Exilic Dimensions in Post-Reformational Thought
John Calvin was one of the most brilliant exegetes of the Reformation, yet his theology remained bound within the systematic, scholastic framework that he sought to reform. His return to the original languages of Scripture was groundbreaking, his restoration of covenantal categories was essential, but his interpretation of Israel, Edom, and election was constrained by the theological constructs of his time.
His theology was shaped by the medieval Christian world, where Jewish life was often hidden, suppressed, or outright persecuted. Similar to today, not all individuals within Jewish communities were religious, which contributes to the ongoing conflations about Jewish identity, much like those faced by Calvin. One of the more controversial aspects of Calvin’s language is his use of the term dogs in reference to Jews. This was not unique to him; it was a common polemical term derived from medieval Christian exegesis, influenced by certain biblical passages, and by the fact that Jews, unable to own land, largely engaged in finance and commerce. This reflected their embodiment of exile, perhaps as Esau selling his birthright. Therefore, such theology and attitudes toward the Jews are rooted in the broader supersessionist framework in which Calvin operated within.
A crucial question must be raised: Did Calvin truly understand the text, or was he reading it through a system that over-spiritualized Israel while disregarding the redemptive trajectory of Edom? Did he see Jews as Esau, which is a valid interpretive application. It’s worth remembering that Caleb, a key biblical figure, was of Edomite descent—his name, meaning dog in modern Hebrew, symbolizing a pet or companion, might suggest a deeper, often overlooked connection in the narrative. However, Calvin certainly did not come up with such insight.
Misreading, Esau, Edom and Edomites is not a mere historical oversight. It has shaped post-Reformational covenant theology and continues to influence modern Christian thought on exile, redemption, and the destiny of the nations. It is time to examine these blind spots and consider how Torat Edom challenges Reformed theology’s rigid categories.
Calvin’s most lingering contribution to covenant theology was his emphasis on God’s sovereign election, yet this emphasis often overrode the organic narrative of Scripture, thus framed in propositional forms though councils and within creeds. He rightly saw that “all Israel will be saved” (Romans 11:26) but failed to see Israel as an ongoing covenantal reality, treating it instead as a spiritual type fulfilled in the Church. This is key for his fulfillment theology exapnded from Christology.
His lack of interaction with rabbinic thought meant that he was largely unaware of Jewish understandings of exile and redemption, and this limited his grasp of Israel’s national destiny. Though he returned to Hebrew and Greek, his theology remained framed within the confines of Western systematic thought, which over time flattened biblical election into a rigid, static decree rather than a dynamic, unfolding plan.
Nowhere is this more evident than in his treatment of Edom with Esau. Calvin’s commentary on Romans 9:13 (“Jacob I loved, but Esau I hated”) forms a pillar of his doctrine of predestination. (See my paper on Nicaea and John Piper’s doctoral dissertation in the endnotes.) Calvin reads Esau as the archetype of the reprobate, forever cut off from God’s mercy, reinforcing his belief in double predestination. His reading is theological rather than historical, meaning he fails to account for the broader biblical narrative of Edom’s transformation
In Calvin’s framework, Edom is permanently cast aside, with no possibility of redemption. But again what of biblical Edomites like Caleb, the faithful spy, or more explicitly Obadiah, the prophet? What of Obadiah’s own prophecy, which speaks of Edom being judged but also submitting to divine rule? Calvin’s framework leaves no space for the progressive inclusion of the nations into God’s redemptive plan. Which is what today’s post-millennial resurgance may learn from over the Christian nationalism temptation.
Jewish tradition, in contrast, sees Edom not as permanently forsaken but as a nation with a role in the Messianic era. The Talmud (Avodah Zarah 10b) states that Edom will ultimately be cleansed, implying that it is not irredeemable, but must undergo transformation. The book of Obadiah (1:21) speaks of the ultimate submission of Edom to God’s kingdom.
Midrash Tanchuma (Toldot 5) teaches that righteous descendants of Esau will have a share in the world to come. These perspectives challenge Calvin’s view, suggesting that election is not a fixed binary, but part of a redemptive arc where even those once opposed to God can be brought into alignment with His purpose.
If Edom represents the world in exile, it must be understood not merely as reprobate, but as awaiting redemption. Ironically in Jewish thought, Edom is more than Esau’s descendants—it is Rome, Christendom, the world system that governs in Israel’s exile and this includes Zionism, for Esau took up the sword. This means that Edom rules over Israel in exile, just as Rome ruled over Judea through Herod the Idumean (Edomite) in Jesus’ time. Its rule is temporary, but its final role is not merely destruction—it must be judged, purified, and ultimately reconciled to God.
Christianity itself is an Edomic vessel for redemption. Since Rome (Edom) adopted Christianity, it became the vehicle for spreading biblical knowledge to the nations, albeit often in distorted theological forms. The Protestant Reformation was needed byt the ensuring age of rational Enlightenment and Modernity are its by products. Even in its supersessionist framework, Christianity carried forward the Hebrew Scriptures, the moral law, and the expectation of divine justice.
Genesis 9:27 hints at this reality: “May God expand Japheth, and may he dwell in the tents of Shem.” Many Jewish commentators have understood this to mean that the descendants of Japheth (which include Rome and the European nations) will ultimately worship the God of Shem (Israel). Rabbi Avraham Yitzchak Kook and Jacob Emden before him argued that Christianity, despite its theological errors, served as a means to spread monotheism to the nations, paving the way for future redemption.
This understanding of Edom’s transformation has been largely missing in post-Reformational theology, which continued to inherit Calvin’s static categories of election and reprobation. The Reformation did not emerge in a vacuum—it was deeply shaped by medieval theological disputes between Jews and Christians, including the polemics of Nicholas Donin and the Paris Disputation (1240), which led to the burning of the Talmud. These events reinforced the Christian view that rabbinic interpretations were not to be trusted, which meant that Reformers like Calvin inherited a framework where Jewish exegesis was largely ignored. This contributed to a Protestant theology that failed to recognize exile as an ongoing reality, either for Israel or the Church itself.
Thus, while Calvin helped to restore covenant theology, his system erased the significance of national Israel and locked Esau into a permanent state of rejection. Post-Reformational theology continued this trajectory, leaving entire questions about the destiny of the nations underdeveloped. Even in movements that later supported Zionism, the nations remained theologically peripheral—the concept of Edom’s transformation was never fully explored. Christianity was seen as already “at home,” rather than still in exile, awaiting its own transformation alongside Israel.
Torat Edom challenges this framework by presenting a more biblically consistent view of election, exile, and redemption. Instead of viewing Edom as permanently reprobate, it recognizes that Edom represents a world in exile—estranged from God, but still redeemable. Instead of treating Israel as merely a type of the Church, it sees Israel as a covenantal reality with an ongoing role in world history. Instead of assuming Christianity has already arrived, it forces us to see that Christianity itself is still exilic—still undergoing a process of purification, awaiting its own restoration to the fullness of divine truth.
This reframing matters for modern theology. If we recover this biblical view, we can reshape how we understand:
The role of Israel—not as a shadow of the Church, but as a central player in redemption.
The role of Christianity—not as a completed system, but as a movement still awaiting its full restoration.
The destiny of the nations—not as fixed elect/reprobate categories, but as part of an unfolding redemptive process.
Calvin grasped the depth of the covenant, but his lack of engagement with Jewish tradition left him blind to the exilic dimension of both Israel and Christianity. His reading of Edom as purely reprobate ignores the scriptural theme of judgment leading to transformation. The post-Reformational world inherited his framework, meaning that questions of exile, redemption, and the nations remained unresolved or confused.
If Torat Edom teaches us anything, it is that even exile has a purpose, perhaps even Rome can be properly reformed and redeemed again, and even the nations have a destiny in God’s plan. The question remains: Will the Church recognize its own exile, and embrace the fullness of redemption still to come?
