15. Regeneration Before Faith
Regeneration Before Faith 1. The earliest work of grace needed a better name than
"penitence."
2. The nature and place of conversion (resipiscentia) in the order of salvation had to be reconsidered.
C alvin taught that faith is the first fruit of grace, while regeneration refers broadly to being made new in God's image. Other theologians used terms like conversion, renewal, or resuscitation to describe this first act of grace, often giving these terms a more specific meaning than before.
Reformed theology came to understand that something had to happen before a person could believe. Faith and repentance are not human accomplishments but the result of a prior work of God. Scripture teaches that we are spiritually dead in sin—completely unable to believe on our own. Therefore, the Holy Spirit must act first, planting the seed of new life in the heart.
This had practical implications. For instance, against the Anabaptists— who denied baptism to infants because they could not yet believe—the Reformers insisted that the children of believers were included in the covenant of grace. Even if they could not express faith yet, they could still possess the principle of faith by the Spirit's work. Therefore, they too should be baptized, and if they died in infancy, they were saved.
Likewise, adults can go through seasons when they struggle to actively exercise faith, yet still possess the gift of faith within. All of this points to the need for a distinction between the Spirit's inner work and the fruit it produces. In this view, regeneration comes first—it is the new birth itself— and faith flows from it. As one Reformed theologian said, "Regeneration happens before faith, which is the result of it."
Gradual and Gentle Grace Reformed theology also recognized that conversion doesn't always happen suddenly or dramatically. While some believers are converted later in life through powerful experiences, many covenant children are quietly regenerated at a young age. For them, coming to faith and turning from sin is often a gradual and gentle process, unfolding as they grow.
This means true conversion doesn't always involve a specific moment or emotional crisis. It can be "like the dawn," slowly bringing light. Believers don't need to pinpoint the exact moment they were born again. Instead, the evidence is seen in a life of growing repentance and faith—a daily dying to sin and rising to new life. That's why Reformed theology places conversion not at the start of the Christian life but within the lifelong process of sanctification, as an ongoing renewal of the heart.
Justification and Faith: The Right Order
Some Reformed theologians also wrestled with the proper order of faith and justification. When some teachers (especially the Neonomians) began to treat faith as a condition humans must fulfill to be justified, others pushed back. If faith is something we must contribute before we are accepted by God, they argued, then salvation is no longer a free gift.
Instead, they said, faith itself is a gift of God, the result of His grace—not something we offer in exchange for forgiveness. Therefore, justification— being declared righteous by God—must in some sense precede faith. We are justified because of Christ, and because of that justification, we receive faith. Justification flows not from what we do but from our union with Christ.
Some even spoke of an "eternal justification," pointing to God's eternal decree to unite believers to Christ and count His righteousness as theirs. But Reformed theology, while recognizing this as a theological truth, avoided placing justification entirely within God's eternal counsel. To protect the gospel from antinomian abuse (which rejected the need for repentance or obedience), justification was firmly tied to the believer's union with Christ through faith—realized in time, though rooted in eternity.
The Need for Real Conversion Finally, Bavinck notes that in a healthy church, it's reasonable to expect many covenant children to be regenerated young and grow in grace gradually. But in times when the church is worldly and shallow, and when many professing Christians live without fruit, it's essential to call people to true conversion—to a heart changed by God, not just outward conformity or historical knowledge of Christian truth.
Movements like Pietism and Methodism, with their emphasis on personal renewal and heartfelt faith, have their place—especially when the church
becomes cold or complacent. In every age, what matters most is not merely being part of the church externally, but being united to Christ by faith and transformed by the power of the Holy Spirit.
Religious Experience and the Question of Truth The spiritual awakenings brought about by various revivals gave rise to a new area of study known as the psychology of religion. Some even hoped it could replace theology and philosophy of religion altogether. But while it is entirely appropriate to study religious experience from a psychological perspective—as long as it's done with care and reverence—this approach has limits.
While there's more to reality than just our perception of it, our understanding of the world comes through our consciousness. So it's valid to study religious experience subjectively—what people think and feel— just as we study art, morality, or community. This kind of study can offer helpful insights for pastors, teachers, missionaries, and caregivers. It can explore, for example, how religious experiences differ across age groups, how conversion relates to life stages like puberty, or how the hidden workings of the soul might influence spiritual awakening.
However, the psychology of religion is still in its early stages. And sometimes, it reaches conclusions too quickly. Studies are often based on small samples—just dozens or hundreds of people. But what about the millions who aren't studied, whose stories might challenge the idea that religious experience naturally follows certain psychological patterns? Also, even the most honest personal testimonies—like journals, conversion stories, or spiritual autobiographies—must be treated with caution. People
often misunderstand themselves, and the line between what we feel and what's truly happening in our souls is not always clear.
In addition, these personal accounts often use the same words to mean very different things. Trying to reduce such varied experiences to simple patterns or fixed laws is difficult—perhaps impossible. That's why, in the broader study of religion, as in history or sociology, attempts to discover universal laws have often failed.
For example, while there may be a link between spiritual awakening and adolescence, we don't really know the nature of that link. And while many conversions do happen during puberty, plenty happen earlier or later.
Sudden conversions might be more common in some church traditions, but they're not the norm everywhere. Some denominations, in fact, don't emphasize sudden conversions at all.
Moreover, many adults who look back on their childhood faith speak not of spiritual gain but of loss. And the same developmental window in which some experience religious awakening is also when others fall into addiction or criminal behavior. If we insist that all conversion is simply a psychological shift tied to adolescence, then we lose the meaning of true spiritual change and end up calling any shift in consciousness
"conversion"—even if it moves someone away from God rather than toward Him.
Psychology can help us understand how conversion sometimes happens, under what conditions, and what forms it might take. But it cannot tell us what true conversion actually is—or distinguish it from a false one. It cannot explain why two people raised in the same godly home have different outcomes: one is transformed by God's grace, and the other walks
away. It has no standard for what is real or counterfeit, no ability to measure the difference between worldly sorrow and godly repentance.
Only God's Word can reveal the true nature of conversion.
That's why it's misguided—indeed, arrogant—for some psychologists to claim that conversion is purely a natural process, with no divine element involved. Psychology can observe the surface of religious behavior, but it cannot reach into the heart, where God's Spirit works. It cannot detect the point where the finite soul meets the infinite God.
What happens deep within the human soul—beyond our consciousness, beyond even our will—is a mystery. Sometimes, people experience sudden conversions, but psychology itself admits these are often tied to earlier, unnoticed spiritual impressions. In doing so, it actually affirms what the church has long taught: there is a difference between regeneration (God's secret work in the heart) and conversion (the outward turning to God in response).
In the end, only God—by His revelation—can define and accomplish true conversion. And the church must never surrender that truth to psychology, no matter how useful its tools may be.
Religious Experience and the Question of Truth When the psychology of religion insists that all religious experience must be explained purely in psychological terms, it risks distorting—and even destroying—the very thing it's trying to understand. Take prayer, for example. At its heart, prayer is based on a deep conviction that God exists, that He is personal, and that He hears and answers us. But if the psychologist insists on explaining prayer without acknowledging that reality—reducing it to a mere mental or emotional process—they strip
prayer of its true meaning. It would be like trying to study music without sound or love without relationship.
In doing so, this approach becomes self-defeating. Just as extreme idealism, which doubts the reality of the world we see and touch, ends up undermining all knowledge, so too does a purely psychological view of religion reduce it to illusion—something less than what it is.
This also explains why psychology, by itself, can never determine whether religion is actually true. Religious experience, like morality or beauty, includes both what is genuine and what is misguided or even unhealthy. So how can we tell the difference? Either we must bring in a standard from outside of psychology, or we must try to find one within religious experience itself.
That's where pragmatism steps in, especially in the thinking of William James. For pragmatism, truth is judged not by its origins, but by its effects.
James says we should measure religion by its fruit, by what it produces in life. He describes religion as one of the great biological powers of the human race—a force that energizes us, not because of who God is, but because of how we "use" God to improve life. In this view, God isn't someone to know, but a tool to help us live more fully.
But this is a troubling position. It reverses the focus from God to ourselves. It no longer asks what is true but what is useful. And even then, it fails to solve the problem. If we judge religion by how much "life" it brings, how do we measure that? Is Christianity more life-giving than
Islam? Does superstition count, since it thrives in many cultures? If "value" proves "truth," how do we define that value? What if people disagree on what is good or meaningful? Unless there is an objective standard, we end
up going in circles. Pragmatism collapses into itself unless it admits that something more than usefulness must determine what is true.
Even James, toward the end of his life, realized this limitation. He acknowledged that neither theology nor philosophy could fully prove God's existence. But he suggested that while our intellect can only know appearances, our heart—our inner sense of desire, love, and will—can bring us into contact with deeper reality. "The heart has its reasons," he said,
"which reason does not know."
Yet in making this claim, James turned back to the very mysticism he once rejected. He divided human nature between intellect and emotion, and divided the world between what appears and what truly is. He tried to reach
God by feelings alone—through the hidden movements of the soul—and said that God's grace might slip quietly into our lives "through the subliminal door." In this, he saw himself as a kind of supernaturalist, though in a very soft, modern sense.
Still, what James discovered through this emotional route was minimal.
He concluded only that there is something more beyond science—a deeper spiritual reality behind the surface of life. But what that "something more" is, no one agrees. Everyone interprets it differently, forming their own ideas of God and religion. James called these personal interpretations
"overbeliefs"—deeply held convictions that are necessary for living but cannot claim to be objectively true.
In the end, this leaves us with a view of religion where each person must create their own version of God, shaped by personal feeling and usefulness.
And even then, it's not clear that such religious experience points to one true God at all. Perhaps, James suggests, the diversity of human experience
is better explained by many gods. In this light, polytheism seems more honest, more suited to the wide variety of human religious feeling.
But this is where Christian faith must take a different path. The God of Scripture is not one option among many, not a feeling or a force we invent or use. He is the living and true God—independent, eternal, personal, holy, and gracious. Our hearts may feel after Him, but only His Word tells us who He truly is. And only by His Spirit can we know Him as He is: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.
The difference between subjective religious experience and true religion is this: one is shaped from below by human imagination; the other descends from above by divine revelation.
Even William James, after his wide-ranging study of religious psychology, showed that while this field can offer real insight into the shape and development of religious life, it cannot replace theology. Psychology can help us understand how religion works in human experience—how it relates to our minds, emotions, and development—but it cannot tell us whether it is true. It does not give us the content of faith or the certainty of its validity. In the end, James himself returned to metaphysics—to the idea that there must be some kind of mystery or reality behind religious experience, even if it cannot be fully explained.
This is where a decision must be made. Either religious experience is entirely a psychological illusion, as Feuerbach claimed—just human wishes projected onto the sky—or it is rooted in something real, something beyond us. Some modern thinkers, including philosophers and theologians of James's time, still affirmed the existence of a deeper reality—an "infinite" presence that somehow lives within us and expresses itself through us. But because they denied a real, historical revelation of God, they also denied
that we can actually know this God in any specific or personal way. At best, they believed we can feel something divine in our hearts. But what we feel, we then interpret in symbolic terms—religious language that points to something beyond but cannot truly describe it.
They might admit that the idea of revelation is a natural outcome of religion, but they do not believe that God has actually revealed Himself in time, through word and deed. As a result, all religious expressions—our beliefs, our feelings, even our prayers—remain subjective. They carry meaning only in a psychological sense, not in the sense of objective truth.
Religion becomes little more than a noble sentiment, rooted in the human heart, but with no firm foundation outside of us.
But that is not enough. Religion only holds real value if it is built on revelation—God speaking and acting in history. Without this, we are left to wander in a fog of feelings and symbols, unable to know whether anything we believe is actually true. Revelation is essential, because it gives us a standard—a way to evaluate religious experience. Only by God revealing
Himself can we truly know what faith is, what conversion means, whether prayer reaches God, and how grace actually works in the human soul.
Without revelation, religion becomes a mirror reflecting back our own emotions. With revelation, it becomes a window through which we see the living God.
Only Revelation Gives Us the Truth Unlike the psychology of religion—which can only explore personal religious experiences—dogmatics aims to declare what salvation truly is, according to God's Word and mind. While insights from religious experience may help us better understand Scripture, they cannot replace the clear and objective teaching of God. A theologian must be spiritually
discerning (1 Cor. 2:15), but the task is not to recount one's own spiritual journey or to trace the emotions of believers. Rather, it is to unfold the riches of salvation that God has secured in Christ and now applies to His people through the Holy Spirit.
Scripture describes these blessings in many ways—sometimes with overlapping language or vivid imagery. Jesus says, "Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand" (Matt. 4:17), "Repent and believe the gospel" (Mark 1:15), and also speaks of being "born again" as the only way to enter God's kingdom (John 3:3, 5). Other times, He refers to entering through the "narrow gate" (Matt. 7:13), or to forsaking everything to follow
Him (Matt. 10:37ff). The Old Testament speaks of the "circumcision of the heart," which the New Testament parallels with "regeneration." While Paul uses that specific term only once (Titus 3:5), Jesus uses it frequently.
These terms—"regeneration," "faith," "conversion," "renewal," and others—do not always describe distinct stages in salvation, but often summarize the entire transformation of the believer. They are like collective names for the whole miracle of new life. Theologians have often tried to simplify this order, but with mixed results. Pietism focused on inner struggle and spiritual breakthrough. Methodism emphasized conversion and sanctification. Others stressed justification, reconciliation, or rebirth. Some even moved certain doctrines—like regeneration or election—into the realm of ethics or the work of Christ, leaving only faith to be discussed under salvation.
But true simplification cannot come at the cost of losing the richness and detail of God's redemptive work. Just as with doctrines like the Trinity or the person of Christ, theology must sometimes use terms not found in Scripture, or define biblical terms more precisely. The goal is not to merely
quote Scripture word-for-word, but to explain the truths it teaches and the way those truths relate. Scripture speaks in many images and metaphors to reveal the fullness of God's grace from every angle.
At the heart of all these benefits is the covenant of grace. Though revealed in time, it is rooted in eternity, grounded in God's eternal will and love.
Christ was chosen before the world began to be the Mediator of this covenant, and in that eternal plan, He took His people's guilt and gave them
His righteousness. A union between Christ and His people was formed that would be revealed and realized in history. Because of this, some Reformed theologians spoke of "eternal justification." While this phrase raised concerns, the underlying truth was affirmed by all: from eternity, Christ pledged Himself as surety for His people and secured their salvation.
Still, theologians wisely distinguished between God's eternal decree and its historical fulfillment. Even if justification is planned in eternity, it unfolds in time: in Christ's resurrection, in the gospel, in the believer's calling and faith, and ultimately in the final judgment. Justification is never complete until it is worked out in these stages.
Yet it remains vital to affirm: all of salvation flows from the Father's eternal love. Every benefit of the covenant of grace is secured in His will, accomplished by the Son, and applied by the Spirit. Our salvation begins in God's heart and reaches us through His Word and Spirit—revealed, not invented; eternal, not fleeting; true, not imagined.
The Blessings of Salvation Come Fully Through Christ, By the Spirit First, in the Christian faith, there's no question that all the blessings of salvation have been fully and completely earned by Christ. Nothing needs to be added to his finished work. These blessings belong to Christ and are available to his people through him alone. Since they are covenant blessings
—given through the covenant of grace—we can only share in them by being united to Christ, who is the Mediator of that covenant.
This covenantal reality begins in eternity. The mystical union between Christ and his church, and the exchange of our sin for his righteousness, was established in God's eternal plan. But it was accomplished in time:
Christ was crucified, buried, raised, and glorified—for and with his people.
So, Christ is given to us before we ever come to him in faith. Indeed, we cannot believe unless Christ first sends his Spirit to give us new life.
Regeneration, faith, and every other grace are all Christ's gifts—flowing from his fullness to us.
This means we don't first repent, get reborn, and then choose Christ.
Rather, it is because Christ has already accomplished redemption and gives us his Spirit that we come to believe. As the Father's love initiated our salvation, so the Son's fullness supplies every grace.
Yet, just as we distinguish between God's eternal plan and its unfolding in history, we must also distinguish between what Christ accomplished (the acquisition of salvation) and how it is given to us (the application of salvation). Some, like Kaftan, reject this distinction. They argue that salvation is already fully realized in the death and resurrection of Christ, and that we simply receive it by faith when we hear the gospel. In their view, justification and regeneration aren't events applied to us personally, but truths that are already objectively present in Christ.
But this view misses something crucial. There is a real difference between what Christ did for us at the cross and what he now does in us through his
Spirit. His finished work—what he did in his humility—is not the same as the ongoing work he performs from his exalted throne. Justification,
regeneration, sanctification—these are not merely truths in Christ; they are living experiences given to believers in time.
Second, this brings us to the vital role of the Holy Spirit. In many modern views, the Spirit is barely mentioned. For some, he is merely a moral influence or the lingering spirit of Jesus' example. Others reduce him to the church's shared love or sense of community. But Scripture—and the entire
Christian tradition—teaches us that the Holy Spirit is God himself, the third person of the Trinity, consubstantial with the Father and the Son.
He is not just a power or influence. He is the Spirit of Christ who proceeds from the Father and the Son, and who applies all the blessings of salvation to God's people. He inspired the Scriptures, accompanies the preaching of the Word, and—since Pentecost—dwells personally in the church and in each believer. It is by the Spirit that Christ makes us part of himself, drawing us into fellowship with God.
This work is not mechanical. While the Spirit ordinarily works through the Word, he also works in a direct and personal way, entering the heart, giving new life, and producing faith, love, and holiness. Debates have arisen throughout history: Does the Spirit work only through the Word?
Only through the sacraments? Or directly and immediately in the soul? The Reformed tradition affirms that while the Spirit binds himself to the Word, he is never limited by it. He works through the means of grace, but also directly, sovereignly, and personally.
So, when we speak of salvation, we must not lose sight of this great truth: everything the Father planned, and the Son accomplished, is applied by the Holy Spirit. From start to finish, salvation is God's work. And it is through the Spirit that the Father and the Son bring us into the deepest, most joyful communion with themselves.
The Spirit Applies Christ's Blessings in Order and Fullness 1. The Spirit's Order in Salvation All of the blessings Christ gives us are not randomly scattered—they are connected like links in a chain. The Holy Spirit applies them in a meaningful and purposeful sequence. Scripture makes this clear: "Everyone who believes will be saved," "You must be born again to enter the kingdom of God," "Without faith it is impossible to please God," and "Without holiness no one will see the Lord."
You cannot receive the later blessings without first receiving the earlier ones. That's why the call of the gospel—the preaching of God's Word— comes first. The Spirit normally works through this Word. But this calling doesn't just happen once. It continues through our whole lives, teaching us, encouraging us, and warning us. It leads us to daily repentance and growth in holiness.
The way God's Word is applied will vary depending on the person and the situation. Peter preached differently on Pentecost than Paul did in Athens.
There's a difference between preaching the gospel to the lost and preaching to a gathered church. Even within the church, the Word sometimes comforts and sometimes confronts. It may console or challenge, encourage or rebuke.
But in every case, it's the same living Word that the Spirit uses to grow the church in grace and in the knowledge of Christ.
This calling, both outward (through preaching) and inward (through the Spirit), produces faith and repentance in the heart—both of which flow from being made alive by the Spirit. These are the first signs that someone is being drawn into the blessings of salvation.
2. Three Categories of Christ's Saving Work
Sin affects us in three ways: it makes us guilty before God, corrupt in nature, and subject to misery and death. But Christ redeems us from all three.
So the blessings of salvation can be grouped like this:
1. Restoring Our Standing with GodThis includes forgiveness, justification, peace with God, adoption, and freedom from guilt.
These benefits are accepted by faith, change our standing before God, and give peace to our conscience.
2. Renewing Our NatureThis is the inward work of the Spirit: regeneration, sanctification, and being made new in Christ.
These change our hearts, reshape our lives, and free us from the power of sin.
3. Preserving Us for GloryThis includes our perseverance through trials and our future glorification. It looks ahead to the day when we will be free from all suffering and death, and enter eternal joy.
These blessings come from the Spirit's varied work:
He illumines us so we can receive justification by faith.
He regenerates and renews our hearts, freeing us from sin's grip.
He preserves and seals us for our final redemption, body and soul.
These blessings also reflect Christ's threefold office:
As Prophet, he gives us light and truth.
As Priest, he intercedes and purifies us.
As King, he reigns and will bring us into eternal glory.
We look to the past—to Christ's death on the cross for forgiveness. We look upward—to our risen Lord who intercedes for us. And we look forward—to his return, when he will make all things new. These are not isolated gifts, but deeply united, like faith, hope, and love. Together, they form the unbreakable cord of salvation.
3. Four Key Stages in the Order of Salvation To summarize, the order of salvation (ordo salutis) can be described in four main stages:
1. Calling – which includes the Spirit's work of opening hearts through the Word, giving birth to faith and repentance.
2. Justification – in which God declares us righteous through faith in Christ.
3. Sanctification – the lifelong process of being made holy.
4. Glorification – the final stage, which begins now and is completed in eternity.
Though glorification is often discussed under the topic of last things, it actually begins in this life through the renewing work of the Spirit and will be fully realized when Christ returns.
Paul captures this beautifully in 1 Corinthians 1:30: "Christ became for us wisdom from God—that is, our righteousness, sanctification, and redemption."Romans 8:30 also outlines this progression: those whom God called, he also justified, and glorified.
The Spirit applies each of these blessings uniquely:
In calling, he convicts and awakens.
In justification, he comforts and enlightens.
In sanctification, he renews us daily.
In glorification, he seals and perfects us, restoring us fully in Christ's image.
This is how God fulfills his plan—to make Christ the firstborn among many brothers and sisters.