivered on Oct. 9, 2024, at Theology Matters’ fourth conference at Providence Presbyterian Church, Hilton Head Island, South Carolina.
He went out again beside the sea; and all the crowd gathered about him, and he taught them. And as he passed on, he saw Levi the son of Alphaeus sitting at the tax office, and he said to him, “Follow me.” And he rose and followed him. And as he sat at table in his house, many tax collectors and sinners were sitting with Jesus and his disciples; for there were many who followed him. And the scribes of the Pharisees, when they saw that he was eating with sinners and tax collectors, said to his disciples, “Why does he eat with tax collectors and sinners?” And when Jesus heard it, he said to them, “Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick; I came not to call the righteous, but sinners.”
Mark 2:13–17
We do not know much about this man Levi. We do not know about his background, his personality, or what he was thinking when Jesus walked by. All we are told is that he was a tax collector. Tax collectors were not popular. Apparently, they have never been.
When I was a pastor in New Jersey I once went to a men’s breakfast and saw a man sitting by himself. So, I sat down with him. We talked. I asked him what he did for a living. He said he worked for the IRS. Later, I asked him if people treated him differently once they knew. He said they often did. He said: “They often just sort of clam up.” I said: “We have something in common!” … I suppose there are different ways of being audited.
Working as a tax collector in the first century however was especially difficult because it meant you worked for Rome. One reason Rome’s Empire was so successful is because it had very effective ways of collecting taxes. Rome used indigenous folk, locals, to collect taxes because they knew where the money was. Tax collectors earned their living by taking a cut off the top. Many took more than their share. Thus, they were hated. They were hated not only because they were often greedy but also because they were considered traitors. In fact, for Jews in the first century, the word “tax collector” had become a synonym for “sinner.”
So, when we read about Jesus associating with tax collectors, such as Levi or Zacchaeus, this is helpful information. Yet it’s not decisive. It tells us something, but it doesn’t tell us much. It doesn’t tell us why such a man in such a time in such a place would leave everything simply because someone walked by and said to him: “Follow me.” The text does not tell us. It gives us no further information. Don’t you find this odd?
Mark’s Gospel focuses on the theme of discipleship. From the beginning to the end, it’s about what it means to be called by and to follow Jesus Christ. And here at the outset where Jesus calls his first disciple, you would think there would be more details or some sort of explanation as to why Levi follows Jesus. But the text is silent. It offers no explanation. Nothing. Isn’t this strange?
Why Did Levi Follow Jesus?
There is no description of Levi’s psychological frame of mind, no account of his spiritual journey, no indication of his mental or emotional state or his spiritual condition. There is no talk about his quest for meaning or personal longings. We are given no insights into his hopes, dreams, or aspirations, nothing about his struggles, his sins, or the sorts of questions he had. There is not one word about his inner life, his motives or intentions. All we are told is that he was sitting at the tax office and Jesus walked by and “said to him, ‘Follow me.’ And he rose and followed him.”
Many interpreters have been disturbed by this lack of information. They want to know more about Levi’s mental or emotional state, his moral or spiritual condition, about what he must have been thinking. After all, it just doesn’t make sense that a man would simply walk away from a perfectly good job to follow someone who simply walks by one day and says, “Follow me.”
So, some interpreters speculate. They attribute all kinds of motives to Levi: 1) He must have been going through some sort of crisis, perhaps a moral crisis. 2) or perhaps it was a mid-life crisis: he was sick of his job and seeking a career change; 3) or perhaps he was bored and needed adventure, and like any good businessman, he took a personal inventory, made a cost-benefit analysis, weighed all the pluses and minuses and, despite all potential risks, decided that here were the prospects of a very bright and promising future. But the text says nothing about any of this. It simply states: Jesus said: “‘Follow me.’ And he rose and followed him.”
Why is Mark’s Gospel so disinterested in what interests so many of us? Why is it so ruthlessly silent about these sorts of issues? It’s because they are not the point. What matters here is not so much the circumstances of those who are called, but the power and authority of the One who calls. It’s not primarily about the moral, spiritual, or psychological conditions of those who are called. It’s about the power and authority of Him who calls, the power and authority of Jesus Christ. That’s what’s essential. That’s what’s decisive. That’s what’s fundamentally at issue if we’re to understand what’s at stake here.
Notice Jesus is not portrayed as “the Answer” to Levi’s questions. In fact, Jesus is never portrayed in the New Testament as “the Answer” to anybody’s question. Have you noticed that? Have you noticed that apart from a prior relationship with Him, no one ever seems to come to Jesus with the right question? Coming to Him cold, no one ever seems to get it right. Why? It’s because He’s not simply “The Answer” to our questions. He’s “the Lord.” He’s not what folk were looking or longing for all along. No, He’s beyond that. He’s the Lord. He comes with power and authority. He tells Levi, “Follow me.” And it says Levi “rose and followed him.”
It’s not that Jesus doesn’t give us answers. Once we know Him as the Lord, He gives us all sorts of answers – more than most of us want! But until we know He’s Lord, we don’t know the right questions – about Him, about ourselves, or just about anything of importance. But knowing He’s the Lord changes everything.
The text does make one thing clear about Levi: He’s a sinner. Jesus makes that clear when he tells the Pharisees, “I came not to call the righteous, but sinners.” The scribes of the Pharisees did not like that Jesus ate with tax collectors and sinners. You see, immediately after being called, there was a meal or party at Levi’s home, it says, “at table in his house,” to celebrate, apparently, Levi’s new calling. But the scribes of the Pharisees did not like it. They took offense at it.
Why Did the Scribes Take Offense?
The scribes of the Pharisees were upset not only because Jesus ate with Levi and other tax collectors. Levi had not yet shown any signs of repentance––no confession or contrition, no sackcloth or ashes, no rending of garments or outward signs of penance. Nothing. Thus, the scribes of the Pharisees were skeptical. They likely felt Levi’s life deserved a bit more scrutiny. More attention to his moral and spiritual condition was needed. They wanted to see the audit––some sort of moral and spiritual audit ––before they could accept his so-called ‘conversion.’
We ought not be surprised. After all, he had probably ripped some of them off. So, the demand for evidence––at least some credible preliminary signs of repentance––is understandable. It’s natural. Indeed, it’s not only natural. It is the way of religion. Most religions have a process, a method, or system of rituals or exercises for people to express or demonstrate repentance––a change of heart and mind.
The Roman church of the late Middle Ages, for example, had developed an elaborate penitential system, a highly elaborate process of repentance that began with com-punction, then contrition, then confession, then penance, and then, if all went well, eventually, absolution, the declaration of forgiveness. By following this process, each step or stage of this penitential program, one could be forgiven. And, as you know, the Protestant Reformers of the sixteenth century––all of them––rejected these penitential exercises, this elaborate process of repentance, and declared that we are saved by grace alone through faith alone in Christ alone. They said true repentance is a consequence not a prerequisite of faith. They said we are saved because of what Christ did for us on the cross, by Christ’s righteousness, which he imputes or reckons to us, and we receive––not by works or merit, or by cooperating with God’s grace––but purely and simply as a gift––a gift of grace.
Of course, this led to all sorts of misunderstanding, as you know. “What’s the matter with you Protestants, don’t you care about works?” “You say you’ve been redeemed by Christ’s righteousness, but some of you don’t look so redeemed.” “So, where is your righteousness?” “You say you’ve been saved by grace, but what about repentance?” This is what the scribes of the Pharisees were wondering about with this tax collector, Levi. They wanted to see “the fruits of repentance.” They wanted to see the audit. They wanted to see if Levi was sincere. And Levi’s life did eventually bear the fruit of repentance. But such fruit usually takes time to ripen, does it not?[1]
What Causes People to Repent?
One big question that Jesus’ encounter with Levi raises is: What causes people to repent? What causes people truly and sincerely to repent of their sins? The Reformers, again, as many of you know, had lots to say about this, John Calvin not least among them. Calvin insisted that repentance is a consequence of faith, not a precondition or prerequisite of faith. Why? Because no one, Calvin says, can truly repent without first having tasted God’s grace. Calvin puts it like this: “a man cannot apply himself seriously to repentance without knowing himself to belong to God. But no one is truly persuaded that he belongs to God unless he has first recognized God’s grace.” “Repentance is preached in vain,” Calvin says, “except men entertain the hope of salvation.” “Indeed,” Calvin says, “no one gives himself freely and willingly to God’s service unless, having tasted his fatherly love, he is drawn to love and worship him in return.” Do you see the point here? Grace comes first. Love comes first.[2]
I once had a student who was shocked to hear this. He said: “In my church you gotta get folk lost before you get’em found.” “You gotta make ‘em feel bad before you make ‘em feel good. You gotta make ‘em feel guilty, needy, desperate, or insecure before you can convince ’em they need a Savior. You gotta turn up the heat and make ‘em squirm so the Lord can save ‘em and then straighten ’em out.[3]
Well, this is not what Calvin and the mainstream of the Reformed tradition has taught. Calvin draws an important distinction between two types of repentance––one he calls “repentance of the law” and the other “repentance of the gospel.” Repentance of the law goes like this: “Repent, climb the ladder, fulfill the law, and IF you complete these stages of repentance: compunction, contrition, confession, penance, etc., just as Rome’s penitential system prescribed, and IF you are sincere (and we have our ways of finding out if you’re sincere), then you’ll be forgiven.” Of course, the young monk Luther’s problem was that he was never quite sure he was entirely sincere, had done enough, or that God truly loved him.[4]
“Repentance of the gospel” goes like this: Do you know the lengths God was willing to go to save you from your sins, the heights from which he came, the depths to which he was willing to condescend, the extent to which he suffered on the cross to make atonement for our sins? Do you know how much he loves us and gave himself for us? Do you know how much he has done to save us from the bondage of sin and death? This is good news. It is for you. So, receive it and now repent. Do you see the difference?
Repentance according to the law shows that God is just and righteous, but it can imply that God somehow needs to be conditioned, appeased, or placated into being gracious, loving, merciful, and forgiving. The Reformers never doubted for a moment, of course, that God is just, righteous, and punishes sin. Yet they also believed that God did not need to be conditioned, appeased, or placated into being a gracious, loving, merciful, and forgiving God. He showed He was all that and more on the cross.
Repentance of the law also implies not only that God has to be conditioned, but that we can be conditioned––or we can condition ourselves––into true repentance. And this is precisely what the Reformers rejected when they insisted that we are saved by grace alone, not by works of the law or following the penitential system of the Roman Church. Sure, you and I can change in some ways by conditioning ourselves. We can lay down the law for others and even for ourselves and demand compliance. And I do not suggest circumstances may not require it. We may even get results. We may even be successful in modifying the behavior of others or our own. But such measures will never truly change anyone’s heart or mind. They will never yield true repentance because true repentance, the Bible teaches, is a gift of grace.
“Worldly grief” produces sorrow, Paul says, but only “godly grief” leads to repentance (2 Cor. 7:10f). True repentance comes only as a consequence of knowing, first and last, that we are loved by God. Grace comes first. Love comes first. That is why Calvin says: “Repentance not only follows faith, but is also born of faith.” Calvin then adds this remarkable claim: “There are some, however, who suppose that repentance precedes faith, rather than flows from it, or is produced by it as fruit from a tree. Such persons have never known the power of repentance.”[5] Thus, for Calvin, the power of repentance is born of grace, flows from grace, and is fueled by grace.
True repentance, Scripture teaches, is a gift. It does not come as a consequence of hitting rock bottom, discovering our true needs or limits, the depths of our misery, despair, or depravity. And it certainly does not occur by being shamed or threatened with punishment. It comes by encountering the love of the Lord Jesus, just as Levi did. It comes by encountering the power and authority of Jesus Christ who, just before encountering Levi, tells the paralytic, “My son, your sins are forgiven. Take up your pallet and go home.”
True repentance takes a miracle––the miracle of God’s grace. It comes as a consequence of knowing that we belong to God and are loved by God. And don’t miss Jesus’ first word to the paralytic, “My son” (τέκνον)––a word of affection. This is why Calvin says: “Repentance not only follows faith, but is also born of faith.” It’s born of grace. It’s born of love. It’s born of hearing the Gospel, the good news, God’s Yes to us in Jesus Christ.
This is why repentance in the New Testament is not so much a matter of sackcloth and ashes as it is joy and celebration. This is also why repentance so often leads immediately to parties or celebrations in the New Testament, as it did for Levi, Zacchaeus, and the Prodigal Son. Have you noticed this? Grace leads immediately to repentance. Repentance leads immediately to parties.
Yes, I said parties! This may be a surprising word to hear at a conference of Presbyterians or mostly Presbyterians because parties are not exactly what we are known for. On the contrary, many look at us and say we are party-challenged, party-inhibited, lacking in celebratory spirit. It is not true. It is a caricature. We can have parties–– “decently and in order,” of course! But we can celebrate, and we have, historically. But the way we have celebrated is by giving glory to God, by praising God, and by living a life of gratitude, which, according to Calvin and our tradition, is the sum and essence of the Christian life.
We celebrate “by glorifying God and enjoying him forever,” which means the Christian life is not about striving to earn our salvation––or even about our salvation at all! It’s about responding in gratitude to God for his grace and mercy! Yes, the Christian life still involves repentance, “daily repentance,” Calvin insists. Yes, there is still striving. Yes, there is still work. But for those who have experienced “the power of repentance” that Calvin talks about, the motivation is completely different.
Justification and Sanctification
The Reformed tradition has always insisted that justification and sanctification go together. They come to us as a “double grace.” They must not be confused, but must also never be separated because they are, Calvin says, “joined by an everlasting and indissoluble bond.” How Calvin relates and elaborates justification and sanctification is among the most brilliant contributions of his Institutes.[6]
So what’s the point? The point is parties are appropriate. Parties celebrating God’s grace and mercy, the forgiveness of sins and our callings, the fellowship we have in Christ, God’s Yes to us in Jesus Christ––such celebrations are entirely in order. In fact, if we don’t celebrate such occasions there likely is something wrong with us and our critics are right to call us smug, dour, or “the frozen chosen.”
Yet, the New Testament does not suggest the Christian life is simply a perpetual party. No, the Christian life includes work, plenty of work. Have you noticed how often in the New Testament Jesus gives people something to do immediately after meeting him? Jesus tells the paralytic. “My son, your sins are forgiven. Take up your pallet and go home.” He tells Levi, “Follow me.” Few people meet Jesus in the New Testament without being given something to do. The Christian life is not just about justification or sanctification. It is also about vocation.
The Christian life involves toil, struggle, strife, and sacrifice. Yes, the Holy Spirit gives us strength to face all sorts of toil, struggle, strife, and sacrifice with joy, but we still can’t describe the Christian life as a perpetual party. That would be to embrace what Luther calls a “theology of glory” rather than a less triumphalistic, more sober, “theology of the cross.” Yet describing the Christian life primarily in terms of a theology of the cross does not quite capture the sum or essence of the Christian life, either, for those of us in the Reformed tradition.
The Second Article of the Barmen Declaration however offers us a beautiful description of the sum or essence of the Christian life when it says:
As Jesus Christ is God’s assurance of the forgiveness of all our sins [that’s justification], so in the same way and with the same seriousness is he also God’s mighty claim upon our whole life [that’s sanctification]. [And here is the summary]: Through him befalls us a joyful deliverance from the godless fetters of this world for a free, grateful service to his creatures.
What’s so beautiful about this description of the Christian life is that it holds justification and sanctification together without confusing them. It even includes vocation when it speaks of “a free, grateful service to his creatures.” Even more striking is that in speaking of “a joyful deliverance from the godless fetters of this world,”it captures beautifully what Calvin emphasizes when he insists that true repentance is “repentance unto the gospel,” not unto the law. It is not the fruit of wallowing in guilt or shame or following penitential exercises.
True repentance is born of faith. It is born of hearing the good news, of tasting God’s grace, of recognizing God’s love. True repentance is “a joyful deliverance from the godless fetters of this world.” Christians live from God’s grace, from hearing the Gospel, the good news, God’s “Yes” to us in Jesus Christ.
If We Say Yes to Jesus Christ
But we cannot simply leave it at that. We cannot do justice to describing the Christian life if we stop here. God’s Yes to us in Jesus Christ demands a response. And that response is, by God’s grace, Yes––a clear and unequivocal Yes to Jesus Christ. But our Yes to Jesus Christ requires us also to say No to many things because we cannot say Yes to Jesus Christ without saying No to many other lords, to many other principalities and powers, and to many other thoughts, words, and deeds.
If we say Yes to Jesus Christ we cannot avoid, ignore, or sidestep saying No. We must take saying No seriously. And let’s be frank: Many of you are here tonight because you have said No or you suspect you may have to say No again, and perhaps more insistently, and perhaps at a higher cost than ever before for you and your family.
Sure, there are some who take pleasure in saying No. They seem to enjoy it. But for many of us, saying No isn’t easy. And it’s rarely ever fun if you are, say, a parent, a pastor, or a conscientious employee, especially when everyone else is saying Yes. Saying No can go against our personality and temperament. It can cost us blood, sweat, and tears, as many of you know. But it is necessary if we are to love in truth. And it is certainly necessary if we are to love as Christ has loved us.
The church has often struggled to say No––No to many lords, No to many principalities and powers, to many thoughts, words, and deeds. Yet the church in every age has had to say No. Saying Yes has often been easy. But saying No has often come at a high price. The fact is nobody cared in the first century if you said: “Jesus is Lord!” You could yell it to the top of your lungs. Nobody cared. But what would get you in trouble, what could get you and your family killed, is saying: “Jesus is Lord and Caesar isn’t!” And so it’s been in many times and places.
Every major theologian of the Christian church has been compelled at one time or another to say a clear and decisive No to some false teaching or some set of “prevailing ideological or political convictions,” as the Barmen Declaration puts it, vying for recognition and acknowledgement in the church. From Athanasius to Augustine, Gregory of Nazianzus to Cyril of Alexandria, Luther to Calvin, all had to say a clear and unequivocal No––and not merely to minor, petty, esoteric theological points, but to long, persistent, and pervasive false teachings and temptations exercising influence in the church.[7]
And this effort to say No to false teachings and temptations exercising influence in the church is another remarkable feature of the Barmen Declaration of 1934. The Barmen Declaration not only makes affirmations but also states what it rejects. After each of its six affirmations is a “damnamus,” a statement that begins with the phrase, “We reject the false doctrine …” In Article Five, there are two sentences that begin with the phrase, “We reject the false doctrine …”
What is remarkable is that until 1934 this “damnamus” or “we reject” claim had been lacking in modern confessions. It had been a feature of the creeds of the ancient ecumenical councils. It also appears in various confessions of the Reformation. But it is not a feature of modern creeds or confessions.[8]
Why did the damnamus drop out of modern creeds and confessions? It has partly to do with the Thirty Years’ War and the Treaty of Westphalia’s aims at religious tolerance. Modern churches––churches since the mid-seventeenth century––have wanted to avoid appearing too negative or antagonistic. It is understandable. Few churches want to be known as the party of No, especially in a modern pluralistic culture. But what happens when the state or culture puts pressure on the church to conform to prevailing ideological or political convictions? What happens when the church is tempted to betray the gospel? What happens when the church must say No or otherwise betray her Lord, her charter, or reason for being?
Arthur Cochrane was an eyewitness to the birth of the Confessing Church in Germany from 1935 to 1937. He later taught at the University of Dubuque Theological Seminary in Iowa from 1948 to 1971. In 1962, he published a book, The Church’s Confession Under Hitler, that made a deep impression on many readers. It is the story of the Confessing Church and the Barmen Declaration. I read it in my first year in seminary. It made an enormous impression on me. One passage that shook me and is seared in my memory is where Cochrane discusses the significance of Barmen and “The Nature of a Confession of Faith.” Here’s what Cochrane says:
A genuine Confession, therefore, will not merely confess, declare, and teach; implicitly or explicitly, it will also condemn, reject, and anathematize the opposing error. Accordingly, the second paragraph of each article of the Barmen Declaration begins with the words: ‘We reject the false doctrine. …’ Naturally this condemnation, this damnamus, does not make pleasant reading, especially for the champions of the errors condemned. This feature of a Confession has often been lamented and denounced on the ground of its intolerance and lovelessness. The truth is that the negative exists for the sake of the positive, for the sake of definiteness and clarity. Hitler had no objections to Christians who confessed that Jesus is Lord; but he was enraged when they confessed that Jesus is Lord and Hitler is not. Moreover, the damnamus, like the woes Jesus pronounced upon the Pharisees, has to be uttered just for the sake of a genuine love for erring brethren. To spare them the anathema would be neither loving nor truthful. Obviously the anathema ought not to be exercised rashly or self-righteously. But if we do not have the confidence to say, ‘We condemn,’ if we still want to indulge in innocuous, sweet-sounding affirmations that can neither give offense nor engender strong loyalties, then it is a sure sign that we are not ready to confess at all. Then we are still satisfied with registering our opinions, convictions, and sentiments. And he who wished to escape to some Hegelian synthesis above the dialectic of thesis and antithesis, of truth and error, faith and heresy, would be a spectator––unfit for the ‘either-or’ decision involved in a Confession.[9]
What Does This Have to Say to Us?
Given the false teachings and prevailing ideological and political convictions vying for recognition and acknow-ledgement in so many churches of America today, what does this have to say to us as Presbyterians? What does it have to say to those of us who have taken vows to live under the authority of Holy Scripture and to be guided by the historic and officially adopted confessions of our church, and who are now being asked to endorse––and who may soon be required to endorse––thoughts, words, and deeds that contradict the plain teachings of Scripture and our confessions? I believe what it says is clear.
We must say No. We cannot endorse, sanction, or bless any thought, word, or deed, any identity, orientation, or relationship we please. Karl Barth reminds us: “A thing is blessed when it is authorized and empowered, with a definite promise of success.”[10] Having taken vows to live under the authority of Scripture and to be guided by our confessions, we have no authority, no right, nor reason to bless, sanction, or endorse what God has not blessed, sanctioned, or endorsed. We are bound to the Word. We cannot betray our vows. Our conscience is captive to the Word of God. We cannot betray our conscience. We must say No. And the Board of Theology Matters and I have tried to say No as clearly and succinctly as we could on the front page of our last issue, entitled, “Keeping Our Vows: A Pledge of Presbyterian Officers.”[11]
Yet I want you to know that we know there is a lot more that needs to be said. We are just getting started. We have not yet made sufficiently clear how our No exists for the sake of God’s Yes. We have not yet made sufficiently clear how our No exists or should exist primarily––as Cochrane, Barth, and the Confessing Church remind us ––for the sake of an infinitely larger, louder, more definitive and decisive Yes![12]
We have not yet sufficiently understood God’s Yes to us in creating us male and female. Yet we know after doing so he said it was not just good but “very good.” How’s that for a Yes to our creatureliness? And the very first thing he said was not good was “for man to be alone.”
We have not yet sufficiently understood God’s Yes to us in the statement, “And the man and his wife were both naked and were not ashamed” (Gen. 2:25). They “were not ashamed.” Yet there are many people today––many young people––who are ashamed of their creatureliness ––their God-given bodies and biology––because their minds have been poisoned by prevailing ideological and political convictions. We have not yet sufficiently understood or appreciated much less been able to explain the significance of being created as “beings in encounter,” beings in relationship, the “difficulty” and “promise,” the “need and problem and fulfillment” of having a “true counterpart” who is clearly and demonstrably other than ourselves, and why being male and female is “the basic form of humanity” and why this basic form of encounter is so important, as Karl Barth argues, if we are to understand anything about being created in the image of God.[13]
Theology Matters has published many articles about marriage the last three decades. They are still worth reading. But we want and need to understand the gift of marriage better––better in light of God’s covenant with Israel––better in light of Christ and his church. We want to understand better God’s Yes to us in marriage because there is a life-giving Yes in all God’s promises and commands. Even the Ten Commandments do not begin with No, as the Reformed tradition has always insisted. They are not primarily negative or a bunch of Thou shalt nots. The Ten Commandments begin with God’s Yes! “I AM the Lord your God who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of bondage” (Ex. 20:2)). The Ten Commandments begin with a word of freedom and promise that finds its fulfillment in Jesus Christ. And so it is with all God’s promises and commands.
The theme of this conference is: “The Gates of Hell Shall Not Prevail Against It: Standing on Christ’s Promises to His Church.” We have begun and will continue to talk about Christ’s promises to His church. But Paul makes a key point about God’s promises when he says: “For all the promises of God find their Yes in him. That is why we utter the Amen through him, to the glory of God” (2 Cor. 1:20). “All the promises of God find their Yes in him.”
The word find is important. We are still learning how “All the promises of God find their Yes in him.” We have a lot more to learn. And we are still learning how to say No for the sake of God’s Yes. There’s still much we do not know. But this much we do know: Our Lord Jesus said, “From the beginning of creation, ‘God made them male and female.’ ‘For this reason a man shall leave his father and mother and cleave unto to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh.’ … What therefore God has joined together, let no man put asunder” (Mark 10:6–9).
Whatever else can or should be drawn from this our Lord’s teaching, this much is clear: Being created male and female was God’s idea, not ours. So is the gift, promise, and blessing of marriage between a man and a woman. Indeed, God takes marriage between a man and a woman so seriously that he devoted an entire commandment to preserving it and setting a hedge around it. So, to insist not only that we may but that we must affirm, sanction, endorse, or bless any number of sexual identities, orientations, or relationships, or any that anyone identifies with at any time, is to deny not only the clear and unambiguous teaching of Scripture and our Confessions. It is to deny the basic form, structure, and determination of our humanity. And to it, we can only say No.
I mentioned Athanasius earlier. His opponents told him, “You’re making a mountain out of mole hill. Besides, the whole world is against you, Athanasius.” To which he replied, “Then I will be ‘Athanasius against the world,’” Athanasius contra mundum. An so he was. Yet today even modern Christians say of Athanasius: “It is his glory that he did not move with the times; it is his reward that he now remains when those times, as all times do, have moved away.”[14] May it be so for us.
Earlier we sang, “He breaks the power of reigning sin; He sets the prisoners free.” He does break the power of reigning sin and set the prisoner free. But the way He usually does it is by giving his people the power to say No.
So, brothers and sisters, my prayer for you is that you will receive and live from the power of repentance that Calvin talks about. I pray that you will experience the glorious, liberating, miraculous, healing, life-giving power of saying No!––No, to the godless fetters of this world. No, to bondage. No, to what the Bible and our Confessions call sin. And may our “yes be yes” and our “no be no.”
But may our No be for the sake of God’s Yes. For the sake of the Gospel, let us not be defined primarily by what we are against but rather than what we are for, not by what we hate but by what we love. Let the world know that God’s No does not exist for its own sake, but for the sake of his Yes to us in Jesus Christ. “For all the promises of God find their Yes in him.”
[1] The phrase, “fruit of repentance,” appears only in Matthew’s and Luke’s Gospel.
[2] John Calvin, Institutes of the Christian Religion, trans. Ford Lewis Battles (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1960) III.3.2. Hereafter cited Institutes; Commentaries on the Twelve Minor Prophets, trans. John Owen (Edinburgh: Calvin Translation Society, 1846), 2:60 (Joel 2:13); Institutes I.5.3.
[3] Many modern evangelists and apologists start with sin or the wrath of God according to the so-called “Roman Road,” that is, according to the Epistle to the Romans, supposedly. But Romans does not begin with sin or the wrath of God. Paul mentions the gospel five times in the first seventeen verses of Romans before he talks about the wrath of God.
[4] Calvin, Institutes III.3ff, “Few distinctions in theology and pastoral counseling are more important than that discussed by Calvin in Book Three of the Institutes, between what he calls ‘legal repentance’ and ‘evangelical repentance’ in his critique of the medieval sacrament of penance. Legal repentance is the view that says, “Repent, and IF you repent you will be forgiven!” as though God our Father has to be conditioned into being gracious. …’” James B. Torrance, “Christ In Our Place” in A Passion For Christ (Lenoir: PLC Publications, 1999), 34.
[5] Calvin, Institutes III.3.1.
[6] In Book III of his Institutes, Calvin treats sanctification first in chapters 1–10 and then justification in chapters 11–18. At the pivot point, he refers to justification and sanctification as a “double grace” or “duplex gratiae” Institutes III.11.1.
[7] Yet saying No for Barth presupposed God’s Yes. See “The Yes Hidden in Barth’s No to Brunner: The First Commandment as a Theological Axiom” in George Hunsinger, Evangelical, Catholic, and Reformed: Doctrinal Essays on Barth and Related Themes (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2015), 85–105.
[8] This is why Dietrich Bonhoeffer claims: “The modern ecumenical councils are anything but councils, because the word ‘heresy’ has been stricken from their vocabulary.” Dietrich Bonhoeffer, “Christologie” in Gesammelte Schriften (Munich: Kaiser Verlag, 1966), 3:206.
[9] Arthur C. Cochrane, The Church’s Confession Under Hitler (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1962), 211–212. Cochrane here paraphrases what Karl Barth elaborates in the Church Dogmatics I/2:628–632. “If the Yes does not in some way contain the No, it will not be the Yes of a confession” (631).
[10] Karl Barth, Church Dogmatics III/1:170.
[11] “Keeping Our Vows: A Pledge of Presbyterian Officers” Theology Matters 30:3 (Summer) 2024:1.
[12] “It is true that in the task or the concern of the community we are dealing with a Yes, which includes a No. But since it is identical with Jesus Christ, it is predominantly, decisively, originally and definitively a Yes and not a No. It is not a Yes which is limited, constricted, conditioned and therefore weak-ened or called in question by a No. … If what it has to represent has to be a No, this cannot be its first and last, let alone its one true word. It can only be an intervening and parenthetical word transcended by the absolutely primary Yes. Whatever else may come between, the morning and the mid-day and the evening of the work of the community must always be unconditionally bright” Barth, Church Dogmatics IV.3.2:797–798.
[13] Before treating “Man and Woman” in the Church Dogmatics III/4:116–240, Barth elaborates “The Basic Form of Humanity” and discusses the basic determination of humanity as man and woman and why it is important under the rubric, “Humanity as Likeness and Hope” in Church Dogmatics III/2:285–324.
[14] C.S. Lewis, Introduction to Athanasius, On the Incarnation (New York: Macmillan Company, 1946), 9.
