The First Baptist Church of Granada Hills

            Here at the First Baptist Church of Granada Hills we’ve embarked on a new series of Wednesday night studies.  Each Wednesday, Pastor Eugene Curry will address a specific question from the congregation submitted sometime in the previous week or earlier.  Some of the questions have to do with theology, some are more concerned with ethics, and some are decidedly practical.  In conjunction with the Wednesday night study, a brief summary of Pastor Curry’s answer will appear here on the church’s blog for the benefit of those unable to attend the study in person.  So, without further ado, I give you the question and answer for the first week!

Question:

            What does the Apostles Creed mean when it says that Jesus descended into hell?

Answer:

            The Bible both contains the record of God’s revelation to mankind and is, in a somewhat more subtle sense, revelation itself.  As such it stands as the central and ultimate document for establishing orthodox theology.  It is the thing of which all other Christian literature—all creeds, catechisms, liturgies, hymns, slogans, and so on—must be considered derivative.  But just because these lesser guiding lights are indeed unoriginal does not mean that they are therefore unhelpful.  Instead, insofar as these derivative documents faithfully present the content of the Bible they can be of immense value.

            Let’s be honest: what the Bible possesses in matters of authority it lacks in terms of brevity. While the words of Scripture are second to none in their definitiveness, there are really a lot of words of Scripture.  As such, summaries of the faith can be helpful, allowing Christians to memorize an outline of the Bible’s teachings. 

            One particular outline of the faith has been around for a very long time, having been written in the first few centuries of the Christian era: it’s called the Apostles Creed.  With just a handful of short phrases the Apostles Creed covers the essential doctrines of Christianity through both its content and its overall structure. And as a result of its brevity and comprehensiveness the Creed has found wide use among almost every branch of the Christian Church in the Western world.

            But for all of the Apostles Creed’s popularity there is one element of it that sometimes causes concern.  I am speaking, of course, of the line which states that Jesus, immediately after the Crucifixion, “descended into hell.”  The objections raised against this line generally fall into two familiar categories: confusion over its precise meaning and skepticism regarding its Biblical support.  Of course, these are related issues and it would seem that by addressing the later concern the former will benefit as well.

            Perhaps the Bible passage that most directly supports the idea of Jesus descending to hell occurs in I Peter 3:18-20:  “For Christ also died for sins once for all, the just for the unjust, so that He might bring us to God, having been put to death in the flesh, but made alive in the spirit; in which also He went and made proclamation to the spirits now in prison, who once were disobedient, when the patience of God kept waiting in the days of Noah, during the construction of the ark, in which a few, that is, eight persons, were brought safely through the water.”  Peter tells us that after Christ died, he traveled in some spiritual capacity to spirits “in prison” in order to proclaim his victory over sin.  Of course, this raises the question of the identity of these spirits.  And this question can only really be answered with a bit of reading in parts of the Bible far older than Peter’s letters.

            Genesis 6 briefly refers to a series of events quite foreign to our own experience.  As it states, “Now it came about, when men began to multiply on the face of the land, and daughters were born to them, that the sons of God saw that the daughters of men were beautiful; and they took wives for themselves, whomever they chose.  Then the LORD said, ‘My Spirit shall not strive with man forever, because he also is flesh; nevertheless his days shall be one hundred and twenty years.’  The Nephilim were on the earth in those days, and also afterward, when the sons of God came in to the daughters of men, and they bore children to them. Those were the mighty men who were of old, men of renown.”  Considering that the expression “sons of God” is used elsewhere in the Old Testament to refer exclusively to some sort of angelic beings (Job 1:6, 38:4-7, and probably Deut. 32:8), as strange as it seems to us and regardless of how we choose to handle it, Genesis 6 states that at some point angelic beings somehow reproduced with humans.

            The Epistle of Jude picks up this theme and states (in verses 6 and 7) that “angels who did not keep their own domain, but abandoned their proper abode, He [God] has kept in eternal bonds under darkness for the judgment of the great day, just as Sodom and Gomorrah and the cities around them, since they in the same way as these indulged in gross immorality and went after strange flesh, are exhibited as an example in undergoing the punishment of eternal fire.”  Jude draws a connection between certain fallen angels and the men of Sodom and Gomorrah, declaring that both groups are under God’s judgment for the same violation: gross immorality and going after strange flesh—that is, pursuing inappropriate sexual partners.

            2 Peter contains a related passage that states, “…God did not spare angels when they sinned, but cast them into hell and committed them to pits of darkness, reserved for judgment; and did not spare the ancient world, but preserved Noah, a preacher of righteousness, with seven others, when He brought a flood upon the world of the ungodly; and if He condemned the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah to destruction by reducing them to ashes…”  Now it’s important to note that Peter’s second letter bears many similarities to Jude both in terms of its content and overall structure.  Whatever the explanation for this may be, it’s almost certain that when 2 Peter refers to sinful angels and then, immediately afterward, refers to Sodom, the angels in view are the same group that Jude mentioned who “went after strange flesh”.  Also, Peter’s close association of these angels with the Flood makes their identification with the so-called “sons of God” of Genesis 6 unavoidable.  It would seem then that whatever specifically happened in the primordial past of our world, certain angelic beings have been imprisoned by God in some capacity (Peter uses the word “hell”) awaiting the final judgment. (cf. Isaiah 24:21-22)

            Considering that 1 Peter and 2 Peter are obviously related, when 1 Peter 3 refers to “spirits now in prison, who once were disobedient, when the patience of God kept waiting in the days of Noah”, these would seem to be the same entities which 2 Peter 2 (and Jude) reveal to be angels in hell awaiting judgment for their Antediluvian sins.  As such, Christ’s descent into hell should be seen as something triumphant and not something tragic.  Far from a prisoner going to His cell, Jesus goes to hell as a Governor might travel to a state prison to triumphantly inform a group of despicable death-row inmates that their last appeal has been denied, their sentences will not be commuted, and that they are all now doomed.

(All Scripture citations are from the New American Standard Bible.)

          As Father’s Day approaches we are all reminded of the part our dads played in our upbringing.  But as this day turns our thoughts to our biological fathers, it also directs our thoughts higher since, for Christians, the word “father” can refer beyond one’s mortal sire to God Himself.  As the opening line of the Apostles Creed declares, “I believe in God the Father Almighty.”

          Recently, though, some well-meaning individuals have questioned the appropriateness of this phrase.  Honestly, isn’t it just the slightest bit sexist to call God “Father”?  Why not simply call Him “Parent”; or switch it up: call God “Father” half the time and “Mother” the other half.  After all, considering that God is a spiritual being not subject to the physicalities of sexual dimorphism, it’s unlikely that He possesses any gender at all.  What’s more, while God is sometimes described with masculine imagery in Scripture (”your God carried you, as a father carries his son,” Deut. 1:31) there are times when the Bible strikes a feminine cord as well (”For this is what the LORD says ‘As a mother comforts her child, so will I comfort you,’” Isaiah 66:12-13).  Given this ambiguity, why exactly do the historical documents of Christianity retain a distinctly patriarchal flavor?

          It would seem that, as is so often the case, Christianity’s practice here is influenced by the example of Jesus.  Despite the sexlessness of God, Jesus routinely referred to Him as “Father” both as His own Father in a special sense, but also as the Father of all people generally.  As Christ said, “you have one Father, and he is in heaven.” (Matt. 23:9)  And later, at a rather more poignant moment, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.” (Luke 23:46)

          Jesus’ preference for this particular designation may have been influenced by His awareness of the robustness of God’s love.  On the one hand, Christ was very clear that God was kind and compassionate, concerned for His creations and willing to assist them, much like a parent watching over His children.  At the same time though, Jesus was equally clear that God’s love is a muscular thing, something that can cause Him to discipline His children, severely even, if they decide to flirt overmuch with self-destructive sin; in our modern context we often refer to this as “tough love” and it seems somewhat masculine by nature.  These two things then, the parental and masculine qualities of God’s love, imply a fatherliness–a fatherliness that Jesus, the Apostles, and the Church every since have recognized and affirmed in the simple declaration that God is Father, the Father.

          Within the annals of Christian history there are a number of events and developments so significant that they form a framework into which other events can be placed.  A short list of these major milestones would include such things as the conversion of the Emperor Constantine, the split between the Eastern and the Western Church in the eleventh century, Luther’s publication of his ninety-five theses, and so on.

          Among these watershed events, though, one must mention the development of the Nicene Creed–both its conception at the First Council of Nicea in AD 325 and its subsequent expansion at the First Council of Constantinople in AD 381.  The Nicene Creed would come to be the most widely used statement of faith in all the Christian Church throughout time.  And its popularity can still be seen today as it is recited or otherwise affirmed in the midst of worship by Roman Catholics, Eastern and Oriental Orthodox, Lutherans, Anglicans, Methodists, Presbyterians, and on and on. 

          But while the Nicene Creed is embraced by millions of Christians of virtually every denominational tradition, some feel a bit uncomfortable with its wording.  Some Christians, particularly of a Baptist or otherwise Evangelical stripe, while wholeheartedly supporting the creed’s declaration of the Trinity, flinch at one of the final lines of the text which reads: “We acknowledge one baptism for the forgiveness of sins.”  To some these words just seem… well… off.  Isn’t it our faith that justifies us?  Doesn’t the heart-felt repentance and commitment we make to the Lord in prayer get the job done?  Isn’t baptism supposed to be merely an outward expression of an inward and preexistent reality? 

          Those who feel this way often point to passages in the Bible that support what may be called a direct and immediate view of salvation, that is, a view which implies that justification can be had independent of any outward ritual.  As the Apostle Paul declares, “with the heart a person believes, resulting in righteousness, and with the mouth he confesses, resulting in salvation.” (Romans 10:10)  And as the Apostle Peter proclaims, we are now living in an age in which, “everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved!” (Acts 2:21)  With these passages in mind Evangelicals generally and Baptists specifically sometimes just can’t bring themselves to embrace the creed– after all, the Bible is the prime authority in our lives and creeds (whether they be ancient or modern) are merely human documents liable to error.

          But this kind of unease is simply unnecessary.  While the Bible does indeed affirm that salvation comes through faith and repentance, it also affirms that baptism is the normal and God-ordained arena in which these sentiments find their appropriate expression.  In the book of Acts whenever a man comes to faith in the Lord he is baptized immediately.  One might say that his conversion and his baptism are thus so closely linked that they form a single, indistinguishable event.  Therefore, while faith and repentance can be expressed simply through prayer, in the New Testament at least, they are always expressed through baptism as an acted prayer.

          This understanding can be supported with verses of its own.  For while Peter does declare that all who call on the Lord shall be saved, in that very same sermon, when specifically asked how one obtains this salvation, Peter replied, “Repent and be baptized, every one of you, in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of your sins.” (Acts 2:38)  And later this same man tells us that “baptism now saves you–not the removal of dirt from the flesh, but an appeal to God for a good conscience.” (1 Peter 3:21)  Paul too seems to have a somewhat nuanced view of baptism when he writes, “We were therefore buried with him through baptism into death in order that we too may live a new life.” (Romans 6:4)  In all this we see that while the Apostles understood that salvation was something communicated to the individual through faith and repentance, those feelings were at least normally expressed to others (God included) through the act of baptism.  That is to say, baptism served as the vehicle of repentance.

          Of course, in many modern contexts, baptism is often separated from conversion by a lengthy stretch of time–sometimes even a span of years.  And thus to the extent that modern Christians distance themselves from the Apostolic practice of baptism they are correct to also distance themselves from the Apostolic interpretation of baptism.  A baptism that takes place immediately after one’s conversion can, in a sense, in a Petrine and Pauline sense, be said to save; a baptism that lingers until a decade after the fact cannot.  But then again, the inverse is true as well: insofar as we administer baptism as the Apostles did, so too can we speak of it as the Apostles spoke.

          Here’s the rub: given all this it would seem that Baptists, more so than any other group, ought to be able to recite the Nicene Creed with a straight face.  Among Baptists baptism has retained its position as an act of conversion and dedication which every baptizand ought to approach with both personal faith in and repentance before their Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.  Thus, at least ideally, Baptists may legitimately describe their baptisms, as the Apostles did, as baptisms for the forgiveness of sins.  Other groups, specifically those that baptize infants who by virtue of their age are psychologically incapable of repentance and informed faith, cannot.  It is these Christians who separate baptism from repentance as a matter of policy who ought to stutter at the last lines of the creed; for to characterize the baptism of an infant as something done “for the forgiveness of sins” is, given the diversity of paedobaptist baptismal theologies, at best, wildly proleptic, or, at worst, flatly erroneous.

             Easter is a wonderful holiday.  As a kid I remember the excitement I felt when my Sunday School class would finish its lesson on the Resurrection and head outside for the church’s Easter egg hunt.  To quote another little boy, “Chocolate eggs and Jesus risen!”  Not a bad combination by any stretch. 

            But as we slowly approach the Easter season all Christians should be reminded that, Biblically speaking, the road to Easter inevitably passes under the shadow of the Cross.  It is precisely this awareness that has kept the high holy day of the Christian calendar really part of a set, a matching set even: a parity in which the riotous joy of Easter is placed in relationship with the far more sobering sentiments of Good Friday.  For how can Jesus rise from death without first descending into it?  And how can the people of God rightfully celebrate the enormity of Jesus’ victory unless we first take full stock of the enormity of His opponents: namely sin, Satan, and finally, death itself.

            As we move towards Easter let’s remember to meditate not only upon the glorious end of that story but also its darksome penultimate points.  Let us allow our eyes to adjust to the fearsome twilight of Calvary that when the awesome dawn of the empty tomb flashes upon us it might seem all the brighter for it.

The following article is adapted from a sermon preached at the First Baptist Church of Granada Hills on Sunday, November 4th, 2007. 

For quite some time meaningful commentary on the person and work of the Holy Spirit was lacking within the Evangelical community.  Theologians, ministers, and laymen often saw the excesses of some of their more charismatic brethren and decided to steer clear of the morass by passing over the Holy Spirit in virtual silence.  Thankfully, in more recent years, this trend has changed and serious students of the Bible have ventured to discuss the third Person of the Trinity with greater boldness.  While this is a much needed corrective, it does, at times, lead to comments that ought to raise eyebrows.

In the Bible, the Holy Spirit is consistently presented in something of a supportive role.  While fully involved in the lives of the faithful, the Spirit’s primary function seems to be to direct our attention to Jesus.  As Jesus said to His disciples, “[T]he Counselor, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, will teach you all things and will remind you of everything I have said to you” (John 14:26).  Likewise, in the Book of Acts, when the Holy Spirit enables the early Church to perform great miracles, the end result was always the same: increased visibility and credibility for the gospel, for the preaching of the Apostles that was explicitly Christocentric.

The fact that the Holy Spirit works largely “behind the scenes” (avoiding attention in order to keep the focus on the Savior) can be frustrating.  For while the Bible contains scores of passages describing the Father and the Son in great detail, the Holy Spirit remains a bit more mysterious.  And as a result Christians often try to fill in the gaps in the canonical record with ideas from outside the Bible.

As informed believers we must remember that it is perfectly acceptable to be conversant with philosophical and metaphysical thought that developed outside the Biblical world.  At times such concepts may even help to clarify and illustrate the teachings of Christianity: I’ve personally quoted from Lao Tzu, Confucius, Homer, and Shunryu Suzuki in my sermons.  Likewise, during the first few centuries of the Christian era, the early Church made generous use of Greek metaphysics to better explain the relationship between the Father and the Son and the Spirit.  The Apostle Paul himself even quoted from pagan sources on occasion, lifting lines from one poem attributed to Epimenides the Cretan and from another penned by a Cilician named Aratus (Acts 17:28, Titus 1:12). 

But at the same time, we need to be careful of exactly how we use concepts foreign to Scripture to interpret what the Bible says.  For quite simply, there is an ocean of difference between clarification and control, and while it is entirely appropriate to use extra-biblical material for help with the former, it must never come to exercise the later.  This seems to be a danger to which our understanding of the Holy Spirit is particularly subject.  For while the Bible says relatively little about the Spirit, the ever-trendy faiths of the East speak volumes on the notion of spirit in general.

To use an unfair generalization: Eastern thought tends to speak of “the ultimate” as an impersonal substance or force or unity which can be “tapped” and utilized much like a spiritualized version of solar power or wind moving a sailboat along.  Conversely, when the Bible speaks of “the ultimate” it is quite clear that we are dealing, not so much with a force, but with a personal being– with a God.  And while this understanding applies, rather obviously, to God the Father and the Son, it also applies to the third person of the Trinity, the Holy Spirit.  In the Gospel According to John, Jesus’ words concerning the Holy Spirit are recorded in chapters 14 and 16.  And in both cases, Jesus refers to the Holy Spirit as “He”, not “it”.  As such, the relationship between the believer and the Spirit is, to use Martin Buber’s words, an I/Thou relationship, not I/It.  That is to say that when we relate to the Spirit, we do so as one mind with another, not as a mind interacting with an impersonal object or force that can be manipulated according to the dictates of our will.  While this may appear to be a largely theoretical distinction with little meaning on the practical level, as we shall see, one’s understanding of the Spirit exercises a controlling influence over one’s understanding of the gifts of the Spirit. 

One sometimes hears that a program of prayer, Bible study, and personal holiness is the infallible path to seeing the gifts of the Spirit manifest in one’s life.  If the Spirit is indeed an impersonal force, then this kind of thinking makes perfect sense.  As a substance without a will, the Holy Spirit becomes something akin to a divine vending machine: you drop the appropriate tender in the slot and receive your miraculous gift in the bin below.  But if, as the Bible teaches, the Spirit is a personal being, a being with a will and mind, then His generosity concerning so-called “sign gifts” may be far less mechanical that the above formula implies.

Just as Mrs. Zebedee learned when she made a request of Jesus, God may have a certain opinion on a matter which we cannot change no matter how importunate we are (Matthew 20:20-23).  God has a will and while He may honor our will expressed in prayer, He may not; it’s up to Him.  As such, there is no fool-proof system of action that inevitably leads to spectacular manifestations of the Spirit in our lives. One may pray, study and model virtue, producing the so-called fruit of the Spirit in one’s life—things such as patience and joy and so on—and still not be able to raise the dead or walk through a bonfire at the end of the day.  If study plus prayer plus virtue forced the Holy Spirit to work miracles through an individual, one would expect that every church with more than 100 members would likely have at least one person giving literal sight to the physically blind.  But they don’t.  Instead, just as in the book of Acts, the Holy Spirit does what He wants, when He wants, when He feels it is appropriate and useful.  Peter spoke and the Spirit struck Ananias and Sapphira dead; it seems the Spirit was unwilling to repeat this trick upon Peter’s would-be executioners when he was crucified in Rome.

When we have a healthy sense of the Biblical personhood of the Spirit, when we understand that He is a will-ful being, then the absence of certain spiritual phenomena in our lives, so concerning to some, becomes far less troubling.  Granted, we may not speak in tongues, we may not raise the dead, we may not do a dozen things the great saints of Christendom have done, but that does not mean that we simply have not hit upon the right magic words to bend the Spirit to our will.  It merely means that God, in His greater wisdom, just doesn’t think it is necessary here and now.