Circumcision carried the promise of judgment for those who broke covenant with God. If someone rejected the covenant sign, he was rejecting the covenant Lord of the sign. If someone rejected the covenant Lord, he or she would incur the judgment of God. The act of “cutting” formed the signatory element of circumcision. The cutting away of the foreskin of the flesh denoted God’s promise to cut off covenant breakers from His presence, His people, and His blessing.

Early on in my pastoral ministry, I decided to preach a sermon series through Paul’s letter to the Galatians. Throughout the series, I dealt with the passages that referenced the old covenant sign of circumcision. After addressing the subject of circumcision several Sundays in a row, I was approached by a congregant who wanted to express his disapproval of me preaching “something of such a sensitive nature as circumcision” since young children were present. In response, I asked if he believed that I should faithfully preach God’s Word. He said, “Of course!” I then asked if he believed that I should faithfully preach from every part of God’s Word (i.e., Law, Wisdom, Prophets, Gospels, Epistles, and apocalyptic literature). “Absolutely,” he replied. Recognizing that he didn’t understand the prevalence of circumcision throughout Scripture or that God gave it as a sign of the covenant promise in the old covenant era of redemptive history, I explained that one would have to refrain from preaching a large portion of the Bible if he could not talk about the meaning of circumcision.
Misunderstandings about circumcision should come as no surprise to us. After all, even many in old covenant Israel failed to rightly understand the nature of the covenant sign of circumcision. Instead of trusting in the Christ to whom it pointed, they trusted in it as a badge of ethnic superiority. Instead of seeing it as the divinely appointed gospel sign of God’s covenant, they viewed it as a fleshly mark of merit. Several factors contribute to this ongoing misunderstanding of the nature of circumcision as a covenant sign in our day.
The first thing that contributes to misunderstandings about circumcision is that the Apostles largely spoke of it in negative terms when they referenced it in their preaching or included it in their epistles. This was necessary since the Judaizers (as well as other groups of Jewish false teachers) were spreading a false gospel among the members of the fledgling churches, insisting that circumcision was necessary for salvation (see Acts 15:1, 5; Gal. 2; 5:3; 6:11–15). To deal decisively with these errors, the Apostles spoke strongly against the need for circumcision. The Judaizers were telling the gentile Christians, “Unless you are circumcised according to the custom of Moses, you cannot be saved” (see Acts 15:1). The Apostles made clear that this was a false gospel. As a notable exception, the Apostles also speak about the blessing of regeneration for elect Jews and gentiles using the term circumcision (see Col. 2:11–13).
The second contributing factor is that many people today have never been taught the typological function of circumcision in redemptive history. After giving Abraham exceedingly great and precious promises, the Lord commanded him to give the covenant sign of circumcision to all the males in his household on the eighth day (see Gen. 17:11–14).
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The Pharisee outlined his accomplishments; the tax collector summed up all of his actions when he confessed to God that he was “the sinner!” One was a prayer of self-congratulation, and one was a prayer of self-abasement. The end result: The Pharisee went home still in his sins, and the tax collector went home as justified before God because of the righteousness of Jesus Christ imputed to him by faith alone.

The parable of the Pharisee and the Tax Collector (Luke 18:9-14) is the most theological of all Jesus’ parables. It is the most theological because it deals with the subject that is of most importance to the life of the Christian—namely, how a man or woman, boy or girl is accepted before God.
The irony of this parable is that both of these men were going to the Temple to pray. On face value both of them seemed to be praying to the same God. Both men came to the same place of worship. Both were members of the same covenant community. Both were men of the working class. But that’s where the similarity ends.
Jesus loved to draw contrasts in order to drive home kingdom principles and truths. When he sets out these two men, he does so by appeal to their ethical, social and religious standing. The Pharisee was a respected, religious member of the covenant community. The tax collector was a despised and questionable figure in Jewish society. Throughout the gospel records, tax collectors are identified with “sinners”—a term usually reserved in Jewish society for those known for their sexual immorality.
By Human Standards the Tax Collector Was Not on His Way to Heaven, but the Pharisee Was
In his sermon, “Going Up, Going Down: The Story of Two Men at Church,” Sinclair Ferguson set out a series of reasons why we would have to conclude that the tax collector was not on his way to heaven, but the Pharisee was. By all human standards, the tax collector was disqualified from salvation on account of the following sinful characteristics:

The tax collector had been an unmerciful, money-extorting man.
The tax collector was unjust to the poor and the weak.
The tax collector probably was an adulterer.
The tax collector didn’t pray in what was the acceptable manner and form.
The tax collector probably hadn’t been to the Temple in years.

Whereas, here are some of the apparent moral virtues of the Pharisee:

The Pharisee is a man of discipline and prayer. He had given a tenth of all that he had. (Sinclair Ferguson explained, “If a church were made up entirely of Pharisees, its church budget would double, if not triple, if not actually quadruple.”)
The Pharisee is thankful for all things in his life.
The Pharisee is different from other people.
The Pharisee lives a far better life in society than the tax collector does.
The Pharisee is more like you or me than the tax collector.

Yet, it was the tax collector and not the Pharisee who went to heaven, because the Pharisee had a religion that had no place for mercy, whereas the tax collector saw his need for mercy.
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We can be thankful in trying circumstances because we are being pruned to bear more fruit. The Lord is removing the dross and refining the gold. We can be thankful in trying circumstances because they serve as a stage on which the deliverance and provision of God’s grace in Christ may be displayed in our lives.

Often, the most basic of God’s commands are the hardest for us to obey. We may ask ourselves whether or not we would have the faith to offer up a child to God—as Abraham did when he was called to offer up Isaac—while never really stopping to ask ourselves whether or not we have the faith to obey the most basic new covenant commands.
Take, for instance, Paul’s statement in 1 Thess. 5:18:
Give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you all.
When we consider such a command, we must ask ourselves the following questions: Am I thankful in all circumstances? What about when times are difficult? What about when I have experienced some particular trial? The Lord commands us to “count it all joy when we fall into various trials” (see James 1:2). How can I be thankful and joyful in the midst of a painful trial? The answer, of course, is found in all that the Scriptures teach us about trials. Here are ten reasons Christians can be thankful in trying circumstances:

We can be thankful in trying circumstances because we deserve eternal judgment and whatever we are experiencing short of that is a mercy.
We can be thankful in tryingcircumstances precisely because we have already been redeemed by Christ, blessed with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places in Christ, and sealed with the Spirit until the possession of the eternal inheritance.

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Christians today, no less than in Machen’s day, desperately need to come to terms with the fact that we are all theologians–whether good ones or bad ones. While we must be zealous to guard our hearts against embracing the ethos of the vitriolic doctrinal voices around us, we must equally avoid giving ear to those who, under pretense of love and charity, have functionally encouraged “a horror of theology.” As Machen rightly noted, “Every Christian must think about God; every Christian to some degree must be a theologian. The only question is whether he is to be a bad theologian or a good theologian.” 

The noisy gongs of acerbic and judgmental discernment bloggers, podcasters, vloggers and conference speakers are scattered throughout our social media feeds…and they’re here to stay. The uncharitableness with which such individuals speak online immediately ought to leave a bad taste in the mouth of Christ’s true lambs. After all, the fruit of the Spirit in the life of believers is an inextricable constituent of doctrinal truth. No amount of insistence that one is speaking the truth in love (when, in fact, he is speaking the truth in anger) will mask the fact that he is actually speaking in loveless pride. As Jesus said, “A tree is known by its fruit.” The bitter fruit of an acrimonious “truth speaker” will inevitably be the bringing forth of disciples more fractious than himself. Nevertheless, the root of the problem does not lie in a love of the truth and a desire to trumpet forth sound doctrine–it is rooted in pride and self-love.
In Scripture, God everywhere charges us to be lovers of biblical truth. The early believers “continued steadfastly in the Apostles’ doctrine and fellowship” (Acts 2:42). The Apostle Paul teaches us to be lovers of truth and practicers of love when he wrote, “Follow the pattern of the sound words that you have heard from me, in the faith and love that are in Christ Jesus” (2 Tim. 1:13). It is often, on account of a loveless defense of truth that many Christians succumb to the opposite error, namely, the embrace of the diminution of sound doctrine. One doesn’t have to scroll through his or her social media feed for long to come across an influential pastor or teacher warning his followers about the dangers of an overemphasis on sound doctrine. It sounds quite pious to sophisticatedly downplay truth in order to up play love. Nothing, however, could be more fallacious and factitious. It is impossible to love the truth and to speak the truth too much or too often.
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The eternally glorious Son of God was treated as a stranger among His own people (John 1:10–11). But He came to make us heirs of the world to come. He came to fulfill the hope of Abraham, Joseph, and Moses. He entered that state of sojourning to secure redemption for His people. He identifies with the true sons of Abraham who also pass through this world as sojourners. 

After a decade of church planting and pastoring in the beautiful Southern coastal city of Savannah, Ga., my family and I moved on to a new place to begin a new ministry and a new season of life. As our time in Savannah came to a close, my heart began to fill with sadness over the fact that we were leaving behind beloved friends, a house we loved, and a delightful city. At the same time, I was reminded of C.S. Lewis’ statement about “pleasant inns” in his book The Problem of Pain. He wrote, “The settled happiness and security which we all desire, God withholds from us by the very nature of the world: but joy, pleasure, and merriment, He has scattered broadcast. . . . Our Father refreshes us on the journey with some pleasant inns, but will not encourage us to mistake them for home.”1

As believers, we are called by God to train our minds and hearts to firmly latch onto the biblical teaching that we are passing through this world as pilgrims and strangers. We can never allow ourselves to become comfortable here. We are merely sojourners passing through this world on our way to glory. From the first promise of redemption in the garden (Gen. 3:15) to the glorious heavenly vision of the City of God (Rev. 22), the totality of the Bible focuses on the pilgrimage for which God has redeemed His people.
When God called Abraham to leave his family and his homeland, he “went out, not knowing where he was going” (Heb. 11:8). “By faith he went to live in the land of promise, as in a foreign land, living in tents with Isaac and Jacob, heirs with him of the same promise” (11:9). Moving from place to place, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob walked by faith in the promises of God. The Lord had promised Abraham that he would inherit the land; yet, the only land he ever possessed during his pilgrimage was a tiny plot that served as a burial place for him and for his wife, his children, and his grandchildren. The act of burial was the last great act of faith. It proved that he was looking for something better—the hope of the resurrection. Abraham never had a permanent home until he died. When he died in faith, he settled in “the city that has foundations, whose designer and builder is God” (Heb. 11:10).
Joseph also lived and died as a pilgrim and stranger on the earth. Abraham’s great-grandson spent the better part of his life as an alien in a foreign land. He was cut off from his earthly family until the end of his father’s life. He was instrumental in the rest of his brethren coming and dwelling in a foreign land. When he died, Joseph “made mention of the exodus of the Israelites and gave directions concerning his bones” (Heb. 11:22). By charging his brethren to take his bones up from Egypt and into the promised land (which would not occur until some four hundred years after he died), Joseph was teaching the Israelites that there was a better city—one for which God would raise him up, body and soul.
After Moses fled from Egypt into the wilderness of Midian, he married the daughter of the Midian priest Jethro and fathered a son with her. Moses named his firstborn son Gershom (literally meaning “stranger there”). Scripture teaches us the rich biblical theological meaning of this name in Exodus 2:21–22, where we read: “Moses was content to dwell with the man, and he gave Moses his daughter Zipporah. She gave birth to a son, and he called his name Gershom, for he said, ‘I have been a sojourner in a foreign land.’”
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The rainbow is the sign that the Lord will preserve the present creation until the consummation of the covenant of grace when He will fully redeem His people from every tongue, tribe, and nation and bring them into the full enjoyment of a new creation. The sign of the Noahic covenant is therefore a gospel sign of the redeeming mercy of God in Christ (Isaiah 54:9–10).

Several years ago, my wife and I were driving back home from a trip out of town. At some point, we missed the exit sign on the highway leading to the town in which we lived. We drove for nearly thirty minutes before realizing that we were heading to the wrong city. We had completely missed the sign. Failing to see or to understand physical signs can result in unfavorable consequences; the same is true of failing to rightly understand God’s covenantal signs. This is evident today in the way many parade their sexual rebellion against God under the banner of a rainbow.
In redemptive history, the Lord established the covenant of grace with Adam, Noah, Abraham, Moses, David, and Christ. With each administration of the covenant of grace, God gave various divine signs. He set apart the rainbow in the sky to serve as the sign of the Noahic covenant. The Noahic covenant was God’s pledge that He would sustain the created order (Gen. 9:9–13). Because of His promise not to destroy the earth, mankind could be fruitful, multiply, and fill the earth (Gen. 9:1). In this sense, the Noahic covenant was a unique administration of the covenant of grace in that it contained a principle of common grace.
However, the Noahic covenant was ultimately serving the redemptive purposes of God. God was renewing the covenant promise He made to Adam when He inaugurated the covenant of grace (Gen. 3:15). In the Noahic covenant, God was setting the stage for the unfolding of redemptive history. Christ was in the lineage of Noah (Luke 3:23–38). Noah stood as a type of Christ, the head of a new creation (Gen. 8:13–19; 9:1–7). The ark itself served as a microcosm of redemptive history. The clean animals in the ark belonged to the Old Testament sacrificial system and typified the sacrifice of Jesus as the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world (Gen. 8:20; Ex. 12; John 1:29; 1 Peter 1:19). Clean and unclean animals together represented the Jews and gentiles, for whose salvation Christ came into the world (Acts 10:9–48; 11:18).
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Attempts to pit the teachings of Jesus and the Apostle Paul against one another will result in a division of the canon. This can lead people to undermine both the Apostolic teaching on redemption as well as the Apostolic ethic for the lives of the members of the New Testament church.

Some have sought to pit Jesus’ ethical teaching over against the writings of the Apostle Paul. Such false dichotomizing is often driven by a desire to distance oneself from the Apostle’s clear condemnation of homosexuality (Rom. 1:26–27; 1 Cor. 6:9; 1 Tim. 1:10) and restrictions regarding roles in the church (1 Tim. 2:12; 1 Cor. 14:35). But interpreting what Jesus taught during His earthly ministry against what His Apostles subsequently wrote reveals a fundamental misunderstanding of biblical revelation. The desire to set Jesus and Paul at odds—or to subtly downplay the fact that the Apostolic writings are the very words of Christ (Col. 3:16)—will inevitably backfire on those who believe they are helping others embrace a more tolerant brand of Christianity.
At the turn of the twentieth century, the church faced the attacks of a theological liberalism in which theologians sought to divide Jesus and Paul. Although the driving factors in the theological liberalism of the twentieth century were somewhat different from our current church controversies, the method and desired end are strikingly similar. Attacks on the organic unity of Scripture led professors at Princeton Theological Seminary to write some of the greatest arguments for the defense of the unity and progressive development of the canon of Scripture. For instance, Geerhardus Vos, professor of biblical theology at Old Princeton, helpfully explained: “The relation between Jesus and the Apostolate is in general that between the fact to be interpreted and the subsequent interpretation of this fact . . . It resembles the embryo . . . which truly contains the structure, which the full-grown organism will clearly exhibit.”1
To understand this principle, we must first recognize that Jesus didn’t personally write down what He taught. The content of the four Gospels, the Epistles, and the book of Revelation were written by “holy men of God as they were carried along by the Holy Spirit” (2 Peter 1:21). They are a unified record of the historical facts. Jesus also did many things that were not recorded for the faith and life of believers (John 21:25).
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The Apostle Paul made clear in 1 Corinthians 7:14 that the children of even one professing believer are covenantally set apart to God as members of the visible church. If we limit the covenant sign to the infants of believers, then we inadvertently limit the scope of the New Covenant and the inclusion of the family members of the household of new professing believers. 

I was baptized in the Reformed Episcopal church. I grew up in Reformed and Presbyterian churches. My father diligently taught my sister and I the distinctives of a Reformed covenant theology from our earliest days. He repeatedly reminded us that God had promised to be a covenant God to us and to our descendants after us. I believe those promises now for my own children. However, I have something of an aversion to the term paedobaptist (i.e. infant baptist). I don’t prefer the terminology because I believe it to be too restictive in nature. I much prefer the term oikobaptist (i.e. household baptist) for a number of biblical and theological reasons. In this post, I want to share a few of those reasons why I call myself a household baptist.
When God promised Abraham that He would be a God to him and to his descendants after him, he gave Abraham the covenant sign of circumcision. He then commanded Abraham to give the covenant sign to all the males in his house when they were just eight days old. There are a number of redemptive historical details about this arrangement.
First, the sign of circumcision went on the reproductive organ of the male child because it signified that the corruption of the sin nature that was passed on generationally by federal representation from our first father—Adam—could only be dealt with by an act of bloody judgment. This pointed to the bloody judgment of the cross which the Apostle Paul called the circumcision of Christ.
Second, God commanded Abraham to give the covenant sign of circumcision to his offspring on the eighth day. Contrary to the naturalistic explanations that many have sough to advance concerning a high rate  of blood clotting, the eight day represented the new creation. On a seven day week, the first and the eighth day are one and the same. Just as the first day represented creation, the eighth day—in the law—represented the new creation that would be secured by Christ crucified. When Jesus cleansed the hearts of his people by virtue of his bloody circumcision on the cross (an act also termed circumcision of the heart in Scripture) he brings about the new creation through their regeneration.
Third, the covenant sign of circumcision denoted the promise of blessing and cursing. Either the one who was circumcised would have the filth of his heart cut away (i.e. regeneration) or he would be cut off in judgment as a covenant breaker. The judgment that fell on Christ would fall on all who were not trusting in the coming Redeemer. This is the same thing represented by the waters of baptism. Just as Noah and those with him were typically saved as through water, and all those who did not believe were destroyed by the same water, so circumcision and baptism represent the promise of blessings and curses.
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It is important for ministers of the gospel to, at one and the same time, avoid that theological dilution by which we fail to bring up children “until they are farther advanced” while rejecting that ecclesiastical elitism that refuses to “accommodate to the capacity” of those we are instructing.

“We keep our preaching basic because we have so many new believers. If we give them too much doctrine, they won’t be able to understand it.” I can’t remember how many times I’ve heard church planters and pastors say such things. Sadly, as their ministries begin to grow numerically, mature believers in the congregation are left to languish in spiritual malnourishment and discouragement.
Ministers need to learn how to break down, rather than water down, the truth of God’s word.
On the other hand, there are those churches (though significantly fewer in number) in which ministers seem to wear their academic interests on their sleeve in the pulpit. They burden the congregation with highly nuanced theological subjects or phraseology in the name of faithfulness. Whether it is compromising ministers diluting God’s word to the spiritual malnourishment of the congregation or ivory tower pastors caring little about bringing along new believers, one of the great needs of our day is for preachers to learn how to break down, rather than water down, the truth of God’s word.
We find this important principle at work in the ministry of the sixteenth-century theologian John Calvin. On the whole, Calvin tended to reserve his more academic prowess for his work The Institutes of the Christian Religion and his commentaries rather than for his sermons. In his essay, “Calvin’s Sermons on Ephesians: Expounding and Applying Scripture, ” Randall C. Zachman helpfully observes,

[Calvin’s] sermons differed from the commentaries both in terms of their audience and their objective. The commentaries have, as their audience, the future pastors…with the goal of revealing the mind of the author with lucid brevity. The sermons have, as their audience, ordinary Christians within a specific congregation with the goal of expounding the intention or meaning of the author, and of applying that meaning to their use, so that they might retain that meaning in their minds and hearts, and put it into practice in their lives.

Calvin sought to adjust himself in different ways to his readers and hearers, distinguishing between what he wrote for the academy and what he proclaimed from the pulpit. A brief comparison of his commentary on Genesis and his sermons on Genesis serve to demonstrate this difference of approach. To be sure, it is a task of no small difficulty.
Ministers must be careful to neither deny the sovereign working of the Spirit nor intellectually insult the congregation.
In our day, when ministers water down God’s word they almost always do so from behind a missiological smokescreen. Insisting that a robustly theological ministry is a detriment to reaching the unchurched, they introduce a number of serious problems.
First, ministers—perhaps inadvertently—give the impression that the ability to impart spiritual understanding lies within the power of the messenger rather than in the working of the Spirit and word of God. In essence, they suggest that the outcome of their teaching is commensurate with the supposed intellectual ability of the hearers. This not only denies the sovereign working of the Spirit of God through the word of God—it levels an intellectual insult at the people to whom they minister.
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The Savior has drunk, to the full, the cup of God’s wrath so that we might drink, to the full, the cup of his blessings. We must learn again and again to remember what it is that we deserve from the hand of God and what our Savior took upon himself for our salvation. It is only as we do so that we are drawn into deeper communion with him.

If you were hoping to read a post about the temperance movement, wineries, microbrews or an illegitimate use of the Bible to fuel the health food revolution (or perhaps I should have said, “health food religion”), then you could be disappointed. If, however, you are looking for an explanation about what the Scriptures tell us that Jesus drank when he spoke of “this cup” (Matt. 26:39), then my hope is that you’ll find this to be one of the richest subjects for the well-being of your soul. How are we to know what Jesus meant when he spoke of “the cup” that he had to drink?
When he entered the garden of Gethsemane, Jesus went away by himself and prayed to his Father, “‘If it is possible, let this cup pass from me’” (Matt. 26:39). As he left the garden to head to the cross, our Lord said to his disciples, “‘Shall I not drink the cup that my Father has given me?’” (John 18:11). Simply put, “the cup” was nothing less than the full outpouring of the wrath of God against the sin of his people. We understand this both from what the Old Testament prophets foretold about that cup and from the impact that it had on the soul of our Lord when he made mention of it.
The Cup in the Old Testament
There are several places in the Old Testament that help us answer the question, “What would Jesus drink?” The cup that Jesus stared into in the garden is described in the Old Testament as the cup of judgment and wrath in the following places:

But it is God who executes judgment, putting down one and lifting up another. For in the hand of the Lord there is a cup with foaming wine, well mixed, and he pours out from it, and all the wicked of the earth shall drain it down to the dregs. (Psalm 75:7-8)

Wake yourself, wake yourself, stand up, O Jerusalem, you who have drunk from the hand of the Lord the cup of his wrath, who have drunk to the dregs the bowl, the cup of staggering. (Isaiah 51:17)

Thus the Lord, the God of Israel, said to me: “Take from my hand this cup of the wine of wrath, and make all the nations to whom I send you drink it. They shall drink and stagger and be crazed because of the sword that I am sending among them.” So I took the cup from the Lord’s hand, and made all the nations to whom the Lord sent me drink it. (Jeremiah 25:15-17)

Most interesting about these three passages is that both Israel and the nations are said to be deserving of the cup of God’s wrath. This parallels Paul’s declaration that both Jew and Gentile are both under sin (Rom. 3:9) and the curse of the Law by nature (Gal. 3:10-13). Jesus’ coming as the substitute Redeemer of his people means that what he did, he did in their place and for their good. He drank the cup that we should have drunk. He took up the cup that we should have taken up. He bore our sins in his own body on the tree. He who knew no sin was made sin for us. He was wounded for our transgressions.
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