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3 Parts of the Law: A Case for Continuity of the Moral Law
MARCH 18, 2024 | JUSTIN DILLEHAY
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What should Christians do with the Old Testament law? Is it still binding on us? If so, which parts? And how do we know?
In the Reformed Protestant tradition, Christians have sought to answer this question by distinguishing between three types of law: moral, ceremonial, and judicial. According to this view, the moral law is forever binding, the ceremonial law was intended to point to Christ and is thereby abrogated since his death and resurrection, and the judicial law is binding on non-Israelite nations only insofar as its general equity reflects the natural law.
This viewpoint doesn’t deny that Christ fulfilled the whole law or that all three kinds of law were mixed in the same old covenant and were all binding on people at that time. It simply states that when different Mosaic commands receive different treatments in the New Testament, that treatment isn’t arbitrary but reflects a difference in nature that already existed during the Old Testament and could have been discerned even then.
This approach was codified in the Westminster Confession of Faith (WCF), the Savoy Declaration, and the 1689 Baptist Confession (2LC). However, it has become common in the past century for biblical scholars to reject this threefold distinction as an artificial construct—well-intended, perhaps, but not something the biblical authors would’ve recognized. Instead, critics argue, the biblical authors would’ve viewed the Mosaic law as a seamless whole. The ethical counterpart is often that Old Testament laws are only binding when they’re repeated in the New Testament.
Yet theological editor Philip Ross makes the case in From the Finger of God: The Biblical and Theological Basis for the Threefold Division of the Law that the threefold division is worth adopting. Building on Ross, I’d like to offer four lines of evidence, followed by some brief thoughts on how the Sabbath command relates.
Evidence from the Moral Order of the Universe
Morality has always existed because it’s grounded in the character of God. Theft, murder, and idolatry were sinful before Moses received the Ten Commandments in Exodus 20. Even the Sabbath command didn’t emerge out of thin air at Sinai but was rooted in the creation account of Genesis 2:1–4 (see also Ex. 16:23).
At its most basic level, the threefold division sees the Ten Commandments as a summary of a previously existing moral law—a verbal codifying of the natural law that had been written on the human heart at creation as part of the image of God (Rom. 1:19–32; 2:12–16; cf. Acts 28:4; see WCF/2LC 19:1–2).
Ross notes this was the view not only of the Westminster divines but of many early church fathers. In the late second century, Irenaeus wrote, “For God at the first, indeed, warning them by means of natural precepts, which from the beginning he had implanted in mankind, that is, by means of the Decalogue (which if any one does not observe, he has no salvation) . . .”
Tertullian argues, “Before the Law of Moses, written in stone-tables, I contend that there was a law unwritten, which was habitually understood naturally by the fathers and was habitually kept.” This divinely inscribed natural law is the basic foundation for the threefold division. It’s how both we and the original Old Testament readers would’ve discerned the distinction between permanent moral laws and laws ritual in character.
It’s probably not an accident the threefold division fell out of favor among Reformed theologians during the same period that natural law was falling out of favor in those circles (i.e., the 20th century). But with the current retrieval of natural law in Reformed and Baptist circles, now is a good time to reconsider the threefold distinction.
With the current retrieval of natural law in Reformed and Baptist circles, now is a good time to reconsider the threefold distinction.
According to David VanDrunen, natural law is “the law of God made known in the created order, which all human beings know through their physical senses, intellect, and conscience, though they sinfully resist this knowledge to various degrees.” This law is grounded in the unchanging character of God, as it’s witnessed through the fabric of creation. Certain moral norms are shared by cultures across the globe—even those disconnected from the Judeo-Christian tradition. Anthropologist and priest John M. Cooper argues, “The universal moral code agrees rather closely with our own Decalogue.”
In contrast to these (nearly) universal moral laws, Scripture offers examples of other laws that were revealed at a particular point in history and weren’t universal, like the Old Testament dietary laws. This doesn’t mean the Israelites were free to play fast and loose with them. But it does suggest a reasonable Israelite could’ve detected a moral difference between eating pork and committing adultery. One had always been wrong; the other hadn’t.
Evidence from the Pentateuch
The distinction between types of law can be seen within the Mosaic covenant itself. In Deuteronomy 14:21, God forbids Israelites to eat anything that has died naturally, because they’re “a people holy to the LORD.” Yet in the same breath, God states, “You may give it to the sojourner who is within your towns, that he may eat it, or you may sell it to a foreigner.” This particular law was obviously not considered a universal moral norm.
In contrast, Leviticus 18 applies laws against sexual uncleanness to both the Israelites and the sojourner living among them (Lev. 18:26). It also notes these same abominations had caused the land to vomit out the Canaanites before them (vv. 27–28). Some sins are a reproach to any people, whether they’re in a special covenant with God or not (Prov. 14:34).
So when Paul Jewett claims that “the distinction between ceremonial and moral law rests upon the teaching of the New Testament, not upon location in the Old Testament,” he’s overstating his case. He’s right that the “moral laws” aren’t always neatly separated and clearly labeled. Still, his claim overlooks evidence from within the Pentateuch itself. Moreover, it fails to ask an important question: Why were these commands repeated in the New Testament, while others were viewed as a “dividing wall” that needed to be torn down?
It’s true our judgments about what’s moral and what’s ceremonial are partly based on the New Testament’s use of the Old. But that doesn’t mean the New Testament writers were pulling their conclusions out of thin air (or basing them solely on divine inspiration). Instead, they were seeing distinctions already there and following trajectories already in place.
Evidence from the Prophets and the Writings
There’s evidence from the Prophets and the Writings of what some scholars call “the primacy of morality over the cult.” Simply put, the Old Testament doesn’t treat all its laws equally—it recognizes morality matters more than ritual.
This principle is seen in passages like Hosea 6:6, where God tells Israel, “I desire steadfast love and not sacrifice, the knowledge of God rather than burnt offerings.” Though not a call for the immediate abolition of the sacrificial system, that verse offers a statement of priority. Such passages are vital for understanding God’s heart in Old Testament law—it’s no accident that Jesus twice quotes this passage against the Pharisees’ misuse of the law (Matt. 9:13; 12:7).
This principle can also be seen in passages like Isaiah 1:11–17, 1 Samuel 15:22–23, Psalm 51:16–17, Psalm 69:30–31, and Micah 6:7–8. The latter states,
Will the LORD be pleased with thousands of rams,
with ten thousands of rivers of oil?
Shall I give my firstborn for my transgression,
the fruit of my body for the sin of my soul?”
He has told you, O man, what is good;
and what does the LORD require of you
but to do justice, and to love kindness,
and to walk humbly with your God?
The point should be obvious: even in the Old Testament, the law wasn’t regarded as a seamless, undifferentiated whole. When Jesus spoke of certain matters in the law being “weightier” than tithing—namely, “justice and mercy and faithfulness” (Matt. 23:23), he wasn’t saying anything new—indeed, he was likely alluding to Micah 6:8.
Evidence from the Gospels
Jesus’s treatment of the law is complex. For example, when we hear him tell the cleansed leper to show himself to the priest, we’re reminded Christ was “born under the law” (Mark 1:44; Gal. 4:4)—that is, while the Mosaic covenant was still in force (even if its judicial laws were largely a moot point under Roman rule, cf. John 18:31).
Yet we also hear him laying the foundations for the eclipse of ceremonial laws, as when he tells the Samaritan woman that the place of worship soon wouldn’t matter (John 4:21) or when his comments about ritual cleanliness amount to declaring all foods clean (Mark 7:19).
But concerning the moral law, C. S. Lewis was right in saying in Mere Christianity that “Christ did not come to preach any brand new morality.” Contrary to popular belief, the “But I say to you” statements of Matthew 5:21–48 aren’t examples of Christ “raising the bar.” Instead, these verses need to be interpreted by the immediate context of verses 17–20, where Jesus stresses his continuity with the Law and the Prophets.
In any case, the examples of where Jesus supposedly raised the moral bar (i.e., love your enemies, don’t lust, don’t be angry) were already present in the Old Testament (cf. Prov. 22:24–25; 25:21–22; Ex. 20:17; 23:4–5; 2 Kings 6:22; Job 31:1). Even in the case of divorce, Jesus wasn’t starting from scratch but taking things back to the beginning of the Pentateuch (Matt. 19:3–8).
So even though it’s clear some laws have been abolished in their outward forms (see Eph. 2:14–15; cf. Mark 7:19; John 4:21; 1 Cor. 7:19; Col. 2:16–17), there’s a deeper sense in which none of it was abolished but all of it fulfilled—albeit in a way fitting for each specific kind of law. To use Ross’s language, Jesus fulfills the Law and the Prophets eschatologically (by fulfilling its prophecies and patterns), soteriologically (by saving us from our transgressions of it and writing it on our hearts), and morally (by obeying it perfectly and expounding it accurately).
When a ceremonial law is fulfilled, the shadow passes away, leaving the substance (Col. 2:16–19; Heb. 8–9). When a moral law is fulfilled, its unmitigated rigor is satisfied by Christ, leaving it as an abiding reflection of God’s will for all people (Matt. 5:18–20).
Christ isn’t arbitrarily choosing certain commandments to function as his new law. He’s reaffirming the ones that had been binding from the beginning. And when it comes to laws whose observance did expire with Christ’s death, that isn’t arbitrary either. Their abolition reflects the original nature, purpose, and trajectory of those laws.
Evidence from Paul’s Letters
Paul’s use of the law is similar. In 1 Corinthians 7:19, he claims, “Neither circumcision counts for anything nor uncircumcision, but keeping the commandments of God.” This might seem staggering at first. Has Paul not read Leviticus 12:3 or Genesis 17:12? Surely circumcision is a commandment of God—even prior to the Mosaic covenant. And yet unlike with the Ten Commandments, we have no reason to think it was binding prior to Abraham. Throughout the Old Testament, it always pointed to a greater spiritual circumcision (Deut. 10:16; Jer. 4:4; 9:25).
Christ isn’t arbitrarily choosing certain commandments to function as his new law. He’s reaffirming the ones that had been binding from the beginning.
Rather than simply concluding the absence of circumcision reflects “the law of Christ” contained in the New Testament rather than the “law of God” contained in the Old Testament (as some understand 1 Cor. 9:21), we again need to ask, Why was this particular commandment left out of the law of Christ?
Why does Paul treat some laws as obvious reflections of God’s will that even the Gentiles ought to understand (1 Cor. 5:1; Rom. 1:26–32; 2:14–15), while he regards circumcision and feast days as “weak and worthless elementary principles,” “no longer counting for anything” now that we’re adult sons indwelt by the Spirit? (Gal. 4:1–3; 4:9; 5:6; 6:15). Why does he regard some commandments as a barrier between Jews and Gentiles that needed to be torn down (Eph. 2:14–15) while viewing other commandments as still binding on Jews and Gentiles in Christ (4:25–5:5)?
When Paul quotes the command to “obey your parents” in Ephesians 6:1–3, he clearly doesn’t regard it as still binding on them simply because he had repeated it. Rather he repeats it because it’s still binding—and unlike circumcision, it always was. The same holds true of other commandments in the Decalogue (Rom. 13:9–10; Eph. 4:25–5:12; 1 Tim. 1:8–10), which Paul (and the reformers) would’ve seen as reflections of the natural law.
What About the Fourth Commandment?
Ross notes that “rejection of the threefold division has often gone hand-in-hand with anti-sabbatarianism” (343). Were it not for the fourth commandment’s inclusion, I suspect no one would object to seeing the Ten Commandments as a codification of permanent moral law. It’s the Sabbath that causes people to opt for something like “Only what’s repeated in the New Testament is binding,” especially in light of seemingly anti-Sabbath statements in Colossians 2:16, Galatians 4:10, and Romans 14.
Reformed Protestants have always differed over some details involved in the shift from the Sabbath to the Lord’s Day, as John Frame demonstrates. For example, does the Fourth Commandment reflect a “perpetual commandment, binding all men in all ages . . . [to keep] one day in seven for a Sabbath” (WCF 21.7; 2LC 22.7), or was its primary purpose to “[typify] our spiritual rest from works,” with the day of worship now largely a matter of indifference (as Calvin argued)? Is worship or physical rest the primary aim of the commandment?
Those who prefer Calvin and the Heidelberg to the WCF would do well to remember that even non-Sabbatarians like Calvin still held to the threefold division of the law (see also article 25 of the Belgic Confession).
Moreover, even the WCF recognizes that the fourth commandment contains a mixture of natural law (which is permanent) and positive law (which is flexible based on redemptive-historical circumstances; WCF 21:7). This is why (in this view) the “one day in seven” can shift eschatologically from the seventh day to the first day in a kind of Sabbath-rest inaugurated but not yet consummated.
At any rate, Reformed Christians can disagree on how much of the fourth commandment represents temporary, positive law and how much of it reflects permanent, natural law without rejecting the threefold division. Sabbatarianism and the threefold division often go together (I’m convinced of both), but they don’t necessarily have to.
Integrity of Scripture
The traditional threefold division of the law isn’t an attempt to arbitrarily cut up what was originally a seamless whole. Instead, like the threefold distinction between the persons of the Trinity, it’s an effort to allow Scripture to interpret Scripture and to integrate its teaching into a meaningful whole.
With the spirit of retrieval now long in the air, the time is ripe for revisiting this doctrine. At the very least, casual dismissals of it should be harder to sustain than they were 30 years ago. May the Lord give us understanding.
MARCH 18, 2024 | JUSTIN DILLEHAY
©
Lightstock
SHARE
POST
MORE BY JUSTIN DILLEHAY
Cremation or Burial: Does Our Choice Matter?
Advent Meditation: Peace on Earth
From Shadow to Substance: Aaronic Priesthood’s Transformation
Good Works According to Titus 3
America’s Not-So-Great Awakening
What should Christians do with the Old Testament law? Is it still binding on us? If so, which parts? And how do we know?
In the Reformed Protestant tradition, Christians have sought to answer this question by distinguishing between three types of law: moral, ceremonial, and judicial. According to this view, the moral law is forever binding, the ceremonial law was intended to point to Christ and is thereby abrogated since his death and resurrection, and the judicial law is binding on non-Israelite nations only insofar as its general equity reflects the natural law.
This viewpoint doesn’t deny that Christ fulfilled the whole law or that all three kinds of law were mixed in the same old covenant and were all binding on people at that time. It simply states that when different Mosaic commands receive different treatments in the New Testament, that treatment isn’t arbitrary but reflects a difference in nature that already existed during the Old Testament and could have been discerned even then.
This approach was codified in the Westminster Confession of Faith (WCF), the Savoy Declaration, and the 1689 Baptist Confession (2LC). However, it has become common in the past century for biblical scholars to reject this threefold distinction as an artificial construct—well-intended, perhaps, but not something the biblical authors would’ve recognized. Instead, critics argue, the biblical authors would’ve viewed the Mosaic law as a seamless whole. The ethical counterpart is often that Old Testament laws are only binding when they’re repeated in the New Testament.
Yet theological editor Philip Ross makes the case in From the Finger of God: The Biblical and Theological Basis for the Threefold Division of the Law that the threefold division is worth adopting. Building on Ross, I’d like to offer four lines of evidence, followed by some brief thoughts on how the Sabbath command relates.
Evidence from the Moral Order of the Universe
Morality has always existed because it’s grounded in the character of God. Theft, murder, and idolatry were sinful before Moses received the Ten Commandments in Exodus 20. Even the Sabbath command didn’t emerge out of thin air at Sinai but was rooted in the creation account of Genesis 2:1–4 (see also Ex. 16:23).
At its most basic level, the threefold division sees the Ten Commandments as a summary of a previously existing moral law—a verbal codifying of the natural law that had been written on the human heart at creation as part of the image of God (Rom. 1:19–32; 2:12–16; cf. Acts 28:4; see WCF/2LC 19:1–2).
Ross notes this was the view not only of the Westminster divines but of many early church fathers. In the late second century, Irenaeus wrote, “For God at the first, indeed, warning them by means of natural precepts, which from the beginning he had implanted in mankind, that is, by means of the Decalogue (which if any one does not observe, he has no salvation) . . .”
Tertullian argues, “Before the Law of Moses, written in stone-tables, I contend that there was a law unwritten, which was habitually understood naturally by the fathers and was habitually kept.” This divinely inscribed natural law is the basic foundation for the threefold division. It’s how both we and the original Old Testament readers would’ve discerned the distinction between permanent moral laws and laws ritual in character.
It’s probably not an accident the threefold division fell out of favor among Reformed theologians during the same period that natural law was falling out of favor in those circles (i.e., the 20th century). But with the current retrieval of natural law in Reformed and Baptist circles, now is a good time to reconsider the threefold distinction.
With the current retrieval of natural law in Reformed and Baptist circles, now is a good time to reconsider the threefold distinction.
According to David VanDrunen, natural law is “the law of God made known in the created order, which all human beings know through their physical senses, intellect, and conscience, though they sinfully resist this knowledge to various degrees.” This law is grounded in the unchanging character of God, as it’s witnessed through the fabric of creation. Certain moral norms are shared by cultures across the globe—even those disconnected from the Judeo-Christian tradition. Anthropologist and priest John M. Cooper argues, “The universal moral code agrees rather closely with our own Decalogue.”
In contrast to these (nearly) universal moral laws, Scripture offers examples of other laws that were revealed at a particular point in history and weren’t universal, like the Old Testament dietary laws. This doesn’t mean the Israelites were free to play fast and loose with them. But it does suggest a reasonable Israelite could’ve detected a moral difference between eating pork and committing adultery. One had always been wrong; the other hadn’t.
Evidence from the Pentateuch
The distinction between types of law can be seen within the Mosaic covenant itself. In Deuteronomy 14:21, God forbids Israelites to eat anything that has died naturally, because they’re “a people holy to the LORD.” Yet in the same breath, God states, “You may give it to the sojourner who is within your towns, that he may eat it, or you may sell it to a foreigner.” This particular law was obviously not considered a universal moral norm.
In contrast, Leviticus 18 applies laws against sexual uncleanness to both the Israelites and the sojourner living among them (Lev. 18:26). It also notes these same abominations had caused the land to vomit out the Canaanites before them (vv. 27–28). Some sins are a reproach to any people, whether they’re in a special covenant with God or not (Prov. 14:34).
So when Paul Jewett claims that “the distinction between ceremonial and moral law rests upon the teaching of the New Testament, not upon location in the Old Testament,” he’s overstating his case. He’s right that the “moral laws” aren’t always neatly separated and clearly labeled. Still, his claim overlooks evidence from within the Pentateuch itself. Moreover, it fails to ask an important question: Why were these commands repeated in the New Testament, while others were viewed as a “dividing wall” that needed to be torn down?
It’s true our judgments about what’s moral and what’s ceremonial are partly based on the New Testament’s use of the Old. But that doesn’t mean the New Testament writers were pulling their conclusions out of thin air (or basing them solely on divine inspiration). Instead, they were seeing distinctions already there and following trajectories already in place.
Evidence from the Prophets and the Writings
There’s evidence from the Prophets and the Writings of what some scholars call “the primacy of morality over the cult.” Simply put, the Old Testament doesn’t treat all its laws equally—it recognizes morality matters more than ritual.
This principle is seen in passages like Hosea 6:6, where God tells Israel, “I desire steadfast love and not sacrifice, the knowledge of God rather than burnt offerings.” Though not a call for the immediate abolition of the sacrificial system, that verse offers a statement of priority. Such passages are vital for understanding God’s heart in Old Testament law—it’s no accident that Jesus twice quotes this passage against the Pharisees’ misuse of the law (Matt. 9:13; 12:7).
This principle can also be seen in passages like Isaiah 1:11–17, 1 Samuel 15:22–23, Psalm 51:16–17, Psalm 69:30–31, and Micah 6:7–8. The latter states,
Will the LORD be pleased with thousands of rams,
with ten thousands of rivers of oil?
Shall I give my firstborn for my transgression,
the fruit of my body for the sin of my soul?”
He has told you, O man, what is good;
and what does the LORD require of you
but to do justice, and to love kindness,
and to walk humbly with your God?
The point should be obvious: even in the Old Testament, the law wasn’t regarded as a seamless, undifferentiated whole. When Jesus spoke of certain matters in the law being “weightier” than tithing—namely, “justice and mercy and faithfulness” (Matt. 23:23), he wasn’t saying anything new—indeed, he was likely alluding to Micah 6:8.
Evidence from the Gospels
Jesus’s treatment of the law is complex. For example, when we hear him tell the cleansed leper to show himself to the priest, we’re reminded Christ was “born under the law” (Mark 1:44; Gal. 4:4)—that is, while the Mosaic covenant was still in force (even if its judicial laws were largely a moot point under Roman rule, cf. John 18:31).
Yet we also hear him laying the foundations for the eclipse of ceremonial laws, as when he tells the Samaritan woman that the place of worship soon wouldn’t matter (John 4:21) or when his comments about ritual cleanliness amount to declaring all foods clean (Mark 7:19).
But concerning the moral law, C. S. Lewis was right in saying in Mere Christianity that “Christ did not come to preach any brand new morality.” Contrary to popular belief, the “But I say to you” statements of Matthew 5:21–48 aren’t examples of Christ “raising the bar.” Instead, these verses need to be interpreted by the immediate context of verses 17–20, where Jesus stresses his continuity with the Law and the Prophets.
In any case, the examples of where Jesus supposedly raised the moral bar (i.e., love your enemies, don’t lust, don’t be angry) were already present in the Old Testament (cf. Prov. 22:24–25; 25:21–22; Ex. 20:17; 23:4–5; 2 Kings 6:22; Job 31:1). Even in the case of divorce, Jesus wasn’t starting from scratch but taking things back to the beginning of the Pentateuch (Matt. 19:3–8).
So even though it’s clear some laws have been abolished in their outward forms (see Eph. 2:14–15; cf. Mark 7:19; John 4:21; 1 Cor. 7:19; Col. 2:16–17), there’s a deeper sense in which none of it was abolished but all of it fulfilled—albeit in a way fitting for each specific kind of law. To use Ross’s language, Jesus fulfills the Law and the Prophets eschatologically (by fulfilling its prophecies and patterns), soteriologically (by saving us from our transgressions of it and writing it on our hearts), and morally (by obeying it perfectly and expounding it accurately).
When a ceremonial law is fulfilled, the shadow passes away, leaving the substance (Col. 2:16–19; Heb. 8–9). When a moral law is fulfilled, its unmitigated rigor is satisfied by Christ, leaving it as an abiding reflection of God’s will for all people (Matt. 5:18–20).
Christ isn’t arbitrarily choosing certain commandments to function as his new law. He’s reaffirming the ones that had been binding from the beginning. And when it comes to laws whose observance did expire with Christ’s death, that isn’t arbitrary either. Their abolition reflects the original nature, purpose, and trajectory of those laws.
Evidence from Paul’s Letters
Paul’s use of the law is similar. In 1 Corinthians 7:19, he claims, “Neither circumcision counts for anything nor uncircumcision, but keeping the commandments of God.” This might seem staggering at first. Has Paul not read Leviticus 12:3 or Genesis 17:12? Surely circumcision is a commandment of God—even prior to the Mosaic covenant. And yet unlike with the Ten Commandments, we have no reason to think it was binding prior to Abraham. Throughout the Old Testament, it always pointed to a greater spiritual circumcision (Deut. 10:16; Jer. 4:4; 9:25).
Christ isn’t arbitrarily choosing certain commandments to function as his new law. He’s reaffirming the ones that had been binding from the beginning.
Rather than simply concluding the absence of circumcision reflects “the law of Christ” contained in the New Testament rather than the “law of God” contained in the Old Testament (as some understand 1 Cor. 9:21), we again need to ask, Why was this particular commandment left out of the law of Christ?
Why does Paul treat some laws as obvious reflections of God’s will that even the Gentiles ought to understand (1 Cor. 5:1; Rom. 1:26–32; 2:14–15), while he regards circumcision and feast days as “weak and worthless elementary principles,” “no longer counting for anything” now that we’re adult sons indwelt by the Spirit? (Gal. 4:1–3; 4:9; 5:6; 6:15). Why does he regard some commandments as a barrier between Jews and Gentiles that needed to be torn down (Eph. 2:14–15) while viewing other commandments as still binding on Jews and Gentiles in Christ (4:25–5:5)?
When Paul quotes the command to “obey your parents” in Ephesians 6:1–3, he clearly doesn’t regard it as still binding on them simply because he had repeated it. Rather he repeats it because it’s still binding—and unlike circumcision, it always was. The same holds true of other commandments in the Decalogue (Rom. 13:9–10; Eph. 4:25–5:12; 1 Tim. 1:8–10), which Paul (and the reformers) would’ve seen as reflections of the natural law.
What About the Fourth Commandment?
Ross notes that “rejection of the threefold division has often gone hand-in-hand with anti-sabbatarianism” (343). Were it not for the fourth commandment’s inclusion, I suspect no one would object to seeing the Ten Commandments as a codification of permanent moral law. It’s the Sabbath that causes people to opt for something like “Only what’s repeated in the New Testament is binding,” especially in light of seemingly anti-Sabbath statements in Colossians 2:16, Galatians 4:10, and Romans 14.
Reformed Protestants have always differed over some details involved in the shift from the Sabbath to the Lord’s Day, as John Frame demonstrates. For example, does the Fourth Commandment reflect a “perpetual commandment, binding all men in all ages . . . [to keep] one day in seven for a Sabbath” (WCF 21.7; 2LC 22.7), or was its primary purpose to “[typify] our spiritual rest from works,” with the day of worship now largely a matter of indifference (as Calvin argued)? Is worship or physical rest the primary aim of the commandment?
Those who prefer Calvin and the Heidelberg to the WCF would do well to remember that even non-Sabbatarians like Calvin still held to the threefold division of the law (see also article 25 of the Belgic Confession).
Moreover, even the WCF recognizes that the fourth commandment contains a mixture of natural law (which is permanent) and positive law (which is flexible based on redemptive-historical circumstances; WCF 21:7). This is why (in this view) the “one day in seven” can shift eschatologically from the seventh day to the first day in a kind of Sabbath-rest inaugurated but not yet consummated.
At any rate, Reformed Christians can disagree on how much of the fourth commandment represents temporary, positive law and how much of it reflects permanent, natural law without rejecting the threefold division. Sabbatarianism and the threefold division often go together (I’m convinced of both), but they don’t necessarily have to.
Integrity of Scripture
The traditional threefold division of the law isn’t an attempt to arbitrarily cut up what was originally a seamless whole. Instead, like the threefold distinction between the persons of the Trinity, it’s an effort to allow Scripture to interpret Scripture and to integrate its teaching into a meaningful whole.
With the spirit of retrieval now long in the air, the time is ripe for revisiting this doctrine. At the very least, casual dismissals of it should be harder to sustain than they were 30 years ago. May the Lord give us understanding.