The Way of the Church
Part 2:
Two
Views of Church History-II, III
by
Hugh Nibley, Ph.D.
Improvement Era 58 (Aug. 1955), 570-1, 599-600, 602-6; (Sept.
1955), 650-3
The Role of the
Apostles: But aren't we forgetting
about Christ's "successors"? A "successor" is one who comes
after and takes the place of another. To be a successor it is not enough merely
to outlive another or come after him, one must hold his identical office and
function. Even a regent is not successor to a king—only a king can be
that; when a vice president takes over on the death of a president, he does not
become his successor until he, too, is president. The scriptures never call the
apostles Christ's successors; there is only one successor to the Lord mentioned
in the Bible, and that is the Holy Ghost, "whom the Father will send in my
name, he shall teach you all things, and bring all things to your remembrance,
whatsoever I have said unto you" (John 14:26). Here is a true successor,
coming expressly to take the Lord's place: "if I go not away, the
Comforter will not come unto you; but if I depart, I will send him unto
you" (John 16:7). Sent by the same authority, he will do the very same
work, speak the identical words, be a witness for the judgment, and guide the
apostles in all things exactly as the Lord had done (John 16:8-15).
As for the disciples,
the famous passage in Mark (13:34-37) describes them as servants left behind
with authorization to do special jobs: the Lord "left his house, and gave
to his servants the authority, to each one his task, and commanded the porter
to watch." There is no mention of supreme authority being given to anyone,
but to each the authority for his particular work. The fact that every soldier
in the army acts with the authority of the commander-in-chief does not give any
one of them the fulness of authority that he possesses. But what about the
servants? Were they expected to carry on the work and prosper where the master
was rejected?
By no means!
"The servant is not greater than his lord. If they have persecuted me,
they will also persecute you" (John 15:20). "If they have called the
master of the house Beelzebub, how much more shall they call them of his
household" (Matt. 10:25)? "If the world hate you, ye know that it
hated me before it hated you" (John 15:18). The mission of the apostles
does not bring about a new and happy turn of events in the drama; where the
master has "failed," we are told not to look for success for the
servants: "Behold, I send you forth as lambs among wolves" (Luke
10:3; Matt. 10:16). He had gone as a lamb to the slaughter; their fate was to
be no different. They are repeatedly told that they are to occupy a rear guard
position in which they can expect no relief in this world: "I think,"
says Paul "that God hath set forth us the apostles last, as it were appointed to death" (1 Cor. 4:9);
and he describes the brethren as "the filth of the world, and . . . are
the offscouring of all things unto this day" (1 Cor. 4:13). Are the
apostles rejected like the master? They are cast off! Their orders were to
endure to the end, and, as Tertullian reminds us,[1] there was absolutely no doubt in the
mind of any early Christian as to what that meant: to endure to the end meant
just one thing, "to suffer the end," to suffer death. "And ye
shall be hated of all men"
(Luke 21:17). "Then shall they deliver you up to be afflicted, and shall kill you. But he that endures to the end shall be saved (see Matt. 24:9, 13; italics added).
In that last sentence
we are given both the expected outcome and the reward of the apostolic
preaching. As he went to his death, Christ said to his apostles, "In the
world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the
world" (John 16:33). His victory was in the resurrection, and in that alone
the apostles put all their hope of victory and expectation of reward.
Knowing that he which
raised up the Lord Jesus shall raise up us also by Jesus, . . .
For which cause we faint not (2 Cor. 4:14, 16).
"Ye shall be
betrayed . . . and some of you . . . be put to death. . . .
"But there shall
not an hair of your head perish" (Luke 21:16, 18). Paul is more than
willing to suffer "the loss of all things, and do count them but dung. . .
.
"If by any means
I might attain unto the resurrection of the dead. . . .
"I press toward
the mark for the prize" (Philippians 3:8, 11, 14), the prize being
"to know him and the power of his resurrection" (Philippians 3:10).
So, at the conclusion of his missionary labors, Paul can claim for his work an
unqualified success, and that immediately after noting that things are going to
be much worse in the church after his departure (Acts 20:29), that "all
they which are in Asia [the bulk of his converts] be turned away from me"
(2 Timothy 1:15), and that in a recent controversy "no man stood with me,
but all men forsook me" (2 Timothy 4:16). In what then does the victory
and success consist? "Henceforth there is laid up for me a crown . . .
which the Lord, the righteous judge, shall give me at that day" (2 Timothy
4:8). It never occurs to him or any other apostle that his success is to be
measured by the converts he makes. Even spiritual power on this earth was not
their objective: "Rejoice not, that the spirits are subject to you; but
rather rejoice, because your names are written in heaven" (Luke 10:20).
That great institution toward which the apostles are striving in no way
resembles any later churches: "I appoint unto you a kingdom . . . that he
may eat and drink at my table in my kingdom, and sit on thrones, judging the
twelve tribes of Israel" (Matt. 19:28). "For our conversation is in
heaven; from whence also we look for the Savior, . . . who shall change our
vile body, that it may be fashioned like unto his glorious body"
(Philippians 3:20-21).
The heavenly kingdom,
the second coming, the judgment, the resurrection—it is clear what these
men were working for. Never once in the days of the early church does anyone so
much as hint at great expectations for the church on this earth, never is its
future success and glory suggested as a motive for their works or a comfort for
their afflictions; even in the midst of the fiercest persecutions when the
saints need "strong comfort" no one ever suggests the thought that
relief is on the way, that the church will win out in the end, that it is their
duty to stick it out so that generations yet unborn may call them blessed (a
theme familiar to all of them from the example of pius Aeneas, but never used by the Christians), that they are
building up the church which is to fill the earth and save mankind, etc. These
are the noisy trumpetings of the fourth century which only make more
significant the thundering silence of the earlier period on the future of the
church. Either the apostles were remarkably mean and self-centered men,
exclusively concerned with their individual salvation and a distant judgment,
or else the victory for the church which they steadfastly refuse to promise or
even mention and for which they express no yearnings and to which they dedicate
no strivings was simply not in the program. When Tertullian[2] in a later age, sorely perplexed by the
spiritual poverty of the church, tried to comfort himself and quiet his
misgivings with the thought that the church could not have been taken from the earth because in that
case the martyrs would all have shed their blood in vain, he was forgetting two
all-important things: first, that the virtues and sufferings of one man or
generation do not accrue automatically to the advantage of another—it is
quite possible, as Paul reminds the Galatians, for the church to suffer in
vain; and second, that the martyrs have received the only reward they ever
thought to get—if one wins eternal life and glory one can hardly be said
to have "run in vain"!
The program of the
apostles' mission was the same as that of the Lord's. Before they ever began to
work, they were told that they would be "hated of all men" (Mark
13:13), betrayed and put to death as he was (John 16:2), allowed to preach for
a while, but then be thrust out of the synagogues and put to death by pious
souls who "think that they are doing God a favor," even as the
"devout and honourable women, and the chief men of the city, . . .
expelled them out of their coasts" (Acts 13:50). "Go unto this
people, and say, Hearing ye shall hear, and shall not understand; and seeing ye
shall see, and not perceive" (Acts 28:26). "Behold, ye despisers, and
wonder, and perish: for I work a work in your days, a work which ye shall in no
wise believe, though a man declare it unto you" (Acts 13:41). "We are
troubled on every side, yet not distressed; we are perplexed, but not in
despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; cast down, but not destroyed" (2
Cor. 4:8, 9).
Whence this
indomitable optimism—in the belief that the work is going forward and the
church growing? Not a word of that: "Knowing that he which raised up the
Lord Jesus, shall raise up us also. . . .
"For which cause
we faint not. . . . For our light affliction, which is but for a moment,
worketh for us . . . eternal weight of glory;
"While we look
not at things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen: . . . which
are . . . eternal" (2 Cor. 4:14, 16-18).
And what point was
there in preaching to a world that would not listen to them? It is the same as
with Christ and the prophets: "as it was in the days of Noah," the
gospel of the kingdom was to be "preached in all the world for a
witness unto all nations; and then
shall the end come" (Matt.
24:14, italics added). First the witness, then the end. "But ye denied the
Holy One and the Just, . . . and killed the Prince of life, whom God hath
raised from the dead; whereof we are witnesses" (Acts 3:14-15, italics added). Paul tells us why he
bothered to preach to the Jews, who he knew would not hear him, when "he
shook his raiment, and said unto them, Your blood be upon your own heads; I am
clean: from henceforth I will go unto the Gentiles" (Acts 18:6). To the
Gentiles he preached with the same expectations and for the same reason. Though
these converts later fell victims to the wolves, turned against him en masse (2
Timothy 1:15), and became his enemies because he told them the truth (Galatians
4:16), he can leave them with the same assurance of "mission
accomplished" that he left the Jews: "I know that ye all . . . shall
see my face no more. "Wherefore I take you to record this day, that I am
pure from the blood of all men" (Acts 10:25-26). The concern of the
apostles is not whether they are believed or not but only whether they bear
testimony to all against the day of judgment. Those who hear and reject such a
testimony are classed with Sodom and Gomorrah and reserved for "the day of
judgment" (Luke 10:12). The apostles are not to judge until they sit on
thrones in the kingdom: "Judge nothing before the time until the Lord
cometh" (1 Cor. 4:5) is their instruction.
The apostles were not
to spend time overcoming opposition and winning people by long-term programs,
as a project of conversion demands; they were rather to bear their testimonies
and be on their way in all possible haste. "And whosoever shall not receive
you, nor hear you, when ye depart thence, shake off the dust under your feet
for a testimony against them"
(Mark 6:11, italics added). The program outlined in Matthew 10 and Luke 9 is
not that of founding solid institutions, but of last-minute emergency: "I
send you forth as lambs among wolves. . . . Salute no man by the way"
(Luke 10:3-4). What is wrong with a purse and scrip, and extra cloak, or
overnight visits? Nothing at all, save that there is no time left for the
ordinary business and amenities of life, as Paul tells the Corinthians:
marriage, mourning, celebrating, business, careers—all that must be
forgotten now, for "the time [literally, 'opportunity'] is short" (1
Cor. 7:29), "for the fashion [schema: 'the system'] of this world passeth away" (1 Cor. 7:31). Only for
food and lodging were the missionaries to go to individual houses; otherwise,
"Go not from house to house" (Luke 10:7), but "in that city that
does not receive you, go your ways out into the streets of the same and say:
Even the very dust . . . we do wipe off against you: notwithstanding be ye sure of this, that the kingdom
of God is come nigh unto you" (Luke 10:10-11). After they have had their
chance, the apostles' business with them is over: "Ye shall be brought
before rulers and kings for my sake, for a testimony against them . . . and ye shall be hated of all men for my name's
sake" (Mark 13:9-13). "Ye are witnesses for me . . . unto the uttermost part of the
earth" (Acts 1:8), for "repentance and remission of sins should be
preached in his name among all nations, beginning at Jerusalem. And ye are witnesses of these things" (Luke 24:47-48, italics
added).
The Passing of the
Church: But even if the apostles
were to suffer the same rejection and death as the master, is not the gloom of
the "second act" relieved by the survival of the church? What of the
"little children" whom they taught? Alas! they are given the same
promise of extinction; they, too, are required to "endure to the end"
and are given the same comfort and promise—eternal life. "If any man will come after me," he must lose his life
(Matt 16:24-25; Mark 8:34-35; Luke 9:23-24). The whole church—not just
the apostles—are to be partakers in Christ's sufferings in a physical
sense, and receive the incorruptible inheritance "reserved in heaven for
you . . . [and] receive the end [reward] of your faith, even the salvation of
your souls" (see 1 Pet. 1:4, 9). "Forasmuch then as Christ hath
suffered for us in the flesh, arm yourselves likewise with the same mind"
(1 Pet. 4:1). What the saints can look forward to here is necessities,
distresses, stripes, imprisonments, tumults, and fastings (2 Cor. 6:4-5). The
exhortation to the saints is all for a last-ditch stand; they are to "take
. . . the prophets . . . for an example of suffering affliction, and of
patience," with the only hope of relief in the coming of the Lord (see
James 5:10). They must work in the limited time they have here, "while it
is called Today; . . . For we are made partakers of Christ, if we hold . . . unto the end" (Hebrews 3:13-14);
"whose house are we, if we
hold fast . . . firm unto the end" (Hebrews 3:6, italics added). When the
saints need a "strong consolation" what they get is the assurance
that God will reward them if they "hope unto the end" (Hebrews 6:11, 18),
not a promise of relief or success or ultimate triumph for the cause.
The saints were not
to put up a fight: "My kingdom is not of this world: if [it] were . . .
then would my servants fight" (John 18:36). They are to assemble
themselves together not for "action" but to await the
end—"so much the more, as ye see the day approaching" (Hebrews
10:25). When the leaders went around "confirming the souls of the
disciples, and exhorting them to continue in the faith," their specific
instructions were "that we must through much tribulation enter into the
kingdom of God" (Acts 14:22). These people were already members of the
church; it was another kingdom for which they strove. Why is it that none of
the apostles wants to make the noble sacrifice and live for the church? Why (later churchmen ask with
wonder) did they never bother to write out full instructions for the guidance
of the church to come? The "foundation" which Paul lays he
emphatically declares to have nothing to do with this world (1 Cor. 3:10-21). It
is all too easy to say with the pagan philosophers and fourth-century
theologians that to "leave the world" means only to lay aside the
lusts of the flesh. It was Christ who served as the great example in this to
the early Christians; all true believers knew that they must "suffer with
him [Christ], that we may be also glorified together" (Romans
8:17)—but what can this have to do with turning from lust to philosophy?
The Lord never indulged in either.
We learn from the
Bible that the end of the church was to come in two ways. The first was the extermination of those who
stood fast; that is, as we have seen, the very condition of proving oneself a
true saint and winning eternal life, for one had to endure to the end to be
saved. For centuries the belief persisted in the church that anyone not put to
death for his testimony (martyr
means "witness") had failed to achieve the fullest glory, so emphatic
and deep-rooted were the teachings of the early church on the subject. Church
members were expected in all confidence to be in the most literal sense
"partakers in Christ's sufferings."
But what of the rest?
What of the vast majority that did not stand fast and "suffer the
end"? They continued to profess Christianity, but a Christianity perverted
to their own tastes:
But I fear, lest by
any means, as the serpent beguiled Eve through his subtilty, so your minds
should be corrupted from the
simplicity that is in Christ.
For if he that cometh
preacheth another Jesus, whom we
have not preached (2 Cor. 11:3-4; italics added).
There is no thought
in these impostors of renouncing the name and claim of Christians: "For
such are false apostles, deceitful workers, transforming themselves into the
apostles of Christ" (2 Cor. 11:13).
I marvel that ye are
soon removed from him that called you into the grace of Christ unto another
gospel:
Which is not another;
but there be some that . . . would pervert the gospel of Christ (Galatians 1:6-7, italics added).
What surprises the
apostle in this case is not what is happening, but only that it should be
happening so soon. The Lord
himself had foretold what would happen:
For there shall arise
false Christs, and false prophets, and shall shew great signs and wonders;
insomuch that, if it were possible, they shall deceive the very elect (Matt.
24:24).
Such a deception
could be achieved (and the scripture says "they shall deceive"—using the infinitive of
result—not "they would if they could") not by any pagan bluster
or anti-Christian propaganda, but only by a very clever imitation of the real
thing.
The danger that
threatens the masses, according to the apostles, is not the same danger that threatens the true disciples:
the latter are to lose their lives and win their glory; but for the rest there
is another fate. They will go on as followers of "Jesus," but it is
"another Jesus" they follow. In various ways they "pervert" the truth—not deny it. Some would "depart
from the faith" by "forbidding to marry" (1 Timothy 4:1-3); some
would be fooled by the false Gnosis (1 Timothy 6:21); some would err from the
faith out of "love of money" (1 Timothy 6:10); some would
"overthrow the faith of some," by denying the resurrection (2 Timothy
2:18). But such people do not return to the profession of paganism—they
would be horrified at the thought! How much simpler to do it this way:
For the time will
come when they will not endure sound doctrine; but after their own lusts shall
they heap to themselves teachers, having itching ears;
And they shall turn
away their ears from the truth, and shall be turned unto fables (2 Timothy
4:3-4).
Paul is greatly
alarmed at this prospect which he knows is about to be realized: "Take
heed . . . unto yourselves, and to all the flock," he says in his farewell
to Ephesus, "over the which the Holy Ghost hath made you overseers, to
feed the church of God, which he hath purchased with his own blood" (Acts
20:28). Here we have a test case: Could one ask for a more perfect assurance of
permanence and invulnerability to a church than the pronouncement that it is
the "church of God," that it has been "purchased with his own
blood," and that it is led by the Holy Ghost? Yet this is a solemn writing
to take heed,
For I know this, that
after my departing shall grievous
wolves enter in among you, not sparing the flock.
Also of your own selves
shall men arise, speaking perverse things [the "perversion" motive
again!], to draw away disciples after them.
Therefore watch, and
remember that by the space of three years I ceased not to warn every one night and day with tears (Acts 20:29-31, italics added).
Here we are told that
apostolic guidance is to be withdrawn (cf. Galatians 4:18), that as a result
the wolves will attack, and that the attack will be successful—the flock
enjoys no immunity from such, even though "purchased with his own blood."
Paul is warning the
churches in no spirit of mild fatherly admonition; his is not the calm
assurance of later church writers that the church of God cannot fail and all
will be well: He knows differently—the salt can lose its savor and be thrown out (Luke 14:34). His
alarms have gone on for years, night and day, and with tears:
I am afraid of you,
lest I have bestowed upon you labour in vain (Galatians 4:11). . . . I stand in
doubt of you (Galatians 4:20). . . . Have ye suffered so many things in vain?
(Galatians 3:4) . . .
There are contentions
among you. . . .
Is Christ divided? .
. .
I thank God that I
baptized none of you (2 Cor. 1:11, 13-14).
What kind of winning
talk is this? Is not the important thing to get people to join the church in
numbers so they can be taught? Apparently Paul does not think so. Where the
strong members are concerned we hear of nothing but being put to death,
enduring to the end, partaking of Christ's sufferings, thinking only of the
resurrection and hereafter, and counting all things but dross as far as this
world is concerned. Where the weak ones are concerned, the prediction is all of
perversion, corruption, and betrayal: these are not thrown to the lions;
instead (in the words of the Didache) these sheep turn into wolves—but still
claim to be sheep. As the Son of Man was betrayed, so would the apostles be:
Betrayal is not the work of the heathen—it is an inside job:
And ye shall be
betrayed both by parents, and brethren, and kinsfolks, and friends; and some of
you shall they cause to be put to death (Luke 21:16).
Others died other
ways, but the great danger comes from betrayal—the pagans can neither
betray nor corrupt nor pervert the gospel; only members can do that. It was the
Jews who betrayed and murdered the prophets who later adorned their tombs (Acts 7:52-53).
Recently a Catholic
writer has declared: "The failure of the Mormon spokesmen to explain when,
where, and how the present Catholic Church was founded exposes the fatal
weakness of their accusation," (i.e., that there was a Great Apostasy).
The New Testament is only one of many, many sources that clearly "explain
when, where, and how" the Christian church completely changed its nature and
the present churches came to be what they are. To speak of a founding in a case like this is silly, since naturally no
church claiming to have originated with Christ and the apostles (and they all
claim that!) is going to go about proclaiming its foundation in this or that
century after Christ! Even the
Protestants will not admit a time and place of origin after the apostolic age;
they are merely reformers of the old order—new things have been
inaugurated from time to time, to be sure, and old things reformed—but it
was really the same church all along. Every Christian church claims to go back
to the first century: in the third century Origen admits the charge of Celsus,
that already the church has long been "divided into sects, each of which
claimed that it was the depository of the pure old original form of
Christianity passed down from the beginning, while all the others were upstarts
and innovators." Whatever groups emerge from the squabble naturally go on
claiming each that it is the one church founded by Christ; but in the horrible
confusion of that and the following centuries, what are such claims worth?
"Let me
ask," writes Father Poetzl, "was the Catholic Church established in
the 20th century? You must answer 'No.' If honest, you must say that the church
of today is the continuation of the church which existed in the 19th century.
Very well. Was the Church established in the 19th century? . . . The Church of
the 19th century was the continuance of the Church of the 18th century. Go back
farther, century by century. I defy the Mormon spokesman to name any century in
which the Catholic Church was established, any other century than the
first."[3] With equal propriety, and using the
same words, Father Poetzl might ask: "Was the French language established
in the 20th century? You must answer 'No.' If honest, you must say that the
French of today is the continuation of the French which existed in the 19th
century. Very well. Was French established in the 19th century? . . . The
French of the 19th century was the continuance of the French of the 18th
century. Go back farther, century by century. I defy Mormon spokesmen to name
any century in which the French language was established other than the
first." Thus it can be shown that Latin never ceased to exist as the vernacular
of Gaul and that the great apostasy from the old Roman tongue which the purists
so deplored never took place. It is the same with space as with time. Hugo
Schuchardt showed that it is quite impossible to point to any spot, line, or
area on the map at which Italian ceases and French begins. Is it Livorno?
Milan? Nice? It is none of them or any other area you can name. "Very
well," to follow the logic of Father Poetzl, "how can you possibly
maintain that different languages prevail in Paris and Rome? The failure of
Mormon spokesmen to show when, where, or how the Italian language was founded
is fatal to their argument that spoken Latin disappeared." And yet it did.
The sophistry of the
argument (a typical and shopworn school demonstration) lies in the well-known trick of confining the
discussion to two alternatives only, and excluding all other possibilities:
either a new church was established
or else the old church continued.
Only those two situations are considered—"have you stopped beating
your mother-in-law"—a third possibility is not allowed. But formal
establishment is not the only way
to bring a church into being, and continuity by no means proves identity. In
history actual establishments are extremely rare, and even then they are but
the formal recognition of conditions that already exist, while the continuation
of institutions is never without change. It is as if the white-haired Columbus
were to argue that his hair was really red since he was born with red hair and
no one could name the date or place at which it became white.
Since Newman forced
the Catholics to admit (albeit with extreme reluctance) that they have been
changing things all along, they have fallen back on the argument that once the
church had received divine authority there was no limit to the changes that
might be introduced without danger of corruption, since the church had the
authority to make the changes. But it was precisely these self-initiated
changes in the church that worried the apostles; "They went out from us," says John of the perverters (1 John 2:19). It
is entirely possible for important churchmen of high position (a number are
pointed out by name in the New Testament) to "preach another Jesus"
and to "pervert the gospel of Christ" and to "corrupt the word
of God" (2 Cor. 2:17), and to "wrest . . . the . . . scriptures"
(2 Peter 3:16). And it is quite possible for these to enjoy great success and
become the leaders of the church after the apostles are gone (2 Timothy 4:2-5).
This is the process the apostles and the Lord predicted—and it takes
place without any break in historical continuity (the impostors make a great
to-do about being the legitimate heirs of the vineyard) and without the establishment of new churches: even Tertullian, the greatest
authority of his day on the early church, was fooled into believing that the
Montanists were the original church of Christ.
To claim that the
true Church is immune to corruption no matter how much it changes is to hold
all the warnings of the Lord and the apostles in contempt. They felt no such
confidence: "For if God spared not the angels," what guarantee of
immunity can men expect? (2 Peter 2:4-22; Jude 5:11). "For it is
impossible," writes Paul, "for those who were once enlightened, and
have tasted of the heavenly gift, and were made partakers of the Holy Ghost,
And have tasted the good word of God, and the powers of the world to come . .
." (Hebrews 6:4-5).
At this point let us
pause and ask any Christian, or, for that matter any thinking man, to finish
the sentence for us: just what is
impossible for people so richly endowed? If the sixth chapter of Hebrews were a
fragmentary text broken off at this place, any thoughtful individual could
supply the conclusion: obviously Paul is reassuring the saints, telling them
that it is quite impossible—unthinkable, in fact—for those who have
already qualified for every earthly blessing plus the sure earnest of the world
to come—it is impossible for such ever to be lost. "Reason
itself" demands such a conclusion, but it is all wrong—the rest of
the sentence administers a stinging rebuke to Christian complacency: It is
impossible, the writer continues, for those so blessed "If they shall fall
away, to renew them again unto repentance" (Hebrews 6:6). The falling away
is a one-way process; it cannot be reversed. Heavenly powers and gifts once
lost can only come again when the times of refreshing shall come from the
presence of the Lord; . . . the times of the restitution of all things (Acts
3:19, 21).
The heavenly
inheritance can be lost, even to
the saints; and no matter how they may seek it "carefully and with
tears," once it is gone they shall "seek and not find."
The great apostasy
did not happen consciously. The mentally ill ("O foolish Galatians, who
hath bewitched you"? [Galatians 3:11]) do not know what is wrong with them
or when it happened. What the apostles denounce most strenuously in their
letters is the complete complacency and self-satisfaction of the perverters:
"Lovers of their own selves, covetous, boasters, proud. . . . Traitors,
heady, highminded" (2 Timothy 3:2-4). No lack of assurance here!
Like the slinging of
a noose, the end comes silently, quietly, without warning, so that the victim
never suspects what is happening, being the while wholly preoccupied with the
"cares of this life" (Lukie 21:34). It is not a process of founding
new institutions that the scriptures describe, but one of becoming: "love
shall turn to hate," "evil men and seducers shall wax worse and
worse" (2 Timothy 3:13), "iniquity shall increase," "the
sheep of the fold shall turn into wolves" (Didache)—but go right on
calling themselves sheep! The false claimants never give up, "Having a
form of godliness, but denying the power thereof" (2 Timothy 3:5). The end
was never formally declared (heaven forbid!); in the words of Polycarp,
"the lights went out."
What, then, was
"the end"? The Bible has a good deal to say on the subject, and
scholars have had a great deal more. At present we are considering only the
former. On the mountain of the transfiguration Peter, James, and John, having
just beheld Elias in conversation with the Lord and Moses, were told that Elias
would at some time come and "restore all things," though he had already come and been rejected
(Matt. 17:11-12). It was further explained that the Son of Man would suffer the
same rejection; and later on Peter declares in a sermon that Christ would come
again at "the times of restitution of all things" (Acts 3:21; italics added). Some time after
that the same Peter announces to the church that "the end of all things is at hand" (1 Peter 4:7; italics added). Here
we have "all things" brought to earth, "all things" coming
to an end, and "all things" restored again. "All what things?" we ask, for the world itself seems to
go on. Peter gives us the answer: "All things" which God hath spoken by the mouth of all his holy
prophets since the world began" (Acts 3:21; italics added);
"According as his divine power hath given unto us all things that pertain unto life and godliness" (2 Peter
1:3; italics added). "All things" means the fulness of the gospel.
That is what passes away when "the end of all things is at hand."
The apostles speak of
their own times as the end of the world, and yet they talk of more history to
follow: "Now once in the end of the world hath he appeared. . . . And unto
them that look for him shall he appear the second time" (Hebrews 9:26,
28). Now is here "the end of
the world," and yet it is to be followed by a time of waiting and
expectation, after which the Lord will appear again. Plainly with "the end
of the world," the whole story is not told. Literally "end of the
world" here means "consummation of the periods, or aeons." The
word aeon appears over a hundred
times in the New Testament, nearly always as the equivalent of the Hebrew 'olam
ha-zeh, "the age in which we
live." An aeon is, strictly
speaking, a world period, and hence was sometimes loosely employed to refer to
this world of ours, our times, the wicked world, etc. But never is the sense of
a limited span of time completely absent when this word is employed: one can
stretch a point and translate "the completion of the aeon" as "the end of the world," but only
if it is understood that the "world" referred to is not necessarily
the physical earth or the physical universe but the present age of men.
When Christ met with
the eleven by special appointment on a mountain in Galilee (Matt. 28:16), he
sent them out with instructions to "teach all nations," to carry out
all the instructions he had given them, and gave his messengers the promise,
"Behold I am with you every day until the completion of the period"
(Matt. 28:19-20). The "Great Commission" is not an unlimited call to everyone, but specifically and
privately to the eleven; it is not
an order for them to tell all men whatever they had heard but simply to
instruct them to carry out certain specific orders (the language is technical
and military); above all, it is not
a promise that the Lord is going to stay in the world forever and ever or, as
John Chrysostom desperately translates it, "for ages without end;" aeon is here in the singular; a definite limit is placed
on the Savior's personal support, which is to be enjoyed until the apostles
have finished their work: "until the completion [syntelesis] of the aeon, or period." There is going to be an end: the Lord said he would send his apostles out to
preach to all the world for a witness, that they would carry out that
assignment, "and then shall the end come" (Matt. 24:14). Their mission, like the Lord's, was indeed at
the end of the world. There is no more firmly established belief or more
ancient tradition in Christendom than the conviction that the apostles
themselves actually did carry out their mission, the Lord, as he promised,
"working with them, and confirming the word with signs following"
(Mark 16:20). When every man on Pentecost heard the gospel preached in his own
tongue, Peter announced that this was actually the fulfilment of
that which was spoken
by the prophet Joel;
. . . in the last
days, saith God, I will pour out of my
Spirit upon all flesh
(Acts 2:16-17).
These were the last
days, the gospel actually had been preached to all flesh, the prophecy was
fulfilled, and the end could come. For the prophecy was that before the apostles could be put to death, "the gospel
must first be published among all
nations" (Mark 13:9-10; italics added). The apostles themselves complete
the whole work of the dispensation; after them comes not the
beginning—but the end. The clear statement of the Lord, that "this
generation shall not pass away, till all be fulfilled" (Luke 21:32) is
enough in itself to settle the issue: either Jesus was a false prophet, or the
end did come.
Why did the early
Christians express the keen and anxious concern they did for "signs of the
times?" Why did they diligently study the times and seasons and
everlastingly ask the Lord and the apostles, "When will it be?" (Cf.
Acts 1:7.) It is because they were expecting an end and had been instructed to
watch even until the end. Their attitude would have been hard to understand if
they had ever been given reason to believe that the church had been
established, once and for all, to remain firm and steadfast until the end of
the world.
It has often been
noted that the ancient Christians professed two expectations: one an expectation
of bliss, the other an expectation of woe. In their calendar the woe was to
come first. Paul explains the situation when he reminds the Thessalonians that
they must indeed look forward to "the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ, and
. . . our gathering together unto him," but not be deceived into thinking
"that the day of Christ is at hand," since before that could come
there must come "a falling away first, and that man of sin be revealed,
the son of perdition" (2 Thess. 2:1-3). And Peter reminds the church,
"first, that there shall come in the last days scoffers, walking after
their own lusts," and only later will the Lord come, being meanwhile
"not slack concerning his promise," since "one day is with the
Lord as a thousand years" (2 Peter 3:3-9). The joy is coming, but first
the woe. There are ends and other ends. The "signs of the times" are
significant because things follow a pattern: "When you see these
events," says the Lord, stating a general rule in a present general
condition, "know ye that the kingdom of God is nigh at hand" (Luke
21:31); for example, you look at the trees, and "when they now shoot forth, ye see and know of your own
selves that summer is now nigh at hand" (Luke 21:29-30, italics added). It
is a characteristic and repeated event, this "end of all things" and
"restitution of all things," which we shall discuss in the next
section. Whose coming was expected by the saints? The Lord's, according to some
accounts, the adversary's, according to others. Why should this be a cause (as
it has been) of ferocious controversy? Plainly they expected both; and not at one and the same time, but first the
deceiver, and then the Lord.
After the Lord left
the world, who came next? "The prince of this world cometh, and hath
nothing in me" (John 14:30). Who is to follow up the work of the apostles
if they are "sent last" and "the end" is to come when they
have completed their work? Who indeed: "After my departing shall grievous
wolves enter in among you, not sparing the flock" (Acts 20:29). Those are
the only "successors" mentioned. Who is to take over the place when
Peter leaves it? "The devil . . . abroad as a ravening lion,"
completely on the loose. When John announced, "Little children, it is the
last time," is he expecting the Lord? On the contrary: "Even now
there are many antichrists; whereby
we know that it is the last time" (1 John 2:18). You know the last time is
here because "the mystery of iniquity doth already work," and his
work is only temporarily held up by an opponent who is presently to be
"taken out of the way" (2 Thess. 2:7).
As modern scholars,
Catholic and Protestant, are beginning to realize (we shall discuss them
later), the prospects were not brilliant: "When the Son of man cometh,
shall he find faith on the earth?" (Luke 18:8.) It was a dark interval
that lay ahead, "the Wintertime of the Just," they called it in the
ancient church. There is a real element of tragedy here; the tears of the Lord
and the apostles were genuine. Paul does not warn constantly and with tears for
the sake of a few inevitable crackpots and backsliders: the wicked one is
coming "with all power and signs and lying wonders" (2 Thess. 2:9);
the night is coming when no man can work, the time which the closing lines of
Didache describe as the long ordeal of the human race. There is no doubt that
the early Christians were convinced that the glorious final act of the drama
would not be played "before the time." No city ever had a better
chance of hearing the gospel than Capernaum; no city ever rejected it more completely;
accordingly, "in the day of judgment" Capernaum "shall be thrust
down to hell." But meantime, what is the status of the cursed city to be?
Quite magnificent: "exalted to heaven" (Matt. 11:23-24; Luke 10:15).
That "meanwhile" is the second act of the drama, and it lasts until
the judgment.
If one is determined
to believe that the primary intent and purpose of the missions of Christ and
the Apostles was the setting up on the earth of a mighty institution of sure
salvation for all, "to remain firm and steadfast until the end of the
world" (to use the proud formula of 1870—in the absence of any
appropriate scripture!), then the negative course of things so clearly
indicated in the Bible was a terrible mistake. Common sense rebels against the
dismal prospect of the whole earth being given into the hands of "the one
who leads the world astray" (as the Didache puts it)—it is a hard
thing to take. And that is exactly why all the prophets of the New Testament
urge the saints continually not
to take the common-sense point of view in the matter: "In the world ye
shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer!" Is that common sense?
"Now is the day of salvation," Paul cries joyfully, describing the
day as one of afflictions, necessities, distresses, stripes, imprisonments,
tumults, labors, watchings, fastings—"as sorrowful, yet always
rejoicing" (2 Cor. 6:10). It seems like anything but fun or good sense. As
to the things that common sense values, Paul says, "I count them but dung,
just so I win Christ." Worldly standards are utterly misleading. Hear what
Peter, James, and John have to say:
Note the emphasis in
Peter's epistles on the evil times ahead and the postponement of blessings for
a definite interval: "Ye are kept . . . unto salvation ready to be
revealed in the last time. Wherein ye greatly rejoice, though now for a season,
if need be, ye are in heaviness . . . [expecting] praise and honour and glory
at the appearing of Jesus Christ" (cf. 1 Peter 1:5-7. "Be sober, and
hope to the end for the grace that is to be brought unto you at the revelation
of Jesus Christ" (1 Peter 1:13). "Pass the time of your sojourning
here in fear" (1 Peter 1:17). "Beloved, think it not strange
concerning the fiery trial which is to try you, as though some strange thing
happened unto you:
"But rejoice,
inasmuch as ye are partakers of Christ's suffering; that when his glory shall
be revealed, ye may be glad" (1 Peter 4:12-13). "The God of all grace
. . . hath called us unto his eternal glory . . . after that ye have suffered a
while" (1 Peter 5:10).
"Humble
yourselves . . . that He may exalt you in due time" (1 Peter 5:6), etc.
The unpleasant interval is not to be taken seriously, "For all flesh is as
grass" (1 Peter 1:24); we are merely "strangers and pilgrims"
here (1 Peter 2:11); it is a frightening prospect, but "if you will it
shall be as nothing." Peter preaches a thoroughgoing exchange of earthly
values for heavenly values.
James does not mince
words: "Know ye not, that the friendship of the world is enmity with God?
whosoever, therefore, will be a friend of the world is the enemy of God"
(James 4:4). Nor does John: "Love not the world, neither the things that
are in the world. If any man love the world, the love of the Father is not in
him. For all that is in the world . . . is not of the Father, but is of the
world. And the world passeth away, and the lust thereof" (1 John 2:15-17).
"Marvel not, my brethren, if the world hate you. . . . "We are of
God: he that knoweth God, heareth us; he that is not of God heareth not us. . .
. And we know that we are of God, and the whole world lieth in wickedness"
(1 John 3:13; 4:6; 5:19).
These were truly the
disciples of the Lord who said, "Woe unto you, when all men shall speak
well of you! for so did their fathers to the false prophets" (Luke 6:26).
There is no place here for a popular program. The whole consolation of the
saints is in the resurrection and glory to come, "whether we wake or
sleep, . . . Wherefore comfort yourselves" (1 Thess. 5:10-11). There is a
complete disconcern for the possible success or failure of the church on earth,
and a total silence on the subject of future generations—never a thought
of that "inevitable triumph" which later church historians were to
insist should have been their
chief consolation. "The foundation of God standeth sure," not in a
visible institution of salvation, but "having this seal, the Lord knoweth
them that are his" (2 Timothy 2:19). Every opportunity to play up the
church is passed by in silence.
The values of the
early Christians were not commonsense
values. The translators of the King James Version use the word lusts for the Greek epithumia, which means "desire, interest, value," in
the broadest sense, and thus make it appear that all that John is condemning is
vice and depravity, whereas actually he is renouncing all earthly values good
and bad. The Christian point of view was not that of another philosophy; it
administered a severe shock to intelligent people—"a slap in the
face," to use Karl Holl's apt expression. Thinking people were not just
amused, they were "scandalized" (a favorite word) and enraged,
sickened, and disgusted; Tacitus, Celsus, Caecilius, and the Jewish and pagan
professors cannot think of words strong enough to express their loathing and
alarm.
Here we have two systems of
values totally and hopelessly opposed to each other. The things Jesus talked
about were entirely outside the range of normal human thought and experience;
in time their reality was to be made manifest to all, but meanwhile their
rejection was to be emphatic and complete, and pagans could embarrass
Christians by chanting about "Jesus the King who never ruled!" A
triumphant rule and a triumphant church were not on the program, but the world
would settle for nothing less, and of course the world got what it wanted—a
church modeled after its idea of
what a church should be. Such an institution was as clearly prophesied as was
the passing away of the true church.