The Two Kingdoms And The “Ordo Salutis”: Life Beyond Judgment And The Question Of A Dual Ethic

By David VanDrunen

[David VanDrunen is the Robert B. Strimple Professor of Systematic Theology and Christian Ethics at Westminster Seminary California. This article is a revised version of his inaugural lecture given at the seminary in February 2008.]

No self-respecting theological tradition or doctrinal system can be unconcerned about the relation of Christian faith to Christian life, of theology to ethics. Certainly this is the case with Reformed Christianity. Two relevant issues that, for various scholarly, pedagogical, and ecclesiastical reasons, have become important to me are the doctrine of the two kingdoms and the concept of the ordo salutis (particularly the relationship of justification to sanctification in the ordo salutis). By the two kingdoms doctrine I mean, most basically, the idea that God rules over all things, but that he rules over his church (the spiritual kingdom) in a redemptive way that is different from the way of preservation by which he rules over the state and other institutions and activities of cultural life (the civil kingdom). By the ordo salutis I mean, again briefly, an articulation of the relationships among the various acts and processes by which the Holy Spirit applies to us the redemption purchased by Christ. In regard to the relationship between those two great soteriological benefits of justification and sanctification in the ordo salutis, I understand that justification stands in a certain priority to sanctification, such that believers are justified as the ungodly, without respect to any subjective holiness of their own, while believers are sanctified precisely as the justified, who are being transformed according to the new reality that justification has created.[1] Even from this brief description it should be clear that one’s understanding of the two kingdoms and the ordo salutis promises to have significant implications for the way in which one thinks about and lives the Christian life.

Both the two kingdoms doctrine and the ordo salutis (with particular reference to the relationship of justification to sanctification) have venerable roots in the Reformed tradition.[2] Both, however, have come under critical scrutiny by Reformed thinkers in recent years, not only constructively but also historically. Though discussions about the two kingdoms and the ordo salutis have largely taken place independently, there seems to be an interesting, similar thread in both: the concern that these concepts unduly shatter the unity of Christian life and experience. In regard to the two kingdoms, critics worry that a division between two realms of life makes Christianity relevant only for one’s life in the church and leaves the rest of life outside of God’s governance, irretrievably corrupted by sin, and uncritically subject to the perverted standards of the world. What is needed instead, many argue, is a perspective teaching that the kingdom of Christ penetrates to all of the fallen spheres of life here and now.[3] In regard to the ordo salutis, critics have suggested that seeing redemption-applied as consisting in a number of discrete acts and processes is unable to account for the soteriological centrality of our union with the resurrected Christ. As an alternative way of viewing Reformed soteriology, some have suggested that there is but one act (our being existentially united to Christ) with several aspects, such that the blessings of justification and sanctification are bestowed simultaneously in this union.[4] However one comes out on such questions—does the kingdom of Christ express itself in all spheres and institutions of cultural life or not, is sanctification fundamentally grounded in an already established decree of justification or not?—surely there are significant implications for the Christian life.

The questions posed are fair enough. Certainly we do not want a Christian life in which our faith is relevant only on Sunday or a soteriology in which subjective, introspective concerns cause us to lose view of the resurrected Christ. Some of the critics’ concerns rest upon a misunderstanding or caricature of the ideas of the two kingdoms and the ordo salutis—or upon what I take to be less than felicitous articulations of these ideas. To that extent, a more satisfactory rendering of these ideas should ease the concerns of the critics or at least help us all to sharpen our perception of where true differences lie and where they do not. It is my contention here that the doctrines of the two kingdoms and the ordo salutis, with the doctrinal and ethical distinctions that they entail, are still critically important for a biblically sound account of the nature of the Christian life and its relation to the Reformed system of doctrine. Furthermore, I contend that these two ideas are related in important ways that do not seem to be widely appreciated, such that to some degree they stand or fall together. Perhaps this discussion may contribute in some way to a convergence among Reformed theologians and to a more coherent and unified Reformed vision of theological ethics with which we might winsomely and distinctively challenge other theological traditions as well as people yet outside of the church.

I. The Two Kingdoms and a Dual Ethic

Beginning with the two kingdoms matter, I note first a key consideration that makes having some conception of the two kingdoms doctrine so crucial for a biblically Reformed perspective on life in this world. On the one hand, in the Sermon on the Mount (Matt 5:38–42), Christ abolished retaliation and vengeance in his kingdom and its formal legal expression in the lex talionis (i.e., an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth). On the other hand, in Rom 13:1–7, Paul called the sword-bearing state divinely established and described it in ways overtly reminiscent of the terms of the Noahic covenant in Gen 9:6, in which civil justice was to proceed according to the talionic principle: blood for blood. There is an immediate, and to my mind unsolvable, problem for those wishing in some way to associate the contemporary civil state with the redemptive kingdom of Christ: the state, by God’s ordination, must be a sword-bearing institution meting out talionic justice while Christ’s kingdom must be a vengeance-forsaking realm that turns the other cheek to the wrong-doer. There must be some way of acknowledging the God-ordained legitimacy of the state without failing to recognize that the state is fundamentally different from the redemptive kingdom of Christ and hence from the church which is its visible, institutional expression in the present age. This is precisely what the two kingdoms doctrine allows us to do. This doctrine affirms that God has ordained and rules both the church and the state (and with the state other cultural institutions), that Christians are called to live and act within both kingdoms, but that the purposes and ways of life within these kingdoms are distinct in crucial respects.

Christ’s revocation of the lex talionis in the Sermon on the Mount has of course been something of a thorn in the flesh of Christian ethics for a long time, and many of the best theological minds have tried to account for our Lord’s perplexing words here. Some have taken them to indicate a higher righteousness that only a few, select Christians can be expected to follow literally.[5] Others have interpreted them as an ideal that is ultimately impossible to live.[6] Still others take them as hyperbolic, displaying the radical nature of love even if not its ordinary, literal practice.[7] Some have suggested that the words are to be taken literally by all Christians, but only in regard to their private lives, not their public responsibilities.[8] And of course there are those who take them as literally obligatory for all Christians in all areas of life, thus resulting in a non-violent, pacifist stance. Even among those holding this perspective, however, there is disagreement whether such non-violence is meant to sequester Christians from civil society or to serve as a counter-intuitive, revolutionary way to bring radical change to society.[9] For purposes of the present lecture, it may be helpful to consider the meaning of the lex talionis at a little greater length and to reflect on why it is so significant for an understanding of the Christian life.

Scripture sets forth the lex talionis as a basic standard of justice on a variety of occasions. As already mentioned, God’s re-establishment of civil justice after the flood in his covenant with Noah ordains that those who shed the blood of man, so shall their blood be shed (Gen 9:6). Blood for blood. Then the Mosaic law, in no less than three places (Exod 21:23–25; Lev 24:18–21; and Deut 19:21), promulgates the lex talionis as a key principle of Israelite theocratic justice. And Rom 13:1–7 not only alludes back to Gen 9:6 by acknowledging the civil magistrate as one who bears the sword in the pursuit of justice, but also by setting up the civil magistrate as one who should do what Paul tells his readers they must not do, namely, repay anyone evil for evil” (Rom 12:17), clearly talionic imagery. Hence, both when speaking about the administration of justice universally, for all people (as in Gen 9:6 and Rom 13), and when speaking about the administration of justice for his unique, theocratic people (in Exod 21, Lev 24, and Deut 19), Scripture promulgates the lex talionis as foundational. Remarkably, what Scripture describes as the proper standard for universal civil justice has in fact been embraced by many cultures, even those without any Judeo-Christian influence. The talionic principle appears in the famous Babylonian laws of Hammurabi (which pre-date the Mosaic law);[10] in the earliest extant code of Roman law, the Twelve Tables;[11] and in various legal practices of northern European peoples such as the Old Norse, Anglo-Saxon, and ancient Icelandic.[12]

The widespread acknowledgement of the lex talionis and especially its biblical commendation should cause us to suspect that it cannot be dismissed as a barbaric relic of the past that has yielded to our enlightened modern sensibilities. Undoubtedly it is true that we would not want to see the lex talionis practiced literally, at least not too often (we do in fact still practice it literally when we administer capital punishment for murder). But as a principle underlying the law, expressing the ideal of a perfect, proportional justice in which the punishment exactly matches the crime, the lex talionis resonates with something deep inside people across cultural divides. It does not seem too much to suppose that God’s general moral revelation, the natural law, impresses the lex talionis upon each of our consciences. The original covenant of works, after all, seems to reflect the lex talionis in its own right: Adam owed his whole self to God, and when he failed, God demanded his whole self from him. As image-bearers of this God, called to administer justice after him and to be like him in knowledge, holiness, and righteousness, we know this talionic principle. It is the works principle in summary: perfect, proportional justice to follow upon one’s obedience or disobedience. It is the ultimate principle of the Adamic covenant which remains central in penultimate, refracted form in the quest for civil justice in a fallen world upheld by common grace.[13]

Hence, what is the kingdom of Christ, the church, in the light of the Sermon on the Mount? It is a community in which strict justice is not administered, in which the works principle does not hold sway. It is a society in which natural (and not wholly sinful) inclinations to seek a just payback are not indulged (Rom 12:17), in which one would rather be wronged than bring the church’s disputes into civil courts (1 Cor 6:1–8), in which one turns the other cheek to be struck again rather than strike in return (Matt 5:38–42). The Sermon on the Mount was not meant to provide a Christian political platform (whether for revolution or withdrawal), to define an unattainable moral ideal, to set forth a higher righteousness for a few to pursue, or even to define an individual Christian’s private life in distinction from his public life. Rather, the Sermon on the Mount was meant to define the church, as a kingdom distinct from the kingdoms of this world, in which the works principle binds no more. The Sermon on the Mount means that the church is not to be a justice-seeking, vengeance-rendering body. Its weapons are not those of this world (2 Cor 10:3–5). As far as the church is concerned, the active and passive obedience of Christ has satisfied the demands of justice once and for all.

We might reflect for a moment on the subsequent difference between the two kingdoms. The civil kingdom is indeed a place where judgment is constantly being rendered.[14] This is obviously true of the state and its system of justice.

But it is also true for the many other cultural activities and institutions that the civil kingdom encompasses. The products of labor are judged in the marketplace. The quality of art, music, and literature are judged by the critics. The accuracy of scientific discovery and scholarship is judged by peer review. Athletic abilities are judged by referees, opponents, and the contour of the green. There are winners and losers, rich and poor, those who succeed and those who fail.

But such is not the way of the church of Jesus Christ. The church makes no distinction between winner and loser, success and failure, rich and poor. Seen in the light of Christ, we are all losers, failures, and poor in ourselves and winners, successes, and rich beyond compare by faith in him. We accept one another, we encourage one another, we forgive one another. But we do not stand in judgment upon the works of each other or pay back wrong for wrong. Neither does the church seek to defend itself from outside intruders by the force of arms. Truly this is a community in which mercy triumphs over judgment.[15]

To account for the respective character of these two kingdoms and for the obligation of the Christian to participate in both of them, a dual ethic of some sort seems manifestly necessary. These two ethics should certainly not be understood as an ethic of God and an ethic of autonomous man. Both ethics must be based upon God’s law. Neither should these two ethics be understood in a Thomistic or Roman Catholic sense of grace perfecting nature.[16] And neither does the redemption through the ministry of the church. My own view of church and civil government, greatly appreciative of but somewhat different from O’Donovan’s, would suggest that the state, because it is not an institution of the redemptive kingdom of Christ, is not an institution that knows forgiveness and mercy (concepts unknown by the law of nature). As an institution of the covenant of common grace which preserves the testimony of natural law in a fallen world, however, the state surely knows something of toleration and forbearance, which temper the state’s execution of strict justice along lines not entirely dissimilar in practice to what O’Donovan suggests. See further discussion in the text below.

The existence of these two ethics mean that the basic requirements of the moral law as expressed in the Decalogue are different in these two kingdoms. But the different relation of these two kingdoms to the claims and administration of justice means that the tenor of the moral life practiced within them will differ from each other. The church, thanks to its communion with the crucified and risen Christ, pursues the way of mercy and forgiveness as central to its moral life, a way unknown to the state as it administers the justice dictated by the lex talionis of the natural law (though tempered by the forbearance appropriate to an institution of common grace[17]). When I act within the orbit of the civil kingdom the specter of judgment always lies ahead of me and I even participate to some degree in its administration. But when I act within the orbit of the spiritual kingdom justice has already been satisfied, the judgment is passed/past.

II. Justification, Sanctification, and Life Beyond Judgment

As we turn to the ordo salutis and particularly to the relationship of justification and sanctification, we meet a similar sort of dynamic regarding judgment and the claims of justice. Here, however, we consider this dynamic not in terms of institutions but in terms of individual soteriology. Why, then, have Reformed theologians traditionally recognized a priority of justification to sanctification in the ordo salutis, and what connection might this have with the two kingdoms doctrine as discussed above? To my mind, the idea that justification is prior to sanctification in the ordo salutis makes sense only against the background of the Adamic covenant of works and the condemnation under which the human race lies as a result of its violation. The covenant of works proclaimed the law with its principle of strict justice: perfect obedience would bring justification unto life, disobedience would bring condemnation unto death. Due to Adam’s rebellion the whole human race has indeed been condemned. Yet God has preserved the world through his common grace, and it is not as if the moral life ceased to exist for fallen humanity. Even apart from special revelation, each human being continues to know both the moral law and the sanctions of that law through the testimony of creation and especially the individual conscience (as described vividly in Rom 1:18–32 and 2:14–15).[18] Pagan peoples are treated as moral agents in the Scriptures. They are engaged by moral reasoning, held accountable for their actions, and at times condemned, at times even commended. But what is the character of their moral lives? It is a moral life of striving and striving so that, somehow, they might pass through the judgment unscathed. It is a moral life characterized by judgment-to-come, justice-yet-to-be-accomplished. This is because the natural law that they know proclaims to them the works principle, the lex talionis: the requirements of the law are written on their hearts, their consciences now accusing and now acquitting them. The law of general revelation tells them that they must obey and that judgment will follow.[19] It tells them of justice but not of mercy. And yet what can such a moral life be but one of true misery, for when it comes down to it the result of this judgment based on works can be nothing else but condemnation.[20] One must suspect that even by natural revelation the unbeliever knows what Scripture explains clearly: something dreadful has happened to make human striving for justification in God’s sight an ultimately futile endeavor.

So this is the prime condition of fallen humanity: a moral life characterized by judgment-to-come, a moral life ultimately devoid of hope because failure is assured. And here is where the idea that justification is prior to sanctification in the ordo salutis becomes so powerful. In justification the verdict is rendered once and for all. As a forensic, definitive act of God it is not subject to augmentation, modification, or reversal. But justification does not put an end to the moral life either, as Paul painstakingly shows in texts such as Rom 6–8 and Gal 2 and 5. The moral life continues, thanks to the work of sanctification, but it is a moral life that is by necessity radically different from the moral life that existed before faith in Christ. It is a moral life that proceeds from judgment rather than looks ahead toward judgment.[21] It is important to note that there is more going on here than simply an existential change on the part of the believer, such that justification merely transforms the believer’s attitude and prompts him to strive for holiness out of gratitude for God’s grace. Sanctification is the shaping of a moral character and way of life that is different in kind from any character or way of life possible before, whether for Adam before the fall or any Christ-less sinner thereafter. Both pre-fall Adam and post-fall sinner know only a moral relationship with God that consists of testing, of probation—a relationship whose moral law, written on the heart, proclaims the terms of justice: “Do this and live,” or, “Do this and be justified.”[22] As a justified person, the sanctified Christian is recreated by the Spirit as the law comes proclaiming: “You are justified, now do this,” “You live, now keep my law.” This new status before the law, this new relationship with God, changes everything. It changes everything from the Christian’s existential awareness, to his relationship with Satan the accuser (Rom 8:33–34), to his view of his neighbor (Gal 5:13–14), to his standing before the throne of God not only now (Rom 5:1) but also in regard to his fate on the day in which God’s wrath is revealed (Rom 5:9). And, as I will suggest below, there seems to be some sense in which even the substance of morality has changed with the new relationship created by justification.

One struggles to find any analogy that might capture and illuminate this dynamic. The difference between the moral life before justification and the sanctified moral life after justification has perhaps a passing resemblance to a romantic relationship before and after marriage. On the one hand is the young man who is attracted to and fascinated by a beautiful, talented, and charming young woman, unable to keep his mind off of her. She is open to his advances, even agrees to some sort of official relationship, but remains unconvinced. So the young man does all at his disposal to win her favor. But she has not committed herself to him in any definitive way and holds herself back from him in significant respects, so the relationship is always in danger of being terminated should the young man prove himself to be a brute. It is a relationship of probation, of testing. The love that he shows to her is always permeated by the reality that he yearns to obtain something from her that he does not already have. A young man’s wooing of a woman has its fun aspects, to be sure, but it is a relationship of uncertainty—subjectively and objectively—and certainly not one of uninterrupted bliss.

But what a difference the vows of marriage make. There is no more probation and no more uncertainty. The young man no longer needs to win permanent commitment, because the young woman has promised it under oath and made it legally binding. The love of one for the other is unconditional and need be offered without any lingering motivation of winning the other’s favor, for that favor already exists. A necessary sense of lingering detachment before marriage is replaced by an unreserved intimacy that is appropriate and even possible only after marriage. The marriage relationship is cultivated and grows within the context of absolute commitment in which each acts in response to the other’s devotion rather than in order to gain it.

Of course there are plenty of shortcomings to this analogy. But it does illustrate, in the faltering terms of intra-human affairs, something of the radical change in relationship that a legal declaration can effect. As no one can hope to understand the relationship of husband and wife with any degree of sufficiency apart from the reality of their legal bond of marriage, so surely no one can hope to understand the new relationship of Christians and their God built through sanctification apart from the reality of the legal declaration of justification.

Providing this analogy with some additional plausibility is the fact that Paul draws upon an analogy to marriage to make a similar point in Rom 7:1–6. The background of this pericope is Paul’s posing and rejecting the antinomian objection in 6:1–2: his doctrine of justification, diligently developed in the previous chapters, does not mean that we should sin so that grace may abound. In 7:1–3 Paul notes how the death of a husband brings an end to his wife’s marriage relationship with him and hence frees her to be married to another. Analogous to this, Paul explains, is when a person becomes married to Christ following the death of a former spouse. The former spouse, in this case, is the law. Through the body of Christ we have died to the law (7:4), been released from the law (7:6). Paul’s point here is certainly both redemptive-historical and soteriological simultaneously.[23] The law to which we have died is the law as a covenant of works. Paul has already in Romans told us what it means to be ἐν νόμῳ.[24] It means that one will be judged through the law, the standard of which is that the doer of the law will be justified (2:12–13). This is the works principle, the animating power of the covenant of works (clarified and confirmed in 2:14–15). If people are ἐν νόμῳ then the law speaks to them and brings them under liability (3:19). The ultimate result of this, of course, is an inability to be justified (3:20), precisely because of the universal corruption of sin (established in 3:10–18 and previously). Thus, here again is the covenant of works: one who is ἐν νόμῳ can never be justified because that person is a pervasively depraved sinner judged by his deeds. Immediately thereafter Paul exclaims that a righteousness has been revealed χωρὶς νόμου, apart from the law (3:21), that justification has been granted χάριτι, freely by his grace (3:24). Before justification, one is under the law (as a covenant of works), while after justification one is under the sway of grace. Hence the force of Paul’s words relatively early in his polemic against the antinomians, in 6:14: we Christians are not ὑπὸ νόμον, but ὑπὸ χάριν—that is, we are the justified. And this is precisely the same language, with the same force, in Galatians.[25] Back to Rom 7, then, what could dying to the law and being released from the law mean, except that one has been justified?

But here in Rom 7 Paul explains that this death to the law, this justification, this decisive change in legal status such that one is now married to Christ, has changed everything in regard to the moral life. Paul identifies the state of being under the law with being ἐν σαρκὶ, in the flesh, and being subject to the passions of sins and bearing fruit unto death (7:5). Truly, as mentioned above, living in a moral context shaped by the covenant of works is a state of hopelessness and despair. But dying to the law in justification becoming married to Christ, means bearing fruit for God (7:4) and being enslaved in the newness of the Spirit (7:6). This seems precisely Paul’s point in 6:14 too, where being under grace rather than under the law is the explanation for why sin no longer has mastery over us. Dying to the law, that is, being released from the covenant of works through justification, truly changes everything. Sanctification, by which we bear fruit to God through the power of the Spirit, is inconceivable apart from the reality of our justification in Christ.

One final observation on this point is crucial. The definitive, legal commitment established in marriage does not, as a result of there being nothing left for one spouse to prove to the other, sap love of its strength. Rather, this definitive, legal commitment allows the love of a man and woman to come to fuller, richer, more intimate expression. Likewise, the definitive, legal declaration of justification does not, as a result of the believer having no further need to prove himself before God, sap the believer’s love for God of its strength, as Roman Catholic theology has always suspected over against Protestant claims. Rather, the binding legal declaration of justification allows the love of a human being for God to come to its highest fruition. As Jesus said, “Therefore, I tell you, her many sins have been forgiven—for she loved much. But he who has been forgiven little loves little” (Luke 7:47). Indeed, “We love because he first loved us” (1 John 4:19; see also 3:16 and 4:9–11). Perfect love, remarkably, is incompatible with fear of punishment (1 John 4:17–18). Clearly, love in some sense is a requirement of the natural law, known apart from justification.[26] But there is a love revealed in Christ’s redemptive work and in justification that is unknown in natural law or even in pre-redemptive special revelation. This is a love of mercy, of forgiveness. That we would be merciful, forgiving, is not something known to pre-fall Adam or to non-justified sinners. But now mercy and forgiveness have become central, defining characteristics of the Christian life of the justified.[27] In this sense (at least), justification has effected a change not merely in the context of morality but even in its substance.

III. The Christian Life in Church and World

I suggested at the beginning of this lecture that the issues of the two kingdoms and the relationship of justification and sanctification in the ordo salutis are related, and at this point perhaps it is evident what I meant. Both issues concern the works principle, the claims of justice, and life beyond judgment. The civil kingdom is a realm in which judgment is always future, in which strict justice is administered based upon the talionic principle. The spiritual kingdom, on the other hand, is a realm in which judgment is passed/past, in which the talionic principle of strict, retaliatory justice is foresworn for the peaceful practice of turning the other cheek. The non-Christian moral life is characterized by the specter of judgment-to-come, by the obligation to obey so that, somehow, acceptance before God might be earned. The Christian moral life, on the other hand, is characterized by the profound, radical, and decisive act of justification already accomplished, such that one lives no longer in order to sustain the judgment but in response to that blessed judgment already rendered.

What sort of theological and ethical implications does all of this have? Surely they are many, but here I briefly mention three.

First, these considerations must surely shape the way in which we understand the doctrine of union with Christ. As Reformed theologians have long recognized, union with Christ is a significant soteriological idea. In the NT all of the various soteriological blessings are associated with our union with Christ, including justification (e.g., Rom 8:1) and sanctification (e.g., Rom 6:4).[28] But union with Christ has to do with the two kingdoms as well as with soteriology. Union with Christ is nothing if not communion with Christ in the glory of heaven. We have been raised up with Christ and seated with him in the heavenly places, such that our lives are hidden with Christ in God (Col 3:1–3). But heaven of course is the true locus of the spiritual, redemptive, eschatological kingdom of Christ, in which the church here and now participates. This kingdom is indeed the “kingdom of heaven,” whose way of life the Sermon on the Mount is so intent on describing. Apart from union with the resurrected Christ there is no fellowship in the spiritual kingdom, only temporal, earthly life in the civil kingdom of common grace. But by union with him our citizenship has been transferred to that kingdom of heaven and our way of life has been radically transformed (Phil 3:17–21; Col 3:1–4:1). Union with Christ, therefore, concerns a way of life that has been decisively transformed by the nature of the kingdom in which citizenship is now held. Christ has satisfied the claims of justice and therefore has been justified in his resurrection. He has thus taken his seat at the head of this heavenly kingdom. So we, justified in union with him, now share in that once-for-all verdict that Christ has won for all of his kingdom’s citizens. The moral life that we lead is defined by the character of that kingdom whose very identity is one of judgment passed/past, already rendered in Christ. Surely our doctrine of union must be able to account for the priority of justification to sanctification.

Second, these considerations shape our understanding of the Christian’s position in the church and in the world. The two kingdoms doctrine, following Scripture, asserts that Christians in some sense belong to both realms and participate in the life of each. In the civil kingdom, this means that Christians may enjoy the bounty of this world as God bestows it (e.g., Eccl 9:7–10) and must submit to the governing authorities (Rom 13:1–7; 1 Pet 2:13–15). But such partaking and submission have their limits. Obviously, while we tolerate much wrong in this world, we must obey God rather than men when the world commands us to transgress God’s law (e.g., Acts 4:19). But I have more in mind than this. Even when we find ourselves in no need of civil disobedience for Christ’s sake, the heavenly, spiritual kingdom of Christ is our home in a way that far transcends the way in which the earthly, civil kingdom is our home. We are dual citizens in a sense, but our two citizenships are incommensurate. We belong to the spiritual kingdom as we can never again belong to the civil kingdom, and hence we belong to the church as we can never again belong to any state, society, or culture. Christians are called to live lives shaped and determined by the heavenly kingdom, which means the life of the justified, life beyond the judgment, in which we are no longer judged and no longer judge. Yet, as we are called to participate in the civil kingdom we are compelled to judge and to be judged by the people of this world. We must submit to the judgments of the market, the critic, the referee, the court of law, and we contribute to these same judgments upon others as consumers, voters, and the like. But in the church we find a community filled with those who, like us, know the freedom that comes in justification, the freedom neither to judge nor be judged, the freedom to be merciful and forgiving as Christ himself is. The church is a haven and shelter in the midst of the often cruel judgments of the world, a place where we may love and be loved no matter what quality our labor, how beautiful our music, how long our criminal record. We may enjoy the world’s art and literature, its food and drink, its technological achievements, but it is in the church alone that we find a community whose institutional way of life corresponds to our own sanctified way of life made possible through our justification. We delight to live under the church’s ethic, even while we must also grudgingly live under the civil kingdom’s ethic. The church is indeed our mother, who with open arms constantly welcomes us home.

Third, these considerations have far-reaching implications for the church’s position in relation to the world, and to the state in particular. To put it simply, the church finds the state’s business foreign. As an institution that forsakes the lex talionis and refuses to take up the sword in judgment or even self-defense, it can have in some sense no cognizance at all of what the sword-bearing state does. The church acknowledges the state’s existence, thanks God for its work, and blesses her saints as they submit to its authority and join in its work, but how can the church itself dare to participate in or contribute to the state’s work? What a strange thing for an institution defined by its peacefulness and mercy to tell the state how to do its work of coercion.[29] What a bizarre scenario when the office-bearers of the church, chosen and ordained in recognition of their knowledge and practice of the things that are above, make declamations on public policy as if they were experts on things that are below. And certainly similar things could be said about the church’s forays into economic development and whatever other cultural work might promote an agenda of social transformation. How wise were our Reformed forebears who spoke of the spirituality of the church and the solely ministerial character of ecclesiastical authority.[30] The church is the community of the justified; may her shepherds feed the sheep with the bread of heaven and leave uninfringed their liberty in regard to the affairs of earth.

IV. Conclusion

There is much work left to be done in regard to the relation of our doctrine and our life, our theology and our ethics. What are the implications of our justification for our sanctified moral life? How should we navigate the challenges of life as participants in two kingdoms, under two ethics? These are indeed difficult and profound questions that this lecture has only begun to explore. The doctrines of the two kingdoms and the ordo salutis are precious indicatives bequeathed to us by the Reformed tradition. We must take up anew the challenge of discovering— and following—their corresponding imperatives. But may we not lose sight of the indicatives, lest we doom ourselves to mangling the imperatives—and perhaps the gospel too.

Notes

1. A point of clarification is in order here due to the circulation of a misunderstanding of this sort of claim. This claim is not asserting that justification itself, by virtue of its own inherent power, is accomplishing the work of sanctification. Justification is forensic, not subjectively transformative (even indirectly). The Holy Spirit sanctifies the person united to Christ by faith. I am claiming that justification is prior to and foundational for sanctification only in the sense explored and defined in this article.
2. For a few examples of the classic Reformed two kingdoms doctrine, see John Calvin, Institutes of the Christian Religion, 3.19.15; 4.20.1; George Gillespie, Aaron’s Rod Blossoming; or, the Divine Ordinance of Church Government Vindicated (London, 1646; repr., Harrisonburg, Va.: Sprinkle, 1985), 85–114 (Bk. 2, Chs. 4–7); and Francis Turretin, Institutes of Elenctic Theology (ed. James T. Dennison Jr.; trans. George Musgrave Giger; 3 vols.; Phillipsburg, N.J.: Presbyterian & Reformed, 1992–1997), 2:486–90. For secondary literature on the doctrine found in such works, see, e.g., David McKay, “From Popery to Principle: Covenanters and the Kingship of Christ,” in The Faith Once Delivered: Essays in Honor of Dr. Wayne Spear (ed. Anthony T. Selvaggio; Phillipsburg, N.J.: Presbyterian & Reformed, 2007), 135–69; W. D. J. McKay, An Ecclesiastical Republic: Church Government in the Writings of George Gillespie (Carlisle, U.K.: Paternoster, 1997), ch. 2; David VanDrunen, “The Two Kingdoms Doctrine and the Relationship of Church and State in the Early Reformed Tradition,” Journal of Church and State 49 (2007): 743-63; VanDrunen, “The Two Kingdoms: A Reassessment of the Transformationist Calvin,” CTJ 40 (2005): 284-66; and VanDrunen, Natural Law and the Two Kingdoms: A Study in the Development of Reformed Social Thought (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, forthcoming). For a few examples of the priority of justification to sanctification in the ordo salutis in classic Reformed theology, see Calvin, Institutes, 3.11.1 and 3.19.4–5; and Turretin, Institutes, 2.693. For recent secondary literature on the doctrine found in such works, see, e.g., Thomas L. Wenger, “The New Perspective on Calvin: Responding to Recent Calvin Interpretations,” JETS 50 (2007): 311-28; Hywel R. Jones, “Justification by Faith Alone: No Christian Life Without It,” in Covenant, Justification, and Pastoral Ministry: Essays by the Faculty of Westminster Seminary California (Phillipsburg, N.J.: Presbyterian & Reformed, 2007), 285–306; and Justification: Report of the Committee to Study the Doctrine of Justification (Willow Grove, Pa.: The Committee on Christian Education of the Orthodox Presbyterian Church, 2007), 59–63. The general Reformed doctrine of the ordo salutis was defended competently in the last century by John Murray in Redemption Accomplished and Applied (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans: 1955).
3. I have in mind here particularly the claims of what is sometimes labeled “neo-Calvinism.” Representative recent works include Albert M. Wolters, Creation Regained: Biblical Basics for a Reformational Worldview (2d ed.; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2005); Craig G. Bartholomew and Michael W. Goheen, The Drama of Scripture: Finding Our Place in the Biblical Story (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2004); and Cornelius Plantinga Jr., Engaging God’s World: A Christian Vision of Faith, Learning, and Living (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2002).
4. As far as I am able to tell, the advocates of this view cited below all adhere to the traditional Reformed doctrine of justification itself, and thus I sense no difference between us in regard to a definition of justification such as that stated in Westminster Larger Catechism Q&A 70. To clarify further, I freely grant that justification and sanctification are bestowed upon believers “simultaneously” in that there is no measurable time gap between the bestowal of one and the bestowal of the other. There is no person who is justified in February but must wait until June to be sanctified; every justified person is also the recipient of sanctification. But in this article I object to the idea of “simultaneous” bestowal insofar as it means rejecting the priority of justification to sanctification in the way this article defines that priority or insofar as it implies that sanctification can be understood in any meaningful sense apart from the foundational reality of justification. A key book for the claims summarized in the text above is Richard B. Gaffin Jr., Resurrection and Redemption: A Study in Paul’s Soteriology (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1978), especially its Conclusion(pp. 135-43). Gaffin has discussed these themes further in several places, including By Faith, Not By Sight: Paul and the Order of Salvation (Waynesboro, Ga.: Paternoster, 2006); and “Biblical Theology and the Westminster Standards,” WTJ 65 (2003): 165-79. Similar claims have been made by those drawing upon Gaffin’s work; e.g., see Craig B. Carpenter, “A Question of Union with Christ? Calvin and Trent on Justification,” WTJ 64 (2002): 363-86; Sinclair B. Ferguson, The Holy Spirit (Downers Grove, Ill.: InterVarsity, 1996), 94–103; Mark A. Garcia, “Imputation and the Christology of Union with Christ: Calvin, Osiander, and the Contemporary Quest for a Reformed Model,” WTJ 68 (2006): 219-51; and Lane G. Tipton, “Union with Christ and Justification,” in Justified in Christ: God’s Plan for Us in Justification (ed. K. Scott Oliphint; Ross-shire, U.K.: Mentor, 2007), 23–49. It may be noted that Gaffin, though critical of the traditional ordo salutis idea in Resurrection and Redemption, has more recently used the term positively in a broad sense as a synonym for the application of redemption (in distinction from its accomplishment); see By Faith, Not By Sight, 18–19; and “Biblical Theology,” 167–68; similarly, see also Tipton, “Union with Christ,” 23 n. 1.
5. This is the position commonly associated with medieval Catholicism that the Reformation rejected.
6. E.g., see Reinhold Niebuhr, An Interpretation of Christian Ethics (New York: Harper & Brothers, 1935), ch. 2.
7. E.g., see Jan Lambrecht, S.J., “The Sayings of Jesus on Nonviolence,” LS 12 (1987): 297-300.
8. E.g., see Martin Luther, “Temporal Authority: To What Extent It Should be Obeyed,” in Luther’s Works, vol. 45 (ed. Walther I. Brandt; Philadelphia: Muhlenberg, 1962), 92–93; and “Luther’s Sermons on the Sermon on the Mount,” in Luther’s Works, vol. 21 (ed. Jaroslav Pelikan; Saint Louis: Concordia, 1956), 3–294. For similar expressions, see also Donald A. Hagner, Matthew 1–13 (WBC 33A; Dallas: Word, 1993), 131–32; and D. A. Carson, The Sermon on the Mount: An Evangelical Exposition of Matthew 5–7 (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1978), 49–52.
9. Whereas the former would be associated with separatist groups such as the Amish, a number of recent writers have taken a Mennonite perspective in the latter direction: e.g., see John Howard Yoder, The Politics of Jesus: Vicit Agnus Noster (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1972); Richard B. Hays, The Moral Vision of the New Testament: Community, Cross, New Creation; A Contemporary Introduction to New Testament Ethics (New York: HarperCollins, 1996), 317–46; Glen H. Stassen and David P. Gushee, Kingdom Ethics: Following Jesus in Contemporary Context (Downers Grove, Ill.: InterVarsity, 2003), 132–40; Walter Wink, “Jesus and the Nonviolent Struggle of Our Time,” LS 18 (1993): 3-20; Dorothy Jean Weaver, “Transforming Nonresistance: From Lex Talionis to ‘Do Not Resist the Evil One,”’ in The Love of Enemy and Nonretaliation in the New Testament (ed. William M. Swartley; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1992), 56. See also Hans Dieter Betz, The Sermon on the Mount: A Commentary on the Sermon on the Mount, Including the Sermon on the Plain (Matthew 5:3–7:27 and Luke 6:20–49) (ed. Adela Y. Collins; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995), 289–93.
10. See G. R. Driver and John C. Miles, The Babylonian Laws (2 vols.; Oxford: Clarendon, 1952), 2:77 (§§196, 197, 200).
11. See§8.2. For English translation, see the Avalon Project at Yale Law School, <http://www.yale.edu/lawweb/avalon/medieval/twelve_tables.htm> (accessed 5 November 2007).
12. See discussion of the lex talionis in these cultures and many others in William Ian Miller, Eye for an Eye (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006).
13. The claims made in the previous two paragraphs are argued at greater length, with relevant bibliographic citations, in David VanDrunen, “Natural Law, the Lex Talionis, and the Power of the Sword,” Liberty University Law Review (forthcoming).
14. For an extended exploration of judgment as the central task of civil government, see generally Oliver O’Donovan, The Ways of Judgment (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2005). In ch. 6 of this work, O’Donovan carefully and cautiously opens up the sphere of public justice to the influence of
15. One possible objection at this point is how the obligation of the church to exercise discipline, in Matt 18:15–17 and 1 Cor 5, is consistent with my claim that the church does not render judgment. In “Natural Law, the Lex Talionis, and the Power of the Sword,” I suggest: “First, whatever the nature of this discipline, it is not sword-bearing, but an exclusion from the fellowship of believers. Second, as is evident in both passages mentioned above, the goal of this discipline is repentance and restoration. Thus mercy, not strict justice, is its animating principle. And third, perhaps this discipline could properly be described not so much as the pronouncement of strict justice against the evil-doer but rather as the outward recognition of what is evidently inwardly true, namely, that a person who acts in such a way is in truth not a ‘brother’ (1 Cor 5:11).”
16. Any brief summary of such a perspective or comparison with a Reformed view such as mine runs great risk of over-simplification and hence obfuscation. To give some sense of what I have in mind, however, one might note the winsome attempt of two leading Roman Catholic bioethicists to apply a Thomistic perspective to the ethics of medical practice. One way in which they compare a “Christian ethic” of medicine with a “naturalistic” or “philosophical” ethic of medicine is that the former relates morality to a relationship with “God the Creator and Redeemer.” To be sure, Thomas Aquinas and traditional Roman Catholic theology root the origin of natural law in God, but there is a sense expressed here in which naturalistic ethics can be understood on its own terms. See Edmund D. Pellegrino and David C. Thomasma, The Christian Virtues in Medical Practice (Washington, D.C.: Georgetown University Press, 1996), 72. On the contrary, a Reformed perspective would object that both ethics must be seen as grounded in the revelation of God’s law, whether in nature or in Scripture. A second way in which Pellegrino and Thomasma compare a Christian medical ethics with a naturalistic/philosophical medical ethics is through the concept of supererogatory duties, duties unknown or seemingly unrealistic to reason alone. Such duties, such as the command to be perfect in charity in the Sermon on the Mount, are to some degree binding upon all Christians, though few can be expected to attain the degree of dedication and self-sacrifice attained by someone such as Mother Theresa. See ibid., 74–75. In distinction, a Reformed perspective would deny that an ethic grounded in nature does not demand perfection and that Jesus’ demands of Christians in the Sermon on the Mount entail different degrees of obligation upon different Christians.
17. On this point, see n. 14 above.
18. On the idea of natural law in regard to the debates around Rom 2, see David VanDrunen, A Biblical Case for Natural Law (Grand Rapids: Acton Institute, 2006), ch. 2; and VanDrunen, “Natural Law and the Works Principle under Adam and Moses,” in The Law Is Not of Faith: Essays on Works and Grace in the Mosaic Covenant (ed. Bryan D. Estelle, J. V. Fesko, and David VanDrunen; Phillipsburg, N.J.: Presbyterian & Reformed, forthcoming).
19. In light of the biblical witness about this testimony of general revelation, it may be interesting to note that many cultures and religions around the world, apart from any Judeo-Christian influence, have taught that there will be some final judgment after death. E.g., see S. G. F. Brandon, The Judgment of the Dead: The Idea of Life After Death in the Major Religions (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1967). The testimony of general revelation on this matter, apparently, has been suppressed but not at all fully extinguished among unbelievers. This is not to deny the vast differences between biblical revelation and the teaching of other religions on the eschatological future, of course. For a brief treatment highlighting the differences, see, e.g., Geerhardus Vos, The Eschatology of the Old Testament (ed. James T. Dennison Jr.; Phillipsburg, N.J.: Presbyterian & Reformed, 2001), 53–62. Interestingly, several scholars have claimed that the OT, in distinction from the beliefs of many other religions, had little or no conception of a final judgment; e.g., see Brandon, The Judgment of the Dead, ch. 3; and Philip S. Johnston, Shades of Sheol: Death and Afterlife in the Old Testament (Downers Grove, Ill.: InterVarsity, 2002), 237.
20. Here the words of Calvin in Institutes of the Christian Religion (2 vols.; trans. Henry Beveridge; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1953), 3.19.4–5, are apropos: “Being constantly in terror so long as they are under the dominion of the law, they are never disposed promptly to obey God, unless they have previously obtained this liberty.... How can unhappy souls set themselves with alacrity to a work from which they cannot hope to gain anything in return but cursing? On the other hand, if freed from this severe exaction, or rather from the whole rigour of the law, they hear themselves invited by God with paternal lenity, they will cheerfully and alertly obey the call, and follow his guidance.
21. An obvious objection to my argument at this point is the fact that Scripture, in many places, speaks of a final judgment in which the works even of Christians will be called to account. The reality of this final judgment is undeniable and hence provides a qualification of my overall claim. But it does not, I believe, change the general, overall thrust of my argument, for I take the final judgment to be something fundamentally distinct from the verdict of justification rendered in this life. Justification takes a person out from under the law as a covenant of works and brings him into freedom under the reign of grace (see discussion below). Thus the believer comes before the final judgment precisely as one under grace rather than under the law, not in any sense under the covenant of works, not having the least uncertainty about his standing before God, knowing that his many sinful deeds cannot bring him again under condemnation. I take the final judgment, therefore, to be evidentiary and thus vindicatory. I will not undertake a thorough defense of this here, though I would note briefly a few biblical considerations that seem to demand such a conclusion: the definitive character of the forensic declaration of justification by faith here and now (as expressed, e.g., in Rom 5:1, 9; 8:33–34); the observation in 1 Cor 3:15 that the believer whose works are largely burned on the last day will still be saved; and the significant fact that believers stand before the final judgment as those who have already participated in the resurrection of the just (as taught in Westminster Larger Catechism Q&A 88 as it reflects the description of Rev 20:12–15; both Dan 12:1–2 and John 5:28–29 further indicate that, though all people will rise on the last day, there will be a distinction between the resurrection of the just unto life and that of the unjust unto death). Gaffin has recently discussed these issues in By Faith, Not By Sight, ch. 4. In most respects, his understanding of justification and the final judgment is identical to the position taken here: he holds that justification is definitive and immutable, based solely upon the active and passive obedience of Christ, and by faith as the only instrument, and he views the role of believers’ works at the final judgment as purely evidentiary. Gaffin’s view is distinct from mine, however, in that he describes the final judgment for believers not as something different from their justification but as the future aspect of their justification, such that justification is both already (in this life) and not yet (at the final judgment). Perhaps there will be an occasion in the future to interact with his analysis at greater length, but here I note briefly a few reasons why I believe it is problematic and his claims unproven. First, it does not seem to me a “clear implication” that the Westminster Standards’ use of the forensic term “acquittal” to describe the believer’s verdict at the final judgment suggests a future aspect of that believer’s justification in this life (see By Faith, Not By Sight, 82); such a conclusion is perhaps a textual possibility, but it is surely not the only plausible one. Second, Gaffin’s “presumptive consideration” that the already-not yet structure of Pauline soteriology creates the perhaps “insuperable” conclusion that justification shares that already-not yet character is problematic, or at least unproven. That Pauline (and broadly biblical) soteriology has an already-not yet structure is certainly true, but whether each distinct soteriological act and process has itself an already and not yet dimension would seem to require proof individually. The already-not yet idea presented in By Faith, Not By Sight, 83–84, seems a bit too close to a central dogma from which theological particulars are deduced. Third, Gaffin does not establish exegetically a connection between the biblical passages speaking about the final judgment relating to believers’ works and the justification in this life based upon Christ’s works. Gaffin’s orthodoxy in insisting that the basis upon which the verdict at the final judgment is rendered is Christ’s righteousness alone is to be appreciated; ironically, however, there is not a single biblical passage which points to Christ’s work as having this function. Scripture uniformly speaks about justification by faith in this life as based only upon the work of Christ, while it speaks uniformly and only about the final judgment in terms of believers’ works. This striking difference seems more plausibly explained as two distinct acts, a present justification and a future vindication, rather than as one and the same act with present and future aspects. Fourth, Gaffin’s discussion of the resurrection and future justification in By Faith, Not By Sight, 84–92, is in some ways quite compelling but at the same time adds a layer of confusion. For some of the reasons that he indicates, if there is a future aspect of justification then the resurrection seems its most likely candidate. Resurrection has a strong judicial character throughout Scripture and Scripture suggests that Christ’s resurrection was his justification. Nevertheless, on Gaffin’s reading this renders the conclusion that there are in fact two future justifications, the resurrection and the final judgment. The final judgment is apparently not only a future justification but also a future-future justification (see By Faith, Not By Sight, 99–100, where Gaffin says something almost like this). Fifth, I find the exegesis of Rom 2 presented in By Faith, Not By Sight, 94–99, to be unconvincing; see VanDrunen, “Natural Law and the Works Principle,” for some discussion of this point.
22. The moral situations of Adam before the fall and of sinners after the fall are of course also different in many important respects. Before the fall, Adam was positively holy (not just morally neutral), lived in God’s favor though he was not confirmed in such, and was able to sustain the probation, whereas after the fall sinners are positively unholy, are under God’s wrath (though it is tempered by common grace), and are unable to sustain their “probation.” I refer to sinners’ “probation” because there is one sense in which they are not under probation and one sense in which they are. Fallen sinners are not under probation in that they are already condemned in Adam’s first sin and their condemnation is settled. But they are under a kind of probation in that the law that comes to them, at least in nature, not only presents to them the law, but also the sanctions of the law, and thus the law comes to them in the form of a probation. On this last point, see Van-Drunen, “Natural Law and the Works Principle.”
23. It is redemptive-historical in the sense that Paul’s many comments about the law in Rom 6 and 7 certainly involve reference to the law of Moses to which, in important respects, NT believers are no longer bound. It is soteriological in that Paul is obviously also concerned with questions about the individual application of salvation, particularly justification and sanctification, in these and previous chapters. The idea, common through much of the Reformed tradition, that the Mosaic covenant contains in some sense a republication of the Adamic covenant of works is helpful in bringing these redemptive-historical and soteriological concerns together coherently. For discussion of historical, exegetical, and theological matters pertaining to the republication idea, see the various forthcoming essays in The Law Is Not of Faith.
24. This discussion touches upon many issues being debated in the sprawling contemporary literature on Paul, the law, and Second Temple Judaism, the details of which debate there is no space to interact with here. Many of the relevant issues are explored competently in, e.g., D. A. Carson, Peter T. O’Brien, and Mark A. Seifrid, eds., Justification and Variegated Nomism (2 vols.; Grand Rapids: Baker, 2001–2004).
25. I think particularly of Gal 4:21–5:6. Paul begins here by reminding those who wish to be ὑπὸ νόμον (4:21) what the law actually says, which in effect is to proclaim a state of bondage, in contrast to believers’ state of freedom in Christ (4:22–5:1). In fact, those who wish to be justified ἐν νόμῳ are under an obligation to perform the entire law (a statement of the works principle or covenant of works) and hence they have been cut off from grace and Christ is of no value to them (5:2–5). Earlier in this epistle Paul says that Christ himself became ὑπὸ νόμον in order to redeem those who were ὑπὸ νόμον, that is, he came under an obligation to perform the entire law in order that those who are in him may be freed from this obligation. For relevant discussion, see S. M. Baugh,”Galatians 5:1–6 and Personal Obligation: Reflections on Paul and the Law,” in The Law Is Not of Faith.
26. If the moral law and natural law are summarized in the Decalogue and the Decalogue is summarized by the two great love commandments (as commonly taught in Reformed theology and in the Reformed confessional standards), then this statement must be true. The love prescribed in the covenant of works and in the natural law is a love apparently to be practiced without considerations of mercy and forgiveness. This is also strikingly true of the Decalogue, whose precepts make no mention of mercy or forgiveness either.
27. How do such claims relate to the image of God? This is a point I hope to develop at more length in the future, but a few comments may indicate a helpful direction. As a general consideration, it seems correct to say that morality ought always to reflect the image of God, and hence should reflect the moral nature of God that is revealed. First, then, perhaps we might say that the love prescribed in the covenant of works reflects the moral nature of God as revealed in that original covenant. God revealed himself as a just God, but not as a merciful God, so that the law of the covenant of works (both as naturally and supernaturally revealed) prescribed a love that was to be expressed only in terms of the strict administration of justice. This seems to make sense of Gen 1:26 in the context of Gen 1–3. Second, perhaps we might say that the love prescribed to fallen sinners, in the context of common grace, reflects the moral nature of God as revealed in the common grace covenant. In the covenant of common grace God continues to reveal himself as just, but as just in a way tempered by tolerance and forbearance (which are not the same as mercy and forgiveness). Hence, the law of the covenant of common grace prescribes a love that entails the practice of justice, though tempered with forbearance. This seems to make sense of Gen 9:6, in the context of Gen 9 (I take the appeal to the image of God here to refer primarily to the authority of a human being to execute justice rather than to the value of human life). Third, perhaps we might say that the love prescribed to redeemed sinners reflects the moral nature of God as revealed in the covenant of grace. Hence, the law of the covenant of grace prescribes a love in which the claims of justice are no longer applied strictly or even simply delayed through forbearance, but instead transcended through the rendering of mercy and forgiveness made possible because of God’s forgiveness of believers in Christ. This seems to make sense of Rom 8:29 and other texts that speak of being restored unto the image of Christ in redemption. This also seems consistent with the fifth petition of the prayer that Jesus taught his disciples to pray: Forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors. There is no practice of forgiveness prescribed in God’s law unless that law comes in the context of the forgiveness bestowed in Christ.
28. Hence, despite some differences that I have with the writings of Gaffin, Carpenter, Ferguson, Garcia, and Tipton cited in n. 4 above regarding the relationship of union with Christ and the ordo salutis, I certainly agree that all of the particular soteriological benefits come in union with Christ. The issue, as I see it, is not whether all soteriological benefits come through our union with Christ, but whether all soteriological benefits come simultaneously/immediately through union with Christ (their claim) or come with established relationships to each other as expressed in historic Reformed convictions about the ordo salutis (my claim). As partially argued above, Scripture demands that our soteriology express an established relationship between justification and sanctification, not to mention relationships between regeneration and faith (1 John 5:1), regeneration and sanctification (e.g., 1 John 3:9), faith and justification (Rom 5:1 among many others), faith and adoption ( John 1:12), and others. Our doctrine of union with Christ must account for this teaching or else it is not sufficiently biblical. Many of these matters related to union with Christ and the ordo salutis are explored in the excellent new book by Michael S. Horton, Covenant and Salvation: Union with Christ (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2007). Horton at times articulates a position in which justification is the “judicial ground of “ and “logically prior to” union with Christ (e.g., see 147). Elsewhere he speaks of justification as coming “in him” (151) and of union as “encompassing . . . justification” (153). At the moment I am most comfortable in thinking of Christ’s atonement, rather than justification per se, as the judicial ground for union with Christ and in thinking of justification as indeed coming in union with Christ such that justification is not logically prior to union. Alongside of these affirmations, it seems helpful to say that the judicial aspect of our union (justification) is foundational for the transformative aspect of our union (sanctification).
29. As a point of clarification, I certainly affirm that Scripture teaches about many moral issues relevant to civil, temporal life. The church must teach what Scripture says about these things. But as soon as these biblically addressed moral issues become questions of public policy or civil law, they come under the jurisdiction of the state and hence necessarily become matters that in some way or another will be enforced through coercion, by the sword. This means, in my judgment, that the church no longer has authority to proclaim how such matters ought to be resolved: how the sword is to be handled is neither a spiritual matter nor is it dictated in Scripture. See n. 30 below for further discussion of the nature of ecclesiastical authority.
30. The doctrine of the spirituality of the church teaches that the church may only concern itself with spiritual, and not civil, matters (see Westminster Confession of Faith 31.4). The doctrine of the church’s ministerial authority (in distinction from legislative authority) teaches that the authority held by the officers of the church is only that of ministering the word of God, and nothing beyond this (see Westminster Confession of Faith 31.2). Theologically, these doctrines are related in that, since Scripture does not give detailed prescriptions about civil affairs, the church has no authority to delve into them. Historically, these doctrines are related through their common grounding in the two kingdoms doctrine; on this point see VanDrunen, Natural Law and the Two Kingdoms. For examples of statements of the ministerial authority of the church (in the context of the two kingdoms doctrine), see the references to Gillespie and Turretin in n. 2 above. Mid-nineteenth-century American Presbyterianism was one setting in which the issue of the spirituality of the church was of special interest and controversy. Among well-known defenders of the spirituality doctrine at this time were Stuart Robinson and James Henley Thornwell. Among their relevant works, see, e.g., Stuart Robinson, The Church of God as an Essential Element of the Gospel, and the Idea, Structure, and Functions Thereof (Philadelphia: Joseph M. Wilson, 1858; repr., Greenville, S.C.: Greenville Presbyterian Theological Seminary Press, 1995); various essays of Robinson collected in Preston D. Graham Jr., A Kingdom Not of This World: Stuart Robinson’s Struggle to Distinguish the Sacred from the Secular during the Civil War (Macon, Ga.: Mercer University Press, 2002); James Henley Thornwell, “Societies for Moral Reform” (originally a committee report submitted to the 1848 General Assembly), in The Collected Writings of James Henley Thornwell, vol. 4 (ed. B. M. Palmer; 1875; repr., Edinburgh: Banner of Truth, 1986), 469–71; and Thornwell, “Speech on African Colonization” (originally a speech delivered at the 1858 General Assembly), in Collected Writings, vol. 4, 472–78.