Being a retired priest, I have the luxury of watching the Church from a safe distance and gaining some perspective on her travails. What I see makes me sometimes wish I did not have said luxury and perspective, as what presents itself is troubling, and getting no better with time. Although people are forever trying new packaging and forms for Christian life and worship, I get the sense that the problem lies not in the presentation, but rather in the substance, of our message. Like Stephen on his way to getting stoned, let’s quickly review sacred history up to the present time, and see how we got into this mess.
Christianity in the West was a single franchise monopoly until the 16th century. Yes, the Eastern Church broke off, and there have always been Middle Eastern variants of Christianity that should be recognized, but in the West, it was Rome or nothing until Martin and John got involved. What ensued over the next 100 years, almost to the year, was a contest of hearts, minds and pens that still defies easy analysis LO these many years later. Rome insisted that human tradition can and should be used to clarify Scripture in the formation of doctrine. The good part of this is that their very imaginative interpretations of Holy Writ have allowed them to continue to talk about behavior and authority up to the present day. They may not be right, but at least they maintain a semblance of order in their house. And, it’s a big house. As Stalin observed, “Quantity has a quality all of its own.” The bad part is that they’ve had to cover for some pretty bad decisions in the past, like the celibate priesthood, and they are now paying a very real price for their approach to Scripture.
Lest we Protestants gloat over Rome’s troubles, however, we have many of our own. No, we don’t embrace Pelagius in our soteriology; our God is sovereign and cannot be manipulated by human agency. But then again, you ask a Protestant why behavior and authority matter, and if the person you’re asking is honest to his own Reformed traditions, they won’t be able to tell you. The result? The mainline Protestant denominations, each and every one, are beset by those who, in the words of Oswald Chambers, are saying, “Christ died for me, I go Scot free.” The fights about sexual mores and political imperatives have driven the life, and the people, out of these churches in a comprehensive fashion. If you want to witness fiscal, moral and theological irrelevance, just attend a mainline Protestant church.
So those of us with a little time on our hands have traditionally opted for one of two choices: wring our hands and give up, or takes sides and enter a fray that has yet to impress the non-Christian world as being at all important. Being a little younger than most retirees, I was involved in a serious auto accident, I’ve chosen a third course, and that is to go back and see if there isn’t something the antagonists are missing that really is wrong with our message at its very core. Forget packaging, forget names; what are we really saying about God and the human condition, and is it right?
I was able to confirm my suspicions and crystallize my own response after a visit to the home of a fellow cleric. This man is a little more senior than I, and he views my efforts at theologizing with a combination of avuncular amusement and genuine horror. I had commented that Paul makes a distinction between justification and salvation, and added that I felt this point was lost on most commentators. The priest in question leapt from his chair and thrust a copy of N.T. Wright’s Justification: God’s Plan and Paul’s Vision into my hands. I am not the only one, he seemed to be saying. After reading the book, I can understand why he thought it was apropos. Bishop Wright does in fact point out that Paul draws a distinction between the two concepts, and goes on to define justification in a most satisfactory way. Where I would depart from his painstakingly thorough and labored analysis, however, is the way he defines salvation. It’s only through an understanding of this second idea, and how it differs from justification, that really allows us to understand the mechanism of redemption.
I’m not focusing on this seemingly minute point in order to join the ranks of theologians and churchmen over the ages who feel that parsing words more finely somehow reveals more truth and insight into the mind of God. Nor am I, in Wright’s own words, offering the scorpion of scholarly infighting instead of the fish of the Gospel. After my injury I don’t have the will or energy to do that, which may be just why God allowed me to be in that car in the first place. What I propose instead is to apply the same scrutiny to Paul’s writing that Antoine de St. Exupery applied to his biplane, when he observed that “Perfection is achieved not when there’s nothing more to add, but when there’s nothing more to take away.”
Suffice it to say that most commentators either gloss over the verses where Paul contrasts justification and salvation, or conclude that they refer to the same thing from different perspectives. Rather than do what others do in this regard, I propose we look at two verses that hold them in stark contrast, and see if we can discern what Paul may be trying to say. In Romans 5:9,10 we read:
“Since we have now been justified by his blood, how much more shall we be saved from God’s wrath through him! For if, when we were God’s enemies, we were reconciled to him through the death of his Son, how much more, having been reconciled, shall we be saved through his life!”
Further, in Romans 10:9,10 we find:
“That if you confess with your mouth, ‘Jesus is Lord,’ and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. For it is with your heart that you believe and are justified, and it is with your mouth that you confess and are saved.”
Now the first temptation is to say that Paul is simply indulging in that time-honored practice of Hebrew parallelism, where one statement is repeated in a different manner to have poetic impact. Resist the temptation. Give him more credit. Let us assume that he wrote what he wrote for a reason, and wasn’t being redundant for the sake of literary form. What I propose is that Paul is separating two things that must be kept separate, or else we will lose insight into how God redeems mankind.
First, Paul says that something happened on one day, Good Friday, that he calls justification, where all humanity was declared innocent in God’s eyes, and placed in Jesus’ legal position of righteousness. The Rt. Rev. Dr. Wright is adamant on this definition of justification, and I agree. To Paul it means being found by the divine court to be in a position of righteousness and legal probity exactly like that of Jesus Christ. We’re not any different, but our legal standing is updated to reflect Christ’s righteousness, not our own. Donald Bloesch seems to agree:
“Something happened for our salvation in the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ independent of our belief or response. Reconciliation and redemption are an accomplished fact, an objective reality that is not affected by the subjective attitude of man…The atonement of Jesus Christ signifies a transformation of the human situation, and not simply the possibility of a future salvation.”
Now I would clean up Donald’s soteriological nomenclature somewhat, but my point abides: on Good Friday Christ died for all humanity, independent of time, our awareness, or our ability to respond. All are placed “in Christ,” whether they know it or not, and are justified. As Scripture boldly proclaims, Christ died for the sins of the whole world. There is nothing limited or imperfect about the shed blood of the sinless Son of God. Is that the last word on man’s redemption? No, but it is the first word. God is no longer at enmity with us.
The second word God speaks is that of salvation, to Paul an entirely different kettle of fish. It is, according to John the Baptist, Jesus, John the apostle, and of course Paul, deliverance from a coming wrath reserved for those do not value, but rather squander, their justification. It’s not too much to say that whereas both Rome and Geneva say people are lost until they are saved, variously through ritual observance or divine election, a careful reading of Paul suggests that we’re in fact saved until we’re lost; a very different thing! And Paul’s not the only one saying this. What we read in many parables, in Hebrews chapters 4 and 6, and throughout that entire, pesky, book of James, is that we can indeed fall out of a position of favor with God. Further, Jesus himself says in John 15:2 that the branches that are cut off and burned are those originally “in me.” Although it is treading on the inner counsels of God, I would venture that at the age of majority, people become subject to the temptation to declare themselves moral free agents, and become subject to this coming, second judgment. Jews and Christians both have sensed this reality, and have commemorated the occasion with rites to confirm a right decision. What each is saying is, “We are no longer at enmity with God, and therefore trust him to control our lives.” This, as both experience and the Bible suggest, is anything but universal.
Looking at redemption as a two-phase project makes perfect sense. There are two actors, God and man. God and man are doing swell at the beginning, but are soon at enmity. Man has two problems: God’s mad at him, and he’s mad at God. This produces two moral dilemmas on man’s part: guilt and powerlessness. God’s solutions, needless to say, are also two in number: Good Friday and Pentecost. For God’s enmity with man and our resultant guilt we have the death of the sinless Son of God, to cover our sins with his blood, and place us, legally, in his position of rectitude. Having thus been justified from God’s perspective, we also need ministry from ours. To eradicate the enmity we feel toward God, we need an infusion from without. This is the role of the Holy Spirit, who comes in and fills the void left when our spirit was attenuated in the Fall. Although we can’t take credit for this new life, it is nevertheless up to us to cease striving and rebelling, and to let the Spirit have his way with us, that our behavior might conform to and reflect our legal status.
Two solutions, and guess what, two sacraments. Just as we are justified once, so are we to celebrate that fact through the one baptism commanded by Christ. And here we see the desirability of child baptism, for what is it except for the celebration of something done for us by another, with no agency or effort on our part? Just as an infant child is incapable of willful effort one way or the other, and may even be asleep, he stands justified by the act of Christ’s death on the cross 2,000 years ago. Just as that action is perfect and needs no repetition, so too our baptism is a one-time act that need not and should never be repeated. Then, what of our powerlessness? Even the greatest of saints knows the experience of needing a new infusion of power from above. As the Scriptures record, the apostles themselves were “filled with the Holy Spirit” time and again. So for the on-going drama of life, we need a sacrament that is repeatable, and which corresponds with our constant need of divine help. Thus, communion is a request that the Spirit of Jesus dwell within us, no less than the bread and wine do, in a literal, deliberate sense. Two actors, two problems, two solutions, and two sacraments, two points of contact with divine power.
So what can we conclude from all this? Both theoretical lessons and practical applications. Regarding theory, I would, of course, make two points. First, God is a God of simplicity. He suits his solutions to the situation with an elegant economy that suggests his only goal is to reach us and help us succeed. Secondly, we should beware of any belief or practice that stands alone. If there is not a spiritual, perfect counterpart to our thought or action, we should be warned that we might in fact be infatuated with a prior, physical, transitory adumbration, and not the perfect, final, permanent reality. This is why God saw fit to destroy the Jewish temple after the body of Christ had rendered it obsolete and a snare.
In terms of practical application, I would invoke the cliché that says there are only two kinds of people in the world. How so? There are two thieves crucified with Jesus! They represent the only two responses that the death and life of Jesus can command. The first is flippant and incredulous, “Aren’t you the Christ? Save yourself and us!” He personifies those in every age who hear the Gospel and choose to reserve the right to determine moral authority unto themselves. The second is the first man’s opposite in every way. “Don’t you fear God, since you are under the same sentence? We are punished justly, for we are getting what our deeds deserve. But this man has done nothing wrong. Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” This man is honest about himself, and credulous regarding Jesus. He has ceded his role as moral arbiter, and has in fact repudiated that right as he formerly exercised it. Between the two men, we have the sum total of human response to the Gospel. The computer age has shown that the most effective and efficient way to compute, store and transmit data is through the use of bits; 1’s or zeros. Either positive or nothing. There or not there. Analogue is fine for wrist watches, speedometers and home audio, but when it comes down to ultimate reliability and parsimony, we are squarely in the digital age. As with information, so with theology. As Jesus says, you’re either for or against him, there’s no third way. The question is not whether or not you’re a thief; any religion can tell you that you are. The question is which thief are you?
At this point those in the Reformed tradition throw up their hands and say the only explanation for the success of some and the failure of others must be predestination and divine election. In doing so, however, they show themselves to be more faithful to the traditions of John Calvin and the Synod of Dort than they do to Scripture, which they pretend to revere. Aren’t most references to election and predestination spoken, whether by Paul or Peter, to gentile audiences, in order to stress God’s knowledge of their need and their inclusion in the person of a Jewish Messiah? And are they not references to categories of people, and not as we in the West in the tradition of Aristotle like to think, to individuals? Election and predestination, as used in the Bible, refer to God’s preordained plan of redemption, and the fact that some would submit to that plan, while others would not. Never does it refer to God’s arbitrary choice of some for salvation and some for damnation as individuals. Have not those in the Reformed tradition demanded allegiance to John Calvin over and above the Bible? No less an authority than Will Durant characterizes Calvin as having “darkened the human soul with the most absurd and blasphemous conception of God in all the long and honored history of nonsense.”
So what is God’s solution to the problem of our lack of power? Like our moral guilt, our lack of power is solved by Jesus Christ. Not by his death, but rather, as Paul says, by his life. Whether this refers to the life conferred upon Christ after his death or that same life poured out upon the Church as of the Ascension and Pentecost is immaterial. What is germane is that God intends to make us righteous in behavioral fact as well as legally. The only way to do this is to offer the Spirit, who can come into the heart of the Christian, to become the motive force for a new existence, based upon Christ and not our sinful selves. Thus, not only are we in Christ as of Good Friday, Christ is also potentially in us as of Pentecost. This mutual interpenetration is what God intends for all his children; anything else is an abridgement of the divine plan for redemption.
Unlike justification, salvation can be resisted, not because it requires a work, but the cessation of a work: our relinquishment of our will, of control over our lives. We have a role to play, but unlike Pelagius’ approach, that role is negative and cannot be credited as emanating from our own power or nature. All credit goes to the Spirit who does these wonders in us, but that same Spirit does not brook competition, and will not persist if we make too many inroads into his hegemony. All talk of “eternal security” and “once saved, always saved” does not stand up to the light of Scripture. Not only are these concepts not Biblical, they are actively harmful to the mission of the Church. The only unforgivable sin, we are told, is blaspheming the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit wrote the Bible, and to argue with its contents, whether by word or deed, is to frustrate the redemption bought by the Father at such great cost. To claim otherwise is to mislead people regarding both our human situation and the heart of God.
Let me see if I can make this more clear with a table:
| Phase of Redemption | Divine Event | Corresponding Sacrament | Christ’s Role | Our Role | Relative Position | Duration | Moral Position |
| Justification | Good Friday | Baptism | Savior | Passive | We in Christ | One Time | God no longer at enmity with us |
| Salvation | Easter/Pentecost | Holy Communion/
Confirmation |
Lord | Negative | Christ in us | On-Going | We no longer at enmity with God |
Note the many advantages to making, or discovering, this Pauline distinction:
- First of all, you’re suddenly faithful to the entire Biblical revelation. You don’t have to say you’re in favor of this portion of Scripture over another. You can read it all, believe it all, and obey it all with none of the selectivity that characterizes today’s Church. We’re saved by grace through faith, but faith takes on new virility. It’s not intellectual assent to a theoretical proposition, it’s submission to a superior authority, as illustrated by the Roman centurion in Matthew 8. God does it all, but there is a role for us, albeit a negative one. Behavior counts, because although you can’t be saved through works, you can, as David Chilton says, be damned by them.
- Secondly, there’s a pastoral advantage. For the first time, you can engage in logical talk with people, Christians and non-, about the universal experience of the vicious circle of repentance, failure, guilt and back-sliding in moral endeavor. There’s a reason all aspire to morality, and an equally good reason why we all fail. Failure need not lead us to reject morality, as so many do, but rather to shift the basis for our moral inspiration away from ourselves to the life of Jesus in us.
- Thirdly, all this is good for God’s reputation. He doesn’t deal with problems is a fragmentary of incomplete way. God deals not just in legality, but also in reality. He doesn’t demand of us what he doesn’t make possible through the death and life of his own Son, both.
- Finally, such thinking can clean up any discrepancy between Roman and Protestant, to say nothing of the fragmented nature of the latter body. Rome can hereby escape from the clutches of Pelagius, a much-needed change, and place the responsibility for redemption where it belongs: with Christ. Geneva, too, can breathe easier. Divine election and predestination are no longer the deformed individual phenomena we’ve always assumed in the West, and Protestants can talk about authority and behavior for the first time in almost 500 years.
Perhaps all this confusion comes from the titles we give Jesus. As Savior, he justifies and cleanses us from sin. As Lord, he saves from the coming wrath. It sounds backwards, but this is the way it makes sense. Perhaps the confusion is also due to the arrogance of our times. How could Paul, simple Jew that he was, outsmart us with all our scholarship and philosophical sophistication? It could be that those very things that we are so proud of are what are keeping us from hearing what he was actually trying to say to us. Whether Roman or Protestant, we add our own traditions, heroes and shibboleths until the power and simplicity of the Gospel are lost. Until our reading becomes as careful as Paul’s writing, we’ll be condemned to centuries of acrimonious debate while a waiting world looks on, unimpressed. Maybe if theologians contemplated biplanes as opposed to jumbo jets, the Church would be able to take flight as God intends.
Reduced to its essence, the job of the Church is to understand this mechanism of redemption, and to share that knowledge with a rebellious and hurting world. To the extent that we are imperfect in our understanding ourselves, we will necessarily be unable to fulfill that commission. As Francois de Malherbe said to his preacher after a particularly poor sermon, “Improve your style, monsieur! You have disgusted me with the joys of heaven.” Just so.
