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An Exploration into the Third Use of the Law: A Biblical Meditation and Theological Inquiry
Henry A. Corcoran, Ph.D.
Peacemaking
I make peace.1 As a peacemaker, I look for common ground; I search for paths forward that honor the central values of the parties involved. As one scouting the disputed territory, in this case the ways God uses the law in pursuit of those he loves, I try to listen carefully to the disputants. I observe that contenders for the evangelical and biblical truth. If they disagree, they often have in their respective camps canons of proof texts, differing foundational community stories, argument-specific analogies and language,2 and finally, and most importantly, a love for God that is rooted in a core value to which they cling. The intensity of the dispute, the ferocity of disagreement, the absence of gentleness, and the refusal to lay down their swords demonstrates that the core value each party defends is seen as being crucial to how they view God.3 For example, within the ‘canon’ of those who argue that instruction for holy living ought to be included among the uses of the law, Psalm 1 comes to mind. This Davidic poem was the first text cited by Martin Chemnitz, et.al., in the Solid Declaration (Formula, VI, 4) to support the teaching of a third use. Unfortunately, they read the Psalm having already determined the meaning of torah.
Torah
Torah, Hebrew for instruction, embraces a variety of literary forms: from gripping narratives to concise legal codes, from swaggering genealogies to vibrant poetry, from impassioned prayers to fiery prophecies, from didactic instruction to subversive parables. The word stretches to include God's word of law and gospel: law as exemplified in Exodus 20 and gospel as trumpeted by Genesis 15:6. To require that torah mean ‘Exodus 20’ law in Psalm 1 not only conflates the range of possible meanings of the word but transforms a song of life into a funeral dirge, a transformation inconsistent with the fruitful, verdant, flowering, and prospering image of a tree central to the poem.
Martin Chemitz
On the other hand, among the argument-specific analogies used by those who deny third use might be the complete absence of moral imperatives for Adam and Eve in the garden, save the one denying them consumption of the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. The analogy might go: as with our first parents, so for us, too. If they didn’t require instruction, neither do we. Unfortunately, such an analogy argues from ignorance, as if all the details of our first parents’ torah were made known in the Genesis account, especially in the light of the well-established paucity of detail characteristic of biblical narratives.4
Perhaps having alienated both parties in just three paragraphs, allow me to see if I can name the core value that compels each camp and win back a hearing. For those arguing two uses, the image of a new creature wholeheartedly held by God's grace, with eyes fixed on the beatific vision of Christ, claims first place. From this side, they might urge: How can such a one act except in love for God and his creatures? And as we all agree, love completes the law, right?
But for those arguing three uses, simul iustus et peccator claims center stage. One justified in Christ cannot be but sinner. To believe differently offends Christ and consequently, the triune God. From this side, they might ask: How can one offend Christ and simultaneously assert a single-hearted love for him?
Based on previous experience, the two entrenched parties can no longer hear what the other says, will not look past their own proof texts, will not listen to new stories, nor explore opposing perspectives. I would propose an alternate way forward, a biblical meditation with several soul searching questions followed by a practical theological inquiry ― an experiential approach.
Quantum Leap
The apostle Paul frequently refers to Christian believers as those ‘in Christ.’ For instance, in his greeting to Christians in Ephesus, Paul calls his readers, “holy ones” and “faithful followers” in Christ (έν Χριστώ, Ephesians 1:1). Rather than turn our conversation into a left-brain mini lecture on the precise meaning of the New Testament Greek term, en Christo in Paul’s writings, I invite you to engage in an exercise of the imagination. Like the Scott Bakula character from the old TV show, you suddenly find yourself ‘quantum leaped’ into Christ Jesus.
Scott Bakula
Seated on the bank of a large loop of the Jordan River, the air feels warm and dry. A puffy sky island shades you from the sun. A slight breeze briefly shakes the leaves in the shrubbery across the stream. A dozen or so people wade in the water. In a simple loin cloth, you slide into the cool flow. The water’s chill balances nicely with the warm air as several strong splashing strides bring you to the prophet.
As you approach him, tan and lean, you note that he is barely covered by the typical homeless-guy’s camel-skin girdle. You trade words of disagreement with John the Baptizer, a genuine Near-Eastern eccentric. You want his baptism; he feels unequal to the task. You win. The baptizer positions himself to your side. He places his left-hand squarely in the center of your back, and whispers, “Lean back.”
Chilled to the bone, and bathed in streams of light which pierce the churning waters, the river then darkens as you sink deeply into the flow. Standing again, the breeze nips you as water drips into the Jordan. Hands raised high, Hebrew prayers bubble up, and then snatches from the psalms take wing, as you lift your eyes to the heavens. God breaks in.
He rips apart the cloud and the golden sunlight pours upon you. Like a dove, the Spirit lights on your shoulder, leaving surface scratches where claws try to find a perch. God speaks in His thunderous voice, “You are my beloved child; in you I am delighted.”
John the Baptist
Do you hear what God says? God says, “You are my beloved,” not “You need to pray more.” God whispers, “You are my beloved,” not “I’m unhappy with you.” God breathes into your ear, “I delight in you,” not “You are such a loser.” God roars before every witness in heaven, on earth, and under the earth, “In this one, I am well-pleased."
God’s strong and sustained affirmation of all those in Christ has practical value. It provides a place for us to stand. Here we are survivors of a world gone crazy, struggling with a variety of challenging emotions. Did you ever wonder what sustained Jesus as He faced rejection and hostility? In Mark’s gospel, Jesus turns from His baptism and goes into the Judean wilderness for forty days. How did He fill those endless hours without electronics, without companionship, without comfort food (or any food for that matter), and without the scheduled activities that structure daily life?
It seems reasonable that in His wilderness retreat that He fired up the memories of His baptism, that He engaged memories of the smells, sights, sounds, and textures of that day. He tasted again the water as it coursed off His head and hair, felt the rough texture of the vegetation upon which He sat on the riverbank, and relished the rupture of the clouds between He and the “deep heavens” that ushered in His experience of God. As neurologists say, "What fires together wires together." Jesus' focused meditations on His baptism and the God experience fired and wired His brain with sustaining neurological connections that enabled Him to bring a positive perspective and the emotional energy to face some daunting enemies with both courage and love.
As those in Christ, can’t we also engage our imaginations on His and, therefore, our experience in the Jordan River? We could listen to the sounds of streaming water, splashes from the baptized and baptizers, and their quiet conversations. We could feel the warm, dry air, the refreshment of the water flow, and the joy of hearing God’s voice as He delights in us. Indeed, could we not endlessly listen to the divine declaration, “You are My beloved; in you I am well-pleased?” And perhaps then, as we rehearse the event in our daily meditations, might such a scene provide us the buoyancy to face our challenging life circumstances?
When the apostle Paul writes to those “in Christ,” he writes to you. The affirmation God gave Jesus in the descent of the Spirit and the rumble of His voice, “You are my beloved child; in you I am well-pleased” reaches you because by faith in the gospel, you are in Christ. By divine shout and Spirit baptism, God celebrates you, in Christ.
I hope that you fully engaged this little exercise in your imagination, paying close attention to the details Mark provides in his narration of the baptism of our Lord Jesus. Assuming you have (and inviting you to do so if you haven't), let's examine the experience. Perhaps like me, at first, you found such an exercise difficult. Were you able to picture yourself freshly baptized; hearing God’s thunderous affirmation? Were you personally affirmed? What did you feel? Did you find gratitude bubbling up in your heart? Joy? Peace? Irritation?
As I reflect further on my experience, I enjoyed the positive divine affirmation, but I struggled to accept it. What in me resists such affirmation and especially this divine testimony?
Did you find yourself resisting the idea of Jesus rehearsing the events and sensate experiences of His baptism during the forty-day fast, but as you pondered on it, found it plausible, even likely? Like me, did you want to learn more about this form of biblical meditation ? Were you better able to see what being in Christ might look like? Did you notice with further reflection that the justification fiat has been reframed from a courtroom context to a narrative setting, where God is presented as adoring parent rather than judge? Did you observe that as the storyteller applied the divine decree to his audience, the primary focus shifted from the justification concern for the forgiveness of sins, a reality assumed, to the silencing of internal accusations and the quieting of voices of shame?
As I weighed it out, the storyteller’s goal isn't so much to cause gratitude to boil up in the hearts of his hearers, but rather that they would appropriate their new identity in Christ. Would you affirm that to hear and believe God as He says, “You are my beloved,” shifts those baptized in Christ from old creation to new? As you reflect on this experience, were you fully engaged and present to God's word of gospel? Or did you hold a part of yourself aloof? Unmoved? Unwilling? After exercising theological reflection, have you disengaged even further from the event? Have you now positioned yourself as critic, rather than as a participant in the meditation?
Paul and Forde
These questions provide a kind of Pauline ‘litmus’ test of the flesh. One of Gerhard Forde’s gifts to the church was his clearheaded observation that Paul positioned the natural person, the flesh (σάρξ) in opposition to God’s word of law AND gospel.5 In Galatians 5, the works of the flesh clearly act in opposition to the divine moral law. Paul also demonstrates in Galatians 3, that works of the flesh battle against the gospel. My response to the in Christ meditation (perhaps yours too) makes me better aware of the presence and activity of the flesh in my life.
Like Paul discussing someone in Christ “caught up to deep heaven,” reluctantly I mention a seminarian in Christ who, studying the uses of the law, crafted a sermon intending that his hearers be sanctified by his enthusiastic proclamation of the third use of the law. In His goodness, God allowed a messenger of Satan to torment the budding theologian until he repented. For it is God the Holy Spirit, and God alone who deploys the law as needed. Not a foolish pastor-in-training but the living God, as He accomplishes His alien work through His law preached, who restrains, accuses, and instructs the various hearers. As I listen carefully and thoughtfully to voices on both sides of the discussion on third use of the law, I have promised myself to remember this well-meaning seminarian, lest I think myself master of these uses rather than recipient, as theologically above rather than below the Word.
Including Right-Brain Experience
In part, this essay attempts to shift the discussion from solely left-brain analysis to include right-brain experience by means of a meditation on Jesus’ baptism and by means of the series of questions about one's responses to the experience. I assert that only with this ‘thorn in the flesh,’ only with this shift from argument alone to lived experience of God’s Word, can a theologian rightly discern how God uses his law. In terms of Luther’s rubric for the making of a theologian: oratio, meditatio, tentatio, discernment of God’s uses of law comes only through tentatio, or even Anfechtung, as God himself restrains, accuses, or instructs one's own heart.
What I have discovered about my own heart humbles me. In this exercise, the law has accused me, but the gospel delivered me. In this reflection I have come face to face with one who resists God’s word law and gospel, revealing the presence of the accursed flesh. Having met my own heart, I cannot imagine that I would ever be so free of flesh, so centered in gospel that I would not know the restraining and accusing power of God's law, a necessary condition to determine from experience whether my spirit requires the law’s instruction or not. Friend, how about you? Having glimpsed your own heart, can you imagine yourself or any human this side of eternal life being freed of the flesh, the flesh that opposes the Word of God, law and gospel? If you cannot, and I cannot, wouldn’t you agree that this dispute argues over hypotheticals?
Rev. Dr. Henry A. Corcoran is Senior Pastor at Christ the Servant Lutheran Church, Conway, SC
Endnotes:
1As example, see my attempts to negotiate the secular and faith divide in my dissertation, Henry A. Corcoran, “A Synthesis of Narratives: Religious Undergraduate Students Making Meaning in the Context of a Secular Research University,” University of Denver, 2007(a), and 2007(b), or to reframe the insights of the psychology of forgiveness into Lutheran theological structures, see Henry A. Corcoran, Forgiving "Unforgivable" Injustices: A Lutheran Interpretation of the Processes of Interpersonal Forgiveness,” Lutheran Education Journal, 2009, 143 (2): 97-110.
2For a more complete exploration of communities of scholars sharing the exact same body of knowledge but interpreting that knowledge using widely differing paradigms, see Thomas Kuhn, The Structure of Scientific Revolutions (Chicago: University of Chicago Press) 2012.
3A useful analysis of four Western cultures, especially, the prophetic and reformer culture discussed here, see John W. O’Malley, Four Cultures of the West (Cambridge, Massachusetts: Belknap Press, 2004.
4See Robert Alter, The Art of Biblical Narrative (New York: Basic Books, 2011).
5See Gerhard Forde. “The Lutheran View [of sanctification],” in D. Alexander, Ed., Christian Spirituality: Five Views of Sanctification (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 1988).
