AP

Paul’s letter to the Romans reminds us that, at the very heart of the Christian gospel, lies the power of God (Rom 1:16) and the righteousness of God (Rom 1:17). While these two aspects are inseparable to the gospel (as cause and effect are inseparable) it is important consider the power of God (v.16) separately because the question of who does the work of salvation—both in willing it and working it—is foundational to true Christianity. Multiple errors and heresies have arisen because we have attributed the power for salvation to ourselves.

Paul writes, by way of introduction to his magnum opus: ‘For I am not ashamed of the gospel, for it is the power of God for salvation to everyone who believes, to the Jew first and also to the Greek’ (Rom 1:16). Paul himself, being the unseeking recipient of this power, knew where the origin of that power came from (Acts 9:1-19; 22:6-16). If seeking and finding Jesus was left up to Paul’s power, he would never have followed Christ; rather, he would have gladly stayed a hater and persecutor of Christ. Left up to his own will (in bondage to sin) he would have chosen to crucify Christ, time and time again.

But that very same Christ—rich in His mercy and without Paul’s permission—cut open Paul’s chest and gave him a new heart. In the language of Ezekiel (36:26-27) Christ gave Paul a new heart (and a new spirit), removing the heart of stone and giving Paul a heart of flesh. This new heart came with new desires and a new will, and thus we can say (with Ezekiel) God caused Paul to believe and obey Him. In the language of John’s gospel, Paul was ‘born again’ (John 3:3), he was born of ‘water and the spirit’ (John 3:5). It should be noted that the very use of this ‘new heart’ and ‘new birth’ language presupposes the power and initiative of God just as the birth of a child occurs without the input, power and permission of that child. For without a new heart and a new birth, Paul would have continued following ‘the prince of the power of the air’ living in the ‘passions of…[his] flesh, carrying out the desires of the body and the mind…[a] child…of wrath, like the rest of mankind’ (Eph. 2:2-3).

So, when we read about the power of the Gospel in Romans 1:16, we have to remember Paul is talking from experience, not just mere academic nor intellectual theory. Paul understands firsthand that if salvation was left up to him—either on the basis of his own will to receive God, or his own works to please God—he would still be dead in his own sin. In fact, it’s this external power that gives Paul confidence to go to Rome and preach the ‘foolish’ gospel unashamedly (Rom 1:15) into the heart of this pagan empire. The wisdom of fallen and unconverted man finds the message of the cross a stumbling block, offensive and foolish. Paul writes to the Corinthians:

For the word of the cross is folly to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God…For since, in the wisdom of God, the world did not know God through wisdom, it pleased God through the folly of what we preach to save those who believe. For Jews demand signs and Greeks seek wisdom, but we preach Christ crucified, a stumbling block to Jews and folly to Gentiles, but to those who are called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God. For the foolishness of God is wiser than men, and the weakness of God is stronger than men (1 Cor 1:18-25).                                                                  

Whilst being so plain and foolishly simple, this power of God has come under attack many times in church history—even till today. First in theology, and secondly, in practice. 

In Theology

A British monk called Pelagius (c. 354–418) attacked the power of God to salvation in a number of ways. Pelagius believed that Adam’s sin only affected Adam, and so we were not born sinners. The essence of his teaching was this: man is born sinless, he can live without sin and keep the commandments by his own power, if he so chooses. Grace almost became a nicety—not a necessity—for Pelagius and his followers. Thus, the power for salvation ultimately rested in man’s ‘free-will’ not in God’s gracious and sovereign free-will, nor Christ’s atoning and substitutionary work on the cross. 

Augustine the Bishop of Hippo took Pelagius to task knowing that this view was patently unbiblical. How can it not be false when ‘…every intention of the thoughts of…[mankind’s] heart was only evil continually’ (Gen. 6:5), and that ‘the heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately sick…’ (Jer. 17:9)? Free will can only be relied on if we are not born sinners (in original sin) and if sin hasn’t affected the will. How can we be born in sin and not have our will affected? Pelagius was essentially asserting that we were in the same position as Adam and Eve who were created sinless and with a free will. Now, indulging Pelagius for a moment, where did that get our first parents? The fall into sin, death and destruction. It’s no wonder then that we need an Adam 2.0 (Rom 5:12-21;1 Cor 15:45)!

Poor Pelagius didn’t have a leg to stand on. Pelagianism was condemned at the Council of Orange (AD 529). Yet the Church in its [human] wisdom later ‘redeemed’ him by adding a bit of ‘grace’ and a bit of ‘original sin’ to his theology thus creating another—albeit weakened—form of Pelagianism called semi-Pelagianism. By the time of the Protestant Reformation these semi-Pelagians could say: ‘God will not deny His grace to those who do what is in them.’ In our day it has become, ‘God helps those who help themselves.’ This match made in hell (literally) allowed certain Roman Catholic theologians to use the Christianese of ‘grace’, ‘sin’, and ‘salvation’ while in the same breath leaving salvation dependent on our free will and work. The serpent really is crafty isn’t he!?

Even though Scripture is clear that grace and faith is a gift (Eph. 2:8); that repentance is a gift (2 Tim 2:25); that the children of God are born of God [His initiative, will and power] (John 1:12-13); and that God’s sovereign and saving election depends not ‘on human will or exertion, but on God, who has mercy’ (Rom 9:14-16); even though these truths are abundantly clear, the human heart seeks to add its own little bit of self-righteousness. It is no coincidence that Martin Luther relied on Augustine’s anti-Pelagian writings—particularly in the early stages of the Reformation—because Luther saw the connection. It is also no wonder that Luther’s treatise, Bondage of the Will (1525), was considered ‘cardinal’, by Luther himself, to the recovery of the biblical gospel.

Even if Pelagius was now in a wheelchair, the Reformers did not want him back. The council of Trent (1545–1563), however, went on to confirm Rome as a ‘Pelagian-friendly’ organisation. Sure, Rome does condemn full-blown Pelagianism—and rightly so—but unfortunately it confirms (maybe not in name) the theology of semi-Pelagianism. To varying degrees, the Arminian church has limped down the same track. Semi-Pelagianism, however, is no better than Pelagianism—despite its Christian lingo. It still boasts a 100% death rate. This is how the power of God has come under attack in theology. It seems that many churches in modern Protestant evangelicalism today are actually ‘safe spaces’ for Pelagianism in many of its forms.

In Practice

In practice, the power of God has come under attack also, for example, from Charles Finney the poster boy for evangelical revivalism. Finney believed that the sinner is the ‘author of change’ and he could say this because he denied the fall and original sin. If one denies original sin and the effects of the fall, we have the power to change ourselves. This kind of thinking inevitably results in manipulation—of all kinds—because all we need to do is convince someone of their need for a saviour and their need to choose Him.

Unsurprisingly, this thinking led to Finney’s manipulative revival meetings (i.e., altar call) which were a logical outworking of a rejection of original sin and a denial of a bound will. If a person can change himself by his own free will then marketing techniques, persuasion and manipulation are valid tools to get bottoms on seats, bodies on the roster, and baptisms on the books (though not hearts in heaven!). This is the danger of pragmatism—doing what we can to achieve the outcome we want. The power of God becomes, well, a flat battery to these people.

Yet, we do not have to be guilty of all Finney’s views. One may have—dare I say it—an appearance of an orthodox view of salvation and theology in general but utilise a Finney-like pragmatism in the way in which we conduct worship and preach the gospel. Does our choice in style of worship come from a desire to honour and praise God or from a desire to fill seats and attract the itching ears of some people to a human centred concert? After all, why is this so wrong if these people remain and come to hear the gospel later on? At least that is how the justification goes.

Does our choice of music reflect pragmatism 101? But is it worth the risk? Where does the power of God come into it? A bigger church may be built up because of a big band (of all styles traditional or contemporary). How embarrassing would it be to know that if your church is big, it is big because of the music and concert like stage—not because of the faithful teaching and ‘foolish’ preaching of Christ crucified? Have we not learned from the mistakes of the ‘seeker sensitive movement’?

We must reform our worship according to Scripture not culture. In a hostile and man-centred world we are tempted to change the gospel to reduce embarrassment or shame, to be more attractive to visitors, or even to fake successful ministries. Yes, ‘…the word of the cross is folly to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God’ (1 Cor 1:18). If we change the message in order to reach our church, neighbours, friends and family, we lose the power of God and have great reason to be ashamed. I have been in a reformed service where the word ‘sin’ was consistently and deliberately replaced with ‘weakness’. A mistake? An error of judgement? I hope so. Or is this simply trusting in the pragmatic wisdom of men while distrusting the power of God. Paul himself said:

Christ did not send me to baptise [or to get caught up in boasting about who baptised whom] but to preach the gospel, and not with words of eloquent wisdom, lest the cross of Christ be emptied of its power…my speech and my message were not in plausible words of wisdom, but in demonstration of the Spirit and of power, so that your faith might not rest in the wisdom of men but in the power of God (1 Cor 1:17 & 2:4-5). 

If we respond to a hostile culture with legalism or traditionalism (protecting what we’ve got ultimately leading to dead orthodoxy), or with pragmatism (lessening the offence of the cross to be more attractive ultimately leading to heterodoxy) we empty the cross of its power. We might get professions of faith, we might get seats filled in church, but are there sound conversions? Are we trusting in God’s power: His law and gospel to change, or our law and our gospel to change? Or are we trusting in our own marketing techniques, to make us more attractive culturally? How should the power of the gospel shape our ministry?

We need to—shamelessly with Paul— ‘preach Christ crucified…Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God’ (1 Cor 1:23-25). Let’s not be tempted to use the means and messages of the world for salvation.  The unknown and ordinary pastor who preaches Christ crucified for our sin in our place, is as powerful as any famous pastor—because it’s the gospel he’s preaching: the crucified Christ upon the cross, the power of God to salvation.

The gospel has the power to save people from all types of sin: homosexuality, transgenderism, Islam, Hinduism, various forms of Catholicism, and even the nominalism and self-righteousness in Protestant and reformed communities!

The pragmatism of today is the liberalism of tomorrow. Here is Josiah Conder’s hymn, which, blessed by the Spirit, can change hearts and minds to see the grace of Christ:

Lord, ’tis not that I did choose you;

that, I know, could never be,

for this heart would still refuse you

had your grace not chosen me.

You removed the sin that stained me,

cleansing me to be your own;

for this purpose you ordained me,

that I live for you alone.

It was grace in Christ that called me,

taught my darkened heart and mind;

else the world had yet enthralled me,

to your heav’nly glories blind.

Now I worship none above you;

for your grace alone I thirst,

knowing well that, if I love you,

you, O Father, loved me first.