And in the context of the opposition the Philippians were facing because of their commitment to Christ, living in a manner worthy of the Gospel chiefly involved being united with one another. If the people of God are to have any hope of standing firm in the face of opposition (1:27b)—if they are to have any hope of propagating this Gospel of repentance and faith in Jesus Christ amidst a hostile society (1:27c)—they will need to be unified. And so in the opening verses of chapter 2, Paul calls them to unity—as well as to the humility without which that unity won’t ever be achieved.

Then, in verses 5 to 11, he pens perhaps the loftiest and most precise Christology anywhere else in Scripture. He speaks in detail about the Lord’s pre-existence as the eternal Son of God, the mystery of the incarnation and the kenosis, the hypostatic union—Christ’s being fully God and fully man, having two natures “without confusion, without change, without division, and without separation” bound up in a single person. He speaks of the mystery of the sinless God-man dying: God cursed and forsaken by God. And he speaks of His glorious resurrection from the dead, ascension into heaven, and His exaltation to the Father’s right hand.

But even though all that is there in this text, Paul’s primary point isn’t to discourse on the finer points of Christology. His design is to give us a concrete example of the kind humility that will achieve true unity—a picture worth more than a thousand words. And it’s not just any example, but the supreme example of self-sacrificing humility: Jesus Himself. And so we are to “have this attitude in yourselves which was also in Christ Jesus” (2:5).

All of that theology is there to serve as a magnificent illustration and example of the humility that Paul has called us to in verses 3 and 4. Christians are to be marked by a Gospel-driven humility because we have been saved by a humility-driven Gospel. The whole point of explaining the fine points of Christ’s pre-existence and incarnation is to demonstrate the heights from which the Lord came, and the depths to which He humbled Himself in the service of others: so that we would have the clearest picture of His example to follow as we pursue humility and service to our brothers and sisters.

And the point I want to make is this. I want you to notice how the Word of God weaves the most practical instruction with the loftiest and most unsearchable theology. The most practical, mundane, applicable matters of Christianity—like personal humility and unity within the church—are wedded to the deepest and most difficult doctrines for the mind even to conceive of.

So many professing Christians say things like: “I don’t want to hear about doctrinal debates and theological controversies. I want practical teaching. I want a Christianity that shows me how to live right where I’m at.” Well in the light of Philippians 2, that is a statement of pure foolishness. There is no such dichotomy between theology and practice. True theology must alway lead to piety. And there is no path to true piety but by theology. Or, to say it another way, “practical theology” is redundant. If Philippians 2:1-11 teaches us anything, it’s that a Christianity focused on the heart, on practice, and on application cannot be divorced from deep thinking and hard truths. They are inextricably woven together. It is by thinking deeply, it is by meditating on this difficult theology, that we understand our great God and the life He’s called us to in greater fullness. It is only then that we are equipped to live in a way that is most pleasing and most honorable to God—to conduct ourselves in a manner worthy of the Gospel of Christ.

Because practical instruction is inextricably linked to exalted theology, it is the Christian’s challenge to understand the hard truths and doctrines of Scripture in order to be maximally affected in our daily lives. As we delve into the technical points of high Christology, or of divine sovereignty and human responsibility, or of the doctrines of eschatology, we need to be reminded that we are not engaging in a cold, detached intellectualism. Studying the theology revealed in Scripture is never simply an academic exercise. Rather, it is the summoning all of our faculties in an endeavor to love the Lord our God with all our heart, soul, mind, and strength.

This two-part post is intended to provide an initial response to such assertions.

The word “eucharist” means “thanksgiving” and was an early Christian way of referring to the celebration of the Lord’s Table. Believers in the early centuries of church history regularly celebrated the Lord’s Table as a way to commemorate the death of Christ. The Lord Himself commanded this observance on the night before His death. As the apostle Paul recorded in 1 Corinthians 11:23–26:

For I received from the Lord that which I also delivered to you, that the Lord Jesus in the night in which He was betrayed took bread; and when He had given thanks, He broke it and said, “This is My body, which is for you; do this in remembrance of Me.” In the same way He took the cup also after supper, saying, “This cup is the new covenant in My blood; do this, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of Me.” For as often as you eat this bread and drink the cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until He comes.

In discussing the Lord’s Table from the perspective of church history, at least two important questions arise. First, did the early church believe that the elements (the bread and the cup) were actually and literally transformed into the physical body and blood of Christ? In other words, did they articulate the doctrine of transubstantiation as modern Roman Catholics do? Second, did early Christians view the eucharist as a propitiatory sacrifice? Or put another way, did they view it in the terms articulated by the sixteenth-century Council of Trent?

In today’s post, we will address the first of those two questions.

Did the Early Church Fathers Hold to Transubstantiation?

Transubstantiation is the Roman Catholic teaching that in the eucharist, the bread and the cup are transformed into the literal body and blood of Christ. Here are several quotes from the church fathers, often cited by Roman Catholics, in defense of their claim that the early church embraced transubstantiation.

Ignatius of Antioch (d. c. 110): “Take note of those who hold heterodox opinions on the grace of Jesus Christ which has come to us, and see how contrary their opinions are to the mind of God.   . . . They abstain from the Eucharist and from prayer because they do not confess that the Eucharist is the flesh of our Savior Jesus Christ, flesh which suffered for our sins and which that Father, in his goodness, raised up again. They who deny the gift of God are perishing in their disputes” (Letter to the Smyrnaeans 6:2–7:1).

Irenaeus (d. 202): “He took from among creation that which is bread, and gave thanks, saying, ‘This is my body.’ The cup likewise, which is from among the creation to which we belong, he confessed to be his blood” (Against Heresies, 4:17:5).

Irenaeus again: “He has declared the cup, a part of creation, to be his own blood, from which he causes our blood to flow; and the bread, a part of creation, he has established as his own body, from which he gives increase unto our bodies. When, therefore, the mixed cup [wine and water] and the baked bread receives the Word of God and becomes the Eucharist, the body of Christ, and from these the substance of our flesh is increased and supported, how can they say that the flesh is not capable of receiving the gift of God, which is eternal life—flesh which is nourished by the body and blood of the Lord, and is in fact a member of him?” (Against Heresies, 5:2).

Tertullian (160–225): “[T]he flesh feeds on the body and blood of Christ, that the soul likewise may be filled with God” (The Resurrection of the Dead).

Origen (182–254): “Formerly, in an obscure way, there was manna for food; now, however, in full view, there is the true food, the flesh of the Word of God, as he himself says: ‘My flesh is true food, and my blood is true drink’” (Homilies on Numbers, 7:2).

Augustine (354–430): “I promised you [new Christians], who have now been baptized, a sermon in which I would explain the sacrament of the Lord’s Table. . . . That bread which you see on the altar, having been sanctified by the word of God, is the body of Christ. That chalice, or rather, what is in that chalice, having been sanctified by the word of God, is the blood of Christ” (Sermons 227).

How should we think about such statements?

Obviously, there is no disputing the fact that the patristic authors made statements like, “The bread is the body of Christ” and “The cup is the blood of Christ.” But there is a question of exactly what they meant when they used that language. After all, the Lord Himself said, “This is My body” and “This is My blood.” So it is not surprising that the early fathers echoed those very words.

But what did they mean when they used the language of Christ to describe the Lord’s Table? Did they intend the elements to be viewed as Christ’s literal flesh and blood? Or did they see the elements as symbols and figures of those physical realities?

In answering such questions, at least two things ought to be kept in mind:

* * * * *

1. We ought to interpret the church fathers’ statements within their historical context.

Such is especially true with regard to the quotes cited above from Ignatius and Irenaeus. During their ministries, both men found themselves contending against the theological error of docetism (a component of Gnostic teaching), which taught that all matter was evil. Consequently, docetism denied that Jesus possessed a real physical body. It was against this false teaching that the apostle John declared, “For many deceivers have gone out into the world, those who do not acknowledge Jesus Christ as coming in the flesh. This is the deceiver and the antichrist” (2 John 7).

In order to combat the false notions of docetism, Ignatius and Irenaeus echoed the language Christ used at the Last Supper (paraphrasing His words, “This is My body” and “This is My blood”). Such provided a highly effective argument against docetic heresies, since our Lord’s words underscore the fact that He possessed a real, physical body.

A generation after Irenaeus, Tertullian (160–225) used the same arguments against the Gnostic heretic Marcion. However, Tertullian provided more information into how the eucharistic elements ought to be understood. Tertullian wrote:

“Having taken the bread and given it to His disciples, Jesus made it His own body, by saying, ‘This is My body,’ that is, the symbol of My body. There could not have been a symbol, however, unless there was first a true body. An empty thing or phantom is incapable of a symbol. He likewise, when mentioning the cup and making the new covenant to be sealed ‘in His blood,’ affirms the reality of His body. For no blood can belong to a body that is not a body of flesh” (Against Marcion, 4.40).

Tertullian’s explanation could not be clearer. On the one hand, he based his argument against Gnostic docetism on the words of Christ, “This is My body.” On the other hand, Tertullian recognized that the elements themselves ought to be understood as symbols which represent the reality of Christ’s physical body. Because of the reality they represented, they provided a compelling refutation of docetic error.

Based on Tertullian’s explanation, we have good reason to view the words of Ignatius and Irenaeus in that same light.

* * * * *

2. We ought to allow the church fathers to clarify their understanding of the Lord’s Table.

We have already seen how Tertullian clarified his understanding of the Lord’s Table by noting that the bread and the cup were symbols of Christ’s body and blood. In that same vein, we find that many of the church fathers similarly clarified their understanding of the eucharist by describing it in symbolic and spiritual terms.

At times, they echoed the language of Christ (e.g. “This is My body” and “This is My blood”) when describing the Lord’s Table. Yet, in other places, it becomes clear that they intended this language to be ultimately understood in spiritual and symbolic terms. Here are a number of examples that demonstrate this point:

The Didache, written in the late-first or early-second century, referred to the elements of the Lord’s table as “spiritual food and drink” (The Didache, 9). The long passage detailing the Lord’s Table in this early Christian document gives no hint of transubstantiation whatsoever.

Justin Martyr (110–165) spoke of “the bread which our Christ gave us to offer in remembrance of the Body which He assumed for the sake of those who believe in Him, for whom He also suffered, and also to the cup which He taught us to offer in the Eucharist, in commemoration of His blood“(Dialogue with Trypho, 70).

Clement of Alexandria explained that, “The Scripture, accordingly, has named wine the symbol of the sacred blood” (The Instructor, 2.2).

Origen similarly noted, “We have a symbol of gratitude to God in the bread which we call the Eucharist” (Against Celsus, 8.57).

Cyprian (200–258), who sometimes described the eucharist using very literal language, spoke against any who might use mere water for their celebration of the Lord’s Table. In condemning such practices, he explained that the cup of the Lord is a representation of the blood of Christ: “I marvel much whence this practice has arisen, that in some places, contrary to Evangelical and Apostolic discipline, water is offered in the Cup of the Lord, which alone cannot represent the Blood of Christ” (Epistle 63.7).

Eusebius of Caesarea (263–340) espoused a symbolic view in his Proof of the Gospel:

For with the wine which was indeed the symbol of His blood, He cleanses them that are baptized into His death, and believe on His blood, of their old sins, washing them away and purifying their old garments and vesture, so that they, ransomed by the precious blood of the divine spiritual grapes, and with the wine from this vine, “put off the old man with his deeds, and put on the new man which is renewed into knowledge in the image of Him that created him.” . . . He gave to His disciples, when He said, “Take, drink; this is my blood that is shed for you for the remission of sins: this do in remembrance of me.” And, “His teeth are white as milk,” show the brightness and purity of the sacramental food. For again, He gave Himself the symbols of His divine dispensation to His disciples, when He bade them make the likeness of His own Body. For since He no more was to take pleasure in bloody sacrifices, or those ordained by Moses in the slaughter of animals of various kinds, and was to give them bread to use as the symbol of His Body, He taught the purity and brightness of such food by saying, “And his teeth are white as milk” (Demonstratia Evangelica, 8.1.76–80).

Athanasius (296–373) similarly contended that the elements of the Eucharist are to be understood spiritually, not physically: “[W]hat He says is not fleshly but spiritual. For how many would the body suffice for eating, that it should become the food for the whole world? But for this reason He made mention of the ascension of the Son of Man into heaven, in order that He might draw them away from the bodily notion, and that from henceforth they might learn that the aforesaid flesh was heavenly eating from above and spiritual food given by Him.” (Festal Letter, 4.19)

Augustine (354–430), also, clarified that the Lord’s Table was to be understood in spiritual terms: “Understand spiritually what I said; you are not to eat this body which you see; nor to drink that blood which they who will crucify me shall pour forth. . . . Although it is needful that this be visibly celebrated, yet it must be spiritually understood” (Exposition of the Psalms, 99.8).

He also explained the eucharistic elements as symbols. Speaking of Christ, Augustine noted: “He committed and delivered to His disciples the figure [or symbol] of His Body and Blood.” (Exposition of the Psalms, 3.1).

And in another place, quoting the Lord Jesus, Augustine further explained: “‘Except ye eat the flesh of the Son of man,’ says Christ, ‘and drink His blood, ye have no life in you.’ This seems to enjoin a crime or a vice; it is therefore a figure [or symbol], enjoining that we should have a share in the sufferings of our Lord, and that we should retain a sweet and profitable memory of the fact that His flesh was wounded and crucified for us (On Christian Doctrine, 3.16.24).

A number of similar quotations from the church fathers could be given to make the point that—at least for many of the fathers—the elements of the eucharist were ultimately understood in symbolic or spiritual terms. In other words, they did not hold to the Roman Catholic doctrine of transubstantiation.

To be sure, they often reiterated the language of Christ when He said, “This is My body” and “This is My blood.” They especially used such language in defending the reality of His incarnation against Gnostic, docetic heretics who denied the reality of Christ’s physical body.

At the same time, however, they clarified their understanding of the Lord’s Table by further explaining that they ultimately recognized the elements of the Lord’s Table to be symbols—figures which represented and commemorated the physical reality of our Lord’s body and blood.

Next week, in part 2, we will consider whether or not the church fathers regarded the Lord’s Table as a propiatory sacrifice (as the Council of Trent defines it) or as simply a memorial offering of thanksgiving.

The desire to help the poor is a biblical mandate. For example, when Zacchaeus repented, he gave half of his wealth to the poor (Luke 19:8). This was not a works-based form of penance, but rather an expression of compassion towards the needy. In fact, Jesus often used giving to the poor as a basic standard of righteousness (Matt 19:21, Luke 14:13), and even specifically blessed them (Luke 6:20). In the sermon on the mount, he told his listeners, “Give to the one who begs from you, and do not refuse the one who would borrow from you” (Matt 5:42). He repeated this ethic in Luke 3:11: “Whoever has two tunicsis to share with him who has none, and whoever has food is to do likewise.”  On another occasion, immediately after Jesus told his followers not to worry because God would provide for their needs, he added:

“Sell your possessions, and give to the needy. Provide yourselves with moneybags that do not grow old, with a treasure in the heavens that does not fail, where no thief approaches and no moth destroys.  For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also” (Luke 12:33-34).

Finally, he gave a specific way Christians can serve the poor:

“When you give a dinner or a banquet, do not invite your friends or your brothersor your relatives or rich neighbors, lest they also invite you in return and you be repaid. But when you give a feast, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind, and you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you. You will be repaid at the resurrection of the just” (Luke 14:12–14).

To underscore the importance of showing compassion to the poor, when Paul received his specific ordination for ministry the Apostles gave him only one direct charge: “Only, they asked us to remember the poor, the very thing I was eager to do” (Gal 2:10). How Paul fulfilled that command is noted in his epistles. First, he took collections from the other churches to meet the needs of the poor in the Jerusalem church (Rom 15:26). In fact, he told the church in Corinth to take this collection every week, so that when Paul would arrive there, there would be no shortage for the poor in Jerusalem (1 Cor 16:1–4). When Paul established the criteria for eldership, one of the qualifications is that an elder be “hospitable,” a word which refers to how one loves and cares for the poor. It is evident that a care for the poor is a mark of New Testament ministry.

Beyond Paul, James forbids favoritism to the rich, while practically lambasting the rich for their chronic neglect of the poor (Jas 1:10–11, 2:6, 5:1). He ridicules the idea that a Christian can claim to have faith while not meeting the poor’s physical needs (Jas 2:16). Meanwhile, John in typical black-and-white fashion, simply writes, “If anyone has the world’s goods and sees his brother in need, yet closes his heart against him, how does God’s love abide in him?” (1 John 3:17).

Indeed the command for Christians to love and care for the poor just may be the most common specific New Testament command. I actually agree with Tim Keller when he writes, “The striking truth is that the work of mercy is fundamental to being a Christian.”

The connection is not accidental. The importance of ministering to the poor is so stressed in the New Testament because it is reveals a connection to the heart and character of God. God is compassionate to the poor, the gospel is the hope of the poor, and God has chosen the poor in this world to be rich in faith. Christians are therefore to “adorn the gospel” in all that they do, because the gospel has been made known to them (cf. Titus 2:10–11). The compassion God showed Christians in giving them the gospel is to be seen in the compassion Christians are to have in bringing the good news to the poor.

I do believe that those commands refer to the poor in the church (in your own local church first, and then in other global churches second). The New Testament does not mandate cultural renewal or social transformation, and the church never has as its goal the eradication of poverty in the world. But believers are called to minister to the poor in their midst, and to meet the needs of believers world wide. Obedience to these commands is one of the most basic ways that God’s glory is revealed through the church.

So I stopped and prayed. I thanked the Lord for my own family’s safety, and I prayed for those first-responders and teachers who were trying to rescue people. I prayed for the churches in the area, and asked that God would give them wisdom in how they respond. I asked that the pastors would have the ability to comfort, the elders would lead, and that God would use this for good by drawing people to himself.

And then I thought, how can I help? What can I do to help those in need, especially the believers who were affected? I read this passage:  

“Sell your possessions, and give to the needy. Provide yourselves with moneybags that do not grow old, with a treasure in the heavens that does not fail, where no thief approaches and no moth destroys.  For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also” (Luke 12:33-34).

And then this one: “If anyone has the world’s goods and sees his brother in need, yet closes his heart against him, how does God’s love abide in him?” (1 John 3:17).

But I don’t own a rescue dog, and I don’t even live in Oklahoma. How can I possibly apply those verses in times of tragedy? It is practically the American Way to donate to the Red Cross or other aide organizations. But is that what Jesus had in mind?

In the New Testament, when there were physical or practical needs in the church, they were met through the church. When there were poor in the congregation, the elders organized a system to care for their needs (Acts 6:1-7; 1 Tim 5;9). Believers obeyed Jesus’ command and sold their excess goods to care for one another, but they didn’t give the money to outside groups; they gave it to the church, through the church.

The early church met the physical needs of other believers by giving their money to their church (they literally laid it at the Apostle’s feet), and then they allowed the elders to identify the must urgent needs to meet. And when there was famine or desperate poverty in distant lands, the strategy stayed the same. Believers pooled their money and gave it to their churches, who in turn passed it along to churches in need (Rom 15:25-26; 1 Cor 16:1-3).

The wisdom of this approach is obvious. How could a church in Galatia possibly know the most effective way to minister in Jerusalem? How could they really discern between those truly in need, and those whom charity would only further enable? Obviously they couldn’t possibly be expected to know those things. But the elders of the church in Jerusalem would, so Paul wanted to collect the money and give it to the church, who would then give it to the poor.

The same is true today. Take the tragedy in Oklahoma yesterday. Do you want to help? That is good, and a sign of godliness. But how can you know who is in need? If you give to a secular organization, you are trusting your money to a group that obviously does not share your goal of reconciling the world to God through preaching the gospel of Jesus Christ. How do you know which homeowners have insurance, and which don’t? How do you know who is in desperate need? How do you possibly know who to give your money to?

The answer is simple. The procedure Paul described in Romans 15 and 1 Corinthians 16 is still effective. Here is how I suggest this should look:

1. Churches should have a designated fund set up for disaster relief. Then when a disaster happens, they already have the procedure in place to receive money from their congregants to help meet the needs of those affected. That way people follow Paul’s example and give directly to their own church as a way of ministering to those around the globe.
2. Churches should then send the money that was collected to like-minded churches in the affected area, for the purpose of meeting the material needs of their congregations. That puts the burden of discernment on the local elders, who are the ones best placed to know how to use the money. It is always a good principle to give your money to the godliest people who are closet to the need, and this accomplishes just that.
3. If you don’t know of a like-minded church in the area (or if your church is not receiving money for something like this), consider giving funds to a group like The Children’s Hunger Fund. They are one of the world’s largest Christians charities, and they distribute their resources through a network of like-minded churches. This network is already established globally, and the churches who are part of it have been trained on how to respond in times of crisis. CHF has as one of its main principles that the resources they give out go to churches, and that the local churches then take the lead on how to use/distribute them. I have worked with them first-hand, and have seen the integrity they use in handling $5 gifts as well as $20,000 donations. I’ve seen them respond to fires in Los Angeles, the earthquake in Haiti, and typhoons in the Philippines. They have a legacy of maximizing their resources to strengthen affected churches, while furthering the advancement of the gospel.

Regardless of where you give your money, the goal should be the same: believers in parts of the world where there is excess should use their material blessings to alleviate physical suffering of believers while furthering the missionary efforts of the church. The only way I can think of doing that is to follow the pattern set up by Paul, and get the resources into the hands of the churches in need.

But Susan’s parents, understandably, didn’t feel that this was sufficient punishment. They sued him in civil court for emotional distress, for $1,500,000.

Then quite unexpectedly, after meeting Kevin, Susan’s parents offered to settle out of court. The terms of the ruling included an amount of $936, one bizarre condition:

The settlement required that Kevin pay the $936 by sending them a check for $1 made out to the deceased Susan Herzog, every Friday for the next eighteen years—one for every year Susan had been alive.

The penalty seemed like he had been let off easy, but soon the burden of guilt proved too much for Kevin to bear. He tried to present the Herzogs with two boxes of pre-written checks, dated each week through 2001, a year longer than required. The couple refused to accept them. 

After seven Sisyphean years of the weekly purgatorial ritual, Kevin began to miss a few payments. The Herzogs promptly dragged him back into court. Giving an account before Judge Jack Stevens, a teary Tunell admitted that the agonizing guilt he felt each time he filled in Susan’s name had become unbearable.

You get to a point where you kind of snap—and you say, it hurts too much… I used to, like, lie in bed, and if I heard … noises, I used to think Susan was going to come to visit me.”

He was sentenced to 30 days in jail. Susan’s dad, Lou said:

Susan’s death is there every waking moment. But every time we don’t get a check, there’s only one thing that comes to our mind: He doesn’t remember.”

The Herzogs insist that their insistence is not vindictive retribution. Susan’s mother, Patty explained,

We do want him to remember, but that doesn’t mean we don’t want him to accept it and get on with his life.”

Interesting. That’s reasoning that Dostoyevsky could have used for a provocative sequel to Crime and Punishment.

Naturally, I feel deeply for the grief of the parents who mourn the loss of their precious daughter. I can’t imagine their pain. But there is a part of me that shudders to think of what it must have been like for Kevin to relive the unshakeable regret so frequently. I can’t imagine what my own life would be like if my sins were held before me on such an incessant and recurring basis. The tunnel vision of focus on sin with no relief of basking in mercy, would leave me a basket case.

What a blessing it is to know that, though there are consequences in this life for our sins, mistakes, and weaknesses, there is the promise of an afterlife with no remembrance of our sin to haunt us.

Consider these four glorious passages, which I trust will bless you this week, and help you be forgiving to others.

Rom 8:¹  There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.

1John 1:⁹  If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.

Col 2:¹³  And you, who were dead in your trespasses and the uncircumcision of your flesh, God made alive together with him, having forgiven us all our trespasses,¹⁴  by canceling the record of debt that stood against us with its legal demands. This he set aside, nailing it to the cross.

Ps 32:¹  Blessed is the one whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered. ²  Blessed is the man against whom the Lord counts no iniquity, and in whose spirit there is no deceit.

May we cultivate tunnel vision, fixating on the grace we need, focussing on the cross of Calvary.

Update: Kevin Tunell actually contacted me after reading this post, and filled in some of the details: The agreement of the settlement was actually the full cash value of his parents insurance policy (a sizable amount of money), as well as the agreement that he would send them the $1 check for 18 years. I also found out that Kevin has spent countless hours telling his story to teenagers in an effort to help prevent others from making the same choices he did. He supports the use of his story to help make a difference in society, especially to educate those about the dangers of drunk driving

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Sometimes the whole opening scene of our world—the tree, serpent, the innocent pair—on  the surface, it appears as an ominous arrangement. It almost seems scripted for failure.

Why would God seemingly stack up the odds against them? Why couldn’t he have just left the sterilized utopia without the tree, the snake, and the command? Why the curse?

Eventually our inquiry arrives at that sobering point: God is sovereign. He is sovereign over it all. And “sovereign” means more than mere permission. God is not the author of sin, but neither is “allow” the best explanation for it all. “In the day of prosperity be happy, but in the day of adversity consider— God has made the one as well as the other so that man will not discover anything that will be after him” (Eccl 7:14). That tree, that serpent; the lust of the eyes, the lust of the flesh, and the pride of life culminating in taking the scrumptious fruit—it was all decreed.

Why would God do such a thing?

Though brief, one of the better explanations I’ve come across is from John Owen in his book, Communion With God. In it, he expounds the glory of God in the Fall. His section on the topic could be partitioned into four sections: creation, fall, redemption, and consummation:

1. Creation

Owen begins with the wisdom and glory of God displayed in creation:

God in the beginning made all things good, glorious, and beautiful. When all things had an innocence and beauty, the clear impress of his wisdom and goodness upon them, they were very glorious; especially man, who was made for his special glory.

2. Fall

However, all things are swiftly plunged into ruin:

Now, all this beauty was defaced by sin, and the whole creation rolled up in darkness, wrath, curses, confusion, and the great praise of God buried in the heaps of it. Man especially, was utterly lost, and came short of the glory of God, for which he was created.

So God curses his creation such that the Fall has an incalculable ripple effect. As Derek Kidner wrote, “so simple the act, so hard its undoing” (Genesis, 68). But, in the decree of all things, we’re not left there. Owen writes:

Here, now, does the depth of the riches of the wisdom and knowledge of God open itself. A design in Christ shines out from the bosom, that was lodged there from eternity…

Owen recognizes both the ordination of the Fall by declaring it as “design” and recognizing it as [God’s] “wisdom.” So what is that design?

3. Redemption

Through the finished work of Christ, submitting to his Father’s will and taking the wrath due his people, Owen writes that God’s design is:

…to recover things to such an estate as shall be exceedingly to the advantage of his glory, infinitely above what at first appeared, and for the putting of sinners into inconceivably a better condition than they were in before the entrance of sin.

Notice that surprising truth: as much as we may dream about having Eden again, as great as we might imagine our pre-fall conditions to have been, Owen observes that through God’s decree in the Fall, we, though sinners, will be put “into an inconceivably better condition” through the Person and work of Christ.

He continues on about God’s plan:

He appears now glorious; he is known to be a God pardoning iniquity and sin, and advances the riches of his grace: which was his design (Eph 1:6).

How does God appear so glorious in decreeing such a devastating fallen world? And how is our condition better than pre-fall?

4. Consummation

He has infinitely vindicated his justice also, in the face of men, angels, and devils, in setting forth his Son for a propitiation. It is also to our advantage; we are more fully established in his favour, and are carried on towards a more exceeding weight of glory than formerly was revealed…

The Fall, then, and all the consequences, was actually to “our advantage,” since, through Christ and his substitutionary work, we are more “fully established in [God’s] favour.”

We receive ‘grace for grace’—for that grace lost in Adam, better grace in Christ. Confessedly, this is a depth of wisdom indeed. And of the love of Christ to his church, and his union with it, to carry on this business, ‘This is a great mystery’ (Eph 5:32), says the apostle; great wisdom lies in this.

Notice the consummate reasons Owen observes for God’s decree: the glory of God in upholding his justice and recreating humanity to a superior glory than Eden. He continues cataloguing the consummation achieved in God’s plan through Christ:

So, then, this also is hid in Christ—the great and unspeakable riches of the wisdom of God, in pardoning sin, saving sinners, satisfying justice, fulfilling the law, repairing his own honour, and providing for us a more exceeding weight of glory; and all this out of such a condition as wherein it was impossible that it should enter into the hearts of angels or men how ever the glory of God should be repaired, and one sinning creature delivered from everlasting ruin.

This great veil of tears, the atrocities committed, our grievous besetting sins, global suffering, and the thorns and thistles—its all been ordained by God and being moved by God through Christ to a very good end:

Hence it is said, that at the last day God ‘shall be glorified in his saints, and admired in all them that believe’ (2 Thess. 1:10). It shall be an admirable thing, and God shall be for ever glorious in it, even in the bringing of believers to himself. To save sinners through believing, shall be found to be a far more admirable work than to create the world of nothing.

Thus, it’s fittingly said, “To Him be the glory in the church and in Christ Jesus to all generations forever and ever. Amen” (Eph 3:21).