The longer I serve as a pastor, the more frequently I encounter folks who just don’t get the whole atonement thing. It makes no sense to these intelligent, God-seeking people, that a loving, gracious, forgiving God would somehow “need” or “have to have” someone die for the world’s sins.
I fear that too many well-meaning Christians have dismissed these genuine and legitimate questions by uttering the quick and thoughtless refrain, “Christ died for our sins,” without every really wrestling with the “why” of it all. For those who want to live and learn beneath the surface of things, questions simply must be asked about a God who would have to have ANYONE, much less His own son, die a gruesome death to accomplish anything. One contemporary theologian called this “cosmic child abuse,”and I at least understand what he means. Brian McLaren has wondered how a God who would require such a punishment to truly accomplish forgiveness, could then expect us to do something that He, himself, couldn’t do – forgive withOUT hurting or punishing someone. McLaren’s example went something like this: Your wife sins against you and you say, “I forgive you,” and then go and kick the dog because someone has to be punished in order for forgiveness to work.
Classic atonement theories, be they Substitutionary, Punitive, or even Christus Victor, don’t seem to be satisfactory to the post-modern minds and hearts with whom I minister. In fact, this single doctrine may be the ultimate theological dividing line between previous generations of Christians and the present one.
My wife just offered, “Doesn’t the whole atonement thing have to be understood in the context of Old Testament Judaism and their notion of animal sacrifice to appease an angry God?” She’s right in one sense, but animal sacrifice and blood spilling pre-date Judaism. Anthropologists and historians have long held that all sorts of primitive and pagan cultures practiced animal and even human sacrifice in attempt to restore their relationship with the gods. But only Christians are left to somehow reconcile this vindictive, bloodthirsty God with Jesus of Nazareth and all he said, did, and taught. After all, isn’t the Jesus of Christianity supposed to be a reflection of – even the son of - the heavenly Father? Jesus and the woman caught in adultery; Jesus and the woman at the well; Jesus and the man born blind; Jesus and Zacchaeus; his parables of the prodigal son, the laborers and the vineyard, the lost sheep. How are we supposed to reconcile all this unconditional, no-strings-attached love with a God who demands blood payment for sins?
The traditional explanation focuses on God’s radical justice, his absolute commitment to a system of weights and measures that is so much a part of his nature that He cannot possibly ignore nor act against it. Traditional explanations then go on to emphasize that in “sending” Jesus to “pay the price,” God manifests the extent of His love. But doesn’t all this just bring us right back to “cosmic child abuse,” for what God would choose to show His love in such a bloodthirsty way? And what could that God possibly have to do with this Jesus?
I don’t write this blog presuming to have an answer. But I do intend to point out that this particular doctrine and the questions it precipitates show us that theology is neither fixed nor finished. Our thinking about and writing about God must continue. All theologies and doctrines are human, and all of them are somehow inadequate or at least limited by their time. I like the analogy Rob Bell uses in the introduction to his first book, Velvet Elvis. To Bell, theology is like art, like a painting. No matter how great any particular work is, we will still need other artists and other paintings that seek to express what is beyond expression. No single painting has ever or will ever stop other artists from taking up the brush. The same is true of Christian theology, and I hope that more of us will be willing to wrestle with this sticky wicket of atonement. As we do so, I hope that Christians will genuinely open themselves to the problems this particular doctrine creates for the post-Modern mind without reverting to quick and thoughtless answers, whether they’re from the Bible or a bumper sticker.
May the painting continue…
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Eloise Anna Jones
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It is this doctrine that has always kept me with one foot out the door when it comes to Christian faith. For me, the theory of atonement seems to be the root of much of the divide Christianity seems to face-- those who are dedicated to living the path of Jesus, and those who concerned with the "true" life in heaven. More than the obvious extremes-- from folks like Shaine Caiborne to those who take the "the Master is in control and nothing on earth matters because I'm getting a ticket to the real party"-- however, are major drawbacks (in my mind anyway) that this doctrine brings about subtly. It seems like so much of what we battle about is in relation to "sin" -- in a cultural sense as much as an individual sense-- and I have to believe that some of that comes from a fear of eternal damnation-- a fear spawned by the notion that God sent his only son to earth to be killed for our sins (so you had better accept him as savior...or else). I get that the ultimate loss in humanity is the death of a child. I get that it causes these primal emotions of fear, protectiveness, and ready to be at-arms. In that sense, I understand how early Christians may have morphed Jesus' death into this ultimate sacrifice-- it not only provides this huge (and somewhat sick, in my mind) glue that would bind Christians together as the "saved" bunch, it also creates this sense of urgency and need to stand up and get entrenched in the dogma on a total subconscious level. We know the story of Jesus from Mary's pregnancy through his death-- therefore we are invested in him-- it is human nature to feel that way. The thought that he was sacrificed-- killed for us-- it separates Christians from everyone else on a deeply psychological level. Once upon a time, that separation might have been necessary. Once upon a time, that idea may have actually rallied people to the causes of social justice Jesus so passionately and publicly advocated. Now, however, it is the cause for digging in heels, for ignoring responsibilities to our planet and the creatures that inhabit it. It is often a source for ulterior motives when it comes to mission work (as in, we'll do good deeds to show how good our Lord is, but really, we're doing it because we want people to be saved by Christ-- in a dogmatic, say-the-right-words kind of way). What if we instead began to look at Jesus-- at his life and teachings-- as a path that SOME cultures can most understand as the guide for personal transformation (which leads to creating a heaven on earth)? What if we say his death as a historical reality rallying against the empire? Did God save his son from this death? No. But maybe that simply means jesus was to have a completely human experience, and maybe the true salvation would come to God-- not us-- if we would all get on a path-- any path-- that would lead us to understand the root of love and peace is compassion and service. I keep thinking of those parents who have gone through the horror of losing a child. Sometimes those parents become incredible advocates for change-- change that would stop others from facing the same fate as their child-- maybe then, the ultimate way to honor God and Jesus is not to bow down in simple worship of His life-- to instead dedicate ourselves to living in his shadow, not for personal salvation or to feel like we will experience some great gift at the end of our life on earth, but because that is what true love would require. All I know is that I am afraid for my own children to be raised in a place that makes them feel that they were unworthy of God's love before Jesus, or that their "sins" are wiped clean upon their believe in Jesus, or that their friends who have other beliefs will somehow miss the boat on life ever-after.
I have a couple of comments to offer, not a full discussion of atonement theory by any stretch of the imagination.
It helps me to remember that the persons of the Trinity don't work in opposition to each other. Thinking Trinitarianly (I hope that is a word!) doesn't give us an angry God who must be appeased by mandating the death of an innocent son. It gives us a God who comes to us, becomes one of us. Because God and God's ways are counter to the ways of the world and because God refuses to engage in violence against others, this God ends up taking the violence of the world onto himself.
I fear I haven't made that very clear. And reconciling what I just said about God's nonviolence and what we read in the Old Testament will take another much longer comment.
The older I get, the more I think that "Christ dying for our sins" might be better phrased, "Christ dying because of our sins" and "Christ dying to overcome the power of sin." And the Good News is that sin and death are defeated, don't have the last word. The power of God is made manifest in the refusal of God to use power as the world does. Jesus is the One who overcomes by dying... and rising.
Of course sin in this usage doesn't mean sin as the breaking of rules but whatever is opposed to or impedes the reign of God.
I hope this is helpful and doesn't make the waters more muddy. I have found the work of NT Wright enormously helpful in thinking about this topic.
And I think you are quite right that we are never done thinking and rethinking. How could we ever be finished thinking about God?
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