Divorce and Remarriage: About twenty years ago, we had the wonderful privilege of becoming acquainted with a couple who lived about five hours south of us. They were Old School Baptists with a genuine love for the gospel of God’s free and sovereign grace, and they had close ties to a brother whom we all held in high esteem. There was, however, something about their situation that immediately caught my attention. Both of them had been divorced and remarried. Because of that, they were never permitted to become members of the church. I remember thinking how difficult that must have been. They weren’t bitter. They weren’t trying to stir up controversy. They simply loved Christ, loved His people, and faithfully gathered with them. Yet, for reasons they themselves could never undo, they remained on the outside looking in.
That experience left me with many questions. Over the next several years, I began reading a number of books and articles, simply trying to understand what the Bible actually taught on the subject of divorce and remarriage, how all of the relevant passages fit together, and why so many students of Scripture had arrived at different conclusions. Now, some twenty years later, the subject unexpectedly resurfaced in a recent conversation. I found myself thinking about that couple again, and as I returned to the subject, I gradually realized this wasn’t merely a question about marriage and divorce. It was a question about the purpose of the law, the righteousness of God, and ultimately, the gospel itself. Once these thoughts began coming together, I could not put them aside. This was not merely a doctrinal question, but a matter carrying real consequences for real people.
Another experience with the divorce and remarriage question comes to mind, one that may have changed the course of our lives more than I realized then. Around 1990, my family and I moved from Arizona to the Grand Rapids, Michigan, area with the hope of attending one of the local dutch reformed congregations. I began working almost immediately after we arrived, and the owner of the company was connected with one of the congregations we had considered visiting. Through that connection, I soon learned that its minister had been divorced and that the matter had become deeply controversial. The story was discussed freely, and before long I had heard more than enough opinions about it. I understood very little about the details, and even less about the larger denominational questions, but the whole situation left me confused enough that we never visited the church.
Long story short, we eventually found our way into a Gospel Standard Strict Baptist Church, which in many respects seemed like a baptized version of the Netherlands Reformed tradition. (As a side note, nearly everyone in that congregation appeared to have come from a Dutch Reformed background and had, somewhere along the way, embraced Baptist principles. Even the few Gospel Standard Baptist congregations I knew of in the United States were located largely in Dutch communities, which made the connection difficult to miss.) Then, sometime around 1993, quite a number of people from those reformed circles began attending our little congregation, and before long the church nearly doubled in size. What made the situation so unusual was that many of these were among the people with the strongest and most conservative views on divorce and remarriage. I do not want to judge their motives, and I am sure their reasons for coming were varied, but even then I could not help noticing the irony. A controversy over divorce had helped move people from one congregation into another, and I sometimes wondered whether the controversy itself had become a respectable explanation for decisions that may have involved much more. Proverbs 16:2.
What struck me, even then, was the severity with which the matter was treated. Whatever had happened in the marriage, it seemed as though this man had committed a transgression from which there could be no real return. Other sins might be forgiven, and other failures eventually left behind, but divorce and remarriage appeared to follow a person permanently. I did not yet know what to make of the biblical passages, and I could not have explained my concern very well then, but the severity of it seemed out of proportion to everything else I understood about grace.
Still, personal impressions can only take us so far. The question must finally be settled by Scripture. That brings us to the words of Christ – the passage that stands at the center of the whole discussion: “It hath been said, whosoever shall put away his wife, let him give her a writing of divorcement; but I say unto you, that whosoever shall put away his wife, saving for the cause of fornication, causeth her to commit adultery, and whosoever shall marry her that is divorced committeth adultery.” Matthew 5:31-32.
At first glance, these two verses appear straightforward enough. In fact, they may be among the strongest words Christ ever spoke regarding marriage and divorce. They have also become some of the most debated words in all of Scripture. Almost immediately, our attention is drawn to the exception: “saving for the cause of fornication.” From there, much of the discussion becomes an attempt to determine who may divorce, under what circumstances, and whether remarriage may then be justified. I understand why people appeal to the exception, but I am no longer persuaded that it gives the freedom often claimed from it.
One detail deserves careful attention. Christ does not say, “saving for the cause of adultery.” He says, “saving for the cause of fornication.” Then, in the very same sentence, He uses the word adultery to describe what follows from putting away and remarriage. Although I generally try not to lean too heavily upon the Greek, I think the distinction is helpful here. Matthew uses two different words: porneia, translated “fornication,” and moicheia, translated “adultery.” Whatever overlap there may be between them, we should be cautious about treating them as though Christ used them interchangeably.
With that distinction in mind, we should look more carefully at what is commonly called the exception clause. The words “saving for the cause of fornication” have often been treated as though their meaning were obvious: adultery occurs within a marriage, the innocent party is therefore free to divorce, and remarriage is permitted. But that conclusion may be importing more into the passage than Christ actually says. Before allowing an inherited interpretation to govern the text, we should ask why Matthew records “fornication” in the exception and “adultery” in the warning that follows. I think Matthew’s opening chapter may help us understand the exception here. Joseph and Mary were already betrothed, though they had not yet come together as husband and wife. Matthew 1:18.
Before Joseph understood how Mary had conceived, her pregnancy appeared to him as evidence of unfaithfulness, and he intended to “put her away privily.” Matthew 1:18-19. The relationship was binding enough to require a putting away, but the marriage had not yet been consummated. It is possible, then, that Matthew’s exception concerns fornication discovered during betrothal rather than adultery within an existing marriage. This possibility deserves serious consideration, especially since the parallel passages in Mark 10:11-12 and Luke 16:18 repeat the Lord’s warning concerning divorce and remarriage without including Matthew’s so-called exception clause.
If that understanding is even a reasonable possibility, then the usual appeal to this passage becomes far less certain than many assume. The exception may not be granting permission to dissolve an established marriage at all, but referring to a very different circumstance connected with Jewish betrothal. At the very least, that should make us cautious about drawing a broad permission for divorce from words whose meaning remains uncertain.
There is another difficulty as well. Even if we assume that the exception permits divorce in the case of marital unfaithfulness, the clause itself says nothing about remarriage. It may provide a possible ground for putting away, but it does not say that the person who puts away is therefore free to marry another. That conclusion is usually added to the passage rather than stated within it. This does not answer every question, but it does narrow the field considerably. The familiar escape hatch may not be as wide as we have imagined. The text may allow less than tradition has often claimed from it, and before we use it to justify either divorce or remarriage, we should be certain that we are not asking the exception to say more than Christ actually said.
Finding no clear permission for remarriage in Matthew’s exception clause, we naturally turn to Paul. First Corinthians 7 contains several difficult statements concerning separation and abandonment, and these are frequently used to establish further exceptions. Yet here again, the permission commonly drawn from the passage may be less explicit than we imagine. Paul begins with words that are difficult to soften: “Let not the wife depart from her husband; but and if she depart, let her remain unmarried, or be reconciled to her husband.” I Corinthians 7:10-11. Whatever circumstances may have led to the separation, Paul does not immediately present remarriage as the answer. He gives two possibilities – remain unmarried, or be reconciled. That does not settle every case, but it should at least make us cautious about treating divorce itself as an automatic freedom to marry again.
Paul then addresses the case of an unbelieving spouse who chooses to leave: “But if the unbelieving depart, let him depart. A brother or a sister is not under bondage in such cases.” I Corinthians 7:15. These words are often understood as granting freedom to remarry, but Paul does not actually say that. He says the deserted believer is not bound to prevent the departure or preserve the marriage by force. Whether that also includes permission to marry another may be debated, but once again, the conclusion is inferred rather than plainly stated.
Near the close of the chapter, Paul adds that “the wife is bound by the law as long as her husband liveth; but if her husband be dead, she is at liberty to be married to whom she will.” I Corinthians 7:39. Paul is speaking directly about widows, so we should be careful not to force the verse beyond its immediate setting. Even so, the contrast is difficult to overlook. Death plainly brings liberty to marry another; divorce is nowhere described in the same unmistakable terms.
There is also a larger principle here. Within the marriage relation, the bond remains as long as both husband and wife live. The law does not release them from that bond because the circumstances have become painful, complicated, or impossible to repair. Death alone brings it to an end. Romans 7:3. Here our utter helplessness becomes impossible to ignore. The law tells us what ought to have been, but gives us no power to undo what has already been done. Ecclesiastes 1:15.
Romans 7 develops this point more fully. Paul begins with the marriage bond: “For the woman which hath an husband is bound by the law to her husband so long as he liveth.” Romans 7:2. He then turns the illustration toward Christ. The believer is not freed from the law because its standard has been lowered or its demands have been relaxed. Freedom comes exclusively through death: “Wherefore, my brethren, ye also are become dead to the law by the body of Christ.” Romans 7:4. The law remains righteous and unchanged, but the believer no longer stands before it in the same relation. Through Christ, he has died to the law and now serves “in newness of spirit, and not in the oldness of the letter.” Romans 7:6.
That begins to show why this subject reaches far beyond the question of who may divorce or remarry. If our hope rests upon finding an exception broad enough to justify us, we may discover that the law gives us much less room than we imagined. Romans 3:20. It was never given to furnish us with a defensible position from which to measure ourselves against others. In this matter, as in all others, the law searches out the heart, uncovers the desire beneath the action, and lays bare the pride that survives by comparison. It presses until no one is left with a case to make for himself, every mouth is brought toward silence, and every hope outside of Christ is taken away. Galatians 3:22-24.
With that in view, we now need to return to the passage where this discussion began. Christ did not address divorce and remarriage in isolation, but placed them within a sermon in which He was exposing the true reach of the law. Once we see that setting clearly, the question itself begins to change. We are no longer asking only, “What does this passage permit?” We must also ask, “What was Christ doing when He said it?”
The surrounding verses make His purpose difficult to miss. Christ takes the law as people had reduced it and restores its full force. Murder is not merely the taking of life; anger exposes the same corruption of heart. Adultery is not merely the outward act; lust already reveals the desire beneath it. Again and again, He removes the comfortable distance people had placed between themselves and the commandment.
That is where the words on divorce and remarriage belong. They are not a detached rule for a uniquely shameful group of people. They are part of a larger exposure in which every refuge disappears and every claim to personal righteousness begins to collapse. Isaiah 28:17.
Christ is not correcting Moses, nor is He replacing an inferior law with a better one. He is exposing what the commandment had always required. The problem was not that the law had been too severe, but that men had reduced it to something outward, measurable, and seemingly within reach. Mark 7:8-13. Christ removes those reductions. He does not bring the law down to our ability; He reveals how far its righteousness rises above us. Isaiah 42:21.
That is why His warning must be heard carefully: “Whosoever therefore shall break one of these least commandments, and shall teach men so…” Matthew 5:19. We often think of breaking the law only as openly rejecting it. But the law may also be broken by making it manageable. We narrow its demands until we can still imagine some ability in ourselves—whether through personal effort, religious discipline, or the belief that some inward spiritual power has made the flesh capable of obeying the law. In doing so, we may think we are honoring the commandment when we have actually lowered it to the measure of our own strength.
The moment we use the law to create a safe place for ourselves, we have already begun to diminish it. We search for the right exception, the innocent party, the defensible circumstance, and then imagine that we stand on one side of the commandment while others stand condemned on the other. Christ removes that refuge. He does not use the law to separate the outwardly respectable from the obvious offender; He uses it to expose them both. “He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her.” John 8:7.
Returning to the Sermon on the Mount, Christ does not stop after exposing anger, lust, broken vows, retaliation, and selective love. He carries the law all the way to its final demand: “Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father which is in heaven is perfect.” Matthew 5:48. That is not a softened standard for sincere people doing their best. It is the righteousness of God Himself. Once the law is heard at that height, every attempt to justify ourselves by comparison begins to look foolish.
Yet this is precisely where many interpretations soften the force of Christ’s words. Absolute perfection becomes sincere effort. Perfect righteousness becomes general obedience. A sermon that strips us of every ground of confidence is turned into a scale by which we measure our spiritual progress. But Christ does not send us back into ourselves to search for evidence that we have done enough. He drives us out of every false confidence and leaves us looking to Him alone. Assurance rests in His perfect righteousness, not in the obedience we imagine we can find within ourselves.
At that point, the distinctions we are so eager to preserve begin to disappear. The married person who has never divorced, the one who has been abandoned, the one who has remarried, and the one who has only sinned in thought all stand beneath the same perfect law. James 2:10. Their circumstances differ, but none of them can make those differences a ground of spiritual confidence or moral superiority, use them as a shield against judgment, or take them as proof that they stand on the respectable side of the commandment.
That is the true work of the law. It exposes the outward act, the hidden desire, the self-justifying argument, and the pride that survives by comparison, “that every mouth may be stopped, and all the world may become guilty before God.” Romans 3:19. Once the law is heard in its full force, every comparison collapses. There is no respectable side of the commandment and no higher ground from which one sinner may judge another. The law does not leave one standing above another. It brings them all down. Romans 3:27.
And this is where the law must leave us. It can expose the sin, name the guilt, and strip away every excuse, but it cannot undo a divorce, restore a broken history, cleanse an adulterous heart, or justify the guilty. It can tell us what we ought to have been, but it cannot make us what it demands. Once every refuge has been removed, there is only one place left to look. That place is Christ. The answer is not a larger exception clause, a more favorable account of our circumstances, or a careful argument proving that our sin was less serious than another’s. Our hope is that Christ has done for His people what the law could never do. He has borne their guilt, fulfilled all righteousness, and become “the end of the law for righteousness to every one that believeth.” Romans 10:4.
And now my thoughts return to the people whose stories first gave this question a human face. One couple simply carried on with their life together, mostly unnoticed. The other person whose story I mentioned went on to become a prominent representative of the Reformed tradition. But whether hidden or well known, each remained connected in the minds of others to a history of divorce and remarriage. What had happened became more than part of their story; it became the lens through which others continued to view their lives.
That is what troubles me most. Divorce and remarriage had not merely been treated as sin; they had become a kind of permanent identity. Other sins might fade into the past, but this one remained visible and defining. The failure became a fixed category, and the people involved were never quite allowed to step outside it. They might be forgiven in principle, yet still treated as though grace had not fully reached their history. I understand that churches must act according to conscience, but something has gone wrong when one sinner’s standing is strengthened by another sinner’s shame. Luke 18:11.
And so, as the dust settles, I realize that this has become a post about something far greater than divorce and remarriage. It is about law and gospel. It is about the difference between exposing guilt and providing righteousness. It is about grace reaching people whose histories cannot be rewritten, mercy for those who cannot return to an earlier chapter and make different choices, and Christ becoming the only hope of sinners who have nowhere else to stand. MPJ
PostScript #1. That is a good way of putting it: “If they can find at least one law they can keep, they will judge others by it.” That really gets to the heart of the matter. We may admit failure in a hundred places, yet still cling to one area where we think we stand above someone else. Then the law becomes a platform for comparison instead of the thing that shuts every mouth and leaves us looking to Christ. I also loved your words, “We are dead to the law and remarried to Christ.” That is Romans 7 in a sentence.
PostScript 2. That is an excellent observation. I never thought of that. We insist there is no clergy-laity divide, yet in this one area we often create one. A divorced believer may be forgiven, received, and treated as restored, while a pastor or preacher is sometimes regarded as permanently marked by the same history. No wonder everyone feels compelled to find a loophole, an exception, or some interpretation that will place them on the safe side of the commandment. But even if we succeed in arguing ourselves out of one charge, what have we really gained? We may prove that a particular divorce does not disqualify us, but have we therefore become righteous? Have we never hated, lusted, coveted, judged, or failed anywhere else?
We may persuade others that we are innocent in one particular matter and appear righteous before men, but the law has already gone much deeper than that. It does not measure us by the one charge we managed to escape; it exposes the whole person. This is where the inconsistency becomes impossible to miss. We confess total depravity yet behave as though our standing can be preserved by proving that one visible failure does not apply to us, or that our failure was less serious than another’s. But total depravity cannot remain a doctrine we merely confess. If we truly believe what we say about ourselves, then the law does not leave us searching for the best defense. It leaves us without one. We all stand condemned apart from Christ, and we all stand righteous only in Him.