Master 266: Lenten Meditation

There's been a question on my mind for some time. I haven't done the research necessary to get a really well-grounded biblical answer to it. It's just been me reflecting on it. This is, I recognize, probably one of the more dangerous forms of reflection, but I'm going to give voice to it anyway.

There have been those who have expressed deep misgivings about what they take to be an unhealthy fixation, among Christians, on such subjects as guilt, condemnation, sin, sacrifice, and propitiation. Is it possible for someone to have an 'overdeveloped sense' of his own sinfulness, depravity, turpitude, and wickedness? (This is not the main question I'm taking up, by the way.) I suppose that it is. Especially if this awareness is so overwhelming that it causes one to lose sight of the fact that, however wicked one may have been, God's grace is sufficient to cover even that.

Paul, who describes fallen humanity as dead in trespasses and sins speaks also of the hope of being made alive in Christ. In the same passage where he describes himself as foremost of all sinners, he speaks of God's plan to save even him. Even as the prophet Isaiah describes the nation of Israel saying, "For all of us have become like one who is unclean, and all our righteous deeds are like a filthy garment," he displays his confidence in God's mercy by crying out to him for help. In the same Psalm where David asks, as he contemplates the cosmos--the breadth of creation--, "What is man that You take thought of him"? he also says, "Yet You have made him (man) a little lower than God, and You crown him with glory and majesty!"

If our view of humanity is so dark and despairing that we forget what Paul and Isaiah and David knew, then we have certainly gone too far. On the other hand, if our view of humanity is so bright and golden that we become forgetful of our desperate need for grace, then we have erred in the opposite direction. How do we balance these? It is not by just trying to avoid the two extremes. Be confident, but not too confident. Be humble, but not too humble. The life that is full of grace, love, generosity, kindness, compassion, sensitivity, and joy cannot be reached simply by trying to avoid the two bad extremes. It is found by fixing our eyes on Jesus. Looking to Him, celebrating who He is and what He has done, following Him in obedience, resting in His presence, abiding in His words, tracking His example.

How do we attend more and more effectually on the grace and goodness of God--in such a way that that awareness shapes our outlooks, actions, and lives. Sometimes a bit of reflection on the extent of our need (owing, in part, to our depravity) is appropriate. Not as an end in itself--remember--but just so that we can come to appreciate all the more the riches of the life we've been called into by comparison. What I'm proposing is a kind of catharsis.

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Does this still sound too morbid? Again, there is such a thing as being too fixated on our naturally fallen condition. But most of us, I take it, are not in danger of falling into that trap. If anything, we rebel against such meditations because we would rather not face the truth--not because we want to hold onto it. The simple and plain, unadorned and unexaggerated facts concerning our sinfulness are all by themselves too much for us to face without the arm of God to hold us up.

It's at a point like this in my reflection (and I still haven't reached the main question that I want to take up. This is all just leading up to it) that I am reminded of one of the closing scenes from Steven Spielberg's 1993 film, Schindler's List. The title character, Oskar Schindler (played by Liam Neeson) is a very worldly and self-centered German businessman. Yet, through a series of events he ends up saving (by some accounts) over 1000 Jews from the internment camps and death. When the Nazis surrender and the Russians move into Germany, Schindler is forced to flee. As he bids farewell to the workers whose lives he has saved, he is suddenly struck by the thought of how much more he could have done. He looks at his car, at his golden party badge, staggered as the reality comes home to rest of the hundreds and thousands who were not saved who might have been saved. I think it would be wrong for us to allow the lives that Schindler did not save to overshadow the fact of the great good that he did accomplish, and yet I think it may be helpful for us to consider the other angle as well. What if we could see the real truth--the weight of a gold watch against the weight of a human life? The weight of a new car, a new computer, a vacation, a cup of coffee, against food for the starving, vaccinations for the diseased, homes for the destitute. (See C.S. Lewis' The Great Divorce, for more on this theme.)

A philosophy of life can't (and shouldn't) be constructed from this one sentiment. I raise this just in order to prompt a question: Does our reticence to contemplate what we might consider morbid arise from an informed and clear-eyed perception of the truth--or does it come precisely from the desire to avoid stepping out into the clear light of day. And if the latter is the true answer, then we should ask, 'Why?' Why do we fear to step out into the light?

Why do we feel the need to hide from the truth? Wouldn't it be a curious thing to find that reality is such that it is impossible for people to live in it? Some people think that this is actually the way things are. They speak of necessary illusions--falsehoods without which 'ordinary life' is impossible. (Of course, what counts as 'ordinary life' is precisely one of those things we must consider when evaluating such a position.) Some may suppose that belief in God and in grace amount essentially to just this sort of illusion-generation (sometimes called 'wishful thinking'). In what follows, I'm not going to argue for the contrary position but simply present it.

What then is the truth about the world? (I'll state things fairly baldly in what follows. Remember that this post is intended to serve as a lenten meditation and as a kind of catharsis. If I were speaking in an academic setting, I'd express myself differently.) One side of the truth does include the depth of our depravity and extent of our need for grace. But the other side of the truth is that there is a superabundance of that grace available to us. Let's look at these in the context of a meditation on a question that has struck me recently.

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Here's the question: Did Jesus' sacrificial life and death merit salvation for us? Did Jesus earn salvation on our behalf?

This question was prompted (for me) by two passages. One comes from A. W. Tozer's The Pursuit of God. At the closing of one of the chapters, he prays: "I would exalt Thee above all. I desire that I may feel no sense of possessing anything outside of Thee. I want constantly to be aware of Thine overshadowing Presence and to hear Thy speaking Voice. I long to live in restful sincerity of heart. I want to live so fully in the Spirit that all my thought may be as sweet incense ascending to Thee and every act of my life may be an act of worship. Therefore I pray in the words of Thy great servant of old, 'I beseech Thee so for to cleanse the intent of mine heart with the unspeakable gift of Thy grace, that I may perfectly love Thee and worthily praise Thee.' And all this I confidently believe Thou wilt grant me through the merits of Jesus Christ Thy Son. Amen."

The content of most of that prayer I can wholly endorse and affirm. But that last line has puzzled me. Tozer's confidence is bound up, supposedly, with and in the "merits" of Jesus Christ.

Because that phrase puzzled me I turned to Wayne Grudem's Systematic Theology to see what he might have to say about the matter. And he expresses a view that seems to be in line with the closing words of Tozer's prayer.

In the chapter on the atonement, the section on the nature of the atonement, Grudem writes, "If Christ had only earned forgiveness of sins for us, then we would not merit heaven. Our guilt would have been removed, but we would simply be in the position of Adam and Eve before they had done anything good or bad and before they had passed a time of probation successfully. To be established in righteousness forever and to have their fellowship with God made sure forever, Adam and Eve had to obey God perfectly over a period of time. Then God would have looked on their faithful obedience with pleasure and delight, and they would have lived with him in fellowship forever."

This interpretation of Christ's sacrifice is based on Grudem's interpretation of the nature of the covenant relationship that existed between Adam and Eve and God. Grudem cites a couple passages in support of what he says about the atonement. Philippians 3:9; 1 Corinthians 1:30; Romans 5:19; Matthew 3:15. It's far from clear to me that these passages entail Grudem's view. All of these passages make reference to Christ's imputed righteousness, but interpreting righteousness just or primarily in terms of moral rectitude seems problematic. Righteousness refers to something far bigger.

This is what prompted the question for me: Did Jesus' sacrifice earn or merit our salvation? Is our standing before God based, fundamentally, on what is merited or earned? I think the answer is 'No'. I wonder whether such a view of salvation does not betray a deep mis-understanding about the most fundamental nature of reality. Notice how Grudem's take on atonement lines up with his view about Jesus Christ's own standing before the Father. He writes, "Jesus had no need to live a life of perfect obedience of this own sake--he had shared love and fellowship with the Father for all eternity and was in his own character eternally worthy of the Father's good pleasure and delight." In one sense, I take it, this statement is absolutely correct. Jesus Christ is worthy of the Father's good pleasure and delight. In the same way, God is worthy of our praise, honor, and glory.

But the idea of 'worthy' suggests another potential (and problematic) interpretation. To say that Christ is worthy of the Father's pleasure and delight might be interpreted along the lines of saying that He is deserving of them or that He is owed them--especially in virtue of his actions. But this is where things seem to go wrong (at least in my head, and you can think about this with me).

Imagine coming to the Father and asking Him, is Your Son, Jesus, worthy of your pleasure and delight? Does Your Son, Jesus, deserve your pleasure and delight? How do you suppose God might respond? (1) I imagine He might not even register your question. He might be so busy lavishing love and regard on His Son that there is no space for answering questions about whether His Son is worthy of or deserves that. (2) I also imagine He might register a kind of puzzlement (or mild amusement) at the question. Really? Do you think that worth or desert is even an issue? Has the Father ever stopped in all of eternity to contemplate whether His Son's conduct or character made Him worthy of His love?

Parents, think of your own children. Are they worthy of your love and affection? Are they deserving of your love and affection? When they are rebelling, it is most clear that love is not tied to characteristics of them but is unconditional. But when they are being good, we can mistakenly begin to think that it is because of their goodness and upright conduct that they are loved. But that's a mistake. Or at least, I expect, if that is how human parents handle things, it's a departure from the way God works.

Is the Son worthy of the Father's love? What thought could be farther from the Father's might than the meritoriousness of His Son? He is surely much too busy loving and delighting in His Son to give any thoughts to that.

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I'd suggest (and you're welcome to consider this with me), that our standing before God never has been, never will be, and never could be, based on what is merited or earned. Of course most Christians (including Grudem, I take it) would agree with what I've said to this extent, at least: they would agree that our standing before God is not based on what we have merited or earned. However, they would say that our good standing before God is based on what Christ has merited or earned on our behalf. And my suggestion is that our good standing is not based on what anyone has merited or earned. Why is that and how can that be?

The problem with the idea that we merit God's favor in virtue of Christ's sacrifice is that tied up with the idea of 'meriting' is the idea of 'deserving.' To merit or earn something is to be owed it. To merit or earn praise is to be owed praise. If you perform an act that merits recognition and then don't receive the recognition, there's a problem. And if Christ's sacrifice has merited salvation on our behalf, then it seems that salvation is owed to us. And that seems a problematic conclusion. One might point out that Christ's sacrifice is itself not owed to us. In that way one might avoid this unacceptable conclusion. But this still leaves unaddressed the problem of characterizing Christ's own standing before the Father. Does Jesus' deserve the Father's favor? Is Jesus owed the Father's love and regard? The answer, I expect, is 'No'.

Jesus has never done anything that would interfere with the free and uninhibited flow of grace and love from the Father to the Son. But I think it's a mistake to think that this means that that free and uninhibited flow of grace is based (predicated?) on His flawless track record.

But, one might object: If our sin is what breaks the flow of God's grace to us, then doesn't that mean that the flow of God's grace depends upon our actions? I think the correct answer is 'No.' This is precisely the point at which the categories of give-and-take, tit-for-tat, economic exchange, etc. are inadequate for capturing the true nature of reality.

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The whole idea of economic exchange--of giving one thing for another--depends upon the following artificial construct: that two agents are capable of standing on equal footing with one another. --that I have something you want and you have something I want, we exchange them, and that's all that needs to or can be said about our relationship in that moment. Now we may recognize that, in fact, agents in our ordinary experience do not actually stand in this sort of relationship (a merchant and buyer are never truly wholly independent entities who intersect only at the point of their particular transaction), but it's an important presupposition of our economic system. But we make a grave mistake if we think that ultimate reality has this character.

We cannot stand in this position of equality with God. We depend on him for our existence, for everything we have, for everything we have to offer and give Him--it is all His already. And nothing is more absurd or ungrateful than for us to try to offer God something of ours as if it were not his already.

We can get some sense of this from the example of children who give gifts to their parents. We are amused by the case of a child who asks Mom or Dad for twenty bucks to buy them a present. How silly to think that the child, in that situation, could be thought of as offering any thing to his or her parent. But this is precisely to admit that what is important about such an exchange is not the gift that the parent receives. What is important is the love and relationship, generosity and care, that are exhibited by the child. And a child who staked the value of her act on actually benefiting her parent would be sorely mistaken and such a misunderstanding would be tragic in an important way.

A child who is obsessed with standing on an equal footing with her parent is surely a discontented child. Children who try to live as if their parents never existed, who refuse to acknowledge their indebtedness to their parents, who refuse to rest in the love that's been given to them--these are tragic cases.

And this provides the crucial insight into the problem with our relationship with God. This is precisely what Adam and Eve sought to do at the very beginning. They sought to stand on an equal footing with God. They were not content to rest in His grace, rely on His provision, and love Him as a child. They wanted to be equal with God. They refused to live in God's grace, they refused to accept God's provision--and what would you expect the result then to be? What is the only possible fate for someone who cuts himself off from the one and only source of life? What is the only possible fate for someone who cuts herself off from the one and only source of peace? What is the only possible fate for someone who insists on taking nothing from life but what is his by rights and refusing to accept anything that is not deserved, earned, and merited? What is the only possible fate for someone who tries to build a life and acquire peace without using anything that comes from God, depends on God, or has its ultimate source in God? Can you imagine anything more absurd? And yet that is what people have been trying to do since the fall of Adam and Eve. And God foretold what would be their fate from the very beginning: hardship instead of ease, opposition instead of support, discontentment instead of peace, and death instead of life.

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Having made this break with God, having separated ourselves from Him, having rejected Him--once we discover that there really is no life to be found apart from Him, that trying to achieve lasting success, contentment, wholeness, wellness apart from Him is impossible--how do we then return. If you've betrayed someone and wounded them, on what basis can you return? You can only return on the basis of their grace.

Here I imagine the case of a man who has committed adultery and been found out. What does he say to his wife? How does he apologize? How does he begin to make things right? I am staggered by the thought of the chasm that has just opened up between these two people. What does he say? "I'm really sorry." But those are just words. Words come cheaply and he's shown by his actions what's really in his heart. "I promise I'll never do it again." But promises are vacuous at this stage. He's already broken a promise once. How could another promise make things better? "Let me try to explain." Well that's not going to go far at all. Will an explanation of his thought processes, his lack of self-control, etc., etc., etc. really help to mend things? "Remember how good our relationship was." A lot of good that's going to do right now. "Think of the children." "I'll do better next time." …

Are you familiar with the story of the prodigal son. A young man demands his share of the inheritance from his father. He then leaves the family, squanders it all, and is left destitute with absolutely nothing. As Luke records the story, "But when he came to his senses, he said, 'How many of my father's hired men have more than enough bread, but I am dying here with hunger! I will get up and go to my father, and will say to him, "Father, I have sinned against heaven, and in your sight; I am no longer worthy to be called your son; make me as one of your hired men."'" (15:17-19) The prodigal son has his plan in mind but when he actually meets his father, the totally unexpected happens. His father runs out to greet him, embraces him, hugs him, kisses him. The son must have been overwhelmed at this point but he still manages to get these words in: "And the son said to him, 'Father, I have sinned against heaven and in your sight; I am no longer worthy to be called your son.'" (v. 21) But this is all that's recorded of what he says. A lot of people seem to think that Luke was just abbreviating here. A lot of people seem to think that the son must have gone through the entire speech but Luke, in order to save space or something like that, just inserted the beginning of what he said. But I'm not so convinced. The biblical texts do not shy away from being repetitive and long-winded. So why does the son only give the first part of his speech?

I think he gives only the first part of his speech because in the midst of the outpouring of love that he is unexpectedly receiving, it finally dawns on him how far he has sunk and how undeserving of regard he really is. Can he really come to his father and say, "Treat me as one of your hired men." He probably realizes that his conduct has been worse than the lowest of his father's hired men. He realizes the magnitude of his sin--against heaven and against his father--and he's rendered silent. He can make no requests. He can make no demands.

I imagine that's the only recourse left for the adulterous husband. There's nothing about him that could possibly merit, earn, or deserve forgiveness. There is no stockpile of good deeds, happy memories, character traits, or anything that he can draw upon as leverage for winning his betrayed wife's forgiveness. His only hope for reconciliation lies in his wife's willingness to give him another chance. The prodigal son's only hope for reconciliation and restoration lies in his father's willingness to take him back.

Have you ever been in that place? Have you ever allowed yourself to be in that place. Of course no one wants to be in that position of having done something so bad that one is completely dependent on another's grace. But sometimes we do hurt people that badly--and then we just make things worse by making excuses by acting as if we were somehow not completely dependent on their grace.

Have you ever been at that place? Many people, unfortunately, probably have been. And many have experienced the heartbreak of that person's saying 'No' to reconciliation.

Some people, though, have experienced the joy of receiving a 'Yes.' And sometimes I wonder whether there is anything better than being at that place where you know, beyond a shadow of a doubt--you know--that you do not deserve forgiveness, that you cannot earn it, that reconciliation is completely outside of your power -- I wonder whether there is anything better than being in that place and hearing that person say, 'Yes, I will forgive you.' That kind of forgiveness is powerful. It is powerful because you know that it comes wholly, completely, freely, and willingly from that person. Forgiveness has not been extracted from them or extorted from them or blackmailed from them. They have seen the reality of your betrayal and they have chosen to forgive you.

That is what God does for us. In fact, what is so amazing about God is precisely that He is so ready to forgive. His love and compassion, grace and mercy, are so amazing that He readily receives back all who call on Him.

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So often we seem to have this idea that God has been paid off. When we sinned, we went into debt. Until that debt has been paid, we cannot have relationship with God. Once that debt's been paid, then we are on neutral ground with God. And once Christ credits righteousness to us, we are then (vicariously) in the position of meriting God's favor and regard.

Again, the problem with this picture is that it presupposes the possibility of our standing on equal footing with God. That's what's fundamentally wrong with the economic metaphor. Our situation is much more like that of someone who burns down his neighbor's house. If his neighbor decides to forgive, that is not because things have been equalized. The neighbor is still without his house, but in forgiving the arsonist, he has chosen to absorb the cost of forgiveness into himself. He has chosen not to demand that cost from the arsonist.

When a child betrays his parents and later comes to be reconciled, there can be no question about restoring some sense of equality between the two parties. The two parties were never on equal footing to begin with. The child had always been indebted to his parents for life and shelter, food and clothing. Reconciliation does not involve equalization. Rather, it involves the child being willing to come back into that child-relationship with his parents. Even if 'restitution' is made, that does not balance the books. Rather, the parents (if they choose to forgive) just absorb the cost of forgiving.

The fact is we always have been, always are, and always will be utterly dependent on God. We cannot escape that. He is the one and only source of life. When we fell into sin, it was because we wanted to stand on equal footing with God. Our being reconciled does not require that the books be balanced. It just requires that we return willingly to that place and attitude of dependence--dependence for forgiveness and dependence for life.

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Now some people are just repulsed by this idea of adopting a posture of dependence on God. Does it seem servile? Does it seem sycophantical? But the truth (an unhappy one for these but one of the greatest truths of all) is that the whole of reality is built on grace and mercy. Grace and mercy are the currency of the cosmos. You cannot trade in anything else. Not really.

Any relationship of yours--with employers, co-workers, employees, spouse, children; with your waiter, grocery clerk, neighbor, car-pool group, gardner, etc., etc., etc.--all of them depend on grace and mercy. The illusion lies in the thought that you can actually stand on your own two feet completely independently of anyone else. If you try to live in that way--independently, never taking anything that's not rightfully yours--you'll either go through life lying to yourself, or you'll just go nuts, because life is built on grace and mercy. You can't get away from that. Submitting to God, then, is not something unusual or out of the ordinary. It points to the deepest structure of reality.

And that deepest structure of reality is revealed (perhaps enacted, in a way) in the sacrificial death of Jesus Christ. It is not because Jesus paid our entrance fee on the cross that we enter heaven. That is not the sense in which Christ's sacrifice makes our salvation possible.

Rather, Christ's death is the demonstration of the power of grace to reach to the very uttermost. That is what we are placing our confidence in: in the compassion and mercy of the God who sent His one and only Son to the cross for our sakes. If He would not spare His own Son, how could He not give us all good things. Jesus Christ's death does not pay off God. Rather, Jesus Christ's death just shows us that God's grace has no limits. And our invitation is just to come and rest in that limitless grace.

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What does it look like, you might wonder, to live in light of this truth. It's all well and good to go through this kind of catharsis: to reflect on the extent of our depravity and the magnitude of God's grace. But is there any pay-off beyond that.

This points to another reason that I have trouble with the payment/transactional picture of the cross. It's all well and good to say that Jesus paid for our sins and that, in virtue of his sacrifice, we can stand before God unashamed. But that still suggests that God is, at bottom, not gracious. After all, our standing before him depends upon the books being balanced. One result of that, I think, is that even people who have been saved continue to live as if under the heavy hand of a master rather than a father. They are told that they are free but they can't take hold of that because they are convinced that reality at its most fundamental level has this economical, tit-tat character.

The good news is that reality, at its most fundamental level, is built on grace and mercy. We never could balance the books because in the very act of creation, God chose to take on the burden of providing for our life and existence. We don't have to tow the line, as it were, and so avoid incurring further debt. We have been, always are, and ever shall be indebted to God. If that is the case, then, how should we live?

We should live as children of God. We should live as children who are appropriately dependent on their parent and who give no thought to balancing this dependency but only think of living in loving relationship to God. Do you dislike the idea that someone else is 'financing' your life? Get over it. If you could see the unadorned and unexaggerated truth, you would probably find that your wife's loving you has less to do with you than you think. Your job was given to you, not so much because of your incredible qualifications as by a stroke of 'luck'. The fact that you've escaped the tragedies that have slammed so many others has nothing to do with your planning, prudence, or savvy. Your life is sustained by grace and mercy at every level. So why should it surprise us that life at the deepest level is also built on grace and mercy. Stop trying to fight it. Just learn to rest in it.

And rest you can. I talked earlier about how much energy we expend trying to stay away from the light of truth. We try so hard to convince people that we are deserving, that we have a right to be here. So many people (probably unconsciously) seem to be trapped in this never-ending game of trying to justify their existence. Stop trying to do that. You don't have to do that. Learn instead to live freely in the light. Because the deepest truth of all is that no matter who you are, what you've done, what strikes there are against you, you are loved. God has said, 'Yes' to you. Learn to live in that. Learn to breathe freely in that. It's the best way to live.

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One final note. It's impossible for us to get completely away from 'transactional' language when speaking about God's relationship to us. Why is that? Because God uses transactional language at times. What I've given here has been a meditation and reflection. The impression I've tried to leave you with might be summed up with this line: salvation and grace have always been God's idea. A lot of people seem to think that salvation and grace were Jesus' idea and plan for assuaging the Father. While there's something right about that, it's also the case that salvation and grace were the Father's idea. They are His at the very deepest level.

Everything I've said here, I think, can be integrated into a well-rounded interpretation of what God has said about Himself. But ultimately, what God says about Himself sets the standard for what we can say about Him.

Blessings on you all this Good Friday and Resurrection Sunday.

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God is in this place,
And that reality, seen and understood by the grace of God in Christ Jesus through the work of the Holy Spirit, makes all the difference in the world.