The Upper Register Blog

“William who?” you ask. I had never heard of William of St-Thierry (c. 1080–1148) either until I was doing some searches on iustitia Dei in the Library of Latin Texts – Series A database (by Brepols) for my dissertation. (Unfortunately, you need a subscription to access the database.) Wikipedia has some helpful information here. Apparently he was a Benedictine monk and a close friend of the more famous Bernard of Clairvaux. According to Wikipedia, William wrote his Expositio super Epistolam ad Romanos (Exposition over the Letter to the Romans) in 1137.

On Rom 1:17, he writes:  “This righteousness which justifies believers, is faith … It is therefore called righteousness, because it makes righteous those who have it. Moreover it is ‘of God,’ precisely because faith is by grace.” And on Rom 3:21:  “What is this righteousness? He says, ‘the righteousness of God,’ when faith accomplishes what the law demands:  the righteousness of God, not of men, nor of works, nor of one’s own will.” 

And a little later in the same context, he writes: 

A man comes along, who alone was born righteous (Venit homo, qui solus iustus natus est). Yet he who took no delight in sin, did not refuse the punishment of sin. And this righteousness he gave to humanity sold [in sin] and unable by the substance of his nature to redeem himself out from it, in order that on account of his [Christ’s] punishment he might free [humanity] from the certificate of his debt. And this is the righteousness of God, that, through faith clinging to him who died for us, we might have from him that of which we were not capable by ourselves (Et haec iustitia Dei, ut per fidem inhaerentes ei qui pro nobis mortuus est, ex ipso habeamus quod non possumus ex nobis). For that which is conferred on us freely is grace.

[Translations mine.] 

This is a remarkable set of quotes, for here William of St-Thierry appears to adumbrate the Reformation interpretation that the righteousness of God is the righteousness of Christ reckoned to or conferred on [but see below] the believer by faith. He speaks of Christ being “alone born righteous” and yet taking the punishment for sin that sinners deserved. He then goes on to say that the righteousness of God is that, as we cling in faith to Christ, we freely receive from Christ that righteousness which we were not capable of producing from our own resources. The righteousness of God is thus a soteriological benefit that the sinner receives by faith. It is called “of God,” according to William, because it is a free gift of God’s grace, not produced by human volition or human works.  

Now it is true that William thinks that in justification God “makes” sinners righteous, rather then imputing the righteousness of Christ to them. But prior to the Reformation, everyone made that mistake. The clear-cut distinction between justification and sanctification was the Reformation’s unique contribution (see Alister McGrath’s Iustitia Dei for proof of that thesis). I realize that there is a danger of distorting the gospel when justification is interpreted as a transformative act that makes sinners righteous. But because William places the accent on Christ and his righteousness and death, and on clinging to Christ by faith, I think he avoids that danger. For a medieval theologian, the above is a pretty good approximation of Pauline doctrine, and I dare say it is a close enough approximation that William probably had saving faith in Christ. It is certainly closer to the saving truth of the gospel than the social theory of justification taught by the NPP (i.e., that in justification God declares one to be a member of the covenant community).

In my research for my dissertation, I rejoiced to discover Origen’s interpretation of ”the righteousness of God” in Paul. Although Origen had some pretty speculative ideas in his theology, he strikes me as a rather sober exegete. He interprets Romans 3:21-22 and 10:3 in light of 1 Cor 1:30 and concludes that “the righteousness of God” is nothing less than Christ himself.

Here he is commenting on Rom 3:21:

We can now see what “righteousness” it is that has been manifested apart from natural law. It is the same which the apostle Paul says concerning Christ, that “he has been made unto us wisdom from God, and righteousness, and sanctification, and redemption.”  Therefore, this righteousness of God, which is Christ, has been manifested apart from the natural law, but not apart from the law of Moses or the prophets. Natural law teaches us about equity among men or to know that there is a God. But that Christ is the Son of god, who is able to come to know this by nature? Therefore, apart from that law, the righteousness of God, which is Christ, has been manifested, testified to by the law of Moses and the prophets [Migne, Patrologiae Graecae, vol. 14, column 944].

Not only is “the righteousness of God” Christ himself, but it is given to all who believe, causing them to be cleansed of their sins, justified, and made fit for glory:

There is, he says, no distinction between Jews and Greeks, since all stand equally made under sin, as he had previously made clear, and now the righteousness of God, supported by the testimonies of the law and prophets, through faith in Jesus Christ is equally given to all … For that reason, the righteousness of God through faith in Jesus Christ coming to all who believe, whether they are Jews or Greeks, justifies those who have been purified from their prior crimes and makes them fit for the glory of God; and it makes them such, not by their merits, nor for their works, but freely offers glory to those who believe [column 945].

Contra the New Perspective on Paul, Origen interprets the Pauline lexeme “the righteousness of God” as having reference not to God’s faithfulness to the covenant but to Christ himself and the status of being cleansed from sin, justified, and qualified for eschatological glory on the basis of Christ’s atonement. “The righteousness of God” is thus a soteriological status that sinful humans receive by believing in Christ. And it makes believers fit for glory, “not by their merits, nor for their works, but freely (gratis) offers glory to those who believe.”

His comments on Rom 10:3-6 are also important. He argues that Paul makes mention of “two righteousnesses” (duarum justitiarum), namely, “the righteousness which is by the law” (justitia quae ex lege) and “the righteousness which is by faith” (justitia quae ex fide). Origen connects these two kinds of righteousness with Paul’s statement in the immediately preceding context about Israel’s unbelief (“being ignorant of the righteousness of God, and seeking to establish their own righteousness,” Rom 10:3): 

“For Christ is the end of the law,” that is, the perfection of the law, and Christ is righteousness, but to those who believe.  Those who do not truly believe, because they do not have Christ, do not have the perfection of the law; and for this reason neither are they able to arrive at righteousness. “For Moses writes that the righteousness which is by the law, which if a man does he shall live by it. But the righteousness which is by faith speaks thus.”  Already and in the preceding, the apostle made mention of two righteousnesses, when he says, for being ignorant of the righteousness of God, Israel sought to establish their own righteousness:  and here now he speaks again of two righteousnesses, one which is by the law, and the other which is by faith. But it seems to me that that righteousness which he had said above was ignored by Israel, the righteousness of God, is the same as the righteousness which is by faith. And that righteousness indeed of which he had said, “seeking to establish their own righteousness,” is the same as the righteousness which Moses here introduces with words, that “righteousness which is by the law, which if a man does he shall live by it” [column 1160].

I repeat: Origen says, “It seems to me that that righteousness which he had said above was ignored by Israel, the righteousness of God, is the same as the righteousness which is by faith,” while “their own righteousness” is the same as the righteousness which is by the law. 

I think this is significant because many scholars from Cremer to Käsemann to the New Perspective (Dunn and Wright) reject the identification of “the righteousness of God” with “the righteousness of faith.” Although they acknowledge the close connection between the two, these scholars want to emphasize the theocentric meaning of “the righteousness of God” (interpreted as God’s saving righteousness in fulfillment of his covenant promises) while allowing only the latter term, “the righteousness of faith,” to refer to the soteriological status of righteousness enjoyed by the believer. 

My brother-in-law, Scott Yoshikawa (Ph.D. in NT at Trinity Evangelical Divinity School under D. A. Carson), teaches Greek at Biola University in La Mirada, CA. Some of his students created this clever music video called All Things Are Better in Koine. Scott is the professor who is briefly featured in the video several times. Enjoy.

In the first two chapters of Part 1, Kim examines the arguments of the “Paul and Empire” coalition with regard to four of Paul’s epistles – 1 Thessalonians, Philippians, Romans, and 1 Corinthians. In these epistles Paul employs a number of key theological terms that were also used by the imperial cult, such as:

kyrios (lord), parousia (official visit), epiphaneia (manifestation), apantesis (meeting of citizens with visiting dignitary), eirene kai asphaleia (pax et securitas), soter (savior), soteria (deliverance), ekklesia (the assembly of citizens of a polis), politeuma (commonwealth), dikaiosyne (justice), euangelion (good news), eleutheria (freedom), pistis (loyalty), elpis (hope), and katallage (reconciliation). 

While the impressive terminological parallels at first seem to invite a counter-imperial reading, Kim argues that the “Paul and Empire” coalition is guilty of methodological errors (chapter 3).

Their primary error is “parallelomania,” a phrase coined by the Jewish scholar Samuel Sandmel in 1962 in protest against those who assumed that any parallels in language between the NT and its pagan and Jewish environment proved that the NT authors were dependent on the particular author whose language is paralleled in the NT. The imperial parallels listed above turn out to be superficial, because even if they were originally derived from a Roman imperial context, Paul does not use these terms with any counter-imperial intent or with the aim of subverting the Roman Empire.

Kim argues that while the words may have had political meanings in imperial contexts, it is not warranted to assume that Paul is using those words with the same political meanings or with the intent of deliberately describing his gospel in counter-imperial terms. This may of course occur, but it has to be demonstrated by examining the context of Paul’s usage of these terms.

The closest that Paul comes to critiquing Rome is 1 Thess 5:3 where Paul says, “While people are saying, ‘There is peace and security,’ then sudden destruction will come upon them” (ESV). But, Kim argues, while Paul may have the Roman propaganda of pax Romana in his sights here, he is merely warning Christians not to be lulled into complacency and is not attacking Roman imperialism per se.

But for the vast majority of the above terms, e.g., kyrios, euangelion, dikaiosyne, katallage, etc., analysis of how Paul uses these terms within the context of his writings and mission demonstrates that he used them to convey his own message about the gospel of Christ, not to critique the Roman Empire or the imperial cult. Such a reading must be imposed on the texts in question by assuming deductively that since the Roman order and the imperial cult were so pervasive, that Paul had to have had this political reality in view when using these terms and therefore could only have been using the terms subversively.

Kim writes:

Really they impose anti-imperial meanings onto these terms and string those passages up, sometimes extrapolating the meaning of one passage to another, in order to claim that Paul preached the gospel in deliberate antithesis to the imperial ideology and cult. This looks like a new application of the old-fashioned proof-text method that dogmatists employed to construct doctrines, and dispensationalists used to construct elaborate eschatological scenarios (p. 32).

Chapter 4 is titled, “Factors That Make an Anti-Imperial Interpretation Difficult.” Kim draws attention to 9 factors. I will not rehearse them all there, but here are a few that stand out.

Romans 13:1-7

The most obvious problem for the counter-imperial interpretation is Paul’s positive assessment of the governing authorities in Romans 13:1-7. As many other scholars have noted (e.g., Denny Burk in his recent JETS article, which I summarized here), this is a huge hurdle that the “Paul and Empire” coalition have struggled mightily to overcome with what appears to many to be tortuous exegesis. Kim calls Rom 13:1-7 “the Achilles’ heel for all anti-imperial readings of Paul” (p. 36).

The scarcity of references to the imperial cult

When Paul discusses the problem of pagan idolatry in 1 Cor 8-10 and Rom 1:18-32, he does not single out emperor worship itself. 2 Thess 2:3-12 is one place where Paul does have in mind the emperor cult when he speaks of one who “exalts himself … so that he takes his seat in the temple of God, proclaiming himself to be God” (v 4 ESV). Yet Paul appeals to the future appearance of the “man of lawlessness” as an event that has not yet occurred in order to convince the Thessalonians that the day of the Lord has not yet arrived. This “would indirectly confirm that at present he is not concerned about the imperial cult as much as his political interpreters claim he is” (p. 35).

Paul’s expectation of acquittal and release

In Phil 1:19-26, Paul expresses his confidence that when he gets his day in court before Caesar, he will be acquitted and released. Kim argues that Paul himself believed that his message was politically innocuous and, if given the chance, that he would be able to convince Caesar of this as well. “A man with such a hope could hardly have preached the gospel in an anti-imperial sense” (p. 50).

Paul’s socio-political conservatism

Paul’s expectation of the imminent parousia of Christ caused him to be content with the socio-political status quo. When writing to the Corinthian Christians he said, “each one should remain in the condition in which he was called” (1 Cor 7:20 ESV). Accordingly, “Paul never exhorts the believers to subvert the political system of the Roman Empire or change the social structure of their city or province” (p. 51). Instead, he exhorts them to be subject to the governing authorities and to live quietly* and mind their own affairs (Rom 13:1; 1 Thess 4:11). (*The verb is ἡσυχάζω: “Of conduct that does not disturb the peace. Christian leaders endeavored to keep their members free of anything that might be construed as disturbance of public order” [BDAG].)

Paul’s transcendent conception of salvation

This is my favorite of Kim’s factors that make a counter-imperial reading difficult. Paul believed that the fundamental problems confronting humanity did not have to do with political oppression, imperialism, and the like, but with humanity’s alienation from God and its enslavement to the powers of sin and death. In keeping with his view of the basic problem, he proclaimed a gospel of deliverance from sin and death through the atoning death of Christ. All who put their faith in the crucified and exalted Lord Jesus receive the forgiveness of their sins, are restored to a right relationship with God, and have the hope of obtaining a glorified body free from death. Paul also taught that the physical creation itself will be set free from its bondage to corruption at the parousia (Rom 8:21).

When Paul is expecting such individual and cosmic salvation from God, and very shortly at that, how interested would he be in changing the present “scheme of the world” that “is passing away” (1 Cor 7:31), in order to make life in it a little fuller during the short interim period (v. 29) before such total salvation? (p. 60).

In my next post I’ll deal with Kim’s analysis of the writings of Luke.

Seyoon Kim, Christ and Caesar: The Gospel and the Roman Empire in the Writings of Paul and Luke (Eerdmans, 2008). xvi + 288 pp. Paperback $24.00.

As many of you know, there is a new trend in New Testament scholarship that attempts to read the message of Paul as a critique of the Roman Empire. Paul’s gospel is interpreted as the antithesis of the Roman imperial cult and its propaganda. In the past I have followed John M. G. Barclay’s label and referred to this trend as the “Paul and Empire” coalition. Others speak of “counter-imperial” readings of Paul.

Some of the names associated with this coalition are Richard Horsley, N. T. Wright, Neil Elliott, Robert Jewett, John Dominic Crossan and others. Richard Horsley is the first of this group because he edited three books on the subject in the last 11 or so years:  Paul and Empire (1997), Paul and Politics (2000), and Paul the Roman Imperial Order (2004). N. T. Wright seems to have jumped on the bandwagon in recent years, as evidenced by his book Paul in Fresh Perspective (2005) in which he continues his advocacy of “the New Perspective on Paul” but with the added factor of the “Paul and Empire” approach, resulting in what he now terms the “Fresh Perspective on Paul.”

The “Paul and Empire” coalition may be a recent phenomenon in NT scholarship, but like all intellectual trends, it has its antecedents. For example, early in the 20th century, Adolf Deissmann wrote:  “It must not be supposed that St. Paul and his fellow believers went through the world blindfolded, unaffected by what was then moving the minds of men in great cities,” namely, the imperial cult (quoted by Kim, p. xv).

Another important antecedent is the postcolonial school of hermeneutics in the second half of the 20th century which self-consciously interprets texts (including the Bible) from the point of view of the various “subaltern” people groups that have historically been oppressed and exploited by the great European powers such as Britain, France, and Spain. Postcolonial theory is responsible for the rise of the vague concept of “imperialism” as something that allegedly continues today in various subtle ways – e.g., in the economic and cultural influence of the U.S., as well as its foreign policy – even after the literal colonial empires of the 19th and early 20th centuries have come to an end.

In the preface, Seyoon Kim says that his latest book, Christ and Caesar, grew out of his forthcoming commentary on 1 and 2 Thessalonians (an overhaul of F. F. Bruce’s Word Biblical Commentary). Kim says that he was initially impressed by the parallels between Paul’s theological terms and those of the Roman imperial cult, and so he began his study with the expectation that the counter-imperial approach would help uncover the neglected political dimension of Paul’s gospel. After looking into the matter more carefully, however, he concluded that the terminological parallels are more superficial than real, and that the concerns of Paul in the use of these terms lies not so much in countering the Roman empire as in proclaiming a transcendent salvation in Christ.

After a brief introduction, the book is divided into two main sections:  (1) The Epistles of Paul (pp. 1-71), and (2) The Writings of Luke (pp. 73-190). The book concludes with a Summary and Conclusion (pp. 191-99), an Epilogue titled, “Some Implications for Today” (pp. 200-3), and finally a select bibliography and two indices.

We all know these verses from Luke’s infancy narrative: 

“And while they were there, the time came for her to give birth. And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in swaddling cloths and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn” (Luke 2:6-7 ESV).

Because of the traditional interpretation of the Christmas story, we think we know exactly what these verses mean. However, the traditional interpretation has been called into question.

Bailey’s interpretation of Luke 2:6-7

Kenneth Bailey is known for his work on the parables of Jesus interpreted in light of Middle Eastern culture. Since he lived and taught in Beirut for many years, he was able to read the Gospels from the point of view of his first-hand experience with Middle Eastern culture (albeit millennia later). Based on his experience, he wrote an influential book titled Poet and Peasant: A Literary-Cultural Approach to the Parables in Luke published by Eerdmans in 1976.

In 1979, Bailey published an article titled, “The Manger and the Inn: The Cultural Background of Luke 2:7” (Theological Review II:2 [1979]: 33-44). In this article, Bailey’s view is that Jesus was born in the main living area of a private home, and that the κατάλυμα (“there was no room for them in the κατάλυμα”) was a guest room of that private home. On this view, the “manger” that Jesus was laid in was in the main living area of the private home, since (Bailey argues) most peasant homes had a small area about four feet lower than the upper living area to keep the family cow at night. The mangers (feeding troughs) would have been built into the floor of the main living area at the edge of the lower area where the family cow resided at night.

Bailey sets the scene as follows: 

Joseph and Mary arrive in Bethlehem; Joseph finds shelter with a family; the family has a separate guest room but it is full. The couple is accommodated among the family in acceptable village style. The birth takes place there on the raised terrace of the family home and the baby is laid in a manger (p. 40).

The arguments in support of this view include the following considerations. To begin with, Luke 2:4-6 says that Joseph and Mary went up from Galilee to Judea, to the city of Bethlehem and “while they were there, the days were completed for her to give birth” (v. 6). This suggests that Joseph and Mary were in Bethlehem for some time (days? weeks? months?) before Mary gave birth. This goes against the traditional view that they couldn’t find lodging on the night of their arrival, and since Mary was about to give birth, they had to act quickly and resort to a cattle stall.

In addition, Bethlehem did not sit on any major roads, so it is unlikely that it had a commercial inn. Jeremiah 41:17 is sometimes quoted to support the idea that it did have an inn, but that text states that the people stayed at Geruth Chimham, “which is beside/near” (not “in”) Bethlehem.

Bailey also places a great deal of weight on the sociology of the Middle Eastern village to further support the idea that the holy family would have stayed in a private home, not a commercial inn. If Bethlehem was Joseph’s home village, then he would have had relatives there. He would have surely sought them out, and they would have surely welcomed him into their home. Even if he had never been to Bethlehem before, he would have only needed to name his father and grand-father, and the village would have accepted him and found a place for him. It would have been an insult to his relatives if Joseph had come to his home village and stayed in an inn.

Finally, the term κατάλυμα occurs in the NT on two other occasions (Luke 22:11 || Mark 14:14) where it clearly means “guest room” not “inn.” The term that Luke uses for “inn” is πανδοχεῖον (Luke 10:34).

My thoughts on Bailey’s interpretation

Now we must admit that Bailey’s description of the sociology of the Middle Eastern peasant village is vivid, credible, and exciting. It is just the sort of thing that we who live in the affluent West two millennia later would miss, as we make all sorts of cultural assumptions without realizing it. However, as attractive and true as Bailey’s sociological observations may be, his interpretation is not without problems.

First of all, he presupposes that Joseph (or his father, or his grandfather) had moved the family from Bethlehem to Nazareth recently enough, so that when Joseph returns, there would still be living relatives in Bethlehem who would recognize Joseph as a relative and welcome him and his betrothed. Bailey writes: 

We have observed cases where a complete village has turned out in a great celebration to greet a young man who has suddenly arrived unannounced in the village which his grandfather had left many years before (p. 39).

But we simply don’t know when Joseph’s ancestors moved to Nazareth. It may have occurred so far in the past that no one in Bethlehem was still alive who would have been able to recognize any of the names in Joseph’s genealogy. In Luke’s genealogy, there are approximately 40 generations between David and Joseph. Who knows when Joseph’s Davidic ancestor first moved to Nazareth? Plus, let’s not forget about the major dislocation that occurred in 586 BC when the southern kingdom of Judah was taken into captivity in Babylon. At the time of the return, there is no guarantee that any of the descendants of David decided to make their homes in Bethlehem. They may have been scattered throughout Judea. When did some of them decide to make their homes in Galilee? We just don’t know. The very fact that Luke does not mention that he and Mary lodged with relatives suggests that they did not; surely Luke would have mentioned it if they had. Joseph simply went up to Bethlehem to register for the census “because he was of the house and family of David” (v. 4). In other words, he had been told growing up that his family lineage could be traced all the way back to David. Thus, logically, he believed he had to go to Bethlehem to register, since that was “the city of David” (v. 4). There was no need to think that Bethlehem was Joseph’s (or even his father’s or his grandfather’s) “home village” in the quaint sense that Bailey describes so vividly.

Another problem is that Bailey makes the circumstances of Jesus’ birth seem perfectly appropriate, whereas Luke seems to think the circumstances were less than ideal. Bailey writes: 

No unkindness or lack of hospitality is implied when the Holy Family is taken into the main family room of the home in which they are entertained. The guest room is full. The host is not expected to ask prior guests (or a recently married son) to leave. Such would be quite unthinkable and, in any case, unnecessary. The large family room is more appropriate in any case (p. 40).

So on Bailey’s view, it is actually “more appropriate” for Mary to give birth in the main room next to the animal stall than in a guest room. But Luke says that Jesus had to be wrapped in swaddling cloths and placed in a manger “because there was no room for them in the κατάλυμα.” Luke seems to think it would have been better if Joseph and Mary could have stayed in the κατάλυμα, thus avoiding the necessity of laying the baby in a manger.

Similarly, Bailey also says,

[Jesus] was born among them, in the natural setting of the birth of any village boy, surrounded by helping hands and encouraging women’s voices. For centuries Palestinian peasants have all been born on the raised terraces of the one room family homes. The birth of Jesus was no different (p. 42).

But then why does Luke make the point a few verses later, when the angel announces the birth to the shepherds, that “this will be a sign for you:  you will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger” (v. 12). If Jesus’ birth was entirely ordinary, the way peasant boys had been born for centuries, why does Luke make these two characteristics – his swaddling cloths and being placed in a manger (the same language used in v. 7) – a special sign for the shepherds? There seems to be something out of the ordinary about this birth. Presumably, a newborn baby wrapped in swaddling cloths and laid in a feeding trough is something that would have caused the average shepherd to sit up and take note. In fact, Luke seems to be saying that even by the standards of poor Judean peasantry, the circumstances of Jesus’ birth were extraordinarily mean and uncouth.

My view - Bailey is half right

In view of these problems with Bailey’s view, I’m inclined to think that the κατάλυμα was indeed the “guest room” of a private home, as Bailey argues, but with this difference – the private home was not that of a relative. After all, the κατάλυμα that Jesus and his disciples used for the last supper was not a room in a home of one of Jesus’ or his disciples’ relatives (Mark 14:14 || Luke 22:11). Perhaps it was akin to the sort of thing we see even today, where a family will rent out a room in their home to a college student in order to make some extra cash, although in this case, a Judean κατάλυμα would probably be rented out on a more short-term basis, i.e., for a few days or weeks. It seems unlikely that such rooms would have been rented out to relatives.

Thus I envision the scene as follows:  Joseph and Mary arrive in Bethlehem. Since his family roots are in Nazareth, Joseph has no living relatives in Bethlehem that he is aware of. Therefore, he needs to rent a guest room in the house of a family that is unrelated to him. But the guest room is already occupied, probably because other families have returned for the census, as the traditional view affirms. The owner of the house, not wanting to turn a pregnant woman away, offers to let Joseph and Mary stay in the main living area next to the lowered cow-pen, just as Bailey describes. There the baby is born and laid in a manger, i.e., a feeding trough for the family cow.

Many critics of covenant theology — e.g., Dispensationalists (both classical and progressive) and New Covenant Theologians (NCT) – argue that the Reformed concept of “the covenant of grace” is a theological abstraction lacking a clear biblical basis. The argument is at first plausible:  given the fact that the Bible does explicitly speak of a series of significant covenants (e.g., the Noahic covenant, the Abrahamic covenant, the Mosaic covenant, the Davidic covenant, and the new covenant) it is striking that a group of people would call themselves “covenant theologians” and yet their most important covenant is not one of the covenants explicitly referred to in the Scriptures!

And yet, on closer inspection, this argument turns out to be specious, since “the covenant of grace” is merely short-hand for the promise-fulfillment relationship between the Abrahamic covenant (and its antecedents) and the new covenant in Christ’s blood. Most critics of covenant theology (at least progressive Dispensationalists and NCTs) should be able to see that relationship:  the Abrahamic covenant (what Paul refers to as “the promise”) is organically related to the new covenant, not only as promised in Jeremiah 31 but as historically realized by Christ’s death and memorialized in his words, “This is the new covenant in my blood,” at the Last Supper.

It is important to recognize, of course, that the Abrahamic covenant had its antecedents, beginning with the post-fall promise of the serpent-crushing Seed in Genesis 3:15, continuing with the (redemptive) Noahic covenant of Genesis 6:18, to the point where these enigmatic promises concerning “the seed” are brought to a more formal covenant enactment in the various covenant-making episodes in Abraham’s life and their subsequent renewal with Isaac and Jacob. All of this can be wrapped up under the label “the promise,” which finds its clearest OT manifestation in what we call the Abrahamic covenant.

In addition to the antecedents of the Abrahamic covenant, we must also take care to see its subsequent developments even after the patriarchal age, that is, looking at Exodus and beyond. The promise so carefully enunciated in the book of Genesis unfolds in two stages of fulfillment that occupy the entirety of redemptive history from the book of Exodus to the Revelation of John: 

(a) the initial fulfillment in type and shadow at the time of the exodus, the conquest of the land, and the establishment of the theocratic nation of Israel with its sacred cultic focus in Solomon’s temple, and

(b) the ultimate fulfillment in reality in the first and second comings of Christ (note the already/not-yet pattern), of which the initial fulfillment was but a typical representation.

Because of this two-stage or two-level fulfillment, the initial fulfillment is itself part of the promise, for all of Israel’s earthly theocratic institutions (holy people, holy land, holy temple — all under the regal authority of God’s anointed kings and priests) are pictures of the greater people/land/temple/king/priest to come. The initial fulfillment is partial, transitory, scarred by sin and ends in apostasy and exile — a seemingly sad tale. Yet it is really a positive thing, for the initial fulfillment is a foretaste of the greater fulfillment to come. Its failure is inevitable, since it is not the reality. And its failure sets the backdrop for the ministry of the prophets who, while surveying the wreckage of national Israel, spoke of yet more glorious day and yet more glorious covenant (e.g., Jer 31).

The term “the covenant of grace” is merely shorthand that scoops up both the promise and its two-stage fulfillment under a single theological label to refer to it all as a single covenantal unity. As such, it carries with it an inherent drawback, as do all short-hand labels, of temporarily obscuring the rich texture of the details for which it stands. But as long as we remember the fact that the covenant of grace unfolded historically from Gen 3:15 to the Abrahamic promise to the initial typological fulfillment in the land to the final eschatological fulfillment in Christ (the new covenant), there is no need to be afraid of the label per se. In fact, this is precisely its strength, for it helps us to see at a glance the organic continuity of redemptive history.

So at first “the covenant of grace” may seem to be a covenant invented by covenant theologians to fit their system, but in reality it is firmly grounded in the actual covenants recorded in Scripture but looked at from a higher level of theological abstraction.

Perhaps you object to such theological abstractions in principle. Well, the Bible itself engages in such abstractions. Even the term “the Abrahamic covenant” is a theological abstraction, but it is one that the Bible itself makes. You can see this by asking, When was the Abrahamic covenant made? At Abram’s initial call in Gen 12? At the covenant ratification ceremony in Gen 15? When God gave Abraham the sign of circumcision in Gen 17? When the promise was renewed with Abraham’s son Isaac and his grandson Jacob? Interestingly, the covenant ratification ceremony of Gen 15 (see v 18:  “On that day the LORD made a covenant with Abram”) is explicitly distinguished from the covenant of circumcision in Gen 17 (see v 2: “I will establish my covenant between me and you;” cp. Acts 7:8). And yet the Bible speaks of “the oath [singular] which the LORD swore to your fathers, to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob” (Deut 9:5; cp. Gen 26:3; Luke 1:73). 

Following the example of the Holy Spirit himself speaking in Scripture, we must not only be analytic (making distinctions), we must also be synthetic (seeing how things relate). Unless we refuse to see the organic promise-fulfillment structure of the biblical covenants, we will have no problem speaking of a single “covenant of grace” that stretches from Gen 3:15 to the new covenant in Christ’s blood.  

James D. G. Dunn and N. T. Wright agree that “the righteousness of God” in Paul’s usage really means “the covenant faithfulness of God.” But there is a perfectly good word for “faithfulness” in Greek (πιστότης) that Paul could have used. Paul does not use this exact word, but he comes close. He speaks of “the faithfulness of God” (ἡ πίστις τοῦ θεοῦ) (Rom 3:3). Three times he says that “God is faithful” (πιστὸς ὁ θεός) (1 Cor 1:9; 10:13; 2 Cor 1:18), and on other occasions he uses the adjective πιστός in reference to God or Christ (1 Thess 5:24; 2 Thess 3:3; 2 Tim 2:13).

In addition, Paul uses a variety phrases and idioms to affirm that God keeps his promises, but none of them involves the use of “righteousness” terminology: “… so that the promise (ἡ ἐπαγγελία) will be guaranteed (βέβαιος) to all the seed” (Rom 4:16); “With respect to the promise (ἡ ἐπαγγελία) of God he did not waver in unbelief … being fully assured that what God had promised (ἐπήγγελται), he was able also to perform” (Rom 4:20-21); “It is not as though the word of God has failed” (Rom 9:6); “The gifts and the calling of God are irrevocable” (Rom 11:29); “For I say that Christ has become a servant to the circumcision on behalf of the truth of God (ἀλήθεια θεοῦ) to confirm (εἰς τὸ βεβαιῶσαι = ‘in order to fulfill’ [BDAG]) the promises (αἱ ἐπαγγελίαι) given to the fathers” (Rom 15:8); “For as many as are the promises (ἐπαγγελίαι) of God, in him they are yes … Now he who establishes (ὁ βεβαιῶν) us with you in Christ and has anointed us is God” (2 Cor 1:20-21); “the Law, which came 430 years later, does not invalidate a covenant previously ratified by God, so as to nullify the promise (ἡ ἐπαγγελία)” (Gal 3:17).

Paul frequently uses the noun or verb for “promise” in the contexts where he wants to affirm the faithfulness of God. Yet the words for “promise” are strikingly absent from the contexts where Paul speaks of “the righteousness of God.” This suggests that the translation “the covenant faithfulness of God” is incorrect.

J. Ross Wagner writes:

For the theological task of hearing the New Testament witness, especially to the extent that it is appropriate to characterize that witness as “a transformed Old Testament” [Brevard Childs], the relevance of the Septuagint hardly requires further comment. It should be emphasized, however, that the influence of the Septuagint extends beyond explicit citations to more allusive modes of intertextuality [Richard B. Hays]. In addition, the language of the Septuagint (whether the Septuagint is the source of new senses for particular Greek words or a witness to usages already current in Hellenistic Jewish communities) has shaped, in varying degrees, the language of the New Testament writers. Though investigation of linguistic influence calls for considerable methodological sophistication, such research is essential to the task of delineating the full extent to which the Old Testament is taken up and transformed in the New Testament. Tuning our ears to the rhythms and cadences of the Septuagint is a necessary exercise in gaining the reader competence that the New Testament expects of its implied audience.

From his essay, “The Septuagint and the ‘Search for the Christian Bible,’” in Scripture’s Doctrine and Theology’s Bible: How the New Testament Shapes Christian Dogmatics, eds. Markus Bockmuehl and Alan J. Torrance (Baker, 2008), 26.

Here. 

One of the fascinating features of the Greek of Revelation is the large number of solecisms or ungrammatical expressions. Most of these have to do with problems of agreement in gender, number, or case. I have noted as many of these as I could find in my notes by indicating what the correct form should be.

Greg Beale (NIGTC) argues that these are intended to signal OT quotations or allusions, but while this may work in some instances, I’m not convinced it works in all cases, or even the majority of cases. Often there is no OT allusion at all, and even when there is, the ungrammatical expression itself is not copied from the LXX (e.g., see the solecism of ὅμοιον + acc. [should be dative] in the phrase ὅμοιον υἱὸν ἀνθρώπου [”one like the son of man”] in Rev 1:13 and 14:14 — whereas the LXX & Theodotion have a different construction using ὡς).

I think this is interesting theologically. It seems to demand that inerrancy pertains to what the Scriptures affirm, not to the grammatical form in which the affirmations are made.

On the whole, the Greek of Revelation has a strong Hebraic cast. It is much simpler Greek than that of Luke-Acts or Hebrews, but it is also challenging because of the rough/awkward nature of the Greek (like Mark but even rougher).

But don’t lose the forest for the trees. The overall experience of Revelation is overwhelming. Worthy is the Lamb that was slain!