The Law of God is man’s friend if he is in Christ. It is not his master, and it cannot condemn him. But it does help as a good friend does. It directs him away from the things of the flesh because when he lives this way he is hostile to God (Romans 8:7). In that state he will not submit to God’s Law. Instead the Law informs him of God’s definitions of what is good and evil. And it helps him to see just how love for God in Christ should be expressed.

The law sends us to the Gospel that we may be justified; and the Gospel sends us to the law again to inquire what is our duty as those who are justified. [1]
Recently the topic of the relationship between the Law and the Christian has been occupying a significant amount of my thoughts. That is for two main reasons: 1. I read Charles Leiter’s book The Law of Christ; and, 2. I am preaching through the book of Romans. Why have these things made me consider God’s Law?
First, Charles Leiter’s book is antinomian. That does not mean he is unconcerned with holiness or urging Christians to a righteous life. It is antinomian because Leiter dismisses God’s Law. His basic premise is that the Law (ceremonial, civil, and moral) is abrogated and serves only as an example for the new covenant Christian, unless explicitly repeated in the New Testament. To be renewed by the Holy Spirit, argues Leiter, means the heart is changed and there is a desire to imitate Christ. Therefore the Law is no longer needed. That book forced me to think about the abiding use of the Law from the perspective of someone who would remove it.
Second, preaching through Romans makes me think about the Law, but for a very different reason. Paul is constantly talking about the law. Romans has been divided into 433 verses. 51 of those, or 12% of the verses, mention the word “law”. Sixty-six of those 78 mentions are in the first seven chapters. Of those 51 verses which mention the Law, 41 appear in the first seven chapters. There are 186 verses in those chapters, which means that 22% of the verses in the first seven chapters of Romans use the word “law”. That is a major theme. But in this book, the Law is not being cancelled. Paul is helping the Christian think of the right use of the Law in his life. The Law cannot be used unto salvation, but salvation encourages a right use of the Law.
All of these things have caused me to be refreshed by the Biblical teaching that the free offer of the gospel does not negate the Law’s usefulness for the Christian. There are many Scriptural references to support this way of thinking:
John 14:15 “If you love me, you will keep my commandments.”
Romans 3:31 “Do we then overthrow the law by this faith? By no means! On the contrary, we uphold the law.”
Romans 8:7 “For the mind that is set on the flesh is hostile to God, for it does not submit to God’s law; indeed, it cannot.”
1 John 3:4 “Everyone who makes a practice of sinning also practices lawlessness; sin is lawlessness.”
Texts like these have formed the foundation for the protestant Christian’s belief in the abiding value of God’s Law. The universal nature of this acceptance can be seen in the theological documents that were formulated throughout the Protestant Reformation.
The Sixteenth Century
The Heidelberg Catechism was published in 1563, written primarily by Zacharias Ursinus. It quickly came to be viewed as the best summation of the teachings of reformed Christianity and continues to be used and loved in many Reformed denominations. In Q. 3, the catechism establishes the Law as a convicting agent: “From where do you know your sins and misery? From the law of God.” It is commonly accepted that the Law functions in this way, but the catechism has more to say. It also describes life after the new birth, when man is renewed by the Holy Spirit. This life is the forgiven life, when man is pardoned for sin and declared righteous by faith in Christ. Describing that time, Q. 90 says, “What is the coming to life of the new nature? It is a heartfelt joy in God through Christ, and a love and delight to live according to the will of God in all good works.” And so as to make no mistake about the nature of these good works, the Catechism gives a clarifying definition in Q. 91: “But what are good works? Only those which are done out of true faith, in accordance with the law of God, and to his glory, and not those based on our own opinion or on precepts of men (Italics mine).” In the Heidelberg, the doing of good works which is part of the coming to life of the new nature, is defined by living in obedience to God’s Law.
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Membership through baptism includes the privilege to warnings that are to precede ever being placed outside the church, which presupposes de facto member-status in the church. But what about unbaptized adult members of the church? How can one who has never been received into the church ever be placed outside the church for not “embracing Christ and thus possessing personally all benefits of the covenant”?

The PCA Book of Church Order (BCO) teaches that children of professing believers are members of the visible church and, therefore, are entitled to baptism. Indeed, per BCO 56-1 baptism should not be unnecessarily delayed!
However, what the BCO does not teach is that a refusal to baptize one’s covenant child is great sin that entails a cutting off from the assembly. But should it? Should the BCO teach that to deny baptism to a covenant child is to deny a covenant child non-communing membership in the visible church? Or, is the BCO correct that children can remain unbaptized yet members of the visible church? In other words, in the face of pastoral oversight and instruction, should a parent’s refusal of the covenant entitlement of Christian baptism be met with the denial of the child’s covenant-keeping status? That is the principle beginning with Abraham, then dramatically punctuated through Zipporah’s intervention unto the saving of Moses’ life. (Genesis 17:14; Exodus 4:24-26)
BCO, a halfway covenant?
Does the BCO offer a half-way covenant that divides non-communing members into two classes?
A baptized child is to be distinguished from the world and considered a member of Christ’s body unless covenant incongruity is manifested either in delinquency of doctrine or manner of life. In other words, baptized children are to be given the judgment of charity with respect to their covenant standing in the church. In a word, Christian baptism is in the name of the triune God, by which the Lord himself places his name upon a covenant child.
The BCO teaches that an unbaptized covenant child remains a member of the visible church even without an intention of a believing parent to have his or her child received into membership through the sign of covenant membership. Consequently, it’s hard to understand how the BCO does not divide child membership in the visible church between non-received members and received members.
By implication, has the visible church become something other than a manifestation of members united by one faith and one baptism?
The halves and the halves not:
It would seem that two classes of covenant children are established by BCO 57-1, whereby non-communing members include not only (a) unbaptized children born of a member, but (b) especially those presented for baptism. Yet per BCO 56-4(g) it is not by birthright but baptism that children are “received into the bosom of the visible church, distinguished from the world… and united with believers.” Therefore, not all members are actually received into the church as members of Christ’s body.
Trying to make sense of things:
PCA ecclesiology distinguishes unbaptized child-members of the visible church from first class child-members who by baptism are especially members of the church; been received into her bosom; been distinguished from the world; and united to believers.
Put negatively and perhaps more strikingly, by implication the BCO teaches there are true members of the visible church – even adult members – who are “federally holy” yet not especially members of the visible church because they have not been received into her bosom and been distinguished from the world by being united to other believers in baptism.
Questions, implications:
What is it to be a visible member of the church while outside her bosom? What covenantal standing is there for non-bosom members who aren’t “especially” members of Christ’s church (because they have not been distinguished from the world, having not been united to other members of the church in Christian baptism)?
Has the BCO blurred the spiritual meaning of church membership, possibly by downplaying the theological significance of the sacrament when it comes to Baptist theology? At the very least, to be united to other members of Christ’s body is to be united to Christ in baptism. (In passing let it be noted that consistent Baptists will not be offended by the exclusion of their children from church membership for they do not consider their own children members of the visible church, otherwise Baptists would dedicate their children in baptism.)
Further ramifications, a reductio of sorts:
The practice of trying to maintain a two tiered membership for children leads to further difficulties with respect to non-baptized members upon coming to an age of discretion.
BCO 6-1 teaches that “children of believers are, through the covenant and by right of birth, non-communing members of the church. Hence they are entitled to Baptism, and to the pastoral oversight, instruction and government of the church, with a view to their embracing Christ and thus possessing personally all benefits of the covenant.” (emphasis mine) The reference to instruction and in particular to government can suggest entitlement to the discipline of the church. Perhaps BCO 6-1 presupposes baptism has been administered (given that it’s an entitlement), especially in light of BCO 6-3.
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Written by T. M. Suffield |
Saturday, September 3, 2022
We also learn by hearing the struggles of people who are still in the pit, describe the nightmares they’re living through, and tell us how on earth they’re continuing to worship God despite it making no sense at all. I learn as much, if not more, from these gnarled saints. Their struggles teach, and you don’t have to be out of the other side of your struggles to have learned wisdom. You see, treasure lives at the bottom of the pit, and like the inverse of Plato’s cave, those who have suffered much and still love the Lord can teach the rest of us how to live. Which shouldn’t surprise us, the Christian life is one of death and resurrection, after all.

When Christians suffer, when we experience pain, it often gives rise to doubt. We begin to wonder if it’s meant to be like this. One of the most quoted reasons to disbelieve in God is what’s usually called ‘the problem of evil.’ For most of us though it’s not the existence of conspicuous evil that’s the problem, it’s the pain in our lives and the lives of those we love. There’s a reason that C. S. Lewis formulated the challenge as The Problem of Pain.
Why does it make us doubt? I’m sure there are as many variations as there are sufferers, but broadly because if we truly believe that we are the beloved children of the most high God it raises some questions when, as best we can tell, he could improve our lot but hasn’t done so.
These questions are then painfully pressed on in many churches Sunday by Sunday as we preach a Christian life that sounds remarkably pain-free—this is certainly true in my charismatic tradition, but I’ve seen it much more broadly across evangelicalism in the UK. We preach what amounts to a prosperity gospel, where Christians are promised nice middle-classed lives.
Some readers might want to object that they haven’t heard this sort of preaching in their church, and thank the Lord if that’s the case, but for clarity I don’t mean that this is explicitly taught in the sermon, though that can happen. It’s often preached through the stories we share, through those we platform and those we don’t, through the questions our preaching does and doesn’t address, through the words of the songs we pick to sing, through so-called vulnerability that sufferers see right through, and through the reactions to those who are in acute pain.
We speak like the grand plan is that we’re all free from pain right now. Which, dear friends, it is not. You can quote Psalm 27 all you like but that isn’t what it means. There will be no more pain after the resurrection of the dead (Revelation 21), and that is a promise worth gripping to until your hands bleed. One day every ounce of existential dread, every lash of life’s cruel calumny, and every private howl you flung into the uncaring heavens, will melt in the face of the Lord Jesus as he smiles and embraces you, his little brother or sister.
And when I say it will melt, I don’t mean that as a nice verb to describe ‘going away.’ When the eyes of Jesus the consuming fire (Hebrews 12) look upon you tenderly, they will look on the root of Hell that has afflicted you with the force of a thousand suns and it will die.
One day our pain will go. But not yet. We aren’t promised that. In fact, the Bible tells us that our pain still has work to do—for suffering produces character (Romans 5). But even that can be a weight to bear, we are not responsible for ensuring we have achieved anyone’s definition of ‘adequate growth’ through our trials than the Lord’s.
Pain is required for growth. Ask any athlete. We immediately might have questions about how that death or that vile sting will cause us to grow, and it’s important to face them. They do not have clear and simple answers. Our struggles teach us.
I think I could be misread here. We often hear stories of challenge in our churches, and invariably they are told once those challenges are over, the people involved aren’t feeling the rawest edge of the pain, and it all sounds a bit neat and tidy.
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