Christ’s Crucifixion Isn’t Child Sacrifice
Children did not consent to being sacrificed to Molech. Their death was forced upon them, and had they been knowledgeable of their fate, they would almost certainly have refused to die. By contrast, Jesus was not a helpless victim thrown into the fiery hands of Molech against his will. He willingly went to the cross because he had full knowledge of his identity, his mission, and the importance of his work. Jesus said, “I am the good shepherd; the good shepherd lays down His life for the sheep” (John 10:11), and again, “I lay down My life so that I may take it again” (John 10:17).
In an age of political correctness, Christianity is a prime offender. It’s not only Scripture’s sexual ethics that get canceled. Even bedrock creeds like Christ’s crucifixion are on the chopping block. Many professing Christians are uncomfortable with God killing his Son as the penalty for our crimes. They see this as child sacrifice. From their perspective, it’s impossible for such a doctrine to be consistent with God’s character when it’s so clear that God abhors the killing of innocent children.
Part of the temptation to shy away from historic Christian teaching stems from a disturbing new trend of “deconstructing” faith. What practitioners claim they’re doing is jettisoning Christian doctrines that have been tainted by time and tradition and therefore shouldn’t be believed today. In other words, they believe they are merely reforming their faith, a process, they would say, Martin Luther practiced with the Reformation or Jesus practiced with the Pharisees.
In reality, “deconstruction” is a broad term that is difficult to nail down. You’ll get different definitions depending on who you talk to. In my observation, it is the process of pulling apart aspects of the Christian faith that are undesirable and aligning one’s doctrines with culture or one’s own personal beliefs. By contrast, the biblical (and healthier) approach is to correct mistaken theology by conforming it to what Scripture teaches. The key difference between the two approaches is the standard used to determine theology: it’s either Scripture or it’s something else (e.g., society and self).
Given that the historic understanding of the atonement has fallen out of favor with some deconstructionists, let’s consider three reasons why characterizing it as child sacrifice is inappropriate.
First, Christ was not a child. In ancient Israel, children were sacrificed to cult deities like Molech. Those sacrificed, however, were babies or infants. Although Jesus is given the title of Son of God, he was not a small child. Scripture tells us he was an adult, crucified while in his early 30s.
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The Trouble with Treacherous Servants
Indispensable servants are always at risk of becoming oppressive masters. Humanity has always known this; it is only recently that our technologies have become so useful as to replace human servants and occupy this ambivalent position, leaving their owners and users reduced to the spectacle of pathetic Ish-bosheths—unable to live with them or without them. There is no simple answer to this dilemma, though it may perhaps at least be some comfort to us in our predicament to realize that we are hardly alone, but are simply facing an age-old paradox that bedeviled Agamemnon before it bedeviled us.
In much writing about technology (including my own) you will often encounter the metaphor of technology as a treacherous servant. For instance, I wrote in a column for WORLD earlier this year about smartphones, “Technology is a great servant but a bad master; although these devices may be here to stay, we have a responsibility to ourselves and our children to ensure we are using them, rather than them using us.” The metaphor is common enough to be at risk of becoming a cliché, but I don’t know that we give it the thought it deserves.
After all, I think we are often tempted, when reaching for such language, to think that this paradox of “servant as master” is one of the novel features of our current technological experience, that it is precisely because our technologies have become so advanced that they are in danger of using us, rather than we them. After all, who was ever at risk of being tyrannized over by their hammer or hatchet? And yet, the problem of treacherous servants turning on or exploiting their masters is a theme as old as literature itself—or probably older.
I had occasion to reflect on this while preparing for my “Faithfulness as Christian Citizens” mini-course for churches, where I draw extensively on Old Testament narratives to draw out illuminating insights for political life. One of my favorite such passages is 2 Samuel 3. For those a little rusty on their Samuels, the narrative goes like this:
Saul has died, and David, as the Lord’s anointed, is seeking to consolidate his rule over Israel. However, initially he enjoys only the support of his own tribe, Judah; the rest of Israel, understandably, rallies around Saul’s sole surviving son, Ish-bosheth. A civil war commences, and the balance of power slowly shifts: “And David grew stronger and stronger, while the house of Saul became weaker and weaker” (2 Sam. 3:2). A fascinating narrative then ensues. Abner, the commander of Ish-bosheth’s army, is described as “making himself strong in the house of Saul” (3:6); Ish-bosheth then accuses Abner (falsely or truly, the narrative never tells us) of sleeping with one of Saul’s concubines (thus symbolically appropriating kingly authority to himself). Abner responds indignantly and decides to defect and “transfer the kingdom from the house of Saul and set up the throne of David over Israel” (3:10). Abner then summons a council of the elders and goes to David on their behalf to pledge fealty.
David accepts Abner’s peace overture, but when David’s own general, Joab, learns of it, he denies that the overture is genuine, denouncing Abner as a spy and treacherously murdering him. David then goes to great lengths to publicly distance himself from this action, proclaiming his grief at Abner’s death and cursing Joab.
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Why Do Good Things Happen to Bad People?
It must not surprise us when wicked men act like wicked men. It also cannot be something that bothers us, for they will get what is coming. We can rest assured of that. We should also give thanks for the Lord’s mercy that we have not gone likewise.
Good Morning! In family worship last night we read a story that I’m sure all y’all know well. In Genesis 39 we have Joseph fresh off the betrayal of his brothers being sold into slavery in Egypt by the Ishmeelites, who were merely the middle-men in the providential plan of the Lord. Yet what you probably remember most about that situation is the attempted seduction by Potiphar’s wife. We aren’t told her name (a quiet way that Moses judges her actions), but every bit of her conduct is deplorable. Not only does she use her position to attempt to extract sexual favors from a servant of her husband, we also see her lie about why Joseph’s garment is in her hands. After all this nonsense what happens? The one man doing right ends up in prison.
Surely no good deed goes unpunished.
In today’s prayer and worship help we are going to think through a little bit about why those who do what the Lord requires often suffer, while those who do evil end up seemingly blessed for their efforts. Looking into that kind of thing of course is nothing new. It was a common lament of the Psalmist and other folks in the Bible. In Psalm 73 Asaph says, “For I was envious of the boastful, when I saw the prosperity of the wicked.” and Jeremiah likewise calls out to the Lord in his distress, “Why does the way of the wicked prosper? Why do all who are treacherous thrive?” In each of these cases faithful men are drawn to the apparent incongruity of the situation. Asaph is a Levite charged by David to be a singer in the Temple and is likely referring to the rebellion of Absalom and the civil disruptions caused by those events. Jeremiah is a prophet of the Lord sent to warn Judah of falling into the same trap as their Northern sister, to no avail. For someone like Asaph who is concerned about the worship of God to see the duplicity of Absalom and his compatriots and to know his friend and king David is out on the run because of it must have caused him some serious heartburn. Yet after this he reminds himself, and us, about the truth.
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Global and Local Floods: Two Sides of the Same Coin
For Calvin, then, the Flood was not simply an influx of water. It was a disordering of creation that interrupted the normal working of nature. The world was undone on a much deeper level than is recognized by either of the two predominant views, and the result is a miracle as different from a naturalistic flood as a cardiac resuscitation is from a resurrection.
The geographic extent of the Genesis flood recently became a flashpoint on Christian social media. Given the rancor over the topic, one might expect to find critical distinctions between those who argue for a flood that extended over a local area and those who believe it covered the entire globe. And certainly, the two groups each feel the other damages the concept of biblical inerrancy in some way. Yet the reality is the camps are far more similar than different. Both operate from nearly identical presuppositions, and both allow those presuppositions to drive them to adopt minority interpretations of biblical texts. My goal here is to highlight the commonalities and suggest consideration of a third way.
Side 1: A Global Flood
Advocacy for the global flood position is supported by several parachurch organizations that are, if not solely interested in the issue, highly focused upon it. This is unusual, as most apologetic concerns do not draw such dedicated attention. The organizations engage with the development of different flood models, but nearly all of them are propelled by the key assumption that the flood operated in a naturalistic fashion. To be sure, miracles are accepted at various times during the event, but the overriding belief is that the principles of geology observed today can and should be applied to the flood of yesteryear. All the models therefore assume a type of flood geology, in which the surface of the planet was completely reshaped by predictable forces.
Flood geologists often maintain that they hold to the traditional majority interpretations of Scripture. While this is true in many instances, there is at least one section of text they understand in a completely novel way. Gen 2:10-14 reads:
“A river flowed out of Eden to water the garden, and there it divided and became four rivers. The name of the first is the Pishon. It is the one that flowed around the whole land of Havilah, where this is gold. And the gold of that land is good; bdellium and onyx stone are there. The name of the second river is the Gihon. It is the one that flowed around the whole land of Cush. And the name of the third river is the Tigris, which flows east of Assyria. And the fourth river is the Euphrates.”
Here Genesis seems to indicate at least some of the Edenic rivers are still flowing, and that the surrounding lands are still in existence. Yet this is clearly incompatible with the notion that the Earth’s surface has been catastrophically changed by the flood. Flood geologists address this challenge by positing that the portions of Genesis describing the antediluvian world were themselves written prior to the flood. After the flood, the names of rivers and lands were reused for the new surface. The pre-flood writings were then translated into Hebrew and integrated into Genesis without revision or editorial comment.
While there is nothing logically impossible about this scenario, it does seem to me to be unnecessarily convoluted. What’s more, it represents a notable deviation in the hermeneutical principles generally employed by flood geologists. Creation science organizations routinely advocate for the interpretation of Scripture to be guided by a plain reading of the text. There is, however, nothing in the plain reading that suggests the Tigris and Euphrates are anything other than the rivers known to Moses’ original audience. Certain scientific pre-commitments cause the text to be read in a way which breaks from both the normal interpretive methodology and the historic understanding. As one article published by Creation Ministries International states:
“The first option is that the Havilah, Cush, Assyria, Tigris, and Euphrates in Genesis 2 are the same as their post-Flood designations. As we noted, this option fails to appreciate the devastation the Flood would have had on the continents, literally reshaping the surface of the planet as miles of sediment were eroded and laid down. Furthermore, as we have shown, it is impossible to match the Bible’s geographical description with the names in Genesis 2. So while biblical creationists such as Luther, Calvin, and many others held this view historically, it is no longer a viable biblical creationist option in light of current geological knowledge.”
Side 2: Local Flood
Advocacy for the local flood position also receives some parachurch support, but it is far less than what is given to the opposing viewpoint. This relative lack of organizational structure may contribute to the greater level of diversity in the details of the local flood models. Considering location alone, one can find suggestions that include the Black Sea, the area around the Persian Gulf, and the Mediterranean during the Messinian Salinity Crisis. Like their global counterparts, the local models all take for granted that the Genesis flood functioned according to known geological principles. Reasons to Believe demonstrates this when answering the question “Could the Genesis Flood Happen the Way it was Written?”:
“From a geoscience perspective this short list of the conditions required to produce Noah’s flood seems reasonable. There was clearly enough water which, when coupled with rapid land level change and suitable topography, could conceivably cause a flood of “biblical proportions.” While these mechanisms may not have been responsible for Noah’s flood, they at least demonstrate that the occurrence of this catastrophic localized flood does not require breaking the laws of science that God himself set in place (Jer. 33:25).”
Holding to a naturalistic view of the flood once again affects the reading of the biblical text. While the continued existence of Edenic lands and rivers pose no issue for the local models, the universal sounding descriptions of the flood require an explanation. These passages are subsequently held to be hyperbolic and limited by the context of the discussion. For example, Gen 7:19 (“And the waters prevailed so mightily on the earth that all the high mountains under the whole heaven were covered”) is explained by an appeal to Deut. 2:25 (“This day I will begin to put the dread and fear of you on the peoples who are under the whole heaven, who shall hear the report of you and shall tremble and be in anguish because of you”). Just as Deuteronomy does not intend to describe all the peoples of the globe, so the argument goes, neither does Genesis intend to describe all the mountains on earth. This represents a rejection of the majority reading found throughout history, much like the exegetical choices of the flood geologists.
Cashing Out
To be clear, I don’t believe minority reports should be rejected solely because they are minority reports. Yet I can’t say I’m convinced that either of our friends’ suggestions take a full accounting of the biblical data. There is a verse that nags at me, and it is one that is almost universally ignored in these conversations. The Lord, speaking in Gen. 8:22 after the Flood, states, “While the earth remains, seedtime and harvest, cold and heat, summer and winter, day and night, shall not cease.” It is a surprising promise. Did the cycle of day and night cease during the flood? Calvin thought so. In his commentary he explains:
“By these words the world is again completely restored. For so great was the confusion and disorder which had overspread the earth, that there was a necessity for some renovation. On which account, Peter speaks of the old world as having perished in the deluge. Moreover, the deluge had been an interruption of the order of nature. For the revolutions of the sun and moon had ceased: there was not distinction of winter and summer.”
For Calvin, then, the Flood was not simply an influx of water. It was a disordering of creation that interrupted the normal working of nature. The world was undone on a much deeper level than is recognized by either of the two predominant views, and the result is a miracle as different from a naturalistic flood as a cardiac resuscitation is from a resurrection. One is reminded of what Vern Poythress wrote in Redeeming Science when discussing the possibly miraculous nature of the flood:
“If the mechanics of the flood are completely unfathomable, no scientific theory can hope to capture them. The flood remains permanently beyond the reach of science. What, then, would scientists find when they examine rocks left behind by the flood? They might find pure chaos, such that no one could make sense of it. But both flood geologists and mainstream geologists think that they find order, and that a great deal can be explained. Evidently, God did not choose to act in a way that just left behind a complete chaos.
Second, one might find that the flood left behind a mature creation, after the manner of the mature creation at the end of the six days of creation. This alternative is less far-fetched than one might think, because the Bible gives clear hints that the flood of Noah represents a pattern of destruction and re-creation. In a manner of speaking, the flood returns the world to the watery, empty situation of Genesis 1:2. The Lord then proceeds to “re-create” an ordered world.”
To adopt a position like this forces us to re-examine our fundamental assumptions of the world. It reminds us that the God of order is Himself not bound by His own creation. The routine operations of the Lord’s governance do not govern Him.
There is a scene in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader when the boy Eustace is speaking to a retired Narnian star in the form of a man. Eustace explains that, “In our world, a star is a huge ball of flaming gas.” The star replies, “Even in your world, my son, that is not what a star is but only what it is made of.” Perhaps all sides of the flood debate might take the sentiment to heart. Perhaps in our world, water is not what the flood was but only what it was made of.
Sean McGinty is a member of Providence Orthodox Presbyterian Church (OPC) in Scottsdale AZ.
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