Written by Mark J. Larson |
Sunday, May 12, 2024
The Jews, steeped in the mentality of legalism, once asked Jesus, “What shall we do, so that we may work the works of God?” (John 6:28). This is the typical question of the unsaved person who does not know the gospel: What work of righteousness shall I do? How can I be good enough to  enter heaven? Jesus’ response is crucially instructive: “This is the work of God, that you believe in Him whom He has sent” (John 6:29). Luther properly maintained, “The first, highest, and most precious of all good works is faith in Christ” (Treatise on Good Works). 

Legalism holds its grip upon the minds and hearts of countless numbers of people in our time. It was no different in the sixteenth century when Martin Luther drew a radical distinction between the gospel of grace and the legalism of all other religions outside of biblical Christianity. As Luther contemplated religions of works in his time, he immediately thought of Judaism, Islam as exemplified by the Ottoman Turks, late-medieval Roman Catholicism, and various heretical splinter groups. He declared in his Commentary on Galatians: “If the article of justification be once lost, then is all true Christian doctrine lost. And as many as are in the world that hold not this doctrine, are either Jews, Turks, Papists or heretics.”
Sad to say, the ancient Jewish leaven of legalism even infected the church in the first century. Let us reflect upon this phenomenon and then draw out some practical applications.
The Legalism of the Pharisees
The Pharisaic movement of the first century demonstrates the tendency of legalism to slide into fanatical excess. Even as Jesus pronounced woe upon the Pharisees, he reflected upon their lack of balance: “You tithe mint and dill and cummin, and have neglected the weightier provisions of the law: justice and mercy and faithfulness” (Matthew 23:23). As we read the Gospels, we are continually astounded. We are presented with blind, nitpicking fanatics who could not see the glory of the divine Messiah Jesus who ministered in their very midst. Jesus, for example, was “grieved by the hardness of their hearts” when “they kept silent” after he asked them a simple question, “Is it lawful on the Sabbath to do good or to do evil, to save life or to kill?” (Mark 3:4–5). Their response to Jesus healing a man with a withered hand was diabolical: “Then the Pharisees went out and immediately plotted with the Herodians against him, how they might destroy him” (Mark 3:6).
Paul acknowledges that he too had been an angry man, a violent aggressor, even while clothed with the garments of outward religiosity. His assessment was an insider’s perspective, for he himself had been a Pharisee, and “as to the righteousness which is in the Law, found blameless” (Philippians 3:6). He had excelled at dotting every letter i and crossing every letter t in the Pharisaic rule book of man-made religion. His heart, nevertheless, was far from God. He makes a startling admission for one who was “advanced in Judaism” beyond many of his contemporaries, “being more exceedingly zealous for the traditions” of the fathers (Galatians 1:14). He felt that he needed to make this confession: “I was formerly a blasphemer, a persecutor, and an insolent man” (1 Timothy 1:13). Indeed, he had consented to the murder of Stephen (Acts 8:1). He is presented as “breathing threats and murder against the disciples of the Lord” (Acts 9:1). He “persecuted the church of God beyond measure and tried to destroy it” (Galatians 1:13).
Grace, though, brought radical change. Paul became a new man. He came to embrace a truly Christian perspective regarding law righteousness, the righteousness that a person seeks to build up by meticulous keeping of the law of God and the tradition of the elders. This was a righteousness that tended to lead to pride and a spirit of self-congratulation. Jesus, in fact, spoke a parable in which he described a Pharisee who trusted in himself that he was righteous and viewed others with contempt: “The Pharisee stood and prayed thus with himself, ‘God, I thank you thatI am not like other men.” “I fast twice a week; I give tithes of all that I possess” (Luke 18:9–12).
He came to regard his past religious achievements as dung—as the King James Version of 1611 translates the Greek skubalon in Philippians 3:8. Everything that he did by way of outward religious observance was tainted due to his unbelief. As he himself said, “Whatever is not from faith is sin” (Romans 14:23). He would have concurred with Jesus’ woe of judgment which rested upon hypocrites who outwardly appeared to be righteous before men, but inwardly were full of hypocrisy and lawlessness (Matthew 23:28). He knew that the way of salvation came by faith appealing for mercy.
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Faith without works is dead and so is the bread a condemnation to the eater at the table if it is not mixed with existing, real lively belief found in a person previously redeemed by the blood of the Lamb. We miss the glory available to the true Christian if we forget the simple reality of the already incredible event of our salvation purchased in and by our Lord. 

A way that contemporary Christianity is weak is that we have a very poor understanding of the practical nature of the Trinity. Our lack of a proper doctrine of God has led us to not only to lose the right fear of the Divine we should have, but we have severed ourselves from the source of our creation. We have become parched in soul primarily through our not attending to the well which produces eternal life. The focus of our faith should never be Jesus in Himself, as if we can separate our Lord from His Father, or the Holy Spirit. What I mean by that is sometimes our approach to the Christian life is merely transactional. We come to the Bible, to worship, to prayer, and to the subjects of our catechism questions today, and ask the question, “What do I get out of this for what I need today?”. This misses the richness available to us in the shared mercy of our spiritual union with God. Our big “O” orthodox friends can take 2 Peter 1:4 too far, but there is much truth to the idea that in our redemption purchased by Christ we are, “. . . partakers of the divine nature, having escaped the corruption that is in the world through lust.”
Central to the story of the blessings of the sacraments of Baptism and the Lord’s Supper is to take our hearts and minds and reorient them towards the mystical nature of what is happening when we pour water on the head of a covenant child or an adult convert or eat the bread and drink the cup. We inhabit the anti-supernatural ethos of our age in no more way than by not really believing that this stuff matters. No matter our pushback on that we testify to what we truly hold in our heart of hearts by what we do with our feet. Let’s take a look at the Q/A’s:
Q. 161. How do the sacraments become effectual means of salvation?
A. The sacraments become effectual means of salvation, not by any power in themselves, or any virtue derived from the piety or intention of him by whom they are administered, but only by the working of the Holy Ghost, and the blessing of Christ, by whom they are instituted.
Q. 162. What is a sacrament?
A. A sacrament is an holy ordinance instituted by Christ in his church, to signify, seal, and exhibit unto those that are within the covenant of grace, the benefits of his mediation; to strengthen and increase their faith, and all other graces; to oblige them to obedience; to testify and cherish their love and communion one with another; and to distinguish them from those that are without.
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In the 1970s and 80s especially a new challenge to the traditional understanding arose in the form of free-will theism, or open theism. These folks argue that God does not know the future exhaustively, that he may have mistaken knowledge, and that he in fact grows in knowledge. I penned an introductory piece on this movement some years ago, which includes a helpful bibliography.

Does God know future events?
The questions in my title and sub-title might seem to most Christians to be rather silly questions. ‘Well of course he does!’ they would say to both. He is omniscient and he knows all things. And that is indeed what Scripture seems to clearly teach.
With some exceptions, divine omniscience has long been considered to be one of the key attributes of God. That certainly has included his knowledge of the future, as well as his knowledge of possible or contingent events. But not all have agreed with this, and in the 1970s and 80s especially a new challenge to the traditional understanding arose in the form of free-will theism, or open theism.
These folks argue that God does not know the future exhaustively, that he may have mistaken knowledge, and that he in fact grows in knowledge. I penned an introductory piece on this movement some years ago, which includes a helpful bibliography. See that piece here: https://billmuehlenberg.com/2006/12/13/everything-you-wanted-to-know-about-free-will-theism/
As can be seen in that article, a sizeable library of volumes – both pro and con – exists on this movement. As with all theological and philosophical discussions, matters can get quite complex and detailed. Not wishing to oversimplify things here, I just want to look at three passages often appealed to by the openness of God theologians in terms of divine foreknowledge.
It will be my view that these three texts – and others like them – can all fit in with the traditional understanding of God and his knowledge, and often texts like these involve the use of rhetorical language and the like. If these passages do appear to be problematic on their own, the old hermeneutical rule of comparing Scripture with Scripture must come to our aid here. That is, we always should assess those passages that might be somewhat less clear in the light of those passages that are much clearer.
So let me look at each passage in turn. In Genesis 3:9 we find God asking Adam this: “Where are you?” I recall some decades ago a friend who was did not believe in divine foreknowledge asking me about this text. I replied instantly (as I would hope most believers would have) that this was obviously a rhetorical question. Of course God knew where he was!
God clearly did not lack knowledge about Adam’s geographical whereabouts. This was more a question for the sake of Adam, asking him about his moral and spiritual condition, having just sinned big time, disobeying God’s clear instructions.
Recall what the previous verse said: “And they heard the sound of the Lord God walking in the garden in the cool of the day, and the man and his wife hid themselves from the presence of the Lord God among the trees of the garden.” They foolishly thought they could hide from God, revealing their seared consciences. As John Frame remarks:
Typically, passages in which God “finds out” something occur in judicial contexts. In Genesis 3:9, God asks Adam, “where are you?” This is not a request for information. In this verse God begins his judicial cross-examination. Adam’s responses will confirm God’s indictment, and God will respond in judgment and grace. But the same judicial context exists in other texts where God “comes down” to “find out” something.” See Genesis 11:5, 18:20-21, 22:12, Deuteronomy 13:3, Psalms 44:21, 139:1, 23-34. When God draws near, He draws near as a judge. He conducts a “finding of fact” by personal observation and interrogation, then renders His verdict and sentence (often, of course, mitigated by His mercy). So none of these passages entail divine ignorance.
And similar passages in Genesis could be raised here, such as:
“Then the Lord God said to the woman, ‘What is this that you have done?’ (Genesis 3:13)
“Then the Lord said to Cain, “Where is Abel your brother?” (Genesis 4:9)
Did God really not know these things? Obviously figurative language was being used for the sake of those God was speaking to. As John Peckham puts it in his 2021 volume, Divine Attributes: Knowing the Covenantal God of Scripture:
Do such passages portray God as lacking knowledge, as some suppose? If God knows everything, why would he ask questions? Notably, questions may be posed for many reasons other than to gain information. When I ask my students what the word “omniscience” means, I ask in order to teach. When I see cookie crumbs on my son’s mouth and ask whether he got into the cookies, I already know the answer. In depositions and trials, lawyers often ask questions to which they already know the answers to get a person’s testimony on record. God’s questions seem to function likewise.
While these sorts of passages seem easy enough to address, two others might be a bit more difficult – at least for some Christians.
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