A More Holistic View of Salvation

I don't believe in Substitutionary Atonement anymore.

For those of you that have grown up in most American evangelical denominations, this is the doctrine concerning Jesus and salvation that came naturally to us, pre-packaged almost from birth. We were taught it in elementary Sunday School, a colored picture of a crimson-stained Jesus catching our attention near the end of the Gospel of John in our Children's bibles. We sang it in worship, proclaiming that "nothing but the blood of Jesus" could wash away our sin, and that from "his hands, his head, his feet" came "sorrow and love" (read=blood) when we stopped to survey that wondrous cross at Calvary. And we were taught to teach it, each day that we witnessed to someone, telling them eternal salvation lay in their acceptance of the gift of divine grace God gave us in Jesus' blood, shed for our sins in death. Its been the only way I've thought of Jesus' salvific nature until the past year and a half or so, and I've finally come to some conclusions about it.

I can no longer see this idea in the biblical text. I realize that, to many, I've just entered the realm of the heretical. Perhaps it's that I usually feel more comfortable there. Or, perhaps, it might be that the heretical is closer to the truth, and the true nature of Jesus and of God, than we might think.

To begin, it's not the only theory surrounding the death of Jesus and its implications for salvation out there. (There's also Christus Victor, Moral Influence, Ransom, and various others.) It also wasn't fully articulated by anyone until Anselm of Canterbury in the eleventh century, who formed his theory by using ideas of law and justice framed by an ancient Roman context. A quick glance at early and medieval Christian history makes clear the reality that Substitutionary Atonement, though it definitely came to be orthodox by the Reformation period, was never the only accepted theory of salvation out there. Clement of Alexandria, Origen, and Peter Abelard are only a few who thought, in their own ways, that the accepted norm might not be so.

At my core, I can't boil salvation down to one event in Jesus' life; an event which, when I think about it sometimes, can't help but make God out to be viciously mean.

The "suffering servant" passage of Isaiah 52 and 53, traditionally thought to allude to Jesus, has to be taken out of historical context to be applied to the crucifixion. We really have no idea what it truly means or alludes to, because of our inability to historically define who the "servant" of the passages actually is. If anything, the "servant" could be Moses, Jeremiah, or--as seems most probable--the people of Israel during the exile, rather than a historical figure to come five hundred years later. (Prophets in ancient Israel did indeed predict the future, but it seems an illogical stretch to think they didn't, in most cases, have the relatively near future in mind when they spoke, since their fate depended upon the validity of their words. Thus, it seems a stretch to think Isaiah wrote with Jesus in mind, to come a full five hundred years later.) This narrows down, quite quickly, the paschal lamb imagery upon which the idea of Substitutionary Atonement feeds and depends.

Ponder, as well, how the other part of that fateful weekend for Jesus, the Resurrection, is non-existent within our traditional, Substitutionary Atonement-driven perception of salvation. Then, think about how everything from the rest of Jesus' thirty-three year life is nowhere to be found there, either. (Remember, all that is required for salvation, traditionally, is the blood of Jesus shed on the cross.)

This tends to somewhat, if not completely, fracture the traditional picture of salvation, through the simple use of our own God-given reason and logic, which seeks some sort of wholeness and continuity to the life and message of Jesus, and thus the idea of salvation.

So, if there is continuity, where is it found?

I think it is found in the reality that Jesus, above all else, was an unorthodox, subversive, and prophetic representation of God incarnate, whose primary purpose was to usher in the radically all-inclusive, love-centered, death-defying and eschatologically-driven kingdom of God on earth. God became man and taught us a new way to live, to rectify the splintered sense of being we had felt ever since our estrangement from God in Eden. We were taught how to take the evil we too often found spilling forth from within ourselves and others--our self-created anti-Semitism, homophobia, racism, violence and war-making, imperialism, and misogynism--and replace it with mercy, equality, peace, understanding, grace, hope, and love, in the process making manifest the kingdom of God on earth, as it was originally intended to be.

The problem, however, is that it seems we still have work to do. The kingdom of God was not completely fulfilled in Jesus' midst. Nor has it ever been since. People lie homeless on the streets and in the alleyways of Los Angeles, Hong Kong, and Kiev. Racism, sexism, and xenophobia still exist both in our own country and throughout the world, not only in the hearts and minds of individuals but also collectively, as many of our self-created power structures still systematically deny economic and social equality, leaving wealth in the hands of the few and the cards stacked, on the whole, in favor of those already in abundance. Countries continue to make war, whether preemptively or in retaliation for wrongs committed, inviting the vicious cycle of human violence to continue unaltered and unquestioned. And humanity still divides and stratifies itself, whether based on what clothes one wears, what job they have, or who they choose to love.

This is certainly not what Jesus had in mind when he told the hungry and the poor (both economically and spiritually) that they were blessed (Matthew 5:1; Luke 6:20-21), or what Mary believed when she said God had "scattered the proud," "lifted up the lowly" and "filled the hungry with good things" (Luke 1:46-55), or what Zechariah thought when he proclaimed God gave "light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death" (Luke 1:79).

Indeed, humanity still, more often than not, creates its own affliction, pain, and misery. The climax of its ability to do so came on that thunderous gray Friday morning outside of Jerusalem, where the God who took on human form and gave new meaning to the heart of life, lay rejected at the hands of the most corrupt elements of the human soul.

But, three days later, the meaning of salvation became fully illuminated once again. God eclipsed death, stating that then, now, and for eternity, the forces of oppression, hatred and inequality that reside at the darkest corners of the soul are defenseless against those of compassion, forgiveness and grace. In effect, God said, "It is here that true salvation lies. Remember the words I've said to you, and the things I've shown you, through Jesus. Until I come again, work to create the kingdom I spoke of in your midst. It is by this that you will know you are my people." And with that, the prophetic voice of the Spirit had spoken again, in a new way, leading us on to where we might again meet and be one with the Holy.

Call it something between the Christus Victor and Moral Influence theories.

Call it what you want. But clearly, there's still work left to do. And somehow, it seems, salvation--for ourselves and for the world--might just depend on it.

The Next Freddie Mercury

His name is Mika (actually, it's Mica Penniman). And if his song Grace Kelly (as in, the 1950's American actress and Princess of Monaco) is any indication, he's the spittin' image of the famous Queen frontman.

Of course, he is trying to sound like Mercury here. But anyone that tries, and pulls it off relatively well, has to have some talent. I mean, the falsetto and the outward fist pump. Classic. And, even if the song is a little annoying to some, it's still incredibly catchy.

A Lamentation (for New Orleans)

Lamentation

How like a widow sits the city once so beautiful!
She weeps bitterly in the night, with tears on her cheeks,
Because there is none to comfort her.
She stretched forth her hands, but none came to her;
In her streets the flood bereaves;
In the sodden houses it is like death.
The leaders and elders of the city have fled,
But the poor are trapped within her levees.

Her friends have dealt treacherously with her;
Those who promised to help are worse than her enemies.
When she cried aloud, none came;
Smooth words promised much,
But they were empty rhetoric,
Wells without water, phantom bread.
Shame! Shame upon us all.

Who would have believed it!
She who sang even when she mourned,
The people who danced even in their want--
Now they are dying.
Their colorful robes are stained with mud;
They are gray, all gray, the pallor of the dead.

Weep, weep for the great city!
Orators of platitudes, politicians of promises,
It is you who betrayed her!
You took from her her safety;
You neglected her when she reached out to you.
You channeled her rivers and harnessed her waters--
But for yourselves!
For the profits of your friends!
You caused her marshes to dry and her wilderness to recede;
You brought the might of the waves and the winds
To her very doors.
The poor, those who dwelt in the lowest places,
Who lived in miserable shanties of wood,
Termite-ridden and forlorn,
Where none but the hopeless would dwell:
You have murdered them,
And their corpses drift in the brackish floods,
But their cries have gone up to God!

Woe to you, Republicans!
For you pumped wealth from their lands
And sent their sons to die in your wars,
But they are as nothing to you.
"Who is my neighbor?"
You do not know yet the answer to this ancient question.
Your only neighbors are your friends in the country clubs,
Or the "good old boys" in the redneck bars.
Your grandfathers set the slaves free,
And you return them to a worse bondage of perpetual poverty!
Your fathers segregated them, but you ghettoize them;
Then you redistrict them to take away the few voices they have,
But God will cause the ruined city to cry on their behalf!
Shame!
Shame for your hypocritical use of my name to lure the unwary.

Woe to you also, Democrats!
You were the fathers of slavery, the first sons of the South!
You damned the poor to generations of ignorance and want.
Your fathers segregated them,
And you promised to bring them into your family.
But where were you when they needed you?
For you lack the courage of your convictions!
You curry the favor of the enemies of your own people!
You have become impotent by your timidity.
You endorsed the wars.
You approved the miserable crumbs
For education and employment.
You courted the indifferent, smug suburbs--
May you live among them eternally,
Bored forever by their white sameness!
Shame! Shame for your graft in the statehouses,
Your selfishness that has turned your people from you in disgust.

Woe to you Christians who pride yourselves
In the name Conservative,
Who call all generous spirits and inclusive hearts "liberals,"
Who see wars as strength and peace as weakness!
The Prince of Peace rebuke you!

Woe to you also, Liberal Christians!
You scorn the common
And cause the simple to feel inferior in your midst.
Your hearts are ever open,
But your pocketbooks are always closed!
He who lived among the poor rebuke you!

Woe to you, television preachers and megachurch pastors!
False prophets!
You deceive the people with your bleats of piety,
While you endorse wars and favor your rich benefactors.
Your prophecies of end times have come true--
In your own generation!
Look upon the city! Look upon hell on earth!
See what your leaders have wrought, the shame of the earth!
All mock us and call us fools,
We who send armies across oceans,
But cannot cross the Mississippi to help our own!
Shame, shame upon you!

I hate, I despise your solemn assemblies,
The self-hypnotic repetitions of your pagan praise-hymns
Are a scandal in my ears,
Come before me no more lifting up unholy hands,
Do not use my name to grow your personal kingdoms,
Or to bless your political ambitions.
What do you think I desire? Barrels of oil from Iraq?
Herds of sacred cows from Texas?
Go now and learn what this means:
I desire mercy and not sacrifice,
Lovingkindness, and not benign neglect.

Weep, weep for my city,
For my people,
For my children.
For they are dead.

Written by Clyde Fant.

The Vision: A Liturgy of Confession

For ignoring the vision,
breathed by the living Spirit
churning deep within our souls;
Lord have mercy,
Lord have mercy,
Have mercy upon us.

For refusing to look at the vision
alive within those
who look, or act, or sound different from us;
Christ have mercy,
Christ have mercy,
Have mercy upon us.

For choosing familiarity, ease, and comfort,
rather than risking the opportunities
afforded in the vision;
Lord have mercy,
Lord have mercy,
Have mercy upon us.

(Assurance of Pardon)
If the vision seems to tarry,
wait for it;
it will surely come,
it will surely come.

Based on Habakkuk. Copyright Katherine Hawker, 1998.

Paul, the Preacher You Love to Hate

The man you see above is not a particularly close friend of mine. Our friendship has tended to oscillate ever since I was first encouraged to seek out his advice on how to live more like another friend I had come to know, Jesus of Nazareth. Even though he didn't really know Jesus at all in the physical sense, I was told, he knew him very well spiritually.

"See what Paul has to say," my friends told me.

So I called him up one afternoon, and told him what was on my mind: ministry. For a long time, he had some good advice to give. Lots of ideas about how to organize pastors, elders, deacons, the works. He was truly a good counselor, like a Jesus-infused Dr. Phil, only with a bit more of a temper and propensity for using curse words (at least when around the Galatian friends I knew).

I met him for some prayer after breakfast one day at the summer camp I always went to, though, and he sounded different. "Women should be silent in the church," he said. I was stung. Even a little frustrated. I had female friends who wanted to be pastors. "Maybe he's just a little pissed off today," I said to myself.

A few years later, as I left for church one Sunday, I heard him tell the wife of a friend to submit herself to the leadership of her husband. "Your husband should lead and rule over you as Christ over the entire Church," he said. "No way," I mumbled to myself. "Can't be what I just heard." Weren't we all equal, with no divisions of race, ethnicity, gender or economic class, like he had also assured me? I found myself disagreeing with him more and more. He was less refreshingly insightful, and more contradictory, than he used to be.

"Your gay and lesbian friends are sinning," he said to me another few years down the line, as we talked over a cup of coffee during my first semester of college. I remember that day. We had just settled down to talk. Like usual, he wasted no time. He was never one to beat around the bush, always shooting you straight whether you liked it or not. He was indefatigably confident, as assured as he had ever been when launching into a long, boisterous discourse on grace, eschatology or personal morality (or sometimes a mix of the three). The hounds of hell weren't going to stop him. They never did. I listened as politely as possible. I let him have his say about the subject, let him tell me about how he remembered saying the same thing to the local church in Rome years ago, when they called on him to settle their theological crises during the prime of his writing career.

When he finished, I set my cup down and, respectfully but firmly, told him our conversation that day had reached an end. I needed to reevaluate the benefit of our friendship.

After that, we didn't talk for a long time. We still don't talk very often, to be honest. I find him too frustrating of a friend to sit down with, more often than not. Always tooting his horn about his closeness to Jesus. Always telling everyone how, or how not, to live their personal lives. Always droning on about how the end of the world will come soon. He became a bit too obsessive and other-worldly for me.

I feel like giving him a piece of my mind after all these years, but most of the time, it's not worth it, anyway.

He'll say what he always has. And that's fine.

Sometimes, we'll have to agree to disagree, respectfully.