Original Meaning
United with Christ in Death and Resurrection (6:1–5)
WITH THE QUESTION-AND-ANSWER format, Paul uses again the diatribe style so common in Romans (6:1–2; see esp. 3:1–9, 27–31; 4:1–12). In this case, however, the person he is dialoging with is not a Jew but a Christian. Paul’s purpose is to show that being a believer makes a decisive difference in one’s relationship to sin.
Specifically, Paul says, “we died to sin” (v. 2). What does he mean by this? Clearly he does not mean that Christians are not tempted by sin or that we are incapable of sinning—as his commands in verses 11–14 make clear. He uses the imagery of “death” for two reasons. (1) It creates an obvious point of contact with the death of Christ, an important step in Paul’s argument (vv. 3–4). (2) It is a powerful image of a decisive shift in state. When someone becomes a Christian, Paul implies, their change of state in relationship to sin is as dramatic as a change from life to death. He spells out the implication of this change in a rhetorical question: “How can we live in it any longer?” This question may be turned into a statement: We who are Christians no longer live under the domination of sin. We cannot, therefore, go on living in sin the way we used to.
In verses 3–5, Paul shows how the transfer from the state of sin to new life in Christ has taken place. In baptism, we are joined to Christ and to his death and resurrection. As Paul will make clear later in this passage, Christ’s own death was a death “to sin” and his resurrection meant living “to God” (v. 10). Therefore, those who participate in Christ’s death and resurrection also have “died to sin” and now “live to God.”
Paul’s use of the language of “baptism” in verses 3–4 is somewhat surprising. In light of the prominence he gives to faith in chapters 1–4, we would have expected him to say that “those of us who have believed in Christ Jesus have been united with his death” (v. 3) and that “we were buried with him through our faith into death” (v. 4). Why “baptism” here?
Some interpreters think that Paul uses the language here in a metaphorical way. Baptizo, the Greek verb, means basically “immerse in” (see, e.g., Mark 10:38–39 and parallels; 1 Cor. 10:2), so Paul may simply be saying, in a vivid way, that believers have been “immersed” in Christ.1 Other interpreters think Paul may be referring to “baptism in the Spirit.”2 But Paul usually uses the verb baptizo to refer to Christian water baptism (1 Cor. 1:13–17; 12:13 [though debated]; 15:29; Gal. 3:27). Moreover, the noun “baptism” (Gk. baptisma) in verse 4 almost always has this meaning.
With the great majority of commentators, then, we think Paul here refers to water baptism as the point in time at which people become joined with Christ (see Bridging Contexts and Contemporary Significance sections for further discussion). When we were baptized “into” Christ (i.e., so as to be joined with him), we were baptized “into his death.”
Verse 4 then elaborates that “we were buried with Christ into death.” Paul may mention burial here because he is thinking of the physical actions of baptism as symbolic of the believer’s transfer from death to life. As Christ was buried in his grave, so the believer goes down into the water to symbolize his or her death to the old life.3 But while this interpretation is popular, it is probably not correct. Nothing here or elsewhere in the New Testament suggests that the actions of baptism (going down into water and coming up out of it) have symbolic significance. Note too that Paul does not say we were buried “like” Christ; rather, we were buried “with him.”
Most likely, then, Paul uses the verb “buried” because he is thinking of the way the Christian is identified with Christ in all of the major events of his redemptive work. In 1 Corinthians 15:3–4, Paul rehearses these basic redemptive events: “Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures … he was buried … he was raised on the third day according to the Scriptures.” We who believe have participated with Christ in each of these events: We died “with him” (Rom. 6:3, 5, 6, 8); we were buried “with him” (6:4); we will be raised “with him” (6:5, 8).4 Baptism stands for our whole conversion experience. By it, we have been brought into union with Christ and the powerful events of his redemptive work. The effects of these events are therefore at work in us. That means we now have the ability to “live a new life” (6:4b).
Verse 5 states what Paul has implied in verse 4: Believers not only participate in Christ’s death (so that we have died to sin), but also in his resurrection (so that we can live a new life). The NIV does not clearly bring out an interesting element in the Greek here: Paul speaks of the “likeness” or “form” (homoioma) of Christ’s death and resurrection. Paul’s purpose in using this word is debated, but probably he wants to suggest that Christ’s death and resurrection have a certain nature that enables other people to participate in them.5
Paul uses a future tense to describe our participation in the resurrection: “We will … be united” (6:5). Since he here suggests that believers even now experience new life in Christ (vv. 4, 13), this future may be “logical”—that is, Paul may be saying that participation in Christ’s resurrection always follows participation in his death (see Eph. 2:6; Col. 2:12).6 But we prefer to think that the future is a genuine temporal future: While we do indeed now enjoy new life, our “being raised with Christ” awaits his Parousia.7 Philippians 3:20–21 is particularly close to Paul’s idea here: “But our citizenship is in heaven. And we eagerly await a Savior from there, the Lord Jesus Christ, who, by the power that enables him to bring everything under his control, will transform our lowly bodies so that they will be like his glorious body.”
Bridging Contexts
THOUGHTS ON BAPTISM. Romans 6:1–14 is rich in theology and practical insight. Our understanding of the Christian life owes much to this text. Yet one of the most controversial elements in this passage is mentioned only in passing: baptism (vv. 3–4). The debate surrounding the significance of baptism in these verses affords a classic example of the way our reading of the New Testament is affected by our own background and theology. In the Bridging Contexts sections in this commentary we have often focused on the first-century context. But, as the word “bridging” and the plural “contexts” indicates, this section must tackle not only the context of the writers but also the context of the readers of the New Testament.
As postmodernism has emphasized (to an extreme and unnecessary degree at times), every reader brings his or her own context to a text. Each of us reads the New Testament out of our own situation—children of certain parents, members of a certain church, adherents of a particular theology. We cannot, of course, escape our context, but we can recognize what it is and allow for it as we read the New Testament so that we do not simply read our own biases into the text. The significance of baptism in 6:3–4 is a classic case in point. Establishing the first-century context by getting some idea of the general New Testament teaching on baptism is necessary if we are to interpret these verses accurately. Yet even before we turn to the first-century context, we need to consider briefly the “contexts” each of us brings to our reading of the passage.
Baptism has been, and still is, a controversial issue among Christians. Many of us have strongly held beliefs on baptism, often established in deliberate distinction to the views of other Christians. My own spiritual pilgrimage reflects a common pattern in the understanding of baptism. I was baptized as an infant in the Lutheran church in which I was raised. My later confirmation class presented the truth of the gospel clearly, but it did not really come home to me. I was confirmed anyway and assumed that the spiritual side of my life was taken care of. But almost a decade later I realized that this was not the case. Through campus friends, the Spirit made clear that I did not really have a relationship with God and that I could only find such a relationship by committing myself personally to Jesus Christ.
My own spiritual obduracy was no doubt much at fault for my failure to understand this personal dimension of Christian faith as I was growing up. But I also blamed the Lutheran church for failing to make this as clear as it might have been. A key focus of my blame was the impression I was given that the rites of baptism, confirmation, and Communion provided for all my spiritual needs. Thus, when I truly came to know Christ in college, I was baptized, convinced that my infant baptism had no value at all. In getting to know thousands of students at my seminary over the last twenty-five years and in interviewing applicants for membership in my local church, I have heard this kind of story again and again.
The point, then, is this: There exists among evangelical Christians a strong bias against any hint of sacramentalism. Too much emphasis on rites such as baptism and the Lord’s Supper can undercut the paramount need for a personal and meaningful engagement with God in Christ. Baptism is to be administered only to people who have come to faith, and it is only a symbol. What happens, then, when we bring this kind of background to our reading of Romans 6? We tend to do all we can to minimize baptism. We desperately try to keep water out of the passage. We interpret “baptism” as a metaphor for an overwhelming experience or as shorthand for “baptism in the Spirit.”
If water cannot absolutely be excluded, we make sure to confine its significance to the realm of the symbolic. Baptism, so the popular teaching goes, is a picture of our conversion. As we go down under the water, we symbolize our death to the old life; when we emerge again from the water, we symbolize our entrance into the new life of Christ. In baptism, therefore, we act out experiences that Christ went through: As he died, was buried, and was raised, so we, in baptism, do the same things.
But there is another side to our current context we must consider. While the dominant move among evangelicals has been away from sacramental ideas, the opposite current, growing recently, is also evident: Evangelicals who grew up in nonsacramental traditions have come to think that baptism and the Lord’s Supper are far more important than they used to think. Such Christians, who may attend Lutheran or Episcopal churches, have a vested interest in finding as much water as possible in Romans 6 and in general giving to baptism an important role in Christian experience. I am not myself among their number. But I now think that I overreacted against my sacramental upbringing in the enthusiasm of my postconversion joy.
Thus, along with every other reader of Romans 6, I bring certain baggage to this text. We need to recognize that baggage and not to let it determine our interpretation. The more radical postmodern thinkers are convinced that we cannot do it; as a result, what we get out of Romans 6 will be exactly what we bring to it (“reader-response”). I am more optimistic about our ability to be objective about the meaning of texts—particularly when we engage in discussion with people from other perspectives and when we ask the Holy Spirit to keep us from error. Whether I have succeeded in being objective is a question you all will have to answer as you consider what I say regarding this text. But let me reiterate briefly why I do not think we can keep water out of the passage or confine baptism to a symbol only.
Consider carefully the wording of verse 4a: “We were therefore buried with him through baptism into death….” Note these three points. (1) Baptisma, the word used here, almost always denotes water baptism (see Matt. 3:7; 21:25; Mark 1:4; 10:38, 39; 11:30; Luke 3:3; 7:29; 12:50; 20:4; Acts 1:22; 10:37; 13:24; 18:25; 19:3, 4; Rom. 6:4; Eph. 4:5; 1 Peter 3:21).16 (2) Baptism does not symbolize our being buried with Christ; it is the means “through” which we were identified with him. (3) We are not buried as Christ was buried; we are buried with Christ. It seems to me, therefore, that we cannot escape the conclusion that Paul presents water baptism here as the means by which we are brought into relationship with Christ. My sense that baptism in Romans 6 is more important than many evangelicals have recognized is confirmed by other texts that move in the same direction (see esp. Acts 2:38; 8:36, 38; Col. 2:12; 1 Peter 3:21).
Does Romans 6, then, teach a full-blown sacramental view of baptism? Many interpreters think so: In baptism, God acts by grace to bring people into relationship with himself. But two things make me wary of going that far. (1) Paul himself does not make baptism a prominent part of his own ministry: “Christ did not send me to baptize, but to preach the gospel—not with words of human wisdom, lest the cross of Christ be emptied of its power” (1 Cor. 1:17). (2) Paul has to this point in Romans highlighted the personal decision of faith as the critical means by which we get into relationship with God. Baptism is mentioned, in passing, in only these two verses.
At this point, then, we need to look carefully at the other “context”: the New Testament teaching on baptism. Although the issue is debated, the studies of James Dunn have convinced me of one critical point: The New Testament presents water baptism as one component of a larger experience, which Dunn calls “conversion-initiation.”17 Faith, repentance, water baptism, and the gift of the Holy Spirit are the four key elements of this “coming to Christ” experience.
What is especially important for our understanding of Romans 6 is that New Testament authors can refer to one of these elements and presume the others. We can therefore explain why Luke uses such a variety of expressions to describe people who come to Christ in the book of Acts: faith (Acts 14:1; 15:11; 16:1), repentance (3:19; 17:30; 26:20), repentance, water baptism, and the gift of the Spirit (2:38), and the gift of the Spirit and water baptism (10:45–48; 19:2–7). This broader New Testament context gives us the right to presume that when Paul refers to baptism in Romans 6:3–4, he intends to include faith, repentance, and the gift of the Spirit.
Baptism for Paul and the other New Testament writers had significance only as one part of a larger experience. It set the seal on one’s conversion. Therefore, baptism in Romans 6 stands, by synecdoche, for the entire conversion experience. One gets into relationship with God not by baptism in itself but by conversion, of which baptism is one key element.
Contemporary Significance
THE SIGNIFICANCE OF BAPTISM. Thus far, we have given only superficial consideration to a complex subject. Clearly, we are in no position to draw sweeping conclusions about the meaning of baptism. But at the risk of outrunning our exegetical data, let me venture three suggestions.
(1) Many evangelicals must give more attention to a theology of baptism. For reasons outlined above, many of us are suspicious of baptism. We worry that people will think they can become Christians (or make their children into Christians) simply by going through an external rite. I can appreciate the concern. Many churches present baptism in such a light, and we are right to fear the deadening influence of an external sacramentalism on evangelism, Christian experience, and the life of the church.
But a concern about an excess in one direction does not justify an excess in the other. I have attended churches in which baptism is rarely mentioned. More often, churches practice or even emphasize baptism but give no explanation for why it is done. Christ commanded us to do it, so we do it. But we really have no idea—or so we imply—why we are doing it. The evangelical church as a whole is marked by a poverty of any kind of theology of baptism and the Lord’s Supper. To be sure, there is some reason for this. The New Testament says little explicitly about baptism; its significance has to be teased out from indirect references and broad theological perspectives. But we who are Christian theologians, pastors, and leaders owe it to the church to develop a biblical and coherent explanation of baptism.
(2) If I am right about Romans 6, baptism is an important part of the conversion experience. To use biblical imagery, it sets a seal on that experience. Thus, baptism in water should probably be administered to a person as shortly after that person’s coming to faith in Christ as possible. Acts 8 is instructive in this regard. After bringing the Ethiopian court official to faith, Philip does not enroll him in a series of baptismal classes; he baptizes him, out in the middle of the desert, right on the spot (Acts 8:36–38).
Of course, we often have good reason to delay baptism after conversion. In the modern church, logistics can play a role: We have to wait for the baptismal tank to be filled. There are theological concerns as well: New converts, we think, need to understand their baptism before experiencing it. What we practice will be the reflection of our theology. The more we emphasize the symbolic value of baptism, the more its efficacy will depend on the ability of the person being baptized to understand it. Thus, we feel some degree of instruction is important.
But if we think that baptism focuses on something God is doing for us, then our ability to understand what is happening is not as crucial. God will work however little or much we understand. Of course, we do not want simply to go through the rite without any concern at all about whether people understand it. But instruction is less important.
(3) Another vexing issue arises here: How about children? Should very young children be baptized if we think they are genuinely converted? A blanket conclusion is out of order. Too many specific factors make every situation different. For instance, many children will want to be baptized because their parents are pressuring them to do so or because they want to do what other children their age are doing. Careful and wise evaluation of each child’s spiritual condition and motivations is obviously needed. But my own belief is that, where circumstances permit, children who are genuinely converted should be baptized.
In sketching briefly my own spiritual pilgrimage in the Bridging Contexts section, I mentioned I was baptized shortly after being converted in college. This was no accident: I became involved after my conversion in a church that insisted a person had to be baptized in order to be saved. I have often dialogued with pastors and theologians who hold this perspective over the years (hearing my views, they apparently think I am a “kindred spirit”!). I respect their view and understand their logic. But I think they have gone beyond the evidence.
To be sure, I have argued that water baptism is part of the conversion experience. But “experience” is an important word. When one asks Paul what a person must do to be a Christian, his answer is clear: believe in the Lord Jesus. God responds to our faith (which, rightly understood, includes repentance) with the gift of his Spirit. A person is a Christian, destined for salvation (see Rom. 5:9–10) from that point on. Water baptism should then follow. It is always dangerous to put words into the mouth of a scriptural author, but I think if Paul had ever been asked about an “unbaptized believer,” he would have responded: “Well, yes, such a person is saved; but why in the world isn’t she baptized?”
“Old self”/“new self.” In verse 6 Paul proclaims that “our old self [has been] crucified with [Christ].” This verse, along with several others in which Paul uses similar imagery (Eph. 4:22–24; Col. 3:9–11), has been the basis for some popular views of the Christian life. I want briefly to sketch two popular options and then comment on them in light of Romans 6.
A particularly widespread view, taught by some theologians and by one of the most effective campus ministries, is the “two-nature” approach. What Paul teaches here is that the believer’s old “sin nature” is dealt a deathblow at conversion. That nature still exists but is no longer dominant, for the believer also possesses a new nature. Progress in the Christian life comes as one uses spiritual disciplines to foster the growth of the new nature and the gradual diminution of the old.
At the other extreme is what we might call the “new creation” view. This language comes from 2 Corinthians 5:17, one of the key texts used to support this view: “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come!” Adherents of this approach claim that the first view does not do justice to Romans 6:6. For Paul claims here that the “old self” has been crucified—not just reduced in power, but actually put to death. When a person comes to Christ, that “old self” is done away with; what is left is the “new self.” Progress in the Christian life comes, then, not by way of struggle (as adherents of this view think the first view teaches) but by “letting go and letting God” do the work. Since we are a “new creation,” all we need to do is let our new, “natural” person take over. We will automatically do what pleases God.
In trying to present the differences in these two views, I am no doubt guilty of some caricature. Many thoughtful adherents of each of these perspectives will protest that their own position is far more nuanced than I have suggested. Nevertheless, I have certainly read books and heard sermons and lectures that presented these views pretty much as I have described them. The question to ask here is which of these views does justice to Romans 6:6 and other passages about “old self”/“new self.” My answer? Neither. For what both views assume is that “old self” has a kind of “ontological” meaning: Either it refers to one part of ourselves or our whole being.
What I suggest is that “old self” is a relational and corporate concept. It does not refer to a part of us or to a nature within us. Rather, it is Paul’s way of describing our sinful condition as children of Adam. What is crucified, then, is that relationship. Our tie to Adam is dissolved; he and the sin and death he represents no longer dictate terms to us. Moreover, if the “old self” is Adam as corporate head of the human race, then the “new self” is Christ, corporate head of the church.
That this thinking is on the right track is suggested by the way Paul can use “new self” language to describe Christ (Eph. 4:13) and the Christian community (Eph. 2:15; Col. 3:10–11). Progress in the Christian life will come as we learn to live out the new relationship God has put us in. We belong to a new corporate structure or regime, dominated by Christ and not by Adam. That new relationship provides, in principle, for all the power we need to stop sinning and to live to God’s glory.
What some of the traditional options have missed, then, is the corporate and relational nature of Paul’s concept of salvation and the Christian life. In Romans 5–8 especially Paul uses a contrast in two eras or regimes to picture the difference between life outside of Christ and life in Christ. God, to be sure, is at work to change us from within, as Paul will show in chapter 8 in talking about the work of the Holy Spirit. But at this point the governing idea is not that God changes us inside, but that he moves us from one regime to another. In dying to sin, we have a new position with respect to sin. It no longer rules over us and dictates our conduct. Our “old self,” in other words, has been crucified; our Adamic servitude has been decisively and irreversibly ended.
I know of no better illustration for the overall idea Paul presents in Romans 6 than Martin Lloyd-Jones’s analogy of the two fields. He asks us to consider a typical British country scene, with two fields enclosed by high rock walls. Every person begins life in one of those fields—a field ruled over by Satan and sin. We have no chance of scaling the walls and escaping the field on our own. But God, in his grace, reaches down and takes us out of that Satan-dominated field and sets us down in the adjacent field—a field ruled by Christ and by righteousness. A decisive change in our position has taken place—we are in whole new relationship to sin.
However, as Lloyd-Jones points out, we can still hear Satan calling across the wall from that old field where we used to live. Out of long habit, we sometimes still obey his voice, even though we don’t have to. This captures well the combination of decisive change in status along with continuing openness to sin that marks Paul’s teaching in Romans 6. If I may extend the illustration, we overcome sin by moving further and further away from the wall dividing the fields so that the voice of Satan grows fainter.
Original Meaning
The Results of Dying with Christ (6:6–7)
ALTHOUGH MANY COMMENTATORS attach verse 6 to verse 5 (note in the NIV that verses 5–6 are set in the same paragraph break), we think a minor break occurs after verse 5. In verses 3–5 Paul has established the fact that believers participate in Jesus’ death and resurrection. Now he elaborates each of these facts, the “death” side in verses 6–7 and the “life” side in verses 8–10.
In verse 6, Paul replaces the “we” of verses 3–5 with “the old self” or “old man” (Gk. anthropos) and death by crucifixion. Paul, of course, refers to crucifixion to emphasize our participation in Jesus’ death itself (see also Gal. 2:20). Why he uses the phrase the “old self” is not clear. Many interpreters think that the “old self” refers to the old, sinful nature that believers get rid of when they come to Christ. But this is probably not accurate (see Contemporary Significance section). In light of Romans 5, the phrase is likely Paul’s way of referring to what we were in Adam. As John R. W. Stott puts is, “what was crucified with Christ was not a part of me called my old nature, but the whole of me as I was before I was converted.”8
Paul is especially concerned that we understand what follows from this action. The result is that the “body of sin [i.e., our bodies as dominated by sin] might be done away with.” This NIV translation is a bit strong; the alternate reading, “rendered powerless,” better suits this verb.9 What Paul is saying is that our identification with Christ means we are no longer dominated by sin. The purpose is that “we should no longer be slaves to sin.” Since sin’s power over us has been broken, we should reflect that new freedom in the way we live. Sin should no longer characterize us. Verse 7 backs up what Paul claims in verse 6 by reminding his readers of a fairly widespread ancient proverb to the effect that “death severs the hold of sin on a person.”
Bridging Contexts
THOUGHTS ON BAPTISM. Romans 6:1–14 is rich in theology and practical insight. Our understanding of the Christian life owes much to this text. Yet one of the most controversial elements in this passage is mentioned only in passing: baptism (vv. 3–4). The debate surrounding the significance of baptism in these verses affords a classic example of the way our reading of the New Testament is affected by our own background and theology. In the Bridging Contexts sections in this commentary we have often focused on the first-century context. But, as the word “bridging” and the plural “contexts” indicates, this section must tackle not only the context of the writers but also the context of the readers of the New Testament.
As postmodernism has emphasized (to an extreme and unnecessary degree at times), every reader brings his or her own context to a text. Each of us reads the New Testament out of our own situation—children of certain parents, members of a certain church, adherents of a particular theology. We cannot, of course, escape our context, but we can recognize what it is and allow for it as we read the New Testament so that we do not simply read our own biases into the text. The significance of baptism in 6:3–4 is a classic case in point. Establishing the first-century context by getting some idea of the general New Testament teaching on baptism is necessary if we are to interpret these verses accurately. Yet even before we turn to the first-century context, we need to consider briefly the “contexts” each of us brings to our reading of the passage.
Baptism has been, and still is, a controversial issue among Christians. Many of us have strongly held beliefs on baptism, often established in deliberate distinction to the views of other Christians. My own spiritual pilgrimage reflects a common pattern in the understanding of baptism. I was baptized as an infant in the Lutheran church in which I was raised. My later confirmation class presented the truth of the gospel clearly, but it did not really come home to me. I was confirmed anyway and assumed that the spiritual side of my life was taken care of. But almost a decade later I realized that this was not the case. Through campus friends, the Spirit made clear that I did not really have a relationship with God and that I could only find such a relationship by committing myself personally to Jesus Christ.
My own spiritual obduracy was no doubt much at fault for my failure to understand this personal dimension of Christian faith as I was growing up. But I also blamed the Lutheran church for failing to make this as clear as it might have been. A key focus of my blame was the impression I was given that the rites of baptism, confirmation, and Communion provided for all my spiritual needs. Thus, when I truly came to know Christ in college, I was baptized, convinced that my infant baptism had no value at all. In getting to know thousands of students at my seminary over the last twenty-five years and in interviewing applicants for membership in my local church, I have heard this kind of story again and again.
The point, then, is this: There exists among evangelical Christians a strong bias against any hint of sacramentalism. Too much emphasis on rites such as baptism and the Lord’s Supper can undercut the paramount need for a personal and meaningful engagement with God in Christ. Baptism is to be administered only to people who have come to faith, and it is only a symbol. What happens, then, when we bring this kind of background to our reading of Romans 6? We tend to do all we can to minimize baptism. We desperately try to keep water out of the passage. We interpret “baptism” as a metaphor for an overwhelming experience or as shorthand for “baptism in the Spirit.”
If water cannot absolutely be excluded, we make sure to confine its significance to the realm of the symbolic. Baptism, so the popular teaching goes, is a picture of our conversion. As we go down under the water, we symbolize our death to the old life; when we emerge again from the water, we symbolize our entrance into the new life of Christ. In baptism, therefore, we act out experiences that Christ went through: As he died, was buried, and was raised, so we, in baptism, do the same things.
But there is another side to our current context we must consider. While the dominant move among evangelicals has been away from sacramental ideas, the opposite current, growing recently, is also evident: Evangelicals who grew up in nonsacramental traditions have come to think that baptism and the Lord’s Supper are far more important than they used to think. Such Christians, who may attend Lutheran or Episcopal churches, have a vested interest in finding as much water as possible in Romans 6 and in general giving to baptism an important role in Christian experience. I am not myself among their number. But I now think that I overreacted against my sacramental upbringing in the enthusiasm of my postconversion joy.
Thus, along with every other reader of Romans 6, I bring certain baggage to this text. We need to recognize that baggage and not to let it determine our interpretation. The more radical postmodern thinkers are convinced that we cannot do it; as a result, what we get out of Romans 6 will be exactly what we bring to it (“reader-response”). I am more optimistic about our ability to be objective about the meaning of texts—particularly when we engage in discussion with people from other perspectives and when we ask the Holy Spirit to keep us from error. Whether I have succeeded in being objective is a question you all will have to answer as you consider what I say regarding this text. But let me reiterate briefly why I do not think we can keep water out of the passage or confine baptism to a symbol only.
Consider carefully the wording of verse 4a: “We were therefore buried with him through baptism into death….” Note these three points. (1) Baptisma, the word used here, almost always denotes water baptism (see Matt. 3:7; 21:25; Mark 1:4; 10:38, 39; 11:30; Luke 3:3; 7:29; 12:50; 20:4; Acts 1:22; 10:37; 13:24; 18:25; 19:3, 4; Rom. 6:4; Eph. 4:5; 1 Peter 3:21).16 (2) Baptism does not symbolize our being buried with Christ; it is the means “through” which we were identified with him. (3) We are not buried as Christ was buried; we are buried with Christ. It seems to me, therefore, that we cannot escape the conclusion that Paul presents water baptism here as the means by which we are brought into relationship with Christ. My sense that baptism in Romans 6 is more important than many evangelicals have recognized is confirmed by other texts that move in the same direction (see esp. Acts 2:38; 8:36, 38; Col. 2:12; 1 Peter 3:21).
Does Romans 6, then, teach a full-blown sacramental view of baptism? Many interpreters think so: In baptism, God acts by grace to bring people into relationship with himself. But two things make me wary of going that far. (1) Paul himself does not make baptism a prominent part of his own ministry: “Christ did not send me to baptize, but to preach the gospel—not with words of human wisdom, lest the cross of Christ be emptied of its power” (1 Cor. 1:17). (2) Paul has to this point in Romans highlighted the personal decision of faith as the critical means by which we get into relationship with God. Baptism is mentioned, in passing, in only these two verses.
At this point, then, we need to look carefully at the other “context”: the New Testament teaching on baptism. Although the issue is debated, the studies of James Dunn have convinced me of one critical point: The New Testament presents water baptism as one component of a larger experience, which Dunn calls “conversion-initiation.”17 Faith, repentance, water baptism, and the gift of the Holy Spirit are the four key elements of this “coming to Christ” experience.
What is especially important for our understanding of Romans 6 is that New Testament authors can refer to one of these elements and presume the others. We can therefore explain why Luke uses such a variety of expressions to describe people who come to Christ in the book of Acts: faith (Acts 14:1; 15:11; 16:1), repentance (3:19; 17:30; 26:20), repentance, water baptism, and the gift of the Spirit (2:38), and the gift of the Spirit and water baptism (10:45–48; 19:2–7). This broader New Testament context gives us the right to presume that when Paul refers to baptism in Romans 6:3–4, he intends to include faith, repentance, and the gift of the Spirit.
Baptism for Paul and the other New Testament writers had significance only as one part of a larger experience. It set the seal on one’s conversion. Therefore, baptism in Romans 6 stands, by synecdoche, for the entire conversion experience. One gets into relationship with God not by baptism in itself but by conversion, of which baptism is one key element.
Contemporary Significance
THE SIGNIFICANCE OF BAPTISM. Thus far, we have given only superficial consideration to a complex subject. Clearly, we are in no position to draw sweeping conclusions about the meaning of baptism. But at the risk of outrunning our exegetical data, let me venture three suggestions.
(1) Many evangelicals must give more attention to a theology of baptism. For reasons outlined above, many of us are suspicious of baptism. We worry that people will think they can become Christians (or make their children into Christians) simply by going through an external rite. I can appreciate the concern. Many churches present baptism in such a light, and we are right to fear the deadening influence of an external sacramentalism on evangelism, Christian experience, and the life of the church.
But a concern about an excess in one direction does not justify an excess in the other. I have attended churches in which baptism is rarely mentioned. More often, churches practice or even emphasize baptism but give no explanation for why it is done. Christ commanded us to do it, so we do it. But we really have no idea—or so we imply—why we are doing it. The evangelical church as a whole is marked by a poverty of any kind of theology of baptism and the Lord’s Supper. To be sure, there is some reason for this. The New Testament says little explicitly about baptism; its significance has to be teased out from indirect references and broad theological perspectives. But we who are Christian theologians, pastors, and leaders owe it to the church to develop a biblical and coherent explanation of baptism.
(2) If I am right about Romans 6, baptism is an important part of the conversion experience. To use biblical imagery, it sets a seal on that experience. Thus, baptism in water should probably be administered to a person as shortly after that person’s coming to faith in Christ as possible. Acts 8 is instructive in this regard. After bringing the Ethiopian court official to faith, Philip does not enroll him in a series of baptismal classes; he baptizes him, out in the middle of the desert, right on the spot (Acts 8:36–38).
Of course, we often have good reason to delay baptism after conversion. In the modern church, logistics can play a role: We have to wait for the baptismal tank to be filled. There are theological concerns as well: New converts, we think, need to understand their baptism before experiencing it. What we practice will be the reflection of our theology. The more we emphasize the symbolic value of baptism, the more its efficacy will depend on the ability of the person being baptized to understand it. Thus, we feel some degree of instruction is important.
But if we think that baptism focuses on something God is doing for us, then our ability to understand what is happening is not as crucial. God will work however little or much we understand. Of course, we do not want simply to go through the rite without any concern at all about whether people understand it. But instruction is less important.
(3) Another vexing issue arises here: How about children? Should very young children be baptized if we think they are genuinely converted? A blanket conclusion is out of order. Too many specific factors make every situation different. For instance, many children will want to be baptized because their parents are pressuring them to do so or because they want to do what other children their age are doing. Careful and wise evaluation of each child’s spiritual condition and motivations is obviously needed. But my own belief is that, where circumstances permit, children who are genuinely converted should be baptized.
In sketching briefly my own spiritual pilgrimage in the Bridging Contexts section, I mentioned I was baptized shortly after being converted in college. This was no accident: I became involved after my conversion in a church that insisted a person had to be baptized in order to be saved. I have often dialogued with pastors and theologians who hold this perspective over the years (hearing my views, they apparently think I am a “kindred spirit”!). I respect their view and understand their logic. But I think they have gone beyond the evidence.
To be sure, I have argued that water baptism is part of the conversion experience. But “experience” is an important word. When one asks Paul what a person must do to be a Christian, his answer is clear: believe in the Lord Jesus. God responds to our faith (which, rightly understood, includes repentance) with the gift of his Spirit. A person is a Christian, destined for salvation (see Rom. 5:9–10) from that point on. Water baptism should then follow. It is always dangerous to put words into the mouth of a scriptural author, but I think if Paul had ever been asked about an “unbaptized believer,” he would have responded: “Well, yes, such a person is saved; but why in the world isn’t she baptized?”
“Old self”/“new self.” In verse 6 Paul proclaims that “our old self [has been] crucified with [Christ].” This verse, along with several others in which Paul uses similar imagery (Eph. 4:22–24; Col. 3:9–11), has been the basis for some popular views of the Christian life. I want briefly to sketch two popular options and then comment on them in light of Romans 6.
A particularly widespread view, taught by some theologians and by one of the most effective campus ministries, is the “two-nature” approach. What Paul teaches here is that the believer’s old “sin nature” is dealt a deathblow at conversion. That nature still exists but is no longer dominant, for the believer also possesses a new nature. Progress in the Christian life comes as one uses spiritual disciplines to foster the growth of the new nature and the gradual diminution of the old.
At the other extreme is what we might call the “new creation” view. This language comes from 2 Corinthians 5:17, one of the key texts used to support this view: “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come!” Adherents of this approach claim that the first view does not do justice to Romans 6:6. For Paul claims here that the “old self” has been crucified—not just reduced in power, but actually put to death. When a person comes to Christ, that “old self” is done away with; what is left is the “new self.” Progress in the Christian life comes, then, not by way of struggle (as adherents of this view think the first view teaches) but by “letting go and letting God” do the work. Since we are a “new creation,” all we need to do is let our new, “natural” person take over. We will automatically do what pleases God.
In trying to present the differences in these two views, I am no doubt guilty of some caricature. Many thoughtful adherents of each of these perspectives will protest that their own position is far more nuanced than I have suggested. Nevertheless, I have certainly read books and heard sermons and lectures that presented these views pretty much as I have described them. The question to ask here is which of these views does justice to Romans 6:6 and other passages about “old self”/“new self.” My answer? Neither. For what both views assume is that “old self” has a kind of “ontological” meaning: Either it refers to one part of ourselves or our whole being.
What I suggest is that “old self” is a relational and corporate concept. It does not refer to a part of us or to a nature within us. Rather, it is Paul’s way of describing our sinful condition as children of Adam. What is crucified, then, is that relationship. Our tie to Adam is dissolved; he and the sin and death he represents no longer dictate terms to us. Moreover, if the “old self” is Adam as corporate head of the human race, then the “new self” is Christ, corporate head of the church.
That this thinking is on the right track is suggested by the way Paul can use “new self” language to describe Christ (Eph. 4:13) and the Christian community (Eph. 2:15; Col. 3:10–11). Progress in the Christian life will come as we learn to live out the new relationship God has put us in. We belong to a new corporate structure or regime, dominated by Christ and not by Adam. That new relationship provides, in principle, for all the power we need to stop sinning and to live to God’s glory.
What some of the traditional options have missed, then, is the corporate and relational nature of Paul’s concept of salvation and the Christian life. In Romans 5–8 especially Paul uses a contrast in two eras or regimes to picture the difference between life outside of Christ and life in Christ. God, to be sure, is at work to change us from within, as Paul will show in chapter 8 in talking about the work of the Holy Spirit. But at this point the governing idea is not that God changes us inside, but that he moves us from one regime to another. In dying to sin, we have a new position with respect to sin. It no longer rules over us and dictates our conduct. Our “old self,” in other words, has been crucified; our Adamic servitude has been decisively and irreversibly ended.
I know of no better illustration for the overall idea Paul presents in Romans 6 than Martin Lloyd-Jones’s analogy of the two fields. He asks us to consider a typical British country scene, with two fields enclosed by high rock walls. Every person begins life in one of those fields—a field ruled over by Satan and sin. We have no chance of scaling the walls and escaping the field on our own. But God, in his grace, reaches down and takes us out of that Satan-dominated field and sets us down in the adjacent field—a field ruled by Christ and by righteousness. A decisive change in our position has taken place—we are in whole new relationship to sin.
However, as Lloyd-Jones points out, we can still hear Satan calling across the wall from that old field where we used to live. Out of long habit, we sometimes still obey his voice, even though we don’t have to. This captures well the combination of decisive change in status along with continuing openness to sin that marks Paul’s teaching in Romans 6. If I may extend the illustration, we overcome sin by moving further and further away from the wall dividing the fields so that the voice of Satan grows fainter.
Original Meaning
The Results of Being Raised with Christ (6:8–10)
IN VERSE 8, Paul shows that living with Christ automatically follows dying with him. The one always includes the other. As in verse 5, many interpreters think that living with Christ is something a believer has already experienced. But the future tense again more likely refers to that coming Day when believers will be bodily raised with Christ. But while our bodily resurrection lies in the future, we enjoy even now the benefits of Christ’s resurrection.
In verse 9 Paul explains just what Christ’s own resurrection means: He now lives in a state in which death is no longer possible and has no power over him. He has conquered death and, Paul implies, we who belong to him also have the assurance of conquering death.
Paul returns to his main point in verse 10, which functions as kind of a “bottom line” for much of what he has argued in this paragraph. When Christ himself died, he “died to sin”; in his having come to life, he now lives “to God.” The claim that Christ “died to sin” is difficult, for Paul has used this language in verse 2 of sinful people who need to be rescued from sin’s domination. Why would Christ, the sinless one, have to “die to sin”? Thus, some interpreters think that death to sin in this verse refers to his atoning work: He “affected sin” by dying, bearing the penalty of sin for us all.10
But it is better to refer the striking language of “death to sin” to the same thing throughout this passage if we can. True, Jesus was not held under sin’s power in a way that turned him into a sinner. But as a result of his real identification with human beings, he was subject to the power of sin. He was therefore tempted as we are (Heb. 2:14–17). In this sense, he, too, needed to “die” to sin’s power. We can, therefore, maintain the general parallelism between Christ’s death and ours with him. Similarly, Paul does not imply that Christ ever lived without seeking God’s good and glory. But his resurrection gave him new power to carry out God’s will and purposes.
Bridging Contexts
THOUGHTS ON BAPTISM. Romans 6:1–14 is rich in theology and practical insight. Our understanding of the Christian life owes much to this text. Yet one of the most controversial elements in this passage is mentioned only in passing: baptism (vv. 3–4). The debate surrounding the significance of baptism in these verses affords a classic example of the way our reading of the New Testament is affected by our own background and theology. In the Bridging Contexts sections in this commentary we have often focused on the first-century context. But, as the word “bridging” and the plural “contexts” indicates, this section must tackle not only the context of the writers but also the context of the readers of the New Testament.
As postmodernism has emphasized (to an extreme and unnecessary degree at times), every reader brings his or her own context to a text. Each of us reads the New Testament out of our own situation—children of certain parents, members of a certain church, adherents of a particular theology. We cannot, of course, escape our context, but we can recognize what it is and allow for it as we read the New Testament so that we do not simply read our own biases into the text. The significance of baptism in 6:3–4 is a classic case in point. Establishing the first-century context by getting some idea of the general New Testament teaching on baptism is necessary if we are to interpret these verses accurately. Yet even before we turn to the first-century context, we need to consider briefly the “contexts” each of us brings to our reading of the passage.
Baptism has been, and still is, a controversial issue among Christians. Many of us have strongly held beliefs on baptism, often established in deliberate distinction to the views of other Christians. My own spiritual pilgrimage reflects a common pattern in the understanding of baptism. I was baptized as an infant in the Lutheran church in which I was raised. My later confirmation class presented the truth of the gospel clearly, but it did not really come home to me. I was confirmed anyway and assumed that the spiritual side of my life was taken care of. But almost a decade later I realized that this was not the case. Through campus friends, the Spirit made clear that I did not really have a relationship with God and that I could only find such a relationship by committing myself personally to Jesus Christ.
My own spiritual obduracy was no doubt much at fault for my failure to understand this personal dimension of Christian faith as I was growing up. But I also blamed the Lutheran church for failing to make this as clear as it might have been. A key focus of my blame was the impression I was given that the rites of baptism, confirmation, and Communion provided for all my spiritual needs. Thus, when I truly came to know Christ in college, I was baptized, convinced that my infant baptism had no value at all. In getting to know thousands of students at my seminary over the last twenty-five years and in interviewing applicants for membership in my local church, I have heard this kind of story again and again.
The point, then, is this: There exists among evangelical Christians a strong bias against any hint of sacramentalism. Too much emphasis on rites such as baptism and the Lord’s Supper can undercut the paramount need for a personal and meaningful engagement with God in Christ. Baptism is to be administered only to people who have come to faith, and it is only a symbol. What happens, then, when we bring this kind of background to our reading of Romans 6? We tend to do all we can to minimize baptism. We desperately try to keep water out of the passage. We interpret “baptism” as a metaphor for an overwhelming experience or as shorthand for “baptism in the Spirit.”
If water cannot absolutely be excluded, we make sure to confine its significance to the realm of the symbolic. Baptism, so the popular teaching goes, is a picture of our conversion. As we go down under the water, we symbolize our death to the old life; when we emerge again from the water, we symbolize our entrance into the new life of Christ. In baptism, therefore, we act out experiences that Christ went through: As he died, was buried, and was raised, so we, in baptism, do the same things.
But there is another side to our current context we must consider. While the dominant move among evangelicals has been away from sacramental ideas, the opposite current, growing recently, is also evident: Evangelicals who grew up in nonsacramental traditions have come to think that baptism and the Lord’s Supper are far more important than they used to think. Such Christians, who may attend Lutheran or Episcopal churches, have a vested interest in finding as much water as possible in Romans 6 and in general giving to baptism an important role in Christian experience. I am not myself among their number. But I now think that I overreacted against my sacramental upbringing in the enthusiasm of my postconversion joy.
Thus, along with every other reader of Romans 6, I bring certain baggage to this text. We need to recognize that baggage and not to let it determine our interpretation. The more radical postmodern thinkers are convinced that we cannot do it; as a result, what we get out of Romans 6 will be exactly what we bring to it (“reader-response”). I am more optimistic about our ability to be objective about the meaning of texts—particularly when we engage in discussion with people from other perspectives and when we ask the Holy Spirit to keep us from error. Whether I have succeeded in being objective is a question you all will have to answer as you consider what I say regarding this text. But let me reiterate briefly why I do not think we can keep water out of the passage or confine baptism to a symbol only.
Consider carefully the wording of verse 4a: “We were therefore buried with him through baptism into death….” Note these three points. (1) Baptisma, the word used here, almost always denotes water baptism (see Matt. 3:7; 21:25; Mark 1:4; 10:38, 39; 11:30; Luke 3:3; 7:29; 12:50; 20:4; Acts 1:22; 10:37; 13:24; 18:25; 19:3, 4; Rom. 6:4; Eph. 4:5; 1 Peter 3:21).16 (2) Baptism does not symbolize our being buried with Christ; it is the means “through” which we were identified with him. (3) We are not buried as Christ was buried; we are buried with Christ. It seems to me, therefore, that we cannot escape the conclusion that Paul presents water baptism here as the means by which we are brought into relationship with Christ. My sense that baptism in Romans 6 is more important than many evangelicals have recognized is confirmed by other texts that move in the same direction (see esp. Acts 2:38; 8:36, 38; Col. 2:12; 1 Peter 3:21).
Does Romans 6, then, teach a full-blown sacramental view of baptism? Many interpreters think so: In baptism, God acts by grace to bring people into relationship with himself. But two things make me wary of going that far. (1) Paul himself does not make baptism a prominent part of his own ministry: “Christ did not send me to baptize, but to preach the gospel—not with words of human wisdom, lest the cross of Christ be emptied of its power” (1 Cor. 1:17). (2) Paul has to this point in Romans highlighted the personal decision of faith as the critical means by which we get into relationship with God. Baptism is mentioned, in passing, in only these two verses.
At this point, then, we need to look carefully at the other “context”: the New Testament teaching on baptism. Although the issue is debated, the studies of James Dunn have convinced me of one critical point: The New Testament presents water baptism as one component of a larger experience, which Dunn calls “conversion-initiation.”17 Faith, repentance, water baptism, and the gift of the Holy Spirit are the four key elements of this “coming to Christ” experience.
What is especially important for our understanding of Romans 6 is that New Testament authors can refer to one of these elements and presume the others. We can therefore explain why Luke uses such a variety of expressions to describe people who come to Christ in the book of Acts: faith (Acts 14:1; 15:11; 16:1), repentance (3:19; 17:30; 26:20), repentance, water baptism, and the gift of the Spirit (2:38), and the gift of the Spirit and water baptism (10:45–48; 19:2–7). This broader New Testament context gives us the right to presume that when Paul refers to baptism in Romans 6:3–4, he intends to include faith, repentance, and the gift of the Spirit.
Baptism for Paul and the other New Testament writers had significance only as one part of a larger experience. It set the seal on one’s conversion. Therefore, baptism in Romans 6 stands, by synecdoche, for the entire conversion experience. One gets into relationship with God not by baptism in itself but by conversion, of which baptism is one key element.
Contemporary Significance
THE SIGNIFICANCE OF BAPTISM. Thus far, we have given only superficial consideration to a complex subject. Clearly, we are in no position to draw sweeping conclusions about the meaning of baptism. But at the risk of outrunning our exegetical data, let me venture three suggestions.
(1) Many evangelicals must give more attention to a theology of baptism. For reasons outlined above, many of us are suspicious of baptism. We worry that people will think they can become Christians (or make their children into Christians) simply by going through an external rite. I can appreciate the concern. Many churches present baptism in such a light, and we are right to fear the deadening influence of an external sacramentalism on evangelism, Christian experience, and the life of the church.
But a concern about an excess in one direction does not justify an excess in the other. I have attended churches in which baptism is rarely mentioned. More often, churches practice or even emphasize baptism but give no explanation for why it is done. Christ commanded us to do it, so we do it. But we really have no idea—or so we imply—why we are doing it. The evangelical church as a whole is marked by a poverty of any kind of theology of baptism and the Lord’s Supper. To be sure, there is some reason for this. The New Testament says little explicitly about baptism; its significance has to be teased out from indirect references and broad theological perspectives. But we who are Christian theologians, pastors, and leaders owe it to the church to develop a biblical and coherent explanation of baptism.
(2) If I am right about Romans 6, baptism is an important part of the conversion experience. To use biblical imagery, it sets a seal on that experience. Thus, baptism in water should probably be administered to a person as shortly after that person’s coming to faith in Christ as possible. Acts 8 is instructive in this regard. After bringing the Ethiopian court official to faith, Philip does not enroll him in a series of baptismal classes; he baptizes him, out in the middle of the desert, right on the spot (Acts 8:36–38).
Of course, we often have good reason to delay baptism after conversion. In the modern church, logistics can play a role: We have to wait for the baptismal tank to be filled. There are theological concerns as well: New converts, we think, need to understand their baptism before experiencing it. What we practice will be the reflection of our theology. The more we emphasize the symbolic value of baptism, the more its efficacy will depend on the ability of the person being baptized to understand it. Thus, we feel some degree of instruction is important.
But if we think that baptism focuses on something God is doing for us, then our ability to understand what is happening is not as crucial. God will work however little or much we understand. Of course, we do not want simply to go through the rite without any concern at all about whether people understand it. But instruction is less important.
(3) Another vexing issue arises here: How about children? Should very young children be baptized if we think they are genuinely converted? A blanket conclusion is out of order. Too many specific factors make every situation different. For instance, many children will want to be baptized because their parents are pressuring them to do so or because they want to do what other children their age are doing. Careful and wise evaluation of each child’s spiritual condition and motivations is obviously needed. But my own belief is that, where circumstances permit, children who are genuinely converted should be baptized.
In sketching briefly my own spiritual pilgrimage in the Bridging Contexts section, I mentioned I was baptized shortly after being converted in college. This was no accident: I became involved after my conversion in a church that insisted a person had to be baptized in order to be saved. I have often dialogued with pastors and theologians who hold this perspective over the years (hearing my views, they apparently think I am a “kindred spirit”!). I respect their view and understand their logic. But I think they have gone beyond the evidence.
To be sure, I have argued that water baptism is part of the conversion experience. But “experience” is an important word. When one asks Paul what a person must do to be a Christian, his answer is clear: believe in the Lord Jesus. God responds to our faith (which, rightly understood, includes repentance) with the gift of his Spirit. A person is a Christian, destined for salvation (see Rom. 5:9–10) from that point on. Water baptism should then follow. It is always dangerous to put words into the mouth of a scriptural author, but I think if Paul had ever been asked about an “unbaptized believer,” he would have responded: “Well, yes, such a person is saved; but why in the world isn’t she baptized?”
“Old self”/“new self.” In verse 6 Paul proclaims that “our old self [has been] crucified with [Christ].” This verse, along with several others in which Paul uses similar imagery (Eph. 4:22–24; Col. 3:9–11), has been the basis for some popular views of the Christian life. I want briefly to sketch two popular options and then comment on them in light of Romans 6.
A particularly widespread view, taught by some theologians and by one of the most effective campus ministries, is the “two-nature” approach. What Paul teaches here is that the believer’s old “sin nature” is dealt a deathblow at conversion. That nature still exists but is no longer dominant, for the believer also possesses a new nature. Progress in the Christian life comes as one uses spiritual disciplines to foster the growth of the new nature and the gradual diminution of the old.
At the other extreme is what we might call the “new creation” view. This language comes from 2 Corinthians 5:17, one of the key texts used to support this view: “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come!” Adherents of this approach claim that the first view does not do justice to Romans 6:6. For Paul claims here that the “old self” has been crucified—not just reduced in power, but actually put to death. When a person comes to Christ, that “old self” is done away with; what is left is the “new self.” Progress in the Christian life comes, then, not by way of struggle (as adherents of this view think the first view teaches) but by “letting go and letting God” do the work. Since we are a “new creation,” all we need to do is let our new, “natural” person take over. We will automatically do what pleases God.
In trying to present the differences in these two views, I am no doubt guilty of some caricature. Many thoughtful adherents of each of these perspectives will protest that their own position is far more nuanced than I have suggested. Nevertheless, I have certainly read books and heard sermons and lectures that presented these views pretty much as I have described them. The question to ask here is which of these views does justice to Romans 6:6 and other passages about “old self”/“new self.” My answer? Neither. For what both views assume is that “old self” has a kind of “ontological” meaning: Either it refers to one part of ourselves or our whole being.
What I suggest is that “old self” is a relational and corporate concept. It does not refer to a part of us or to a nature within us. Rather, it is Paul’s way of describing our sinful condition as children of Adam. What is crucified, then, is that relationship. Our tie to Adam is dissolved; he and the sin and death he represents no longer dictate terms to us. Moreover, if the “old self” is Adam as corporate head of the human race, then the “new self” is Christ, corporate head of the church.
That this thinking is on the right track is suggested by the way Paul can use “new self” language to describe Christ (Eph. 4:13) and the Christian community (Eph. 2:15; Col. 3:10–11). Progress in the Christian life will come as we learn to live out the new relationship God has put us in. We belong to a new corporate structure or regime, dominated by Christ and not by Adam. That new relationship provides, in principle, for all the power we need to stop sinning and to live to God’s glory.
What some of the traditional options have missed, then, is the corporate and relational nature of Paul’s concept of salvation and the Christian life. In Romans 5–8 especially Paul uses a contrast in two eras or regimes to picture the difference between life outside of Christ and life in Christ. God, to be sure, is at work to change us from within, as Paul will show in chapter 8 in talking about the work of the Holy Spirit. But at this point the governing idea is not that God changes us inside, but that he moves us from one regime to another. In dying to sin, we have a new position with respect to sin. It no longer rules over us and dictates our conduct. Our “old self,” in other words, has been crucified; our Adamic servitude has been decisively and irreversibly ended.
I know of no better illustration for the overall idea Paul presents in Romans 6 than Martin Lloyd-Jones’s analogy of the two fields. He asks us to consider a typical British country scene, with two fields enclosed by high rock walls. Every person begins life in one of those fields—a field ruled over by Satan and sin. We have no chance of scaling the walls and escaping the field on our own. But God, in his grace, reaches down and takes us out of that Satan-dominated field and sets us down in the adjacent field—a field ruled by Christ and by righteousness. A decisive change in our position has taken place—we are in whole new relationship to sin.
However, as Lloyd-Jones points out, we can still hear Satan calling across the wall from that old field where we used to live. Out of long habit, we sometimes still obey his voice, even though we don’t have to. This captures well the combination of decisive change in status along with continuing openness to sin that marks Paul’s teaching in Romans 6. If I may extend the illustration, we overcome sin by moving further and further away from the wall dividing the fields so that the voice of Satan grows fainter.
Original Meaning
Putting Our New Status into Action (6:11–14)
THE GENERAL STRUCTURE of 6:1–14 reflects a common pattern in Paul: What God has done for us is the basis and stimulus for what we need to do for God. The “indicative” mode, in which Paul tells us of the wonderful redemptive events, leads to the “imperative,” telling us how we are to respond to those events. But verse 11 suggests an intermediate step between these two: coming to grips with the truth of what Paul has been teaching. Only by constantly (the Greek verb is in the present tense) looking at ourselves as people who really have died to sin and been made alive in Christ will we be able to live out the new status God has given us. Since Paul himself uses the imagery of the slave, we may use the analogy of a newly freed slave after the Civil War in America. That slave would know in a certain sense that he or she was liberated, but it might take some time for this truth to penetrate the consciousness in a way that led to changes in behavior.
In verses 12–13, Paul moves into the realm of action. He begins with the negative: We must not let sin “reign” in our lives. Some interpreters think the Greek construction Paul uses means “stop letting sin reign,”11 but this is probably not the case.12 The command is simply, “Don’t let sin reign.”
Here we are faced with the tension between the indicative and the imperative. Paul claims in verse 14 that sin is no longer our master—in effect, sin does not reign. Yet this does not prevent him from commanding us not to let sin reign. Sorting out the exact relationship of these ideas is not easy. But this much can be said: The victory over sin that God has won for us in Christ is a victory that must be appropriated. Putting away those sins that plague us will be no automatic process, something that will happen without our cooperation. No, Paul insists, a determination of our own will is called for to turn what has happened in principle into actuality.
Verse 13 makes the same point in a different way. With the words “instruments” and “parts of your body,” Paul brings before us a picture of all our varied capacities and abilities, which we are to withdraw from the use of our master sin and place at the disposal of our new master, God. It is “righteousness,” that standard of right behavior God reveals to us, that we are now to serve.
Just in case we become overbalanced toward the imperative side, Paul concludes with one more reminder of the “indicative”: “Sin shall not be your master.” The verb here is kyrieuo, from the same root as the word kyrios, “Lord.” By putting the basic point he has made earlier (v. 6) in the form of a promise, Paul emphasizes that our freedom from sin’s power is a continuing state we can look forward to enjoying forever. Why is this? “Because you are not under law, but under grace.”
These words are often quoted as almost a slogan apart from their context, but we must determine what Paul intends them to mean here. One popular view can be eliminated immediately: Paul is not saying that Christians have no commandments for which they are responsible. This view depends on taking “law” in a broad sense to mean any law, or “law” in general. But, as is usually the case in Paul, “law” (nomos) refers to the Mosaic law. Other interpreters think that “under law” means under the condemnation pronounced by the law, and “under grace” means the freedom from condemnation experienced by those who enjoy God’s grace.13 But there seems to be no good reason for adding the nuance “condemnation” here.
Most likely Paul refers generally to the fact that believers no longer live under the domination of the Mosaic law. Because we stand under the new covenant, the law of the old covenant no longer has direct control over us. The contrast between “law” and “grace,” then, is a salvation-historical contrast: The Mosaic law dominates the old regime from which we have been set free in Christ; grace dominates the new regime inaugurated by Jesus.14
We find the same basic contrast in the famous John 1:17 passage: “For the law was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ.” Paul has presented the Mosaic law as a power that leads to sinning (recall Rom. 5:20: “The law was added so that the trespass might increase”). In other words, for believers to be set free from the dominion of sin (6:14a), they need also to be set free from the dominion of the law.15
Bridging Contexts
THOUGHTS ON BAPTISM. Romans 6:1–14 is rich in theology and practical insight. Our understanding of the Christian life owes much to this text. Yet one of the most controversial elements in this passage is mentioned only in passing: baptism (vv. 3–4). The debate surrounding the significance of baptism in these verses affords a classic example of the way our reading of the New Testament is affected by our own background and theology. In the Bridging Contexts sections in this commentary we have often focused on the first-century context. But, as the word “bridging” and the plural “contexts” indicates, this section must tackle not only the context of the writers but also the context of the readers of the New Testament.
As postmodernism has emphasized (to an extreme and unnecessary degree at times), every reader brings his or her own context to a text. Each of us reads the New Testament out of our own situation—children of certain parents, members of a certain church, adherents of a particular theology. We cannot, of course, escape our context, but we can recognize what it is and allow for it as we read the New Testament so that we do not simply read our own biases into the text. The significance of baptism in 6:3–4 is a classic case in point. Establishing the first-century context by getting some idea of the general New Testament teaching on baptism is necessary if we are to interpret these verses accurately. Yet even before we turn to the first-century context, we need to consider briefly the “contexts” each of us brings to our reading of the passage.
Baptism has been, and still is, a controversial issue among Christians. Many of us have strongly held beliefs on baptism, often established in deliberate distinction to the views of other Christians. My own spiritual pilgrimage reflects a common pattern in the understanding of baptism. I was baptized as an infant in the Lutheran church in which I was raised. My later confirmation class presented the truth of the gospel clearly, but it did not really come home to me. I was confirmed anyway and assumed that the spiritual side of my life was taken care of. But almost a decade later I realized that this was not the case. Through campus friends, the Spirit made clear that I did not really have a relationship with God and that I could only find such a relationship by committing myself personally to Jesus Christ.
My own spiritual obduracy was no doubt much at fault for my failure to understand this personal dimension of Christian faith as I was growing up. But I also blamed the Lutheran church for failing to make this as clear as it might have been. A key focus of my blame was the impression I was given that the rites of baptism, confirmation, and Communion provided for all my spiritual needs. Thus, when I truly came to know Christ in college, I was baptized, convinced that my infant baptism had no value at all. In getting to know thousands of students at my seminary over the last twenty-five years and in interviewing applicants for membership in my local church, I have heard this kind of story again and again.
The point, then, is this: There exists among evangelical Christians a strong bias against any hint of sacramentalism. Too much emphasis on rites such as baptism and the Lord’s Supper can undercut the paramount need for a personal and meaningful engagement with God in Christ. Baptism is to be administered only to people who have come to faith, and it is only a symbol. What happens, then, when we bring this kind of background to our reading of Romans 6? We tend to do all we can to minimize baptism. We desperately try to keep water out of the passage. We interpret “baptism” as a metaphor for an overwhelming experience or as shorthand for “baptism in the Spirit.”
If water cannot absolutely be excluded, we make sure to confine its significance to the realm of the symbolic. Baptism, so the popular teaching goes, is a picture of our conversion. As we go down under the water, we symbolize our death to the old life; when we emerge again from the water, we symbolize our entrance into the new life of Christ. In baptism, therefore, we act out experiences that Christ went through: As he died, was buried, and was raised, so we, in baptism, do the same things.
But there is another side to our current context we must consider. While the dominant move among evangelicals has been away from sacramental ideas, the opposite current, growing recently, is also evident: Evangelicals who grew up in nonsacramental traditions have come to think that baptism and the Lord’s Supper are far more important than they used to think. Such Christians, who may attend Lutheran or Episcopal churches, have a vested interest in finding as much water as possible in Romans 6 and in general giving to baptism an important role in Christian experience. I am not myself among their number. But I now think that I overreacted against my sacramental upbringing in the enthusiasm of my postconversion joy.
Thus, along with every other reader of Romans 6, I bring certain baggage to this text. We need to recognize that baggage and not to let it determine our interpretation. The more radical postmodern thinkers are convinced that we cannot do it; as a result, what we get out of Romans 6 will be exactly what we bring to it (“reader-response”). I am more optimistic about our ability to be objective about the meaning of texts—particularly when we engage in discussion with people from other perspectives and when we ask the Holy Spirit to keep us from error. Whether I have succeeded in being objective is a question you all will have to answer as you consider what I say regarding this text. But let me reiterate briefly why I do not think we can keep water out of the passage or confine baptism to a symbol only.
Consider carefully the wording of verse 4a: “We were therefore buried with him through baptism into death….” Note these three points. (1) Baptisma, the word used here, almost always denotes water baptism (see Matt. 3:7; 21:25; Mark 1:4; 10:38, 39; 11:30; Luke 3:3; 7:29; 12:50; 20:4; Acts 1:22; 10:37; 13:24; 18:25; 19:3, 4; Rom. 6:4; Eph. 4:5; 1 Peter 3:21).16 (2) Baptism does not symbolize our being buried with Christ; it is the means “through” which we were identified with him. (3) We are not buried as Christ was buried; we are buried with Christ. It seems to me, therefore, that we cannot escape the conclusion that Paul presents water baptism here as the means by which we are brought into relationship with Christ. My sense that baptism in Romans 6 is more important than many evangelicals have recognized is confirmed by other texts that move in the same direction (see esp. Acts 2:38; 8:36, 38; Col. 2:12; 1 Peter 3:21).
Does Romans 6, then, teach a full-blown sacramental view of baptism? Many interpreters think so: In baptism, God acts by grace to bring people into relationship with himself. But two things make me wary of going that far. (1) Paul himself does not make baptism a prominent part of his own ministry: “Christ did not send me to baptize, but to preach the gospel—not with words of human wisdom, lest the cross of Christ be emptied of its power” (1 Cor. 1:17). (2) Paul has to this point in Romans highlighted the personal decision of faith as the critical means by which we get into relationship with God. Baptism is mentioned, in passing, in only these two verses.
At this point, then, we need to look carefully at the other “context”: the New Testament teaching on baptism. Although the issue is debated, the studies of James Dunn have convinced me of one critical point: The New Testament presents water baptism as one component of a larger experience, which Dunn calls “conversion-initiation.”17 Faith, repentance, water baptism, and the gift of the Holy Spirit are the four key elements of this “coming to Christ” experience.
What is especially important for our understanding of Romans 6 is that New Testament authors can refer to one of these elements and presume the others. We can therefore explain why Luke uses such a variety of expressions to describe people who come to Christ in the book of Acts: faith (Acts 14:1; 15:11; 16:1), repentance (3:19; 17:30; 26:20), repentance, water baptism, and the gift of the Spirit (2:38), and the gift of the Spirit and water baptism (10:45–48; 19:2–7). This broader New Testament context gives us the right to presume that when Paul refers to baptism in Romans 6:3–4, he intends to include faith, repentance, and the gift of the Spirit.
Baptism for Paul and the other New Testament writers had significance only as one part of a larger experience. It set the seal on one’s conversion. Therefore, baptism in Romans 6 stands, by synecdoche, for the entire conversion experience. One gets into relationship with God not by baptism in itself but by conversion, of which baptism is one key element.
Contemporary Significance
THE SIGNIFICANCE OF BAPTISM. Thus far, we have given only superficial consideration to a complex subject. Clearly, we are in no position to draw sweeping conclusions about the meaning of baptism. But at the risk of outrunning our exegetical data, let me venture three suggestions.
(1) Many evangelicals must give more attention to a theology of baptism. For reasons outlined above, many of us are suspicious of baptism. We worry that people will think they can become Christians (or make their children into Christians) simply by going through an external rite. I can appreciate the concern. Many churches present baptism in such a light, and we are right to fear the deadening influence of an external sacramentalism on evangelism, Christian experience, and the life of the church.
But a concern about an excess in one direction does not justify an excess in the other. I have attended churches in which baptism is rarely mentioned. More often, churches practice or even emphasize baptism but give no explanation for why it is done. Christ commanded us to do it, so we do it. But we really have no idea—or so we imply—why we are doing it. The evangelical church as a whole is marked by a poverty of any kind of theology of baptism and the Lord’s Supper. To be sure, there is some reason for this. The New Testament says little explicitly about baptism; its significance has to be teased out from indirect references and broad theological perspectives. But we who are Christian theologians, pastors, and leaders owe it to the church to develop a biblical and coherent explanation of baptism.
(2) If I am right about Romans 6, baptism is an important part of the conversion experience. To use biblical imagery, it sets a seal on that experience. Thus, baptism in water should probably be administered to a person as shortly after that person’s coming to faith in Christ as possible. Acts 8 is instructive in this regard. After bringing the Ethiopian court official to faith, Philip does not enroll him in a series of baptismal classes; he baptizes him, out in the middle of the desert, right on the spot (Acts 8:36–38).
Of course, we often have good reason to delay baptism after conversion. In the modern church, logistics can play a role: We have to wait for the baptismal tank to be filled. There are theological concerns as well: New converts, we think, need to understand their baptism before experiencing it. What we practice will be the reflection of our theology. The more we emphasize the symbolic value of baptism, the more its efficacy will depend on the ability of the person being baptized to understand it. Thus, we feel some degree of instruction is important.
But if we think that baptism focuses on something God is doing for us, then our ability to understand what is happening is not as crucial. God will work however little or much we understand. Of course, we do not want simply to go through the rite without any concern at all about whether people understand it. But instruction is less important.
(3) Another vexing issue arises here: How about children? Should very young children be baptized if we think they are genuinely converted? A blanket conclusion is out of order. Too many specific factors make every situation different. For instance, many children will want to be baptized because their parents are pressuring them to do so or because they want to do what other children their age are doing. Careful and wise evaluation of each child’s spiritual condition and motivations is obviously needed. But my own belief is that, where circumstances permit, children who are genuinely converted should be baptized.
In sketching briefly my own spiritual pilgrimage in the Bridging Contexts section, I mentioned I was baptized shortly after being converted in college. This was no accident: I became involved after my conversion in a church that insisted a person had to be baptized in order to be saved. I have often dialogued with pastors and theologians who hold this perspective over the years (hearing my views, they apparently think I am a “kindred spirit”!). I respect their view and understand their logic. But I think they have gone beyond the evidence.
To be sure, I have argued that water baptism is part of the conversion experience. But “experience” is an important word. When one asks Paul what a person must do to be a Christian, his answer is clear: believe in the Lord Jesus. God responds to our faith (which, rightly understood, includes repentance) with the gift of his Spirit. A person is a Christian, destined for salvation (see Rom. 5:9–10) from that point on. Water baptism should then follow. It is always dangerous to put words into the mouth of a scriptural author, but I think if Paul had ever been asked about an “unbaptized believer,” he would have responded: “Well, yes, such a person is saved; but why in the world isn’t she baptized?”
“Old self”/“new self.” In verse 6 Paul proclaims that “our old self [has been] crucified with [Christ].” This verse, along with several others in which Paul uses similar imagery (Eph. 4:22–24; Col. 3:9–11), has been the basis for some popular views of the Christian life. I want briefly to sketch two popular options and then comment on them in light of Romans 6.
A particularly widespread view, taught by some theologians and by one of the most effective campus ministries, is the “two-nature” approach. What Paul teaches here is that the believer’s old “sin nature” is dealt a deathblow at conversion. That nature still exists but is no longer dominant, for the believer also possesses a new nature. Progress in the Christian life comes as one uses spiritual disciplines to foster the growth of the new nature and the gradual diminution of the old.
At the other extreme is what we might call the “new creation” view. This language comes from 2 Corinthians 5:17, one of the key texts used to support this view: “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come!” Adherents of this approach claim that the first view does not do justice to Romans 6:6. For Paul claims here that the “old self” has been crucified—not just reduced in power, but actually put to death. When a person comes to Christ, that “old self” is done away with; what is left is the “new self.” Progress in the Christian life comes, then, not by way of struggle (as adherents of this view think the first view teaches) but by “letting go and letting God” do the work. Since we are a “new creation,” all we need to do is let our new, “natural” person take over. We will automatically do what pleases God.
In trying to present the differences in these two views, I am no doubt guilty of some caricature. Many thoughtful adherents of each of these perspectives will protest that their own position is far more nuanced than I have suggested. Nevertheless, I have certainly read books and heard sermons and lectures that presented these views pretty much as I have described them. The question to ask here is which of these views does justice to Romans 6:6 and other passages about “old self”/“new self.” My answer? Neither. For what both views assume is that “old self” has a kind of “ontological” meaning: Either it refers to one part of ourselves or our whole being.
What I suggest is that “old self” is a relational and corporate concept. It does not refer to a part of us or to a nature within us. Rather, it is Paul’s way of describing our sinful condition as children of Adam. What is crucified, then, is that relationship. Our tie to Adam is dissolved; he and the sin and death he represents no longer dictate terms to us. Moreover, if the “old self” is Adam as corporate head of the human race, then the “new self” is Christ, corporate head of the church.
That this thinking is on the right track is suggested by the way Paul can use “new self” language to describe Christ (Eph. 4:13) and the Christian community (Eph. 2:15; Col. 3:10–11). Progress in the Christian life will come as we learn to live out the new relationship God has put us in. We belong to a new corporate structure or regime, dominated by Christ and not by Adam. That new relationship provides, in principle, for all the power we need to stop sinning and to live to God’s glory.
What some of the traditional options have missed, then, is the corporate and relational nature of Paul’s concept of salvation and the Christian life. In Romans 5–8 especially Paul uses a contrast in two eras or regimes to picture the difference between life outside of Christ and life in Christ. God, to be sure, is at work to change us from within, as Paul will show in chapter 8 in talking about the work of the Holy Spirit. But at this point the governing idea is not that God changes us inside, but that he moves us from one regime to another. In dying to sin, we have a new position with respect to sin. It no longer rules over us and dictates our conduct. Our “old self,” in other words, has been crucified; our Adamic servitude has been decisively and irreversibly ended.
I know of no better illustration for the overall idea Paul presents in Romans 6 than Martin Lloyd-Jones’s analogy of the two fields. He asks us to consider a typical British country scene, with two fields enclosed by high rock walls. Every person begins life in one of those fields—a field ruled over by Satan and sin. We have no chance of scaling the walls and escaping the field on our own. But God, in his grace, reaches down and takes us out of that Satan-dominated field and sets us down in the adjacent field—a field ruled by Christ and by righteousness. A decisive change in our position has taken place—we are in whole new relationship to sin.
However, as Lloyd-Jones points out, we can still hear Satan calling across the wall from that old field where we used to live. Out of long habit, we sometimes still obey his voice, even though we don’t have to. This captures well the combination of decisive change in status along with continuing openness to sin that marks Paul’s teaching in Romans 6. If I may extend the illustration, we overcome sin by moving further and further away from the wall dividing the fields so that the voice of Satan grows fainter.