There are a number of terms in Christian dogmatic theology, and by extension preaching, that are often bantered about as if separate and distinct realities existing in some real or logical sequence: salvation (saved, healed, given health, restored to life), atonement (made at-one with God, at peace with God, reconciled with God), justification (restored to or put in a proper relationship with God), and sanctification (made holy, brought into companionship with God). They all denote one reality—man’s reconciled relationship with God, albeit, as is patent from their definitions, each from or within a certain context of consideration. Our interest in this missive is the point that makes talk of these items a theological necessity—sin, or more broadly said, evil. Evil is everything opposed to God, God who is life, light, love. Sin is a flight from God. The scriptures speak of sin as death, as a flight from life, and they speak of salvation as a restoration of life.
To them for whom sin is not a word easily received, allow me to note that sin fundamentally refers not to some act or attitude, but to our very modus operandi, our fundamental way of being that centres on “Me!”, the radical disposition toward self-centeredness, selfishness, and this self-insularity is essentially opposed to the Holy because the holy is in essence self-giving, self-sacrificing, wholly other-oriented.
There are two aspects under which sin may be viewed. Objectively it is a power that entices and holds man captive. Subjectively it is a matter of man’s free choice. These two aspects exist in a co-dependant relationship, the one feeding the other, and God allowing the objective power as the concomitant of granting humankind freedom of action. Scripture claims that by his obedience even unto death Christ breaks this co-dependant cycle and becomes its conqueror.
Two points need be made regarding this. First, it is Christ, as the divine presence in the world, who has the power to do this, and therefore, the incarnation is the essential, the necessary basis of atonement, reconciliation, salvation, justification, and sanctification. Second, God is either, as scripture claims, “in Christ reconciling the world unto himself”, or Christ is taken to be an exemplar of a godly life inspiring others to follow in his footsteps, this being the basis of all mechanistic, humanistic, and secularist interpretations of scripture.
Scripture claims God reconciles himself with man by, in, and through his own action, by himself in Christ. This is the core teaching. But there are in scripture a number of expressions attempting to depict the workings of this singular action, and as theologians have tried to explain these, rationalize the divine act of freely given love, the blunt generosity, the sheer graciousness of God has become muddled. Sin becomes viewed not as a power set against God, but, solely as a subset of the subjective aspect, as an act that creates a debt to God that must be paid, a punishment that must be endured, or solely as a subset of the objective aspect, as a power, usually personified in the Devil, that must be paid-off, from whose grip man must be ransomed, redeemed, bought back.
There are two ways in which theologians have depicted this ransoming from the Devil. The first is the trick. Evil (viewed here as the Devil), which because of man’s sinfulness has power over man, seizes upon Christ unwittingly thinking him merely a man. Christ allows the attack but holds in obedience to God, even unto death. Therein Evil oversteps its proper authority over man, and is outwitted and defeated. In another more colourful telling of the tale, the Devil (like a fish) takes the bait (Christ), swallows that which it cannot contain (God), and is thereby destroyed. The second is legalistic. It looks at the situation in much the same way. Evil has stolen man from God. The death of Christ is interpreted as the complete payment demanded. God, however, being God, can and does survive this ordeal and thus, triumphs.
Theologians have often rendered salvation legalistically, in terms of jurisprudence, punitive and retributional justice. Man has freely ruptured his relationship with God by and in his sinfulness. Divine justice claims restitution, a debt that must be paid by man. Who among men can pay a debt levelled on a divine scale? Scripture reasonably notes only God can do so. But…(but, but, but…theology is a human tool the handle of which has been the word “But!” since Adam said to God: ‘But the woman made me do it” and the woman pointed her finger at the serpent and said; “But the serpent tricked me”, and the serpent, that ancient symbol of life’s adaptability, started theology by posing the question: “But, did God say…?”)
Very early in its existence the church tripped over a pastoral “but”. It became caught up in dealing with the on-going personal sins of its members, and instituted a system of handing out penances to merit forgiveness, of requiring an act or acts of satisfaction, and this very quickly led to a shift of focus away from God’s “once and for all” action, to a focus on human effort, human meritorious action to pay for one’s sins. This change of focus was not considered contrary to scripture. St Paul does, comparing Adam to Christ, write that “by man came death, by man also came the resurrection of the dead”. Yet, he also writes that “God was in Christ reconciling the world to himself”. Jesus Christ is the God-man, God in carne, God in-flesh, incarnate, and theology, not willing to allow any diminution of that intimacy of union, had already started to move toward an idea of the communcatio idiomatum, an idiomatic communion, an inter-changeability of characteristics, the idea that, in general, whatsoever could be said of Christ as man could be said of Christ as God. It is, in the right context, an amiable theoretical umbrella, but it is fraught with countless dogmatic problems if its primary concern for the Christological integrity and its inherent vitality is lost in an attempt to rationalize its implications, as is something too often done in discussing the role of Mary and of the other saints in the life of the church. Thus, the query faced was who in Christ redeemed man—Christ as God or Christ as man?
If the reply is God, then justice, divine wrath (God’s holy aversion to evil), the Law, etc. are all obliterated in the sheer grace of God’s self-giving, in his self-sacrifice, in his love, and Evil is definitively overcome.
If the reply is Christ as man, how is that to be understood? Is the victory of Jesus a singular personal victory, an action that has validity for the man Jesus alone, but therein providing a basis, an example for others to follow in like obedience, allowing them to gain merit, and strive, as best as possible, to pay their own way, hoping in the end any shortages in the penalty due will be made up for by the love of God for his Christ? This is problematic for a number of reasons. The orthodox statement has always been Christ presents God to man, not man to God (Christ comes down from heaven, God empties himself [kenosis] into man, Christ is the image of the Father, God sends his son, etc.). Scripture envisions no universe wherein man can make adequate payment to God, no universe wherein man can ascend to heaven on his own efforts, his own merits, his own trying. The story of Babel is patent testimony to the fundamental and ancient place of that idea, that spiritual fact, in Judeo-Christian theology.
It must, therefore, be Christ as God, or God in Christ who is the principle agent. This is the only possibility, for God alone is totally free. God can come to man, can incarnate himself, can be grace-fully present wheresoever and howsoever he wills. Thus, all rests on God’s acting first—freely, lovingly, graciously (sole gratia, by grace alone are we saved). Man is free to embrace that, to accept that, to treasure that, to himself incarnate that grace-fullness of the Lord, to trust, to believe in God’s loving care (sole fide, by faith alone not goods works can we come to God). Christ’s death, his obedience even unto death, is a divine sacrifice by God to God. God reconciles himself to man the sinful. God submits to death in the heart of Jesus Christ, and according to the iconography we are given in the Gospel according to John, is fully exenterated from that heart when it is pierced, and blood and water, the ancient symbols of Life itself, disembogue. God’s kenosis, his self-emptying of himself into man, is made complete; God empties himself into man even to the point of man’s mortal end, death. God makes tactile that which man selfishly fanaticises. God dies in the heart of man leaving man alone to be his own sovereign lord. It is not man, but the Christ, the obedient child of God who cries: “My God, my God, why hast thou abandoned me?” Man, sinful man stands at a distance in resignation, in scorn, in curiosity, in impatient opportunism (he saved others, let us see if he can save himself; let us wait and see if God will intervene). God is not defeated, for this death exists only in the heart of man, yet this divine death rips open the universe, removes the seals of every tomb, and, in a triumph of divine vitality and love, creates the resurrection of the dead into a new age. Man’s secret wish has been granted; for one single moment he reigns sovereign and in that moment without a God the universe disjointed in man’s sinfulness collapses.
This does not change who and what man is, it blazons what man is. Man remains a sinner, but God in his triumph, at once of mercy, power, compassion, and love, makes himself at-one with him, at-one with him as the crucified and risen One, and by that divine action man is brought into communion with God, and because all that belongs to God is holy, man is made holy, a funicular being between good and evil, a sinner and yet a saint (simul justus et peccator, simultaneously righteous and sinner), a resident simultaneously of the old world and the new. There is no payment made by man to God or by God to the devil. This is not a matter for dissection by legal argument or any form of reason. It is a matter of God effectively dealing with the power that opposes him, a power he alone can address definitively, and over which he establishes his victory, his reconciliation of man and the universe by his own self-giving, in his creative love vanquishing the limitations of Law, justice, and reason. Hence, the cross is counted, says St Paul, as foolishness by non-believers.
It is clear enough why Devil, death, sin, and even the wrath of God toward all forms of evil are listed as aspects of Evil. Why St Paul adds the sacred Law of God to this list may want for some clarification. The Law is indeed holy. It is God’s law and, as noted above, whatsoever belongs to God is holy. But man himself is not holy. Therefore, when man comes under the Law, it seizes him, binds him, exposes him as sinful, and manifests his utter inability to make himself holy. Man is judged guilty before the Law not merely by his failures to keep it, but by his conational anility to obey it, to merit any worth by it. The Law, reflecting the holy light of God, becomes an accusatory beam shone upon man the sinner. Man is at an impossible impasse except that God intervene, God exercise mercy, God save man, redeem the universe made at odds with his Holy will by and in man’s sinfulness. Only God can vanquish Evil.
But, when the early church became caught up in administering acts of penance for the personal sins of believers, there was no inclination to simply say all has been forgiven by God, go, sin no more. Practical disciplines needed to be enjoined to foster healthful living, a true sense of responsible liberty lest adiaphora and licentiousness take root. Talk of legal debts, retribution, meritorious actions, and satisfaction held sway, and this legalistic mind-set imbued discussion of Christ’s redeeming work. We read theologians and preachers saying things like Christ by his obedience gained for us an inestimable or superabundant treasury of merit and now, as our heavenly priest and intercessor, makes this treasure of merit accessible to man through good works and the church. This is scoring points, not love and grace, a materialistic interpretation of God’s action, a system of justice, penalty, and payment. This materialization of love mechanizes the relationship betwixt God and man reducing grace (God’s abiding loving presence with man) to a system of points dispensed through good works, and the sacraments, whose technical terminology of matter, ex opere operato etc. betray the machine that now renders grace. Man has a debt to pay God for his sin. There is no sacrifice man can make to pay the sum required, not even a self-sacrifice will suffice, for what is offered to God must be without blemish. Therefore, God becomes a man, a man without blemish who will freely make the ultimate sacrifice, himself, because it is man who must pay! This talk of merit and satisfaction from man dilutes the intensity of the power of sin, of evil, of this opposed-to-God-ness. Sin is radical, essentially and existentially. It is not an act here, an act there. It is an incarnation of power against God. This is the basis on which rests all talk of “original sin”, the anti-God declivity, the selfish prioritization of self to the exclusion of any other which is ingrained in the species resultant of a libertine use of free will.
Any argumentation granting man merit before God is the hubris of Paradise revisited, the pretence that man has some dignity before God in his own right, that he can ascend to heaven, that he can pay God. Of course, the theologians who proffer such ideas know this, and so add that God, appreciative of this human desire or effort, “underwrites the cheque” for the person inspired by the example of Jesus. The idea that the human spirit can accrue merit before God was the flaw in Pelagius’ thought so vehemently countered by St Augustine. We have no merit before God. The Law reveals that. The “way of good works” is not a way, but a false turn, another sin, another revelation of human sinfulness. The only way to God is in God’s giving–in Christ. “God came into the world to save sinners”, “to take away the sin of the world”. God came to do something definitive, not something exemplary. Yet, many theologians get caught up in rationalizing the truth out of the scriptures they wish to convey.
This ideology of merit which crested in the early mediaeval period is reflected in changes in popular piety and art. The Mass becomes a detailed re-visiting of the passion and death of Christ. Ancient Roman cultic practices received into the rituals of the communion service are given strange new meanings: the ritual hand washing after the offering of the bread and wine becomes a rehearsing of Pilate washing his hands as he hands Jesus over to the crowd, the elevation of the consecrated elements becomes a raising of the crucified upon the cross, the morsel of bread placed into the cup becomes a reminder of the reunion of Christ’s body and blood in the resurrection, etc. (As a child I was given a prayer book to take to Mass that recounted all these things, and for every such point of the Mass faithful observed, a point in heaven was gained. This was not some type of infantile spirituality, for my mother carried to Mass the eburnated and undiluted adult edition of this text, and fervently paged through its texts and pictures while the indecipherable but seemingly very interpretable Latin Mass was performed. My father was there as well, but subscribing to the idea that God performed among the best of his works in Genesis 2:21-22, he bowed his head and slept.) The ancient, the solemn, the joyful triumph of the cross as the victory token of God over death and all the powers of evil, the cross once adorned with jewels, the cross blazoned with the image of a triumphant king-priest Christ, becomes the cross of blood and sorrow. The crucified Christ is depicted more and more in all the morbidity and moroseness imaginable, and popular piety wallows in pity—for the tortured Jesus, for the tortured soul that made him thus. I will not deny there is value in meditating upon one’s sinfulness before the icon of the cross, but it cannot, for it does not, end there. The cross is the death of the end. It is, indeed, the instrument whereon Christ placed himself to bring forth not only the end of death, but of all things, that he might pry open the dawn of a new heaven and earth wherein God reigns among men in a world without end.
There are two items of scriptural iconography the church’s early preachers were fond of comparing. In the Genesis narrative, after Adam and Eve eat the fruit that gives the knowledge of good and evil, God expels them from the garden, from his world, lest they eat also of the tree whose fruit gives eternal life. However, when God deems the times to be appropriate, the biblical “in the fullness of time”, God comes into man’s world, and plants for man the tree that gives eternal life. The tree is, of course, the cross of Christ, and they that eat of its fruit, that is, they that inwardly receive its Christ in faith, have life abundant.
Some theologians may divide up the various aspects of our salvation (atonement, justification, sanctification) into parts that stack one upon the other. Some may make salvation prior to atonement, claiming God’s grace changes man and that change effects the atonement. Some may make the atonement prior to salvation. Some may claim God looks upon Christ as the representative of mankind, and therein considers man in a new light. Some may hold the representative nature of Christ arouses man to a new outlook on life, and God counts that as a good thing. Some may go off dizzyingly high cliffs of reason to explain a nuance here, a subtle prioritization there, but that is a theoretical world of one’s own making, not gospel. Gospel says God reconciled the world to himself in Christ. The incarnation is the atonement is the justification is the reconciliation is salvation is sanctification. In this world, Christ is the singularity of God’s Word and God’s work.
A great deal of modern theology on this issue, and the bulk of talk about human merit and divine example is merely humanism visiting the Bible or Christianity attempting to speak authentically in a secular tongue. But this, this issue, this proclamation of God’s self-giving is either the place where the human, the secular says I accept all this talk of sin and God as revelatory of the human quest for understanding of self, inner direction, and peace, or this is the place, the threshold of faith, where the human and the secular stop, and—sole gratia, by grace alone—man, lame sinful man, is carried by God into “church”, into the Body of Christ, and man there confesses that here is the spiritual revelation definitive of all existence, here is, albeit coded in human words, the creative Word of God in action. Here is the place where man kneels down, and is seized not by the claims of Law, not by the weights of justice, not by his sins or his sinfulness, or any such thing, but by something beyond them, by some One—for this can be sole gratia, by grace alone, and grace (love) is always personal. This is where man comprehends himself in a depth unimaginable as the embraced and loved. This is the place doubt ceases, and reason’s theories and pictograms dissolve, where the inner foundations of man quietly collapse into a moment of being devoid of thought, and faith is born in a void where once stood a man, where faith itself ceases to mean “I trust” and becomes “I know”. This is not a matter of reason; there is nothing reasonable about it. God acts where no one else can act, as no one else can act, and does so freely. It is an act of divine love, a divine self-giving. Reason explains. Love forgives.
A postscript regarding doubt: Faith in this frangible world is never secure. Reason’s serpentine quizzing burrows out the ground beneath us reviving the antique inquiry: “But did God…?”, that primordial hole of doubt wherein an original sin found root. Thus faith must look upon its obedient, its faithful Lord, and know why he was not only hung upon a tree but was nailed to it as well. In the face of doubt, holding on in faith is always an act of martyrdom, an offering of blood, of self, for the sake of a deeper truth, a richer love.
A postscript regarding good works: The man who encounters himself as loved in the very depths of his being, knows the meaning of happiness. And it is the happy man, not the busy proving himself man, who is open to doing good things. In all the sometime torturous complexity of this universe and this mortal existence, how simple and very felicitous a cure is this love of God.