Eschatology | FINAL EXAM

14. How did Neo-Calvinism and Kuyperianism affect theology and ethics? (5-7). What is eschatological naturalism and why is this issue important?

"Abraham Kuyper famously declared a century ago that there is not one square inch upon this earth of which Jesus Christ does not say "Mine!" We might expand, as he and his followers have done so, by paraphrasing that there is not one nook or cranny of human existence over which Christ does not claim lordship. This insistence on the sovereignty of Christ in all things and in all areas of life has prompted development of worldview thinking and has underwritten numerous educational initiatives in the twentieth and now twenty-first centuries, not only within the Dutch Reformed community (in places like Calvin College) but also well outside that ethnic and ecclesiastical world (as evidenced by the way in which Arthur Holmes and Wheaton College would famously describe their educational and missional commitments with language that "all truth is God's truth" or "the integration of faith and learning"). The vitality of Kuyperianism has been that centrifugal energy whereby classic Christian and even Reformed theology has been applied to new disciplines and arenas of life. A principled ethics has been articulated across the board; I say this ethics or this sense of calling is principled because it flows from fundamental commitments about the gospel and, more widely, about biblical teaching regarding humanity: our nature and our ends. Specifically, Kuyperianism in its various iterations has emphasized our creation as holistic beings—embodied, social, intellectual—and our destiny as not only redeemed but even restored sons and daughters of the Most High—resurrected, at peace with one another, wise, etc. A particular eschatology has marked this strain of theological and ethical development. Surely the greatest theologian of the neo-Calvinist tradition is Herman Bavinck. His four-volume Reformed Dogmatics continues to have the most sizable impact of any text from that tradition, at least in the realm of doctrine. One of the great traits of Bavinck's work, across its wide terrain, is its evenhandedness in judgment: the theological master had a keen sense of balance, proportionality, and, thus, did not tend to overreact to one thing by falling too far elsewhere. While maintaining Protestant and Reformed distinctives not only with vigor but also with an uncommon clarity, Bavinck manages to glean more from sources traditionally engaged only by Roman Catholics in the late nineteenth-and early twentieth-century context (e.g., the Thomist tradition of reflection on nature and grace). Interestingly, however, Bavinck's eschatology, which forms the culmination of his fourth volume, focuses not only narrowly but also polemically upon the notion of the new creation over against more spiritual emphases found elsewhere in the Christian tradition. A controversial concern (some sort of escapist hope that has little or nothing to do with human existence here) seems to mark his reflections in an uncharacteristic manner."

20. Why does God's invisibility lead to a Christological emphasis in the beatific vision? (66). Why is this important for Christian faith and life?

"Almost unique among modern dogmaticians in the Protestant world, G. C. Berkouwer offers a spacious account of the visio Dei in his extended study The Return of Christ. Indeed this chapter and that volume serve as an illustrative microcosm of his dogmatic project: patiently assessing the biblical witness, charitably journeying through the various historical debates, and passionately engaging contemporary concerns and questions. Berkouwer's Studies in Dogmatics series always showed a concern to renew the theological practice of the church by retrieval from the past: both from the scriptural witness of the prophets and apostles and their intellectual and spiritual reception in the history of the catholic church. In this instance, however, Berkouwer's engagement of the tradition winds up taking an element of that catholic tradition (the focus upon the beatific vision and its relation to various theophanies) and suggesting that it requires modification of another facet of that tradition (the doctrine of divine invisibility). What unfolds as a process of traditioning shows itself, in this instance, to be a practice of decidedly critical traditioning"

29. What does Allen mean by asceticism? What are the abuses and proper uses of asceticism in Christian living? (134-136).

"Asceticism, however, has endured a bumpy road throughout the Christian centuries. In the modern era, the Reformed tradition has viewed Christian asceticism with particular suspicion. None other than the great Dutch Reformed dogmatician Herman Bavinck characterizes it in these pejorative terms: "Basically, all asceticism is nothing other than self-willed religion. It consists in the accomplishment of a series of counsels that have not been enjoined by God but were instituted by human and ecclesiastical consent." With these words, Herman Bavinck characterizes ascetical theology and practice as both materially and formally deficient: materially deficient in as much as it is "nothing other than self-willed religion"; formally deficient in that it is composed of a "series of counsels that ... were instituted by human and ecclesiastical consent." In other words, asceticism contradicts the material principle of Reformed theology—sola gratia—as well as the formal principle of that tradition—sola Scriptura. Doubly indicted, it finds no comfort, much less encouragement, in his own theological project. Fundamentally, Bavinck's concerns regarding those two principles are joined at the hip and united as one: solus Christus. To put the matter in the form of a question: does Christian asceticism really warrant the moniker "Christian" in theological and not just sociological terms? While it is patently obvious that thousands upon thousands have pursued pathways of ascetic discipline under the banner of Christianity, the question raised here addresses theological coherence. Does asceticism necessarily undercut the formal teaching authority of Jesus Christ as exercised through the instrument of Holy Scripture? And does asceticism essentially undermine the biblical insistence upon our fundamental need for grace over against the lurings of self-willed religion? In short, Bavinck's critique ultimately addresses not two discrete and disconnected matters but one complex matter: how does self-denial or ascetical practice relate to the person and work of the incarnate Son of God?"

31. How does Sabbath keeping promote self-denial and spiritual-mindedness? (152).

"Calvin and the classical Reformed tradition's focus upon the Sabbath and paired critique of Roman and later Anglican celebration of a lush liturgical calendar flow from a common fount. The Reformed tradition does not derive its temporal order or its polemical commentary on other traditions' use of calendars from any anti-religious animus. Rather, Sabbath keeping demonstrates an assumed principle regarding the way that temporal habits and rhythmic practices of spiritual consequence form the people of God. But such habits and practices do so in as much as they draw us out of ourselves, and, therefore, they must be mandated from above, rather than imagined from our own vanity. Evangelical Asceticism: Recovering and Reforming Self-Denial Interestingly, the single most excerpted portion of Calvin's Institutes through the centuries has been this portion of book 3 wherein he addresses the topics of self-denial and the proper use of earthly goods. It has been circulating under the title The Golden Booklet of the Christian Life. Today, however, the heavy influence of neo-Calvinism or Kuyperianism and of the Weberian and Niebuhrian approaches to reflecting upon the sociological, economic, and cultural significance of Calvinism has led to an image of the reformers' theology that rarely, if ever, finds itself identified with heavenly-mindedness, self-denial, contentment, Sabbath, and renunciation of the world."

32. Why is culture a secondary good only? What is the primary good that we should look to? (153). How should this affect the interaction between Christians and the world?

"Culture in its various forms can be a good, but even at its very best it can only be a secondary, participating good that pales in comparison to our primary good: the triune God who participates in no one, but who may be participated in by those united to him through Jesus Christ. In seeking not to deny the wide reach of God's blessing, modern Reformed theology has too frequently failed to honor, or has even blatantly denigrated, the bliss of God."

28. What did Augustine mean by using and enjoying things? (129-130). How does this relate to loving God and others in this life?

"First, Augustine spoke of use (uti) and enjoyment (frui) in On Christian Teaching. He argued that God alone was to be enjoyed and other beings or things were to be used. "Enjoyment, after all, consists in clinging to something lovingly for its own sake, while use consists in referring what has come your way to what your love aims at obtaining, provided, that is, that it deserves to be loved." He was not advocating objectifying or commodifying persons, as if our fellow human beings were but mere instruments relationally. But he did suggest that all other creaturely realities are instruments of a sort, in as much as they are metaphysically derivative and thus never relationally or morally ultimate. In other words, the distinction was meant to ward off idolatry in our efforts to relate to one another. Eventually, though, he did find his language to be inelegant and less than helpful, as it deployed a rather crass term ("use") that does not straightforwardly or obviously convey the calling of love or even of personal interaction"

18. What is the true blessedness of the new creation and why? (55-56)? How should this shape our faith, hope, and ethics in this life?

"Here a place taken "in heaven" does not undercut the reality of "thy new creation"; the heavenly nature of the new creation finds explanation in the very presence of the triune God ("before thee"). The new creation and the restored world are diverse images, which the prophets and the apostles pull together in varied ways to attest to the reality that God's apocalyptic action will be novel and interruptive, and not just the next step in the forward march of human history. It is also a word of hope for this world in its own given nature rather than a different plan yet to be hatched—an eschatological audible that might somehow signal God's intent to replace this world with another. That pairing of images ought to be matched alongside another: the evangelical hope that we shall dwell in the new heavens and new earth as well as the joyous anticipation of heaven. While they are not the same image, they are overlapping—not juxtaposed or contradictory—portraits. Indeed, the newness of that creation hearkens ultimately to its heavenly character, for it is God's presence that renders it new, peaceful, and beautiful. Fourth, the shift toward eschatological naturalism relates to emphases regarding Christian ministry and witness and of ecclesiastical identity in the Reformed tradition. George Marsden identified three major streams within the Reformed ecclesiastical world in North America: the doctrinal, the pietist, and the culturalist. Marsden noted that these were ideal types, and none likely existed apart from the others. But we ought to note that they have sometimes functioned as party types, as if the whole ecclesial body might be made up of persons or congregations marked particularly by one of them. And we ought to note that the culturalists predate the Kuyperian or neo-Calvinist movement; in fact, Marsden notes that this type dates back before the nineteenth century. However, it has been the work of Kuyperians to provide the intellectual framework and, in many cases, the institutional forms for that culturalist development in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. These types all hearken back to facets of the catholic and Reformed faith. They cannot be parties, nor can they be causes—not without significant loss. The tendency of neo-Calvinism to lapse into eschatological naturalism ought to prompt us to remember the heritage of the nadere reformatie in the Dutch Reformed church or the heritage of the combination of pietism with cultural reflection so evident in the practical divinity of the English Puritans. And, of course, that heritage, which is so prominent in those two streams of the Reformed tradition, finds its roots deeper, not only in the springs of reformational figures like Bucer, Calvin, Cranmer, or Luther, but also in the patristic and medieval testimony of Basil and of Augustine, of Gregory and of Bernard. While the "culturalist" or "transformationalist" emphasis has been powerfully rediscovered in the neo-Calvinism of the Reformed world, we do well to keep an eye always on the catholic faith: all that has been attested by all Christians at all times. In particular, we should note the tendency of neo-Calvinist hope to lapse into naturalist concern for cultural perfection. Rooted deep in the Reformed tradition itself, the pietist emphasis upon communion with God can continue to serve as both a salve and a prompt for that terrible fissure. May it be so, for we want never to think of the eschaton apart from theology."

30. How does asceticism and self-denial relate to Jesus Christ? (140-141). Why is this Christological focus important?

"In recent years Gavin Flood has asked whether ascetic discipline might be a gift of God. The question is not a new one and may serve as a helpful prompt for considering the way in which John Calvin received and revived the ascetic tradition. His greatest concern as a theologian and pastor was to conceive of practices of self-denial and of renunciation of worldly things in a manner that located these endeavors within the good news of Jesus Christ. Calvin did not merely want to describe such endeavors as a response to the gospel of Christ that is nonetheless distinct from the gospel; rather, he sought to locate them within the repentance and renewal that the gospel itself brings and a crucial facet of the second element of the double grace in Christ. To grasp this reorienting of ascetical practice around the person and work of Christ, we do well first to attend to the structural moves made by Calvin in addressing ascetics. The topics of self-denial and renunciation appear in book 3 of Calvin's Institutes of the Christian Religion. There he addresses "the way in which we receive the grace of Christ: what benefits come to us from it, and what effects follow." The whole book is prompted by the observation that "as long as Christ remains outside of us, and we are separated from him, all that he has suffered and done for the salvation of the human race remains useless and of no value for us" (III.i.1). Having just concluded his discussion of the person and narrative of Christ—the gospel story—Calvin is making a pointed qualification: this remains but a fascinating and exceptional story of late antiquity, of a life long ago in a land far away, unless we are somehow united to Christ. Calvin then launches into his famed doctrine of union with Christ by the Holy Spirit, who is the "bond by which Christ effectually unites us to himself" (III.i.1). Calvin spoke of the use and value of Christ for us in his introduction to book 3. Soon thereafter he traces out this blessing in a twofold manner. "With good reason, the sum of the gospel is held to consist in repentance and forgiveness of sins [Luke 24:47; Acts 5:31].... Now, both repentance and forgiveness of sins—that is, newness of life and free reconciliation—are conferred on us by Christ, and both are attained by us through faith" (III.iii.1). Here language of a double grace (duplex gratia) is suggested for the first time, to be noted again (III.xi.1). Traditionally, interpreters have rendered his distinction as being between justification and sanctification. While fully appropriate, it is worth noting that Calvin uses neither word as his leading descriptor of the twofold gift here. He instead prefers to lead with the biblical language of repentance and of the forgiveness of sins and then to add overlapping or even synonymous terms (such as "regeneration" and "reconciliation" or "justification"). His broad point, however, and the very reason for making the distinction is to remind his reader that both are gifts or graces and, as such, are a part of the gospel promise of Jesus. Calvin takes this judgment to be plain from his repeated scriptural citations (in Luke 24:47 and Acts 5:31)."

19. Why can neglecting the beatific vision lead to a form of naturalism? (63).

Directly, the absence of the beatific vision from modern Protestant divinity leads to a particular lacuna within the world of Christian eschatology. Surely it will be unlikely to fall into spiritualism, as feared by Bavinck, but it could run the risk of some form of naturalism. Perhaps it will not be a strictly immanentist naturalism, bereft of divine involvement or gracious enablement, but it may well be a naturalism nonetheless. Eschatology may turn to focus upon the renewal of creation by means of articulating the ways in which society, selves, and structures are restored to their created ends. Particularly in efforts to think beyond spiritualization of the faith or in apologetic concern to relate to broader anthropological projects of great value, eschatology can be related primarily to this-worldly states of affairs. Spiritualism is not the only reductive game in town.

15. How does hope for tomorrow shape life today? (12). How does this relate to living with suffering in this world? (13).

"Paul suggests in the broadest of terms that hope motivates living in a Christian way. The specific summons outlined in those chapters is consistently depicted as flowing from faith in the specific promise of God. So the radical love of our enemy not only draws upon Jesus's teaching in the past (Matt 5:42-47) but also looks forward to his promised judgment in the future. Because we know God says "Vengeance is mine; I will repay," we are freed from vigilante-like responses to mistreatment and freed for denying our own rights for the sake of loving others (Rom 12:19). Our created desire for justice and wholeness prompts a yearning for reaction to harm; Paul does not denigrate this desire, though he does redirect it. Paul points us to God's promise that he will right all wrongs in the end, so that we are freed from our hackneyed and invariably inhumane efforts to do so ourselves and freed for the remarkable witness of loving our enemies even as Christ loved us when we were his enemies. Faith prompts works. Hope for what God has promised tomorrow shapes life today."

16. What does it mean that some reforms to eschatology can be "parasitic?" (21). Evaluate Allen's assessment of the ways that Neo-Calvinism can be either productive or parasitic.

"Reform can be productive or parasitic. Theologically speaking, attempts to revitalize a doctrine, practice, or church sometimes lead to flourishing by way of deepening. But reforms can also be so intently or myopically focused as to lead to the unintended loss of a wider theological context and of confessional integrity. The danger of polemics in theological debate, then, is not only a matter of tone (whether loving or vindictive) and of content (whether true or false) but also of breadth (whether well balanced or narrow). Too many times, potentially prophetic words misfire because they are separated from a wider doctrinal commitment to the whole counsel of God. In such cases, a reform (perhaps a needful and good reform) takes a parasitic turn and eats away at the substance of the doctrine, confession, practice, or church. Should modern reforms to Christian eschatological hope be viewed as productive or as parasitic? How can we steer them toward the former and away from the latter?"

22. How do we explain God's visibility and invisibility in Christ? (83-87). Why is this important for our knowledge of God?

"So the whole Godhead moves to express its glory outward and even the most visible of the persons—the incarnate Son—continues to possess the attribute of invisibility. We do well, then, to speak of the visibility of the invisible God and to insist on maintaining that entire confession. Claims about the inner life of God seem apposite here. Cyril of Alexandria claims that "the divine nature sees and is seen in a way that is fitting to God." The shared glory of the three divine persons befits only God, but this Trinity of love and light does share this inner-Trinitarian visibility. Without bringing creatures to share in this natural knowledge and sight, the loving Lord of eternity does elect that creatures participate in this light and wisdom by grace and according to their creaturely capacity. Our vision of God is not the same as God's own vision, but it is remarkably real nonetheless. By way of conclusion, I offer a prompt for further analysis. In respect of another divine attribute (impassibility), Paul Gavrilyuk has offered reflection upon Cyril's teaching regarding the character of the eternal God, the expression of and experience of suffering in the life of the incarnate Son, and the link between the two. In so doing he has argued that a particular patristic dialectic was maintained in the exegetical and dogmatic reflections of Cyril, namely, that we must speak of the suffering of the impassible (non-suffering) God. In his argument he showed that "divine impassibility is primarily a metaphysical term, marking God's unlikeness to everything in the created order, not a psychological term denoting (as modern passibilists allege) God's emotional apathy." God is emotionally involved in relations with the world, yet these are metaphysically distinct from the ways in which creatures engage other creatures (psychologically). Further, "the intent of the paradoxical statements is to hold God's transcendence and undiminished divinity in tension with the divine care for creation and involvement in suffering." The biblical witness and its doctrinal development in the catholic and Reformed tradition suggest that we ought to speak of the visibility of the invisible God. God's invisibility is not merely a statement regarding his ocular presence but a metaphysical marker that denotes his ontological distinction from all things visible and invisible. Not only that, but we can extend beyond Gavrilyuk's immediate point. Such a marker (this dialectic of the visibility of the invisible God) points not only to God's transcendence but to his triunity and to the reality that God sees God and any other sight is by gracious participation and bestowal of that sight to someone who does not possess that life in himself or herself. God is no thing. God is seen by God. That God can be seen by any thing, any created kind, any human—this is miracle, and this is grace by way of participation. God is visible. God remains invisible. In the gospel, these startling and seemingly paradoxical claims are affirmed together. Hymnody expresses this most potently: Immortal, invisible, God only wise, In light inaccessible, now hid from our eyes, Most blessed, most glorious, the Ancient of Days, Almighty, victorious, thy great name we praise." "The invisible God remains inaccessible even in his light. The point of the paradoxical pairings is to keep the freedom and the love of God before us and, in so doing, to remind ourselves of the remarkable gospel promise that the very God who cannot be seen reveals himself to us in the face of Jesus: he is the "image of the invisible God" (Col 1:15). Hence Reformed theologians (such as Owen and Edwards) have agreed with Gregory of Nyssa that we will not see the divine essence but will see God by means of theophanic (and specifically Christophanic) disclosure. The paradoxical language of the invisible making himself visible points, therefore, also to the particularity of that manifestation in Christ. The silence of modern Protestant divinity regarding the doctrine of the beatific vision may render us susceptible to tone-deafness when it comes to the words of Jesus's promise that if we have seen him, we have seen his Father (John 14:9). Further, it may lessen our grasp of the deep reality underneath that promise, namely, that this triune God determines to be seen by those who do not enjoy his eternally full divine sight on their own. "God's goodness is a communicative, spreading goodness.... If God had not a communicative, spreading goodness, he would never have created the world. The Father, Son and Holy Ghost were happy in themselves and enjoyed one another before the world was. But that God delights to communicate and spread his goodness, there had never been a creation nor a redemption." Richard Sibbes attests to this reality—God's triune fullness and his eternally loving bent toward sharing that goodness with others—and it can be related directly to sight, for the Scriptures tell us that goodness and flourishing are found only in God's presence. "You make known to me the path of life: in your presence is fullness of joy; at your right hand are pleasures forevermore" (Ps 16:11). One of the great glories of the gospel—central to its promise of human flourishing upon the bestowal of the fullness of Christ's grace—is the pledge that the invisible God makes himself visible to us."

21. How does Christ's incarnation reveal the entire Trinity? (78-79). Why is this important to our hope for the future?

"The beatific vision of the incarnate Son is possible, fully and finally, because God in his freedom has assumed human form and, implied therein, has assumed a human nature. This external act, however, takes Trinitarian form. The Son's incarnational manifestation before the world stage is not a solo performance. Though he is the only one who assumes human form and takes on a human nature, he does so by the Spirit's power (as confessed in the creeds and attested by the Gospels) and at the Father's will (as he so frequently reminds us in his own words in the Gospels). That baptismal account visibly attests this differentiated harmony: the Father speaking of his will and pleasure, the Spirit descending to anoint with power, and the Son as the center and focus of attention as God's Beloved. The Son and the Spirit alike are visibly involved in manifesting God's mission to the world, but these are not separable, much less competing, missions. The external works of the Trinity are undivided, though they are differentiated. So we must first observe that while the incarnation is the moment where God becomes definitively visible, this does not mean that only the Son acts visibly to reveal God. In the baptismal account and then in the day of Pentecost, the Spirit's mission takes visible form as well. And the Son's own manifestation is a Trinitarian—and not only a Christological—act. It is the result of the concerted will of the full triune God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. We must now turn to the second question, regarding whether or not the incarnational visibility of the Son is restricted to his humanity or also involves his divinity or his person. In this regard we will listen not only to the patristic witness and that of Thomas Aquinas but also to John Owen and the developing tradition of Reformed Christology."

24. How does contemplating Christs' heavenly glory shape our lives in holiness? (111).

"The intent contemplation of the Lord Jesus greatly contributes. The oftener that a believer beholds him in spirit, the more clearly he knows his perfections, of which his holiness is the ornament. The more clearly he knows them, the more ardently he loves them. The more ardently he loves them, the more like to them he desires to become. For love aspires after a likeness to the beloved; nay, in love itself there is already a great similitude: for, "God is love," 1 John 4:8. Moreover, the more ardently he loves God, he will both the more frequently, the more willingly and attentively behold him; and thus often running round that circle of beholding and loving, for ever returning into itself, he gains by every act a new feature of this most glorious image."

23. What is heavenly-mindedness? How is it related to and different from spiritual-mindedness? Why has heavenly-mindedness largely been lost today? (101).

"To that end, we must not only speak of earthly desires but of a heavenly longing that permeates our living hope and our ethical posture. We now wish to sketch the significance of recovering heavenly-mindedness, in particular, noting the way in which it frames a host of commitments pivotal to Christian faith and practice. Heaven as Earth's Intellectual Frame The comparison of Owen's vision of spiritual-mindedness with the earthy and embodied emphases of contemporary theology jars the mind and heart. Contrary to frequently cited suggestions, it is not because Owen or the classical tradition espouses a distant or disembodied hope but because more modern imagination plants our hope in such thin soil. That tension bespeaks not merely a lost topic of theology but a fundamentally different posture through which one explores many things theologically. In this next section, we explore ways in which heavenly-mindedness frames a host of elements of Christian faith and practice. First, heavenly-mindedness alerts us to the fundamental rest found only in returning unto God himself. Against all forms of instrumentalism, we are warned here that our desire is to be for God, neither simply nor primarily for various benefits provided by this God. We are to be attuned to the startling words of King David: "One thing have I asked of the Lord, that will I seek after: that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to gaze upon the beauty of the Lord and to inquire in his temple" (Ps 27:4"

10. Explain the relationship between eschatology and Christology (4:685)

It is specifically Christ who is appointed by the Father to bring about the end of the history of humankind and the world. And he is appointed to this role because he is the Savior, the perfect Savior. The work he completed on earth is only a part of the great work of redemption he has taken upon himself. And the time he spent here is only a small part of the centuries over which he is appointed as Lord and King. Anointed by the Father from all eternity, he began to engage in his prophetic, priestly, and royal activity immediately after sin came into the world. He continued that activity throughout all the revolving centuries since. And one day, at the end of the times, he will complete it. That which he acquired on earth by his suffering and death he applies from heaven by his word and the working of his Spirit; and that which he has thus applied, he maintains and defends against all the assaults of Satan, in order one day, at the end, to present it without spot or wrinkle, in total perfection, to his Father who is in heaven. Accordingly, the return of Christ unto judgment is not an arbitrary addition that can be isolated from his preceding work and viewed by itself. It is a necessary and indispensable component of that work. It brings that work to completion and crowns it. It is the last and highest step in the state of his exaltation. Because Christ is the savior of the world, he will someday return as its judge. The crisis, or judgment (κρισις, krisis), that he precipitated by his first coming he consummates at his second coming. The Father gave him authority to execute judgment (κρισιν ποιειν, krisin poiein) because he is the Son of Man (John 5:27). Eschatology, therefore, is rooted in Christology and is itself Christology, the teaching of the final, complete triumph of Christ and his kingdom over all his enemies. In accord with Scripture, we can go back even further. The Son is not only the mediator of reconciliation (mediator reconciliationis) on account of sin, but even apart from sin he is the mediator of union (mediator unionis) between God and his creation. He is not only the exemplary cause (causa exemplaris) but also the final cause (causa finalis) of creation. In the Son the world has its foundation and example, and therefore it has in him its goal as well. It is created through him and for him as well (Col. 1:16). Because the creation is his work, it cannot and may not remain the booty of Satan. The Son is the head, Lord, and heir of all things. United in the Son, gathered under him as their head, all creatures return to the Father, the fountain of all good. The second coming is therefore required by his first coming. It is implied in the first; in time, by inner necessity, it will proceed from the first; the second coming brings the first coming to its full effect and completion and was therefore comprehended in a single image with the first coming by Old Testament prophecy. Bavinck, H., Bolt, J., & Vriend, J. (2008). Reformed Dogmatics: Holy Spirit, Church, and New Creation (Vol. 4, p. 685). Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic.

26. Why is the newness of the new creation not mere refurbishment? How and why does our heavenly reward exceed Adam's? (121-123).

"We must go a step further, though, and see that grace does not merely involve the restoration of the natural, as if newness involves mere refurbishment. We rightly hymn the grace that is greater than all our sin, but we do well to remember that glory is greater still than the undoing of sin's deleterious consequences. Grace brings one unto glory, which is itself an escalation beyond the innocence of Eden. To think well about earthly good, we must not only appreciate its metaphysical integrity but also its spiritual relativity before the escalated goodness to which the Creator summons us. Paul commends this escalation in his writing to the Corinthians. "There are heavenly bodies and earthly bodies, but the glory of the heavenly is of one kind, and the glory of the earthly is of another" (1 Cor 15:40). Paul begins here with a principle regarding all creaturely reality, which he will quickly liken unto the varying degrees of celestial illumination that are plain to the eye, "for star differs from star in glory" (15:41). But he then hones in his focus upon eschatological glory: "So it is with the resurrection of the dead" (15:42). A series of contrasts draw out the still-greater glory of that which is raised compared to that which is sown. What is sown is perishable; what is raised is imperishable. It is sown in dishonor; it is raised in glory. It is sown in weakness; it is raised in power. It is sown a natural body; it is raised a spiritual body. If there is a natural body, there is also a spiritual body (15:43-44). The contrasts vary in their clarity, and a case could surely be made that at least some of them seem to juxtapose the fallen state with the redeemed state (e.g., especially "dishonor" over against "glory"). Yet the final pairing, to which the language seems to be escalating, couples "natural" and "spiritual" rather than "sinful" or "fleshly" (in a Pauline sense) over against "spiritual" or "holy." Paul seems to be suggesting that the eschatological glory exceeds even the protological purity of Edenic existence. Glory outbids even innocence. Paul's shift to argument by citation seems to confirm this move: "Thus it is written, 'The first man Adam became a living being' " (15:45). He unpacks the movement from that "first" experience of life to attest still further graces: "the last Adam became a life-giving Spirit. But it is not the spiritual that is first but the natural, and then the spiritual. The first man was from the earth, a man of dust; the second man is from heaven" (15:45-47). Richard Gaffin has shown how this intratextual argument shows that the heavenly outbids the earthly, in as much as the "spiritual" surpasses the "natural.""

27. How will marriage be altered in heaven? (123). How should this affect our views of continuities and discontinuities of other earthly activities and relationships in heaven? (124).

"What does it mean for the heavenly to exceed the earthly? Perhaps no area of biblical concern so demonstrates this relationship as that of marriage. Remember that Jesus tells us that one of the key pillars of society today will be absent from that great bliss, for humans will no longer give themselves man to woman as husband and wife (Matt 22:29-30). Interpreting this biting statement (part of his polemic against the Sadducees [Matt 22:23-33]) canonically, we see that marriage does not end in eternity. Rather, marriage is perfected, in as much as the great marriage of the Lamb and his Bride is celebrated there (Rev 21:9). The fellowship and oneness symbolized so powerfully in the earthly marriage of a man and a woman (Eph 5:25-33, esp. v. 32) need no longer occur because its typological fulfillment has been fully and finally brought to pass through the definitive identification, union, communion, and covenant fellowship of Christ and his church." "The perfection of marriage serves as an intellectual prompt for thinking about the social facets of our eschatological hope more broadly. On the one hand, we see the deepest purpose of marriage perfected by human communion being transposed into the ultimate divine-human covenantal fellowship and intimate presence. Thus, our current commitment to marriage has integrity and deserves our concern and commitment, precisely because it prepares for and is perfected in eternity to come. On the other hand, marriage will no longer exist in its current social form. It will no longer be marked by sexual activity, by procreation as a related end, and so forth. If marriage's perfection involves such radical changes to its reality, we must be humble in our expectations about what other social realities might be like in that new creational hereafter."

25. How do the land promises from the OT and promises of physical blessings relate to eschatological promises? (115-117). Give some examples from Scripture.

"What, then, of earthly realities, blessings and needs in this life for material matters? The Bible often employs earthly benefits as signs of God's favor. Augustine frequently noted how often members of "the synagogue" would misperceive the "symbolic" character of these gifts and believe that they were the final goal. The famed bishop of Hippo thought that only a few had the spiritual perception to see through these goods the transposed glory promised in God himself. One of the most poignant concerns of Dutch neo-Calvinism has been the way in which Herman Bavinck and others have sought to affirm the non-spiritualized eschatology of the Bible. Most recently, Richard Middleton has sought to show that these Old Testament blessings ought to provide a necessary context, hermeneutically speaking, for reading later New Testament statements regarding the blessings of God sought through our covenant with him. In so doing, Middleton has caught a key emphasis of Reformed hermeneutics and, indeed, of covenant theology, namely, that we read the Bible sequentially and allow the Old to frame our approach to the New. He has gone well beyond even Bavinck by rereading spiritual language in the New Testament in the earthy tones supposedly drawn by the Old Testament. John Calvin believed that such a reading of the Old was massively problematic (as it was prefigured, we might say, in the charges of the Anabaptists of his own day). Calvin argued, tracing out Augustinian logic, that while many individual Israelites focused overly much upon earthly goods as the result of religious devotion to Israel's God, the faithful always caught what the Scriptures plainly revealed: God transmitted his greatest glory—his own fullness shared with us—through these lesser parables of the good. The earthly kingdom is a crowning blessing, but the heavenly throne is the gem at its very crest. The covenant teaches that religious devotion—typified by keeping religious practices and rites (e.g., Sabbath)—does trigger life that goes well in the land (e.g., Exod 20:12; Deut 6:1; 12:1; 26:1; 27:2). The maker of all things is not ambivalent regarding their flourishing. But Israel then and followers of Jesus now can and should and do learn that the land is not the ultimate goal, for their maker has fashioned them in such a way that lesser goods cannot provide what is ultimately significant and apart from the greater gift of ultimate significance will not even continue to be received as gifts. Indeed, the land is a blessing because God is there, and only as such. The pursuit of the land through devotion pleases God because it involves our dependent engagement of God in distinctly personal ways. Moses knew that other, lesser gifts cannot be satisfying apart from God's pledged presence (Exod 33:15-16). Religion can never be depersonalized so long as its heavenly bent is always kept front and center, for heaven comes in intrinsically personal fashion or not at all. Third, heavenly-mindedness shapes the manner of our confessing sin and expressing lament before God. We can begin here by considering how heavenly-mindedness frames our anguished confession of our sin. Again the psalmist jars our attention, for his contrite words in Psalm 51 bespeak the remorse and anguish of one who has been jolted into a grim self-awareness of his terrible guilt (cf. 2 Sam 12:1-15). "Against you, you only, have I sinned and done what is evil in your sight" (Ps 51:5). The reader attuned to the wider story might hesitate here, wondering what of Bathsheba he raped (2 Sam. 11:3-4), of Uriah he murdered (2 Sam 11:14-17), and of Israel whom he manipulated for his own ends throughout. Surely God has been sinned against; indeed, we read that "the thing that David had done displeased the Lord" (2 Sam 11:27). But can we really follow his confession and its claim that "Against you, you only, have I sinned"?"

4. Give the proper interpretation of 1 Pet. 3:18-21, 4:6 (4:629-632)

A SECOND OPPORTUNITY? The question has been raised, however, whether on the other side of the grave, for those who have not heard the gospel here on earth or only very dimly, there will not be another opportunity to repent and to believe in Christ. The first ones in the Christian church to give an affirmative answer to that question were Clement and Origen. They inferred from 1 Pet. 3:18-19 that Christ and also the apostles had proclaimed the gospel to the dead in hades who were susceptible to it. Although Augustine and others refuted this sentiment, and though Christ's descent into hell is usually interpreted differently, the idea kept coming back and, in the case of many people, found acceptance in the nineteenth century when the huge number and rapid increase of non-Christians began to dawn on them. It is indeed a fact of the greatest significance that there have been and still are millions of people who have never had any knowledge of the way of salvation in Christ and therefore never were in a position to embrace him with a believing heart or decisively to reject him. These people cannot be numbered among the unbelievers in a strict sense, and Scripture itself says that they must be judged by a different standard than Jews and Christians (Matt. 10:15; 11:20-24; Luke 10:12-24; 12:47-48; John 15:22; Rom. 2:12; 2 Pet. 2:20-22). From this it does not follow, however, that there is or has to be preaching of the gospel on the other side of the grave. For Scripture never speaks a single word about it. Many passages that have at times been advanced for this view (such as Matt. 12:40; John 20:17; Acts 2:24, 27, 31; 13:29-30, 34-37; 1 Tim. 3:16) have not the least evidential value and certainly do not deal with the preaching of Christ in hell. Nor does Ezek. 16:53-63 open up any perspective on this subject; the Lord there promises that despite the horrors perpetrated in Jerusalem, horrors worse than those in her sisters Sodom and Samaria, he will in the end restore it and accept it in mercy. Now in order to take away all false confidence in God's promise and all pride on the part of Israel, there is added that the Lord will not only restore the fortunes of Jerusalem but also those of Sodom and Samaria (v. 53), so that these too will return to their earlier state. From these data some have concluded that there is a possibility of conversion in the intermediate state. They reason that in Ezekiel's time Sodom and its sisters, that is, the other cities in the Valley of Siddim, had all long ago been destroyed and therefore could not be restored to their former state and be accepted by God in grace if their earlier inhabitants had not been converted by the preaching of the word of God in Sheol. But this notion is far removed from the text. The Lord here promises only that he will again, despite its harlotry, accept Jerusalem in grace; and besides, that Sodom and Samaria, which are evidently (cf. v. 61) types of all Gentile nations, will be restored to their former state; that is, in the future, Jerusalem will be restored, and the Gentile cities will be subject to it. But there is no question of preaching and conversion in Sheol, or of a resurrection and return of the earlier inhabitants of Sodom and Samaria. The only texts to which one can appeal for a preaching of the gospel in hades with some semblance of Justification are 1 Pet. 3:19-21 and 4:6. But these texts, also, do not contain what people wish to read in them. Even if it were true that they speak of a proclamation by Christ after his resurrection to the contemporaries of Noah in hades, this would only establish the fact that it occurred, but by no means would it warrant the teaching that there is ongoing preaching of the gospel in hades to all who have not heard it on earth. The truth, after all, is that Noah's contemporaries were precisely not the kind of people who had never during their lifetime heard the word of God on earth; on the contrary, they had willfully and maliciously despised the word of Noah, the preacher of righteousness, and had disobeyed the voice of the Lord while fully conscious that they were doing so (2 Pet. 2:5). Accordingly, they were a very special case that provides no warrant for any further conclusions. Also, the aorist ἐκηρυξεν (ekēryxen; 1 Pet. 3:19) indicates that this preaching by Christ occurred only once. This preaching, furthermore, cannot have been a proclamation of the gospel unto salvation. If one recalls how severely and consistently Scripture judges all the ungodly and how it always describes the generation of Noah's contemporaries as people who gave themselves up to all kinds of evil and unrighteousness, it becomes preposterous to think that Christ would have proclaimed the gospel of salvation to them above all others. At most, as the old Lutherans explained the text, the reference is to a solemn announcement of his triumph to the denizens of the underworld. In addition, all kinds of difficulties attend such ongoing preaching of the gospel in hades. According to 1 Pet. 3:18-19, Christ delivered that preaching specifically after he had been made alive and was risen. Did he at that time go physically to hades? When did he do that? How long did he stay there? And suppose all this were possible—however unlikely it is as such—who then is conducting this preaching in hades on an ongoing basis after this time? Is there a church in the underworld? Is there an ongoing mission, a calling and ordination to ministry? Are they humans or angels, apostles or other ministers of the Word, who after their death are proclaiming the gospel there? The theory of a mission center in hades is, in a variety of ways, in conflict with Scripture. But, as demonstrated earlier, it lacks all support in 1 Pet. 3:18-22 as well. All we are told there is that after his resurrection, Christ, made alive in the spirit, went to heaven and by his ascension preached to the spirits in prison and made angels, authorities, and powers subject to him. Nor does 1 Pet. 4:6 make any mention of such gospel preaching in hades. The aorist εὐηγγελισθη (euēngelisthē) by its very form refers not to ongoing preaching but to a specific event. That proclamation of the gospel occurred once, and with the intent that those who heard it would be judged like everyone else, "in the flesh," that is, they would die, but might live, as God does, "in the spirit." The preaching of the gospel, therefore, preceded their death; the νεκροι are those who are now dead but who heard the gospel during their lifetime. The reason why Peter calls these people νεκροι (nekroi, dead [ones]) can be found in the previous verse. There we read that Christ "stands ready to judge the living and the dead." Now then, just as the gospel is preached to the living today, so it was in the past preached to those who are now dead, so that, while they would indeed still die in the flesh [as everyone else does], they would nevertheless even now already live in the spirit in God's presence. Given these objections, which are derived from Scripture, the entire theory of gospel preaching in the intermediate state collapses. For if it is not in Scripture, theology is not free to advocate it. But there are still many other objections as well. Assuming that the gospel is still being preached in hades, is that preaching addressed to everyone without distinction? Usually the answer given is no, restricting the audience to those who did not hear of it on earth. This is not only in conflict with their exegesis of 1 Pet. 3:18-22 (for if the reference in this passage is to gospel preaching by Christ in hades, it is addressed precisely to those who did hear the gospel through Noah), it also automatically raises the question whether life here on earth is totally immaterial to that preaching of the gospel in hades. To this question, too, people as a rule understandably do not dare to give a negative answer, for then this life would be completely without value or meaning. For that reason, along with Clement and Origen, they usually say that in the intermediate state the gospel is addressed only to those who are susceptible to conversion—people who, on earth, by their attitude toward the real calling (vocatio realis), have prepared themselves for an acceptance of the gospel by faith.3 By saying this, one in fact again shifts the point of emphasis back to this life, and the preaching of the gospel in hades only brings to light what was already hidden in human hearts here on earth. That is to say, the decision with respect to salvation and perdition is made, not in response to the gospel, but in response to the real calling (vocatio realis), the law. And in essence this is the same opinion that was held also by the Pelagians, Socinians, Deists, and the like, namely, that there are three ways to salvation: the law of nature, the Mosaic law, and the law of Christ. In addition, the theory of a kind of gospel preaching in hades is based on an array of incorrect assumptions. Basic to this theory is the assumption that it is God's intent to save all humans, that the preaching of the gospel has to be absolutely universal, that all humans must be personally and individually confronted by the choice for or against the gospel, that in making that choice the decision lies within human power, that original and actual sins are insufficient to condemn anyone, and that only deliberate unbelief toward the gospel makes a person worthy of eternal ruin. All these assumptions are in conflict with firm scriptural statements and make the theory of gospel preaching in the intermediate state unacceptable. And if, finally, the question is asked whether it is not hard to believe that all those who here on earth, quite aside from any responsibility of their own, failed to hear the gospel are lost, then the answer that has to be given is this: (a) In this most solemn matter, not our feeling but the Word of God decides. (b) The theory of a preaching of the gospel to the dead in no way relieves the problem, inasmuch as it only helps those who had already prepared themselves for the faith here on earth. (c) It even aggravates the problem because it pays no attention to the interest of the millions of children who die in infancy and in fact excludes them from the possibility of being saved. And (d) it takes no account of the sovereign freedom and omnipotence of God, which can save also without the external preaching of the Word, solely by the internal calling and regeneration of the Holy Spirit. Bavinck, H., Bolt, J., & Vriend, J. (2008). Reformed Dogmatics: Holy Spirit, Church, and New Creation (Vol. 4, pp. 629-632). Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic.

5. What is a proper interpretation of 1 Cor. 15:29? (4:638-639)

But the Reformed rejected this intercession for the dead on the ground that their lot was unalterably decided at death. The fact is that neither the Old nor the New Testament breathes a word about such intercession. The only passage to which appeal can be made is 1 Cor. 15:29, where Paul mentions those who had themselves baptized ὑπερ νεκρων (hyper nekrōn). However, from this it cannot be inferred that such a baptism was received by the living for the benefit of the dead. There is no evidence whatever that such a practice existed in Paul's time or later. True, Tertullian and others report that this custom was found among the followers of Cerinthus and Marcion; but in the first place the correctness of this report is subject to doubt and, second, [if it is correct] the implication is that it was a heretical practice that never found acceptance in the Christian church. Those who would use the text to support the right to pray for the dead should first of all begin by baptizing the living on behalf of the dead, so that that baptism could benefit them. Paul cites the dead as the reason why the living had themselves baptized. Because those who had died in Christ would rise again, because of what they stood for and on their behalf, the living who were believers had themselves baptized. The apostle here is only expressing the thought that baptism presupposes belief in the resurrection of Christ and of believers. Take away the resurrection, and baptism becomes an empty ceremony. Bavinck, H., Bolt, J., & Vriend, J. (2008). Reformed Dogmatics: Holy Spirit, Church, and New Creation (Vol. 4, pp. 638-639). Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic.

7. Describe and evaluate chiliasm.

Chiliasm is the belief that Christ will return to establish a glorious kingdom of peace on this earth for one thousand years. The term comes from a Greek word that means one thousand, and arises out of the reference in Revelation 20 to a thousand-year period in which Satan is bound and the souls of martyrs reign with Christ. Chiliasm is distinct from the present day premillennialism in that chiliasm does not teach a secret rapture or emphasize dispensations. Some of the early church fathers held to a form of chiliasm. However, it died out in the church after Augustine came to understand that the millennium is not a literal one thousand-year period, but is the era from Christ's ascension to His second coming. Chiliasm was resurrected by the radicals of the Reformation. Willem Balke (Calvin and the Anabaptist Radicals) asserts that "in spite of their differences, all of these Anabaptist groups [in Strasbourg, RJD] shared a common, feverish longing for the advent of the kingdom of God."3 In his comprehensive study, The Radical Reformation, George Williams concludes that the expectation of a golden age or kingdom was not only a significant common thread among the radicals, it also accounts for their rash and often violent behavior. He writes that "the churches of the Radical Reformation were sustained and emboldened by the conviction that they and their charismatic leaders were the instruments of the Lord of history in the latter days." 4 Luther encountered these radicals in the early days of the Reformation. In 1521-22, while Luther was in hiding in the castle of Wartburg, radicals took over in Wittenberg. Several of the "Zwickau prophets," men identified by the city from which they had come, came to Wittenberg in Luther's absence. Claiming they had special revelations, they heavily influenced Andreas Carlstadt, the friend and colleague of Luther, who began to impose radical changes upon the churches. Luther had been content in those early days to lead the people away from the practices of Rome through preaching of true doctrine. The radicals were impatient, and began instituting wholesale changes in the liturgy and life of the churches. Wittenberg was in an uproar. The troubles brought Luther back to Wittenberg. There Luther preached a series of eight sermons in which he patiently and gently reproved the radicals for their haste and instructed them on their errors. Although the conflict did not involve chiliasm directly, it is evident that wrong ideas of the kingdom lay behind this radicalism. Luther made the point in the first sermon, "Dear friends, the kingdom of God-and we are that kingdom...." 5 Another of the Zwickau men, Thomas Munzer, established himself in Allstedt in 1523. He began to preach that the ungodly were to be eliminated and that the elect (those who received the Spirit, that is, special revelations) would establish a kingdom of God on earth. Luther warned some by private letter about Munzer, and finally came out publicly with the "Letter to the Princes of Saxony Concerning the Rebellious Spirit." Luther pointed out the evil and unbiblical "spirit" that was guiding Munzer and his ilk. He wrote, "I have already heard from the spirit himself here in Wittenberg, that he thinks it necessary to use the sword to carry out his undertaking." Luther reminded the readers that "before Pilate, Christ rejected such an aim, saying that His kingdom is not of this world. He also taught His disciples not to be rulers of the world." 6 All the Reformers contested the teachings of the radical leaders of that day, but none so thoroughly or effectively as John Calvin. In his ministry in Strasbourg (1538-1541) Calvin was used by God to bring a number of Anabaptists back to the fold of the Reformed churches. Calvin's Institutes grew and developed over the years in direct response to the contact with the Anabaptists and other radicals. The main conflicts between the radicals and the Reformed was not over chiliasm, but more often involved doctrines such as infant baptism, the church and covenant, the interpretation of Scripture, and purity of life. Nevertheless, Calvin emphatically rejected the idea of an earthly kingdom in general, and of chiliasm in particular. In his Commentary on Romans (13:1), he criticized those "tumultuous spirits who believe that the kingdom of Christ cannot be sufficiently elevated, unless all earthly powers be abolished...." 7 Commenting on Acts 1:8, Calvin pointed out how Jesus rejected the notion of an earthly kingdom and affirmed the heavenly and spiritual. For hereby [Jesus] meant to drive out of his disciples' minds that fond and false imagination which they had conceived of the terrestrial kingdom, because he showeth unto them briefly, that his kingdom consisteth in the preaching of the gospel. There was no cause, therefore, why they should dream of riches, of external principality, or any other earthly thing, whilst they heard that Christ did then reign when as he subdueth unto himself (all the whole) world by the preaching of the gospel. Whereupon it followeth that he doth reign spiritually, and not after any worldly manner. In that same context Calvin specifically rejected the chiliast view, and affirmed rather the spiritual kingdom in our hearts. He wrote: Wherefore, we see that those which held opinion, that Christ should reign as a king in this world a thousand years fell into the like folly. Hereupon, also, they applied all such prophecies as did describe the kingdom of Christ figuratively by the similitude of earthly kingdoms unto the commodity of their flesh; whereas, notwithstanding, it was God's purpose to lift up their minds higher. As for us, let us learn to apply our minds to hear the gospel preached...which prepareth a place in our hearts for the kingdom of Christ. Calvin considered the chiliasts' errors too childish even to need refutation because they were without scriptural support. He wrote, "Nor do they receive any countenance from the Apocalypse, ... since the thousand years there mentioned refer not to the eternal blessedness of the Church, but only to the various troubles which await the Church militant in this world." He insisted that "the whole Scripture proclaims that there will be no end either to the happiness of the elect, or the punishment of the reprobate" (Institutes (III, 25, 5).8 Commenting on I Thessalonians 4:17, Calvin insisted that the kingdom of Christ may not be limited to a thousand years. To those who have been once gathered to Christ he promises eternal life with him, by which statements the reveries of Origen and of the Chiliasts are abundantly refuted. For the life of believers, when they have once been gathered into one kingdom, will have no end any more than Christ's. Now, to assign to Christ a thousand years, so that he would afterwards cease to reign, were too horrible to be made mention of. Calvin elaborated on this in his Institutes (III, 25, 5). He considered the blessings of the elect and those of Christ to be inseparable. Those who assign only a thousand years to the children of God to enjoy the inheritance of future life, observe not how great an insult they offer to Christ and his kingdom. If they are not to be clothed with immortality, then Christ himself, into whose glory they shall be transformed, has not been received into immortal glory; if their blessedness is to have an end, the kingdom of Christ, on whose solid structure it rests, is temporary. In short, they are either most ignorant of all divine things or they maliciously aim at subverting the whole grace of God and power of Christ, which cannot have their full effects unless sin is obliterated, death swallowed up, and eternal life fully renewed. The issue of chiliasm was sufficiently important that, not only the individual theologians, but also the churches addressed and rejected it. In 1530, the Lutheran Churches adopted the Augsburg Confession. Article 17 condemned those "who now scatter Jewish opinions, that, before the resurrection of the dead, the godly shall occupy the kingdom of the world, the wicked being every where suppressed." Out of the Reformed camp came the Second Helvetic Confession (1566) which likewise repudiated chiliasm. We further condemn Jewish dreams that there will be a golden age on earth before the Day of Judgment, and that the pious, having subdued all their godless enemies, will possess all the kingdoms of the earth. For evangelical truth in Matthew 24 and 25, and Luke 18, and apostolic teaching in II Thessalonians 2, and II Timothy 3 and 4, present something quite different. (Chapter 11) This explicit rejection of chiliasm (and thus of all forms of premillennialism) is the confession of all Reformed churches to the present day who are faithful to the Protestant Reformation. As Calvin affirmed, chiliasm "insults" Christ and His glorious kingdom. It is unthinkable that the Christ, who redeemed His people by sustaining the infinite and eternal wrath of God, that that Christ would be rewarded with a millennial kingdom, and then turn it over to His Father.

11. Explain and defend your view on the mode of caring for the bodies of the dead (4:695). Address pastoral difficulties attached to this question.

Directly connected with this truth is the care of the dead. Cremation is not to be rejected because it is assumed to limit the omnipotence of God and make the resurrection an impossibility. Nevertheless, it is of pagan origin; it was never a custom in Israel or in Christian nations, and it militates against Christian mores. Burial, on the other hand, is much more nearly in harmony with Scripture, creed, history, and liturgy; with the doctrine of the image of God that is also manifest in the body; with the doctrine of death as a punishment for sin; and with the respect that is due to the dead and the resurrection on the last day. Christians do not, like the Egyptians, artificially preserve corpses; nor do they mechanically destroy them, as many people desire today. But they entrust them to the earth's bosom and let them rest until the day of the resurrection. Bavinck, H., Bolt, J., & Vriend, J. (2008). Reformed Dogmatics: Holy Spirit, Church, and New Creation (Vol. 4, p. 695). Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic.

6. What are the two limbos? How does the unity of the covenant of grace relate to them? (4:643).

Moreover, all have their own task and place. Roman Catholics assume that after death Old Testament believers waited in the limbo of the fathers and were not released until Christ freed them at his descent into hell; and they also believe that infants who were not yet baptized when they died will be received neither in hell nor in heaven but in a separate "receptacle," the limbo of infants. But Scripture presents no basis for either of these two "limbos." It is of course logical that those who lose sight of the unity of the covenant of grace, and view the benefits secured by Christ as a new substance that did not exist before—such are compelled to make the devout of the Old Testament wait in the limbo of the fathers for this acquisition and impartation of Christ's benefits. But those who acknowledge the unity of the covenant and view the benefits of Christ as the gracious benevolence of God that, with a view toward Christ, could be imparted already before his suffering and death—they have no need for a limbus patrum. Under the provisions of the Old Testament, the way to heavenly blessedness was the same as under the New Testament, even though there is indeed a difference in the light by which they walked then and now. Bavinck, H., Bolt, J., & Vriend, J. (2008). Reformed Dogmatics: Holy Spirit, Church, and New Creation (Vol. 4, pp. 642-643). Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic.

3. Expound and critique one of the following positions: soul sleep, intermediate corporeality, or continued contact between the living and the dead (4:616-627. Students will likely answer all three of these questions on the exam).

SOUL SLEEP? Many pagan thinkers and also some Christians have believed that souls, after being separated from the body, are capable only of leading a dormant life. The change that begins at death is indeed of extraordinary significance. The entire content of our psychic life is after all derived from the external world; all knowledge begins with sense perception; the entire form of our thought is material; we even speak of spiritual things in words that originally had a sensory meaning. If then, as Scripture teaches, death is a sudden, violent, total, and absolute break with the present world, there is ostensibly no other possibility than that the soul is completely closed to the external world, loses all its content, and sinks back as it were into itself. In sleep as well, the soul withdraws from the outside world and breaks off its interaction with it. But in sleep it does this only in a relative sense, since it continues to be united with the body and retains the rich life it has acquired from the world. In dreaming it even continues to occupy itself with that world, albeit in a confused fashion. Still, what enormous change mere sleep brings about in human life: the faculties of knowing and desiring cease their activity; the consciousness stands still; all perception and observation stop; only the vegetative life continues its regular rhythms. But if this is the case in sleep, how much more will all the activity of the soul come to a halt when death enters in and totally severs the ties that unite it with this world! Everything, therefore, seems to argue for the position that after death souls are in a dormant, unconscious state. And as would appear from a superficial reading, Scripture is so far removed from condemning the doctrine of soul sleep that it rather commends and favors it. After all, not only the Old but also the New Testament repeatedly refers to death as a sleep (Deut. 31:16 KJV; Jer. 51:39, 57; Dan. 12:2; Matt. 9:24; John 11:11; 1 Cor. 7:39, Greek; in KJV: 1 Cor. 11:30; 15:6, 18, 20, 51; 1 Thess. 4:13-15; 2 Pet. 3:4; etc.). Sheol is a land of silence, rest, and forgetfulness, where nothing ever shares in anything that happens under the sun. Jesus speaks of the night of death in which no one can work (John 9:4), and Scripture nowhere makes mention of anything that those who, like Lazarus and others, returned to life from the dead reported concerning what they saw or heard in the intermediate state. Still, all these arguments are not sufficient to prove the theory of psychopannychism. For in the first place, it is clear that the soul's dependence on the body does not necessarily exclude its independence. The external world may prompt the awakening of our self-consciousness and be the initial source of our knowledge; thinking may be bound to our brains and have its seat and organ there; yet it has not been and cannot be proved that the psychic life of humanity has its source and origin in physical phenomena. Thinking and knowing are activities of the soul; it is not the ear that hears and the eye that sees but the psychic "I" of a human being that hears through the ear and sees through the eye. The body is the instrument of mind, or spirit. For that reason there is nothing preposterous in thinking that if necessary the soul can continue its activities without the body. Also, those who would deny conscious life to spirit as such would logically have to assume that consciousness and will are also impossible in the case of God and the angels. For though we speak of God in human fashion and often picture angels as corporeal, they are in themselves spirit and nevertheless possess consciousness and will. In the second place, Scripture teaches with the greatest possible clarity that death is a total break with all of this earthly life, and to that extent it is a sleeping, resting, or being silent. The state of death is a sleep; the deceased person sleeps because interaction with the present world has ended. But Scripture nowhere says that the soul of the deceased sleeps. On the contrary, Scripture always represents the person after death as being more or less conscious. As revelation progresses, it becomes increasingly clear that, whereas in death all the soul's relationships with this world are cut off, they are immediately replaced by other relations with another world. The great scriptural idea that life is bound up with service to the Lord, and death with rejecting such service, also casts its light on the other side of the grave. Whereas immediately after his death the rich man is in torment, the wretched Lazarus is carried to Abraham's bosom (Luke 16:23). And all believers who on earth already participated in eternal life, so far from losing it by dying (John 11:25-26), after death enjoy it all the more intensely and blessedly in fellowship with Christ (Luke 23:43; Acts 7:59; 2 Cor. 5:8; Phil. 1:23; Rev. 6:9; 7:9-10). Being at home in the body is being away from the Lord; therefore, to die is the way to a closer, more intimate fellowship with Christ. In the third place, it need not surprise us that those who rose again and returned to this life tell us nothing about what they saw and heard on the other side. For, aside from the possibility that they have reported some things not recorded in Scripture, it is most likely that they have not been permitted, or are unable, to convey their experiences on the other side of the grave. Moses and the prophets are enough for us (Luke 16:29). After being caught up into the third heaven, Paul could say only that he had heard things that are not to be told and that no mortal is permitted to repeat (2 Cor. 12:4). INTERMEDIATE CORPOREALITY? [556] Others believe that after death, souls receive a new corporeality and are on that account able again to enter into contact with the external world. They base this opinion on the fact that we cannot visualize the life and activity of the soul aside from the body and, further, on those passages in Scripture that seem to accord a kind of corporeality to the souls of the dead. The denizens of the realm of the dead are described precisely as they appeared on earth. Samuel is pictured as an old man clothed with a mantle (1 Sam. 28:14); the kings of the nations sit on thrones and go out to meet the king of Babylon (Isa. 14:9); the Gentiles lie down to rest with the uncircumcised (Ezek. 31:18; 32:19ff.). In speaking of the dead, Jesus still refers to their eyes, fingers, and tongues (Luke 16:23-24). Paul expects that if the earthly tent is destroyed, he will have a building from God and not be unclothed but further clothed (2 Cor. 5:1-4). And John saw a great multitude, standing before the throne and the Lamb, robed in white, with palm branches in their hands (Rev. 6:11; 7:9). But, in the first place, from this mode of speech in Scripture one cannot infer anything about the corporeality of souls after death. Scripture can speak of God and angels, of the souls in Sheol, of joy in heaven and torment in hell only by using human language, with imagery derived from earthly conditions and relations. But alongside of this it states clearly and decisively that God is spirit and that the angels are spirits, and by saying this it gives us a standard by which all these anthropomorphic expressions need to be understood. And it does the same with respect to the dead. It can only speak of them as people of flesh and blood but states additionally that while their bodies rest in the grave, they are souls or spirits (Eccles. 12:7; Ezek. 37:5; Luke 23:46; Acts 7:59; Heb. 12:23; 1 Pet. 3:19; Rev. 6:9; 20:4). We have to hold to these clear pronouncements. Those who nevertheless attribute to souls a kind of body must, to be consistent, follow through and, along with theosophists, represent God and the angels as in some sense physical as well. Second, the strongest passage speaking for a kind of "intermediate corporeality" (Zwischenleiblichkeit) of souls is 2 Cor. 5:1-4. But also this text, when properly exegeted, loses all its evidential value. There is no difference of opinion, after all, about the main point Paul is making here. The apostle knows that when his earthly body is "dissolved," he has "a building from God." Still he groans and feels burdened in this body, being anxious about death, and would therefore wish not to be "unclothed" from this body but to be clothed instantaneously, in both soul and body, with a heavenly dwelling, so that what is mortal is swallowed up by life. However, though this may be his dearest wish, he knows that after the destruction of this earthly body, even if it be that he has his body "taken off," he will still not be found naked but be at home with the Lord (vv. 1, 3, 8). But if this is the main idea, we cannot construe the dwelling from God as the resurrection body and, still less, as an intermediate body. For the thing Paul particularly longs for is to be clothed with that dwelling from God, without dying, while keeping his earthly body. Now the resurrection body is not one existing alongside the earthly body and is not put on over it, but under the impact of God's word of power, the new body arises from the earthly body or, in the case of those who are still alive, results from a transformation (1 Cor. 15:42, 51-52). And an intermediate body is all the more inconceivable because in that scenario Paul would know of no fewer than three bodies, each consecutively put on over the other. Holtzmann therefore correctly remarks that "it is best no longer to speak of any 'intermediate' body at all. Paul knows two, not three σωματα [sōmata, bodies]," which, accordingly, cannot be put dualistically after and alongside of each other. For this reason the "building from God" cannot be anything other than a place and, simultaneously, the heavenly glory thought of as a garment, the eternal light that God himself inhabits (1 Tim. 6:16). It is something from God, not made with hands, from and in heaven, into which at death or at the resurrection believers are transposed (cf. John 14:2; 17:24; Col. 1:12). Finally, the corporeality ascribed to souls after death is a concept without any specifiable content; for this very reason, opinions on it tend to be very diverse. Franz Delitzsch, with his trichotomistic viewpoint, assumes that the soul performs the function of the intermediate body for the spirit. In his writings the soul stands between the spirit and matter; it is the principle of bodily life derived from the spirit, the external corporeal clothing of the spirit, and still at the same time the immaterial internal side of the body. Güder teaches the theory that the power that organized our earthly body is preserved and, on the other side of the grave, forms a new body from the elements present there. Splittgerber says that the basic organic form of the body accompanies the soul and in the intermediate state gives it an imperfect provisional corporeality. Rinck believes that the "neural body" (Nervenleib), a fine and delicate internal body that is the bearer of the life of the soul, accompanies the soul after death and is clothed in the case of regenerates by the Spirit of God and formed into an intermediate body by the irradiation of the glorified body of Christ, while in the case of the ungodly it is increasingly pervaded by sin and darkness. But no matter how it is presented, it does not become any clearer. We know only of spirit and matter. An "immaterial corporeality" is a contradiction that was inauspiciously taken from theosophy into Christian theology and seeks in vain to reconcile the false dualism of spirit and matter, of thesis and antithesis. CONTACT WITH THE LIVING? [557] In the third place, there are many who believe that souls after death still maintain some kind of relationship with life on earth. Prevalent among many peoples is the idea that souls after death remain near the gravesite. The Jews, too, believed that for a time following death the soul hovered about the corpse, and used this circumstance to explain how the witch of Endor could still call up the spirit of Samuel. There was the widespread practice of providing the deceased in their grave with food, weapons, possessions, and sometimes even wives and slaves. Usually this veneration of the dead was not restricted to the day of the burial or the time of mourning but continued afterward as well and was incorporated into ordinary private or public cultic practice. Not only the dead in general were venerated but also deceased blood relatives, parents and ancestors, the fathers and heads of the tribe, the heroes of the people, the princes and kings of the country, sometimes even when they were still living; in Buddhism and Islam the saints were venerated as well. This veneration consisted in maintaining their graves, taking care of their bodies (sometimes by embalming), from time to time placing flowers and foods on their graves, paying respect to their images and relics, holding meals and conducting games in their honor, sending up prayers and making sacrifices to them. Though in this connection people frequently made a distinction—as they did in Persia, India, and Greece—between venerating these deceased persons and honoring the gods, still the cult of the dead was a prominent part of the religion. The purpose of this veneration by the people was in part to come to the aid of the dead but especially to avert the evil the dead could do and to ensure themselves, whether in ordinary or extraordinary ways, by oracles and miracles, of their blessing and assistance. From as early as the second century, all of these elements penetrated Christian worship as well. Just as monks in Buddhism and mystics in Islam, so the martyrs in the Christian church soon became the objects of religious veneration. Altars, chapels, and churches were built at sites where they had died or their relics were interred. Especially on the death dates of the martyrs, believers assembled at these sites to commemorate them by vigils and the singing of psalms, reading the acts of the martyrs, listening to sermons in their honor, and especially by celebrating the holy Eucharist. And after the fourth century this veneration of the virgin Mary, angels, patriarchs, prophets, and martyrs was extended to include bishops, monks, hermits, confessors, and virgins, as well as a variety of saints, their relics, and their images. Despite resistance to this cult of the dead both inside and outside the Catholic Church, it is still, in an alarming way, consistently and increasingly forcing the worship of the one true God and of Jesus Christ into the background. In this cult the Roman Catholic Church in a practical way celebrates the communion of the saints. The one Christian church has three divisions: the triumphant church (ecclesia triumphans) in heaven, the suffering church (ecclesia patiens) in purgatory, and the militant church (ecclesia militans) on earth. The share that the suffering church has in this communion consists in three things: (1) The blessed souls in heaven by their intercessions come to the aid of the poor souls in purgatory. (2) The church on earth, by its prayers, alms, good works, indulgences, and especially the offering of the Mass, seeks to soften and shorten the punishment of the souls in purgatory. (3) Finally, the souls in purgatory, who in any case are far ahead of the majority of the members of the militant church and may for that reason be invoked, by their intercessions help and strengthen believers on earth. This latter element, while it already plays a growing role in the communion with the suffering church, nevertheless forms the main constituent of the communion of the militant church with the triumphant church. The blessed in heaven, like the angels, share in perfect supernatural holiness and are for that reason the objects of adoration and veneration. In that holiness they do not all participate in the same degree; like the angels, they form a spiritual hierarchy—at the top stands Mary, and after her follow the patriarchs, prophets, apostles, martyrs, confessors, and so on. It is a descending series, but in all of them something of the divine attributes shines forth. Participating in this sanctity, further, is everything that has in some way been connected with the saints—their body, parts of their body, clothes, dwellings, portraits, and the like. And in the measure by which a thing is closer to God and has a greater share in his holiness, to that extent it is the object of religious veneration. In this veneration, therefore, there are also various differences. Adoration (latria) is due only to God. The human nature of Christ and all its parts (e.g., his holy heart) is in itself (in se), not by itself and on account of itself (per se and propter se), the object of latria. Mary is entitled to hyperdulia, the saints to dulia (veneration), their relics to relative religious devotion, and so on; there are as many kinds of adoration as there are kinds of excellence; adoration is varied according to the diversity of excellence. In general, the veneration of saints consists in prayers, fastings, vigils, feast days, gifts, pilgrimages, processions, and the like; the purpose of it is, by their intercessions, to gain the favor of God and to obtain some kind of benefit from him. This veneration and intercession, however, is not only general but also particular. There are specific saints for specific peoples, families, and persons; and there are special saints for distinct forms of distress and needs. St. George is the patron saint of England, St. James of Spain, St. Stephen of Hungary. Painters venerate St. Luke, carpenters St. Joseph, shoemakers St. Crispin. St. Sebastian is especially helpful in times of the plague; St. Othilia in case of eye trouble; St. Anthony for recovering lost objects. Even animals have their patron saints: geese receive protection especially from St. Gall, sheep from St. Wendelin, and so forth. Many of these notions returned from time to time in Protestant theology. Lutherans acknowledged that angels as well as the saints pray for the universal church generally. Just as earlier Hugo Grotius in his Votum pro pace defended the invocation of saints, so Leibniz later gave his approval to this practice and even to the veneration of images and relics. Ritualism in England moved in the same direction. Numerous theologians assumed that after death there continues to be a certain connection between the soul and the body, that souls maintain some kind of relationship with the earth, know about the most important events, pray for us, look down upon us, and bless us.43 Many eighteenth-century thinkers like Swedenborg, Jung-Stilling, and Oberlin believed they were in direct contact with the spirits of the dead. The possibility of such apparitions was acknowledged as well by men like Kant, Lessing, Jung-Stilling, J. H. Fichte, and others; and spiritism, which arose after 1848, seeks intentionally to put itself in touch with the spirit world and believes it can by this route receive all kinds of revelations.45 [558] To start with this latter issue, we need to note that superstitious practices occur among all peoples, also those with whom Israel came in contact, such as the Egyptians (Gen. 41:8; Exod. 7:11), the Canaanites (Deut. 18:9, 14), the Babylonians (Dan. 1:20; 2:2), and so on. These practices penetrated Israel as well and often flourished there (1 Sam. 28:9; 2 Kings 21:6; Isa. 2:6). Among these practices was that of consulting the dead; those who practiced it were called אֹבוֹת (ʾōbôt, mediums) or יִדְּעֹנִים (yiddōnîm, wizards). The word אוֹב (ʾôb), refers first of all to the familiar spirit indwelling a person (Lev. 20:27), whom someone possesses (1 Sam. 28:7-8), who is consulted by someone (28:8), by whom someone can bring up a dead person (28:9), and who, as the dead were imagined doing, announces oracles in a mysterious, whispering tone (Isa. 8:19; 19:3; 29:4). In the second place, it refers to the person of the medium (1 Sam. 28:5, 9; 2 Kings 21:6; 2 Chron. 33:6; LXX: ἐγγαστριμυθος, engastrimythos, ventriloquist). The other word יִדְּעֹנִים (yiddōnîm, the knowers or wizards) further describes the אֹבוֹת (ʾōbôt) and refers, first, to the mediums and, second, to the familiar spirit that was in them (Lev. 19:31; 20:6, 27; Isa. 19:3). Soothsaying might occur in many different ways, among others by consulting the dead (Deut. 18:11). But the Law and the Prophets were firmly opposed to the practice and called the people back to the Lord, his revelation, and his testimony (Exod. 22:18; Lev. 19:26, 31; 20:6, 27; Deut. 18:11; 1 Sam. 28:9; Isa. 8:19; 47:9-15; Jer. 27:9; 29:8; Mic. 3:7; 5:12; Nah. 3:4; Mal. 3:5); the New Testament puts its seal on this witness (Luke 16:29; Acts 8:9ff.; 19:13-20; Gal. 5:20; Eph. 5:11; Rev. 9:21; 21:8; 22:15). One cannot even prove that Holy Scripture accepts the possibility of calling up the dead and having them appear. Admittedly, by God's miraculous power the dead have sometimes been raised, and Scripture acknowledges the demonic powers and workings that surpass the capacity of humans (Deut. 13:1-2; Matt. 24:24; 2 Thess. 2:9; Rev. 13:13-15). But nowhere does it teach the possibility or reality of the dead appearing. The only passage that can be cited for this view is 1 Sam. 28, where Saul seeks out the medium at Endor. (The appearance of Moses and Elijah with Christ on the Mount of Transfiguration [Matt. 17; Mark 9; Luke 9] was effected by God alone, without any human mediation.) But though we must reject the rationalistic explanation that only sees in this story the account of an intentional deception by the woman, neither can we accept the idea of a real, objective appearance of Samuel. The fact is that Saul does not actually see Samuel (v. 14); the woman does see him but is in a hypnotic state (v. 12), and she sees him as he looked during his lifetime, as an old man wrapped in a prophet's mantle (v. 14). The woman's horror (v. 12) is not inspired by the fact that, contrary to what she expected, she really saw Samuel, but by the fact that, being in a hypnotic state and seeing Samuel, she also immediately recognized King Saul and was in dread of him. After Saul has been given the impression that a subterranean spiritual being (אֱלֹהִים, ʾĕlōhîm; v. 13) has come up from the earth and that Samuel himself had appeared, the latter speaks to Saul from within and through the woman and announces his judgment. There is nothing in 1 Sam. 28 that goes beyond the familiar phenomena of hypnotism and somnambulism and cannot be explained in the same way. There are many people, however, who believe that precisely from these phenomena of hypnotism, somnambulism, spiritism, and the like they must deduce the operation of spirits. But as yet this hypothesis seems completely unwarranted. Aside from the many hoaxes that have been perpetrated in this domain, the things that have been said of the appearance and operation of spirits are so puerile and insignificant that we certainly do not have to assume the involvement of the spirit world to explain them. This is not to deny that a wide range of phenomena occur that have not yet been explained; but these are all of such a nature (as, e.g., the sudden onset of the ability to understand and speak foreign languages, clairvoyance, hypnosis, suggestion, second sight, premonition, synchronic telecognition, telepathy, and so forth) that they are by no means made any clearer by the hypothesis of spirit apparitions. If, in addition, we consider that in their perceptions human beings are bound and restricted to a specific number of etheric vibrations so that any modification in that number would show them a totally different image of the world; and that they themselves possess a rich and profound psychic life that is only partially manifest in self-consciousness, then there is, even on this side of the "other" world (Diesseits), still so much room for occultism that for the time being we need not resort to the [hypothesis of] uncanny influences from the world of spirits. Further, the whole of Scripture proceeds from the idea that death is a total break with life on this side of the grave. True, the dead continue to remember the things that happened to them on earth. Both the rich man and Lazarus know who and what they were on earth and under what conditions they lived (Luke 16). In the final judgment, people know what they have done on earth (Matt. 7:22). Their deeds follow those who died in the Lord (Rev. 14:13). The things we have done on earth become our moral possession and accompany us in death. There is no doubt either that the dead recognize those whom they have known on earth. The denizens of the underworld mockingly salute the king of Babylon (Isa. 14). Out of the midst of Sheol the mighty chiefs address Egypt's king and people (Ezek. 32:21). The rich man knows Lazarus (Luke 16). The friends we make on earth by the good we do will one day receive us with joy in the eternal homes (Luke 16:9). But for the rest, Scripture consistently tells us that at death all fellowship with this earth ends. The dead no longer have a share in anything that happens under the sun (Eccles. 9:5-6, 10). Whether their children come to honor or are brought low, the dead do not know of it (Job 14:21). Abraham does not know of the children of Israel, and Jacob does not recognize them either; therefore they call to the Lord since he is their Father (Isa. 63:16). Nowhere is there any sign that the dead are in contact with the living: they belong to another realm, one that is totally separate from the earth. Nor does Heb. 12:1 teach us that the great cloud of witnesses see and watch us in our struggles. For the μαρτυρες (martyres) are not eyewitnesses of our struggle but witnesses of faith who serve to encourage us. For that reason there is no room for the invocation and veneration of saints. By itself there is nothing strange or improper in the idea that the angels and the blessed make intercession for people on earth. Indeed, Protestants frequently also accepted an interest [on their part] in the history of the militant church and a general intercession [on its behalf]. But for that reason it is all the more remarkable that while Scripture so often mentions the intercession of people on earth and specifically recommends and prescribes it (Matt. 6:9ff.; Rom. 15:30; Eph. 6:18-19; Col. 1:2-3; 1 Tim. 2:1-2) and further teaches that God frequently spares others for the sake of the elect and upon their intercession (Gen. 18:23ff.; Exod. 32:11ff.; Num. 14:13ff.; Ezek. 14:14, 20; Matt. 24:22; etc.), it never breathes a word about intercession by angels and the blessed in heaven for those who live on earth. With respect to the intercession of angels, we have already demonstrated this earlier, and concerning the intercession of the blessed dead, Roman Catholics themselves admit that it does not occur in Scripture.49 Only 2 Macc. 15:12-14 refers, in a vision of Judas, to the intercession of Onias and Jeremiah for their people, which proves only that at that time the Jews were convinced of the intercession of the blessed dead for people on earth. There is still less basis for the invocation and veneration of the saints. Holy Scripture does say that believers on earth may appeal to each other for intercession (Num. 21:7; Jer. 42:2; 1 Thess. 5:25), but never mentions asking the dead for their intercession; and both angels and human beings expressly refuse to accept the religious veneration that is due only to God (Deut. 6:13; 10:20; Matt. 4:10; Acts 14:10ff.; Col. 2:18-19; Rev. 19:10; 22:9). Nor is there any reference to the veneration of relics. Even though God sometimes performs miracles through them (2 Kings 13:21; Matt. 9:21; Luke 6:19; Acts 5:15; 19:12), they must not be the objects of veneration (Deut. 34:6; 2 Kings 18:4; 2 Cor. 5:16). Oswald, accordingly, counts the invocation and veneration of saints among the "dogmas of tradition." Even if one grants a general intercession of the saints for believers on earth, it by no means follows that they may be invoked and venerated for that purpose. Granted, a request for someone's intercession is absolutely not wrong as such and therefore occurs regularly among believers. But such a request always assumes a means of communication and must be conveyed either orally or in writing. And this is precisely what is lacking and diametrically opposed to what Scripture teaches concerning the state of the dead. Rome, therefore, does not dare to say that the invocation and veneration of saints is mandated and necessary, but only that "it is good and useful suppliantly to invoke them." Theology can in no way make clear how the saints come to know of our prayers, and hence it proposes a range of conjectures. Some believe that they are conveyed to them by angels who regularly visit the earth, or that the saints, like the angels, can travel at miraculous speeds and are in a sense ubiquitous. Others are of the opinion that the saints are informed by God himself concerning the content of our prayers or envision all the things they need to know in the consciousness of God. There are also theologians who say that it is not necessary for them to know everything, provided that they have a general idea of our needs; or that we need not be concerned about the way they learn of our prayers. Further, Roman Catholics absolutely do not know with certainty which of the dead are in heaven and in the category of perfect saints. The faithful of the Old Testament were first in the limbo of the fathers and, though they were moved to heaven by Christ, they are too far removed from us to be invoked.52 Concerning some of the New Testament faithful, such as Mary, the apostles, and some of the later martyrs, Rome does assume that they have been taken up into heaven, but this is the case with only a few, and even here we may be in error. In earlier times, it was the voice of the people that accorded the attribute of sanctity to one who had died; and in some cases it happened that men who possessed this attribute lost it again, as did Clement of Alexandria by the action of Pope Benedict XIV. To prevent these errors, the ecclesiastical act of declaring someone a saint, that is, canonization, has since Alexander III and Innocent III become a prerogative of the apostolic See. In this connection, however, it is a question again whether in this canonization the pope is infallible. And though this may in fact be the case, the pope of course makes rare use of his prerogative. By far the majority of saints are invoked and venerated without it being known precisely whether they are in heaven or are still in purgatory. One has to be content with a moral conviction, and consider in addition that a possible error need not have any bad consequences, and for safety's sake extend the invocation to the "poor souls" in purgatory, which is what is increasingly happening in practice.54 In the church of Rome, the invocation of saints is certainly no longer merely a request for their intercession (ora pro nobis) but changed gradually into a kind of adoration and veneration. The saints are the objects of religious veneration (cultus religiosus), even if it is not called worship (latria) but veneration (dulia). Now there is no doubt that if we should meet angels or the blessed dead, or if we had some kind of personal contact with them, we would owe them respectful homage. But precisely this circumstance does not occur. And consequently all invocation of angels and the blessed dead ends in a kind of religious veneration that is not made right by the name dulia. On the road on which Rome is going with this veneration of creatures, there is simply no stopping. Holiness is conceived by it as a superadded gift (donum superadditum), as something substantial that can be communicated in various measure to all creatures, and may then be religiously venerated in proportion. To the degree that a person or thing participates in the divine holiness, they may claim a kind of religious homage (cultus religiosus). First of all those possessing this prerogative, then, are Mary, the apostles, martyrs, and saints, but further all and everything that has been in contact with them or still exists in relation to them, hence relics, images, dwellings, and the like. By this principle all creatures can rightfully be religiously venerated "because and to the degree each has a relationship to God," including even the hands of the soldiers who arrested Jesus and the lips of Judas that kissed him. In any case I see no reason why the saints who are on earth should not already be invoked and venerated by Catholic Christians, among them especially the pope, the saint par excellence. "As such there is no objection whatever to extending religious veneration to holiness as it occurs on earth. So then, if one were completely convinced of the godliness of a person, it could as such be venerated as this is done in the case of the saints in heaven. In individual cases it may have occurred privately and perhaps still does."56 Whatever Oswald further advances against it is based on utility and shows that the veneration of living saints, specifically of the pope, is merely a matter of time in the Roman Catholic Church. The communion of saints degenerates into mutual veneration that crowds the Mediator of God and humanity into the background. Bavinck, H., Bolt, J., & Vriend, J. (2008). Reformed Dogmatics: Holy Spirit, Church, and New Creation (Vol. 4, pp. 616-627). Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic.

9. What is the nature of the 1000 years in Revelation 20? (4:678-684). Defend your position from Scripture.

THE MILLENNIUM IN REVELATION 20 It is this reality that is reflected in the twentieth chapter of John's Revelation. Because we read there of a thousand-year binding of Satan and of martyrs living and ruling with Christ in that time, many have believed that here, in clear, undeniable language, a thousand-year reign is being taught. In fact, however, this interpretation of Rev. 20, though it is in accord with the analogy of apocryphal literature, is not in accord with the analogy of Scripture. Revelation 20 as such contains nothing of all the things that belong to the essence of chiliastic belief. The reasons for this latter statement are as follows. First, the chapter does not say a word about a conversion and return of the Jews, of the rebuilding of Jerusalem, of a restoration of the temple and temple worship, or of an initial renewal of the earth. These things, rather, are excluded. For even if the 144,000 in chapter 7 are to be understood as referring to the πληρωμα (plērōma, fullness) from Israel and are distinct from those mentioned in 14:1, what this would mean is nothing other and nothing more than that also many Christians from among the Jews will remain firm in the great tribulation and assume a place of their own among the multitude standing before the throne of God. But Rev. 20 in no way states that they will arise from the dead and live in Jerusalem. In this book Christians are the real Jews, and the Jews who harden themselves in unbelief are a synagogue of Satan (2:9). Although the earthly Jerusalem is occasionally called the holy city, and the temple in Jerusalem is called the temple of God (11:1-2), still that Jerusalem is allegorically called "Sodom" and "Egypt" (11:8). The true Jerusalem is above (3:12; 21:2, 10), and there too is the temple of God (3:12; 7:15; 11:19; etc.), the ark (11:19), and the altar (6:9; 8:3, 5; 9:13; 14:18; 16:7). And that Jerusalem does not come down from heaven in Rev. 20 but only in Rev. 21. Second, the life and rule of the believers who remained faithful in the great tribulation take place in heaven, not on earth. Not a word is said about the earth. John saw the angel who binds Satan come down from heaven (20:1); the thrones he saw (20:4) are located in heaven (4:4; 11:16), and the souls of the martyrs are seen here (20:4), as in every other passage, in heaven (6:9; 7:9, 14-15; 11:12; 14:1-5; 18:20; 19:1-8). Christ already on earth made believers kings and priests to God (1:6). That is what they are in heaven (5:10), and they expect that one day they will be that on earth as well (5:10), but this expectation is only fulfilled in the new Jerusalem that comes down from above. Then they will be kings forever (22:5). But now, in heaven, this kingship is temporary: it lasts a thousand years. Third, John also does not know of a physical resurrection that precedes the millennium and a second that follows it. Such a first resurrection is not taught anywhere in Scripture. There is indeed mention of a spiritual resurrection from sin (John 5:25-26; Rom. 6:4; etc.). There is also a resurrection from the dead (ἀναστασις ἐκ νεκρων, anastasis ek nekrōn) that refers to individual cases, like the resurrection of Christ (1 Pet. 1:3; cf. Acts 26:23; 1 Cor. 15:23), or only to believers (Luke 20:35-36; Acts 4:2), but in that case it is absolutely not distinguished temporally by a thousand-year reign from the universal resurrection from the dead (ἀναστασις νεκρων, anastasis nekrōn; Matt. 22:31; John 5:28-29; Acts 24:15; 1 Cor. 15:13, 42). True, some writers have tried to find this distinction in 1 Cor. 15:20-28 and 1 Thess. 4:13-18, but they do so erroneously. In 1 Cor. 15:20-28 Paul is most certainly dealing only with the resurrection of believers, while he does not breathe a word, nor does he need to, about that of the ungodly. But of the resurrection of believers he clearly states that it will occur at the time of Christ's parousia, and then the end comes, when he delivers the kingdom to the Father (vv. 23-24). One could indeed infer from this passage that, according to Paul, there is no resurrection of the ungodly, but one could not possibly derive from it that the latter are separated by a thousand-year reign from that of believers. For the resurrection of believers is immediately followed by the end and the delivering up of the kingdom, because all [God's] enemies have been vanquished and the last enemy, death, has been destroyed. Nor is there any hint of such a prior physical resurrection of believers in 1 Thess. 4:13-18. In Thessalonica, people were worried about the lot of those who died in Christ—we do not know why. Chiliasts think that, while the Thessalonians did not doubt the resurrection and eternal life of those who died in Christ, they believed in two resurrections, one before and one after the thousand-year reign, and were worried that the believers who had already died would rise again only in the second resurrection and would therefore have no part in the glory of the thousand-year reign. But this opinion is far-fetched and has no support whatever in the text. If in fact there was a first resurrection of believers, one would expect rather that the church in Thessalonica would not be worried about the lot of the dead, for these would of course be precisely the kind who would share in that first resurrection. And if someone were to respond by saying that the information that there is a prior resurrection of believers is precisely what the Thessalonians did not know, then the apostle could simply have informed them in a few words. But he does not do this at all. He does not speak of a first and second resurrection. He asserts only that the believers who will still be alive at Jesus's coming will have no advantage over those who earlier already died in Christ. We do not know in what respect the Thessalonians thought that the latter would be at a disadvantage by comparison with the former. But it does not matter. The fact is that this is what they thought in Thessalonica. And over against this idea Paul now says that this is not the case. In fact, through Jesus who will raise them from the dead, God will cause the now-dead believers to be immediately with him (with Jesus) in his future, so that he will, as it were, bring them along with him. And the believers who are left and alive will by no means have an advantage over them, inasmuch as the resurrection of the dead comes first and then all believers, both the resurrected and the transformed, will be caught up together in the clouds to meet the Lord. The text, therefore, does not say anything about a first and second resurrection. If, then, such a twofold resurrection occurs nowhere else in Scripture, we will do well not to find it too quickly in Rev. 20. And in reality it does not occur there either. We only read in verses 4 and 5 that the souls of the believers who remained faithful in the great tribulation live and reign as kings with Christ a thousand years, and that this is the first resurrection. John clearly says that he saw the souls (τας ψυχας, tas psychas) of the martyrs (cf. 6:9) and makes no mention of the resurrection of their bodies. He further says that the souls lived and reigned immediately as kings with Christ a thousand years—not that they arose or were resurrected or entered into life. He speaks further of the rest of the dead (οἱ λοιποι των νεκρων, hoi loipoi tōn nekrōn) and therefore assumes that the believers whose souls he saw in heaven still in a sense belong to the dead but nevertheless lived and reigned. By contrast he does not say of the rest of the dead, as the Authorized Version [Dutch: Statenvertaling] has it, that they did not come to life again, but that they did not live (οὐκ ἐζησαν, ouk ezēsan). And finally he emphatically adds that this "living" and "ruling" of the souls of the believers who remained faithful, by contrast to the "not-living" of the rest of the dead, is the first resurrection. One can, as it were, feel the contrast: the first resurrection [of which John speaks] is not the one accepted by some—even in John's time—as though a physical resurrection of believers would precede the thousand-year reign. Rather, the first resurrection consists in the "living" and "reigning" in heaven with Christ of the believers who remained faithful. The believers to whom John is writing and who are soon going to encounter the tribulation must not think that they will only experience salvation at the end of time. No: "Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord from now on" (ἀπʼ ἀρτι, ap' arti; 14:13). They immediately gain rest from their labors. Upon their death they immediately receive a crown. They live and reign in heaven with Christ from the moment after their death, and they can therefore face the coming tribulation with confidence. The crown of life awaits them (2:10). Here, in 20:4-5, John is repeating, in brief, what he wrote earlier to the seven churches. The promises there given to believers if they would persevere to the end all come down to the assertion that he who conquers will be crowned: "To everyone who conquers, I will give permission to eat of the tree of life" (2:7), "I will give some of the hidden manna" (2:17), "I will give authority over the nations" (2:26), "I will also give the morning star" (2:28). "You will be clothed ... in white robes" (3:5), "I will make you a pillar in the temple of my God" (3:12). You will "eat" the Last Supper "with" Jesus (3:20). In a word: "To the one who conquers I will give a place with me on my throne" (3:21). What John saw earlier in the form of a promise he now sees in the form of fulfillment in chapter 20: those who remain faithful until death immediately live and reign with Christ on his throne in heaven. And that is the first resurrection. But John adds a further statement and by it confirms the above interpretation. For he says: "Blessed and holy are those who share in the first resurrection. Over these the second death has no power, but they will be priests of God and of Christ, and reign with him a thousand years" (20:6). According to 20:14, the second death is nothing other than the reality of being thrown into the lake of fire. Whatever may be the lot of the rest of the dead mentioned in verse 5, in any case the believers who have remained faithful, who live and reign with Christ, are secured against the second death. They already have the crown of life and already eat the manna of life and therefore need not fear the judgment to come. "Whoever conquers will not be harmed by the second death" (2:11), which goes into effect at the final judgment. If John had conceived the first resurrection in a chiliastic sense, namely, as a physical resurrection of believers before the thousand-year reign, he would not have had to furnish such consolation to believers. He could have confined himself to saying that they would rise again before the thousand-year reign. But no; in a sense the believers continue to belong to the category of the dead up until the final judgment. But this is no hardship: if they have persevered to the end, they will be immediately crowned, and though the first death still reigns over their bodies, they cannot be hurt by the second death. [570] Against this interpretation it may be advanced that John nevertheless speaks clearly of a thousand-year reign of believers with Christ, even if it is in heaven, and that he situates it after the return of Christ (19:11-16) and the fall of the world empire and the false prophet (19:20). Still this objection is not as serious as it sounds. The location of the vision in Rev. 20 following that of chapter 19 has no bearing whatever on the chronological sequence of events. Generally speaking, the art of writing, in distinction, say, from the art of painting, can only narrate consecutively events that are actually simultaneous. Scripture is no exception. It frequently relates successively things that in reality occurred side by side. In the prophets it often happens that they see and describe consecutively things that happen or will happen simultaneously or even in a totally different order. This is especially the case, as it is increasingly being recognized, in the book of Revelation. The letters to the seven churches do not furnish a description of ecclesiastical conditions succeeding each other in that same order. The seven seals, the seven trumpets, and the seven bowls do not constitute a chronological series but run parallel and in each case take us to the end, the final struggle of the anti-Christian power. And so in itself there is no objection to the assumption that what is narrated in Rev. 20 runs parallel to the events of the previous chapters. It needs to be recognized that in reference to the world empire that he depicts, John is thinking of the Roman Empire. Prophecy in the Old as well as in the New Testament is not concerned with things high in the sky but has a historical basis and views the actual powers in the midst of which it exists as the embodiment of the struggle of world empires against the kingdom of God. The book of Daniel, for example, leads up to Antiochus Epiphanes and regards him as the personification of hostility against God and his people. John similarly derives from the Roman Empire of his day the features he needs for his world empire. Although everything that has been written beforehand has been written for our instruction, the Revelation of John is nevertheless primarily a book of consolation for "the church under the cross" of his own time, to urge it to persevere in the struggle and to encourage it by picturing the crown awaiting it. If John privately believed that in the Roman Empire he was seeing the very last development of world empire, and that Christ would come in just a few years to put an end to it, that would not in any way be unusual or something at variance with the spirit of prophecy. We are not bound by John's personal opinion but by the word of his prophecy. And the prophecy that throws its light on history is in turn interpreted and unveiled by history. If privately John really believed that in a few years the Roman Empire would be destroyed by the appearing of Christ, it was in any case his opinion that this would not spell the end of world history, for in that case there would be no room for the reign of believers with Christ in heaven alongside it, and this reign could only begin after that time. But this "contemporary-historical" (zeitgeschichtliche) view of things, however much truth there is in it, does not completely convey the thought of John's Revelation. For it is clearly evident that in chapter 19 the history of the world has reached its end. Babylon has fallen (ch. 18); God reigns as king (19:6); the marriage of the Lamb has come (19:7-9); Christ has appeared (19:11-16); the last battle of all the kings of the earth and their armies has been fought (19:17-19); the world empire and the false prophet have been destroyed and thrown into the lake of fire, which as the second death is not opened until after the judgment (19:20; cf. 20:14); and the rest were slain (19:21). The nineteenth chapter therefore clearly runs on to the same end of the world as that depicted in 20:10-15. There is no material left for a sequel to world history. The "contemporary-historical" (zeitgeschichtliche) exegesis leaves the origin of the nations that appear in 20:3, 8 unexplained or would otherwise come into conflict with 19:17-21. However, just as the letters to the seven churches and similarly the seven seals, trumpets, and bowls first of all relate to conditions and events in John's day but then have further implications for the church of all times and for the history of the world as a whole, so it is true of the world empire depicted in Revelation: It is modeled on the Roman Empire of the first centuries but does not achieve its full realization in that empire. It keeps rising again and again and must always again succumb to the appearance of Christ until it finally exerts its utmost powers, exhausts itself in a final gargantuan struggle, and is then forever annihilated by the coming of Christ. If this view is correct, the vision of Rev. 20 is not intended to relate to us the things that will occur in chronological order after the events of Rev. 19, but has a place of its own and reports to us things that run parallel with the preceding. The ultimate ending of the history of the world to be narrated, it turns out, is twofold: one is the ending of the historic nations in which Christianity is openly active, and another is the ending of the barbaric nations that—as Rev. 20:8 clearly tells us—are "at the four corners of the earth," and have therefore lived away from the center of history and outside the circle of mankind's culture. The world empire and false prophecy could only arise and function among the former, for anti-Christianity presupposes familiarity with the gospel. The latter only succeed in making a fierce assault on the church of Christ. But it is the same Satan who works both over there and over here. Over and over, having been forced back and defeated among culture-producing nations, he forges a new instrument for the battle against Christ from among the barbaric peoples. First he is thrown from heaven; then he works on earth and raises up a world empire against Christ; and finally he summons up the barbaric nations from around the world to fight the final battle against Christ. But all this occurs, not in chronological sequence, but in a logical and spiritual sense. The thousand years, as is generally recognized today, are symbolic. They contrast with the few days during which the believers who remain faithful are oppressed and persecuted here on earth (12:17), but also with the completed glory that is eternal (22:5). They denote the holy, blessed rest of believers who have died and are in heaven with Christ as well as the longing with which they look for the day when their blood will be avenged (6:10), while on earth the struggle of world empire and the international world against Christ continues. And after John in Rev. 20:1-9 has told the history of the barbaric nations up to the very same end with which the history of the culture-producing nations in 19:17-21 concluded as well, he picks up the thread of both visions and relates the ultimate end of world history as a whole. In 19:21 people are slain by the sword of Christ; in 20:9 they are consumed by fire from heaven. But after the world empire, the false prophet, and Satan have been condemned and thrown into the lake of fire (19:20; 20:10), all the dead arise and are judged according to their works (20:11-15). Bavinck, H., Bolt, J., & Vriend, J. (2008). Reformed Dogmatics: Holy Spirit, Church, and New Creation (Vol. 4, pp. 678-684). Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic.

2. Expound and critique the doctrine of purgatory (4:609-611). How does purgatory relate to the doctrine of justification? (4:634-635).

THE MOVE TOWARD PURGATORY Gradually linked with this development was the idea of purification by fire, first uttered by Origen. According to him, all punishments were medicines (φαρμακα, pharmaka), and all of hades, Gehenna included, was a place of purification. Sins were specifically consumed and people cleansed by purifying fire (πυρ καθαρσιον, pyr katharsion), which at the end of this dispensation would set the world aflame. Following Origen, Greek theologians later adopted the idea that the souls of many of the dead would have to suffer sorrows and could only be released from them by the intercessions and sacrifices of the living; they nevertheless objected to a special fire of purification, as the Western church taught it.5 Not until the Council of Florence (1439) did the Greeks make any concessions on this point. In the West, on the other hand, the fire of purification of which Origen spoke was moved from the last judgment to the intermediate state. Augustine occasionally said that following the general resurrection or at the last judgment certain additional purgatorial pains would be imposed.7 Still, he usually has the development of the city of God end with the last judgment and therefore does not regard it as impossible that "some of the faithful are saved by a sort of purgatorial fire, and this sooner or later according as they have loved more or less the goods that perish." Caesar of Arles and Gregory the Great, working this out, developed the idea that specifically venial sins could be expiated here or in the hereafter. And when this teaching was combined with the church practice, already reported by Tertullian,9 of making intercessions and sacrifices for the dead, the dogma of purgatory was complete. The Scholastics developed the doctrine of purgatory extensively; the Councils of Florence (1439) and Trent (1545-63)11 made it a church doctrine; and later theology attached to it ever-increasing importance for the life of religion and the church. According to Catholic doctrine, the souls of the damned immediately enter hell (Gehenna, the abyss, the inferno), where they, along with the unclean spirits, are tormented in everlasting and inextinguishable fire. The souls of those who after receiving baptism are not again tainted by sin or are purified from it here or hereafter are immediately taken up into heaven. There they behold the face of God, be it in various degrees of perfection, depending on their merits. By Christ's descent into hell also the souls of the saints who died before that time are transferred from the limbo of the fathers (Abraham's bosom) to heaven. Infants who die before being baptized—about whose lot the church fathers in some cases judged more gently, in others more severely—were consigned to the lower regions, where, however, the punishments are extremely unequal. According to the most common view, they go to a special division (limbus infantum) where they only suffer an "eternal punishment of condemnation" (aeterna poena damni) but no "physical punishment" (poena sensa). But those who, after having received sanctifying grace in baptism or the sacrament of penance, commit venial sins and have not been able to "pay" the appropriate temporal punishments in this life, are not pure enough to be immediately admitted to the beatific vision of God in heaven. They go to a place between heaven and hell, not to acquire new virtues and merits, but to clear up the hindrances that stand in the way of their entry into heaven. To that end, at the first moment after death, they are delivered from the guilt of venial sins by an act of repentance (payment made for a pardonable sin) and subsequently still have to bear the temporal punishments that remain the set penalty for those sins even after forgiveness. Purgatory, accordingly, is not a place of repentance, of trial, or of sanctification, but of punishment, where fire—usually thought of as a material agent—serves, ideally, that is, by the representation of great pain, to have a purifying impact on "poor souls." In addition, by virtue of the communion of saints, the church can come to the aid of these suffering souls for the purpose of softening and shortening their punishment by intercessions, sacrifices of the Mass, good works, and indulgences. It is true that nobody knows for certain which souls have to go to purgatory, how long they must stay there, and under what conditions on their part the prayers and sacrifices of the living are to their benefit; but this uncertainty is in no way detrimental to the cult of the dead. For increasingly the rule is that, barring a few exceptions, such as martyrs or particular saints, the great majority of believers first go to purgatory. In any case they are far ahead of the living, who must go to heaven by way of purgatory as well. Though on the one hand they are "poor souls," viewed from another angle they are "blessed" souls who along with the angels and those in a state of beatitude are invoked for help by those living in distress. Bavinck, H., Bolt, J., & Vriend, J. (2008). Reformed Dogmatics: Holy Spirit, Church, and New Creation (Vol. 4, pp. 609-611). Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic. The doctrine of purgatory is most closely bound up with Justification. By Justification, the church of Rome understands the infusion of supernatural sanctifying grace that in turn enables humans to do good works and thereby earn eternal life. This grace, however, is subject to being increased and decreased; one who loses it as a result of mortal sin and then dies is lost; one who by keeping the precepts and counsels achieves perfection in the hour of death immediately enters heaven. However, one who still has to pay the debt and bear the temporal punishment due to a venial sin, or who in the sacrament of penance has received back the infused grace lost as a result of a mortal sin and is at his death still in arrears in "paying off" the temporal punishments—such a person is consigned to purgatory and remains there until he has paid the last penny. In the church of Rome, Justification, sanctification, and glorification are the work of humans themselves, be it on the basis of the supernatural grace infused into them. After receiving it, they have to make themselves worthy of eternal life and the beatific vision of God in heaven by a condign or full merit; if they fail to achieve this on earth, they must—just as the pagans pictured it—continue the work on earth in the hereafter until they have attained perfection. Bavinck, H., Bolt, J., & Vriend, J. (2008). Reformed Dogmatics: Holy Spirit, Church, and New Creation (Vol. 4, pp. 634-635). Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic.

12. Prove the eternity of hell torments and address objections to your position (4:709-713)

That the punishment in this place of outer darkness is eternal is not something one can doubt on the basis of Scripture. It is indeed true that the adjective αἰωνιος, aiōnios (from αἰων, aiōn; Heb. עוֹלָם, ʿôlām, that is, duration of time; the course of a life; the length of a human life; a long, indefinite period of time in the past or future; the present world age, αἰων οὑτος, aiōn houtos; the age to come, αἰων μελλων, aiōn mellōn), very often refers to a period of time that is beyond human calculation but certainly not endless or everlasting. In the New Testament it is also used frequently to describe the entire world dispensation that passed until the appearance of Christ, the period in which the counsel of God was announced by the prophets but not fully revealed (Luke 1:70; Acts 3:21; Rom. 16:25; Col. 1:26; 2 Tim. 1:9; Titus 1:2). But in the New Testament the word αἰωνιος (aiōnios) functions especially to describe the imperishable nature—a nature not subject to any corruption or decay—of the salvific benefits gained by Christ, and is very often linked with the word "life" (ζωη, zōē)—the eternal life that Christ imparts to everyone who believes. It has its beginning here on earth but will only be fully revealed in the future. It essentially belongs to the age to come (αἰων μελλων, aiōn mellōn; Luke 18:30), is indestructible (John 11:25-26), and is called "eternal," like the building from God (οἰκοδομη ἐκ θεου, oikodomē ek theou; 2 Cor. 5:1), salvation (σωτηρια, sōtēria; Heb. 5:9), redemption (λυτρωσις, lytrōsis; 9:12), the inheritance (κληρονομια, klēronomia; 9:15), the glory (δοξα, doxa; 2 Tim. 2:10), and the kingdom (βασιλεια, basileia; 2 Pet. 1:11), just as God, Christ, and the Holy Spirit are also called "eternal" (Rom. 16:26; Heb. 9:14; 13:8; etc.). Over against this it is stated that the punishment of the wicked will consist in eternal fire (το πυρ το αἰωνιον, to pyr to aiōnion; Matt. 18:8; 25:41; Jude 7), eternal punishment (κολασις αἰωνιος, kolasis aiōnios; Matt. 25:46), eternal destruction (ὀλεθρος αἰωνιος, olethros aiōnios; 2 Thess. 1:9), and eternal judgment (κρισις αἰωνιος, krisis aiōnios; Mark 3:29 KJV). Like eternal life, so by this description also eternal punishment is presented as belonging to the coming age (αἰων μελλων, aiōn mellōn) in which a change of state is no longer possible. Scripture nowhere with a single word indicates or even leaves open the possibility that the state that begins there can still come to an end. And positively it says that the fire there is unquenchable (Matt. 3:12), that the worm does not die (Mark 9:48), that the smoke of torment goes up forever (Rev. 14:11) and continues day and night for all eternity (20:10), and that as eternal pain it contrasts with the eternal life of the righteous (Matt. 25:46). Unbiased exegesis will not find anything here other than eternal, never-ending punishment. The state of the lost is described as destruction (ἀπωλεια, apōleia; Matt. 7:13), corruption (φθορα, phthora; Gal. 6:8), ruin (ὀλεθρος, olethros; 2 Thess. 1:9), and death (θανατος, thanatos; Rev. 2:11; etc.), which agrees with the fact that, according to the Old and New Testaments, the wicked will be destroyed, eradicated, ruined, put away, cast out, cut off, burned as chaff, and so on. All these expressions are understood by the proponents of conditional immortality in terms of complete annihilation. But this view is totally unfounded. Life, in Scripture, is never mere existence, and death is never the same as annihilation. Conditionalists cannot deny this fact with respect to the temporal physical death of humans. Like the Socinians they usually assume that the wicked will continue to exist also after death, either to be annihilated by God after the resurrection and the final judgment, or gradually to wither away and finally to perish physically as well. The latter idea is impossible, both philosophically and scripturally. For sin is not a substance, no material thing (materia), but a form (forma) that presupposes existence; sin does not destroy the existent but steers it in a wrong direction, a direction away from God. And physical death is not merely a natural consequence, but a positive—divinely threatened and executed—punishment of sin. In the event of that death, God does not annihilate human beings but temporarily separates soul and body in order to maintain both and to reunite them at the resurrection. Scripture clearly and irrefutably teaches human immortality. When conditionalism views the destruction (ἀπωλεια, apōleia) that is the punishment of sin as an annihilation of the human substance, it is confusing the ethical with the physical. And just as God does not annihilate human beings in the first death, so neither does he annihilate them in the second. For in Scripture the latter, too, is described as punishment (Matt. 25:46), weeping and gnashing of teeth (8:12), anguish and distress (Rom. 2:9), never-ending fire (Matt. 18:8), the undying worm (Mark 9:44), and so on, expressions that all assume the existence of the lost. Still their state can be called destruction (ἀπωλεια, apōleia), corruption (φθορα, phthora), ruin (ὀλεθρος, olethros), and death (θανατος, thanatos) because in a moral and spiritual sense they have become total wrecks, and in an absolute sense they lack the fullness of life granted by Christ to believers. Thus the prodigal son is called "dead" (νεκρος, nekros) and "lost" (ἀπολωλες, apolōlōs; Luke 15:24, 32); the Ephesians in their earlier state are described as "dead" (νεκροι, nekroi) through their trespasses and sins (Eph. 2:1; 4:18), and the people of the church of Sardis are called "dead" (νεκροι, nekroi; Rev. 3:1; etc.), but no one ever thinks of these three parties as being nonexistent. The same failure to recognize the ethical character of sin marks the proponents of ἀποκαταστασις (apokatastasis, restoration of all things). The word derives from Acts 3:21, but there, as is universally acknowledged today, it does not at all mean what is now meant by it. Scripture nowhere teaches that one day all humans and even all devils will be saved. Often it indeed uses very universalistic language, but that is because, intensively, Christ's work is of infinite value and benefits the whole world and all of humanity in its organic form of existence. But it unambiguously excludes the idea that all human individuals or even the devils will at some time become citizens in the kingdom of God. The doctrine of the restoration of all things, accordingly, has at all times been taught by only a handful of persons. Even today the theory of conditional immortality has more support among theologians than that of the apokatastasis. Actually, and in any case, this doctrine is of pagan—not of Christian—origin; it is philosophical, not scriptural, in character. Underlying the theory is pantheism, which views all things as proceeding from God and, similarly, of successively returning to him. In this view God is not the lawgiver and judge who will one day judge the world with equity [Ps. 9:8] but an unconscious immanent force that propels all things to the end and will one day recapture all things into himself. Sin, in this view, is not lawlessness (ἀνομια, anomia) but a necessary moment in the evolution of the world. And redemption in Christ is not juridical restoration and ethical renewal but a physical process that controls everything. In order to appreciate the fact of eternal punishment, it is above all necessary, therefore, to recognize along with Scripture the integrity of the justice of God and the deeply sinful character of sin. Sin is not a weakness, a lack, a temporary and gradually vanishing imperfection, but in origin and essence it is lawlessness (anomia), a violation of the law, rebellion and hostility against God, and the negation of his justice, his authority, even his existence. Granted, sin is finite in the sense that it is committed by a finite creature in a finite period of time, but as Augustine already correctly noted, not the duration of time over which the sin was committed but its own intrinsic nature is the standard for its punishment. "A momentary lapse into carelessness," as the saying goes, "can lead to a lifetime of weeping." The sins of a moment can result in a life of shame and punishment. A person who commits a crime is sometimes given the death penalty and thereby transferred into an irremediable state by an earthly government. God acts the same way: what the death penalty is on earth, the punishment of hell is in the final judgment. He judges and punishes sin in accordance with its intrinsic quality. And that sin is infinite in the sense that it is committed against the Highest Majesty, who is absolutely entitled to our love and worship. God is absolutely and infinitely worthy of our obedience and dedication. The law in which he requires this of us is therefore absolutely binding, and its binding nature is infinitely great. The violation of that law, viewed intensively, is therefore an absolute and infinite evil. Furthermore, the thing to be considered here is not so much the "duration of the sinning" as "the will of the sinner, which is such that it would always wish to sin if it could." He who commits the sin is a slave to sin: he will not and cannot do otherwise than sin. It is truly not his own doing when he is denied the opportunity to continue his sinful life. In terms of his interior desire, he would not want anything other than to live forever so that he could sin forever. Who then, looking at the sinful nature of sin, would have the nerve to say that God is unjust if he visits the sin not only with temporal but also with eternal punishments? As a rule, this argument [against eternal punishment] derived from the justice of God is for that reason advanced somewhat tentatively and hesitantly but is all the more passionately regarded as inconsistent with the goodness and love of God. However, if it is not inconsistent with the justice of God, it is not and cannot be inconsistent with his goodness either. We have no choice at this point. If eternal punishment is unjust, then that condemns it, and one need no longer appeal to God's goodness. If, however, it is consistent with God's justice, then God's goodness remains unscathed: if a thing is just it is also good. The argument against eternal punishment derived from God's goodness therefore, in the manner of Marcion, secretly introduces a conflict between God's justice and his goodness and offers up the former to the latter. But goodness that nullifies justice is no longer true and real goodness. It is mere human weakness and wimpiness and, when projected onto God, an invention of the human brain, one that in no way corresponds to the true and living God who has revealed himself in Scripture as well as in nature. For if eternal punishment is inconsistent with God's goodness, then temporal punishment is inconsistent with it as well. But the latter is a fact no one can deny. Humankind is consumed by God's anger and terrified by his wrath [cf. Ps. 90:7]. Who can square this world's suffering with God's goodness and love? Still it must be possible, for it exists. Now if the existence of immense suffering in this world may not lead us to question God's goodness, then neither may eternal punishment prompt us to deny it. If this world is consistent with God's love, as it is and has to be, then hell is too. For aside from Scripture there is no stronger proof for the existence of hell than the existence of this world, the world from whose misery the features of the [biblical] picture of hell are derived. Furthermore, for the person who disputes [the reality of] eternal punishment, there is enormous danger of playing the hypocrite before God. Such a person presents himself as extremely loving, one who in goodness and compassion far outstrips our Lord Jesus Christ. This does not stop this same person, the moment one's own honor is violated, from erupting in fury and calling down on the violator every evil in this life and the life to come. Resentment, hatred, wrath, and vindictiveness arise in the hearts of all human beings against anyone standing in their way. We promote our own honor, but the honor of God is of no concern to us. We stand up for our own rights but let others trample the rights of God into the dirt. Surely this is sufficient evidence that we humans are not suitable judges of the words and actions of God. Nevertheless, in that act of standing up for our own rights and reputation, there is something good. However wrongly applied, there is implicit in it the fact that our rights and reputation are more precious than our goods and life. Slumbering even in the sinner, there is still a deep sense of justice and honor. And when that sense is violated, it is aroused and suppresses all pity. When, in a given conflict between two people or two nations, the issue is one of justice, each party passionately prays that God may bring about the triumph of the right and strike its violators with his judgment. All human beings still have an innate feeling for the saying "Let justice be done though the world perish" (fiat justitia, pereat mundus) and think it reasonable that justice should triumph at the expense of thousands of human lives. In the day of judgment, too, the issue is one of justice, not some private right or other, but justice par excellence, justice in its full import and scope, the justice of God—that God himself may be honored as God in all eternity. There is, therefore, no doubt that in the day of judgment God will fully vindicate himself in the presence of all his creatures even when he pronounces eternal punishment upon sinners. Now we who know in part also know the horror of sin only in part. But if here already, upon hearing of certain horrors, we consider no punishment severe enough, what then will we think when at the end of time we gain insight into the depths of injustice? And on earth, furthermore, we are always one-sided. Over and over our sense of justice and our compassion clash. We are either too soft or much too severe in our judgment. But in the case of the Lord our God, this is not so and cannot be so. In Christ he has fully revealed his love, a love that is so great precisely because it saves us from the wrath to come and from eternal destruction. Critics of eternal punishment not only fail to do justice to the doom-worthiness of sin, the rigorousness of divine justice; they also infringe on the greatness of God's love and the salvation that is in Christ. If the object had not been salvation from eternal destruction, the price of the blood of God's own Son would have been much too high. The heaven that he won for us by his atoning death presupposes a hell from which he delivered us. The eternal life he imparted to us presupposes an eternal death from which he saved us. The grace and good pleasure of God in which he makes us participants forever presuppose a wrath into which we would otherwise have had to be plunged forever. And for that reason it is this Christ who will one day execute judgment and pronounce his sentence. A human being, a true and complete human being who knows what is in human beings, who is the meekest of human beings, will be the judge of human beings, a judge so just that all will acknowledge his justice, and every knee will bow before him, and every tongue confess that Christ is Lord to the glory of God the Father [Phil. 2:10-11]. In the end God will be recognized as God by all creatures, if not willingly then unwillingly. Bavinck, H., Bolt, J., & Vriend, J. (2008). Reformed Dogmatics: Holy Spirit, Church, and New Creation (Vol. 4, pp. 709-713). Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic.

17. Why does idolatry lurk in the realm of eschatology? (36). Why has the beatific vision been marginalized in modern Reformed theology? (39-44).

The danger of idolatry lurks especially in the realm of eschatology. When we speak of eschatology, we are speaking of fundamental hopes and ultimate desires. Matters of priority and significance come right to the surface because we are addressing what has lasting meaning, value, and integrity in God's economy. Numerous errors can be identified in this eschatological realm: some have suggested that some superior race will eventually triumph; some that the truly faithful will gain the financial wealth; others that all world religions will be brought info final harmony. Each of these errors flows from some cultural and personal ideal being given independent significance in a way not acknowledged or upheld by (and oftentimes quite contradictory to) the teaching of Holy Scripture. While eschatology has moved front and center in twentieth-century Protestant theology, the beatific vision appears to have exited stage right. Brunner gave it a paragraph; Jenson a sentence; Barth nary a word. The absence is glaring in the face of the substantial place held by the doctrine of the beatific vision in classical faith and practice, where the beatific vision played a role in prolegomena (as the ultimate form of human knowledge of God), in eschatology (as the central hope of the Christian), and in ethics (as the driving force or motivation for ascetic discipline). Attention has fixed upon the environment, the body, and social relations (all of which are facets of a biblical eschatology), but oftentimes such concern has come at a cost and not infrequently with a smirk. The marginalization of the beatific vision from modern Protestant theology proves a remarkable case study and, I suggest, marks a fundamental problem with the earthy eschatology of the contemporary church.

1. Explain the meaning of Sheol in the OT (4:599ff)

Through death all souls enter the abode of the dead, Sheol (שְׁאוֹל, šĕʾôl). The etymology of the word is uncertain but, according to some, derives from שָׁאַל (šāʾal, to inquire, require, or to claim, bring to decision); according to others, it derives from שׁעל, שׁול (šʿl, šwl, to be feeble, hang down, sink). Sheol is located in the depths of the earth so that one goes down into it (Num. 16:30; Pss. 30:3, 9; 55:15; Isa. 38:18); it belongs to the lowest places of the earth (Ps. 63:9; Ezek. 26:20; 31:14; 32:18), lying even below the waters and the foundations of the mountains (Deut. 32:22; Job 26:5; Isa. 14:15), and is therefore repeatedly reinforced by the adjective "lowest" (תַחְתִית, taḥtît) in such passages as Deut. 32:22 and Pss. 86:13; 88:6. For that reason Sheol is linked closely with the grave (קֶבֶר, qeber) or the pit (בוֹר, bôr). However, the two are not identical, for the dead who have not been buried are nevertheless in Sheol (Gen. 37:35; Num. 16:32-33). Yet, just as soul and body together form one human and are thought to be in some kind of reciprocal relationship also after death, so also the grave and Sheol cannot be pictured in isolation from each other. The two belong to the lowest places of the earth, are both represented as the dwelling of the dead, and are repeatedly exchanged for each other. Sheol is the one great grave that encompasses all the graves of the dead; it is the realm of the dead, the underworld, and accordingly often mistakenly translated in the King James Version by "hell." Sheol, after all, is the place where all the dead without exception congregate (1 Kings 2:2; Job 3:13ff.; 30:23; Ps. 89:48; Isa. 14:9ff.; Ezek. 32:18; Hab. 2:5), and from which no one returns except by a miracle (1 Kings 17:22; 2 Kings 4:34; 13:21). The realm of the dead is, as it were, a city, furnished with barred gates (Job 17:16: "Will it [my hope] go down to the bars of Sheol?"; 38:17; Pss. 9:13; 107:18; Isa. 38:10; Matt. 16:18), which by its power (Pss. 49:15; 89:48; Hos. 13:14) holds all people captive as in a prison (Isa. 24:22). Sheol is the eternal home (Eccles. 12:5). Israel's enemies who have been plunged into it will never rise up again (Isa. 26:14); those who go down to Sheol do not come up again (Job 7:9-10; 14:7-12; 16:22). This realm of the dead is therefore squarely opposed to the land of the living (Prov. 15:24; Ezek. 26:20; 32:23ff.) Bavinck, H., Bolt, J., & Vriend, J. (2008). Reformed Dogmatics: Holy Spirit, Church, and New Creation (Vol. 4, p. 599). Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic.