I’ve had Adrian Warnock’s post, An Arminocalvinist Spectrum, sitting in my starred items for some time, but I do want to write just a few words about it before I move on. But first, I want to note that Adrian Warnock is one of the Five Sites I Read Because [...]]]>

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I’ve had Adrian Warnock’s post, An Arminocalvinist Spectrum, sitting in my starred items for some time, but I do want to write just a few words about it before I move on. But first, I want to note that Adrian Warnock is one of the Five Sites I Read Because I Disagree, and I’m on his list of top 60 referrers for 2010, even if only at #56. Glad I could contribute, Adrian!

I’m also happy to see this issue divided into a spectrum rather than viewed as a simple, two-sided issue, because there are, indeed, substantial differences between various positions all along the line. I would personally have to say that I accept some points from #5 (Reformed Arminian), #6 (Strong Arminian), and #7 (Open Arminian), though not all points from any of them. But that is part of defining points on any spectrum–there are always people who fall between the points.

As a follow-up, I would suggest reading Spectrum or Divide? A Response to Adrian Warnock, and Adrian’s response in turn here. Matt O’Reilly of Incarnatio, is a neighbor here in the Alabama-West Florida Conference of the United Methodist Church, though I have never actually met him.

While I understand that some Arminians are embarrassed by open theists, I do think open theism at least grows out of Arminianism. I am attracted to, but not certain of, some elements of open theism. I think there are scriptures, particularly those that refer to God repenting, which sound quite open.

What always bothers me in these discussions, though to his credit Adrian doesn’t bring it up until his point on open theism, is the belief that this is largely a debate about the sovereignty of God. I don’t even believe it deals with the nature of God’s sovereignty. It actually deals with the way in which God exercises his sovereignty.

I’ve encountered this same issue in creation-evolution debates. The argument is that God is more glorified if he created the world in six literal days than if he used some mechanism that took more time, or in which God appeared more distant. But the question is not about God’s power, or about who has the choice. God clearly has the choice. God is sovereign no matter how he chose to create. Finite human beings have no concept of the power involved no matter what the method.

When God works in salvation, it is totally a divine choice how to act. Whether God created human beings with the power to choose good, some of which remains, or God empowers them to make the choice through prevenient grace, or simply makes that choice in predestination, it is nonetheless God’s action in God’s time and it’s God’s sovereignty.

It seems to me that the argument that God gets greater glory if he predestines all who will be saved actually tries to force a very human view of sovereignty onto God. Similarly, a claim that God is more glorified if he gives his creatures freedom is to force our human perspective onto God’s actions.

The only question, it seems to me, is how God actually has acted. To be more precise, I should say how God has chosen to present his actions. Because I don’t think any of us understand this. Deeper than any conviction I have about Arminian soteriology is the simple conviction that we don’t really know–none of us.

But I know from experience that there are Christians out there who are stuck on silent Saturday or Good Friday. For them, Christianity is all–and only–about the cross. Jesus died, they died in Jesus. They had no hope. Jesus is [...]]]> OK, it’s Easter Sunday morning, and I can join the chorus: He is risen!

But I know from experience that there are Christians out there who are stuck on silent Saturday or Good Friday. For them, Christianity is all–and only–about the cross. Jesus died, they died in Jesus. They had no hope. Jesus is their hope–but they don’t seem to live it.

If you’re not in that place, you can just ignore me, but if you are, remember Easter morning. The point is not that death and suffering are wonderful. The point of realizing your need is not to go on realizing your need. If I’m thirsty, I get a drink of water. Then I’m not thirsty any more. If you’re in need of redemption, find redemption–and don’t keep acting like you never did find it.

I think that in many of our arguments over historical issues, we forget the meaning of the story. The meaning isn’t about doom, death, and destruction. The story tells us that doom, death, and destruction lose in the end.

By going past silent Saturday, I don’t mean that your pretend that bad things don’t happen. Rather, I ask for an essential Easter optimism that says that even when the worst is happening, there’s something to work toward, something to look forward to.

Paul says:

We were buried therefore with him through baptism to death, that just like Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of the Father, so we also might walk in newness of life. — Romans 6:4 (WEB)

Just so, brother Paul! He’s the one who is most often quoted by the hopelessness crowd, especially his words in Romans 7. But I think Paul was just pretty realistic. Looking and working for good endings doesn’t mean one doesn’t recognize the bad. Recognizing the reality of bad things doesn’t mean giving up on good things.

My wife and I lost a son to cancer at age 17. (She wrote a book, Grief: Finding the Candle of Light.) That’s a bad thing. You may wonder why I put it that way. Some say, “Obviously it’s bad.” Others are thinking I’m putting it too lightly. Yet others are thinking, “He’s a Christian, writing on Easter Sunday morning, and God works all things for the good of those who love him, so it’s not really bad.”

No, it’s really bad. It was, is, and will be really bad. There still are moments when I remember him like he had been here only moments before. When I take his little dog out for a walk in the morning, I remember how he used to stop on his way to school to say good bye to his dog when he saw us walking. It’s a painful moment. I acknowledge it. You should acknowledge your painful moments, times, and seasons as well.

But then there are other things. There is the John Webb Golf Tournament that raises money for the child life program at Sacred Heart Hospital. There are many lives that he touched both before and during his illness.

Do these things make illness and death a good thing? No! Easter morning didn’t make the cross painless either. The point is that you get past it, build on it, shake your fist at death and despair and say, “You don’t get the last word!”

That, I believe, is something Easter should re-teach us each year. Death doesn’t get the last word. Evil doesn’t get the last word.

He has risen. Have you?

Thinking about the celebration of Holy Week in my new adopted cathedral brings home to me quite how important it is for Christians to [...]]]> Adrian says it wouldn’t be Easter “without a row about the atonement” and he has promptly located one in a Guardian article by Giles Fraser, in which Fraser says:

Thinking about the celebration of Holy Week in my new adopted cathedral brings home to me quite how important it is for Christians to insist upon a non-sacrificial reading of the death of Christ. For too long, Christians have put up with a theory of salvation that has at its core the idea that God requires the sacrifice of his own son so that human sin can be cancelled. “There was no other good enough to pay the price of sin,” we will all sing. The fact this is a disgusting idea, and morally degenerate, is obvious to all but those indoctrinated into a very narrow reading of the cross.

Adrian, in presumed response (I can’t find his precise quote in the article he links), says:

I am not surprised by the strong language used by the opponents of the view of the cross generally called “penal substitutionary atonement” but understood by millions of children simply as “Jesus died to be punished for our sin.” If millions of Christians are as wrong as Fraser believes then no wonder that he would speak the way he does.

But I would note here that for many, the word “punished” is not nearly so central, and the statement is that Jesus died for our sins, whatever that may mean. Most of us will admit that we don’t know quite precisely what it means.

So let me confess here right up front that I don’t really understand the atonement. But before all you knowledge-filled people jump up to tell me how you do understand it, and are thus in a position to set me straight, I’m going to refer you to 1 Corinthians 8:2, which I think applies here.

And that’s the problem with these views. Adrian points out that both those who find penal substitutionary atonement is “the most precious truth of the Bible,” and those who believe it is “cosmic child abuse” cannot both be right. I agree! But both of them can quite easily be wrong.

Now I don’t want to make accusations regarding Giles Fraser. It’s possible that he might nuance his point a little more if he had more space than a newspaper column. Adrian, on the other hand, has convinced me rather thoroughly that he is clear on his view and intends what he says. My summary, which I make available for criticism, is that penal substitutionary atonement, the idea that Jesus took the punishment demanded by God for our sins, and that this is to be understood in a judicial sense, is the true core meaning of the atonement.

The response of some seems to be, “No, it isn’t. It doesn’t mean that at all. It means something else entirely.”

That’s the error that I think is shared. In fact, I’m going to suggest that any statement that says that the singular meaning of the atonement is X, is wrong for any value of X. Neither side seems to be able to handle metaphor. Oh, we’ll get acknowledgment that theological language is metaphorical, but the same persons who make such statements don’t behave as though the language is metaphorical.

To Adrian I would say that the language of penal substitution is a highly refined and narrowed form of one scriptural way of talking about atonement. It even deprives the sacrificial metaphors of much of their meaning, because sacrifice is not centrally about judicial penalties.

One of the problems with understanding the death of Jesus as a sacrifice is that most of us in the Christian world have a very narrow and superficial idea of what sacrifice was about in the ancient world. If we’re going to use the metaphor of sacrifice, we ought at least to use it in a Jewish context, and not emphasize the most pagan elements, such as appeasement.

But again, I would tell Adrian and those in his camp that if this particular metaphor suffices to make them believe that God forgives them, and thus is for them the most precious truth of scripture, then by all means see it as precious and cling to it. That’s what a good metaphor is about.

But at the same time, realize that this specific formulation isn’t all there is to it, and isn’t necessarily central. Others may find their understanding comes through other metaphors. Metaphors are useful that way–not everybody has to get cozy with every one of them!

But to turn to those on the side of Giles Fraser, don’t throw out the metaphor just because some people have grabbed it as a singular truth. You’re quite right to object to some results of the penal view of the atonement, and even the sacrificial view. But the penal view is only part of the sacrificial view, and the notion of sacrifice is an important part of how theology of the atonement developed and is understood.

It’s a metaphor; it doesn’t tell us everything. It’s not supposed to. But the beauty of metaphors is that you can use many different ones to describe the same thing, with each one giving you additional light and understanding.

In addition, one metaphor provides a corrective for another. When sacrifice or penal substitution leads us to see God as vindictive, we then need to look to other ones to help build our understanding of God.

There is a beauty in the cross, but it’s a beauty that comes through transformation. Jesus took what was disgusting, despicable, and evil, symbolic of the worst of human nature, and transformed it. A symbol can be transformed.

One way to understand that transformation is by the metaphor of sacrifice, but Jesus also transformed the very idea of sacrifice. Fraser alludes to this, but then proceeds to dispose of the metaphor itself. If you dispose of the metaphor of sacrifice, how can you see the transformation? If you dispose of the cross, how will you see God’s transforming power?

If you try to blot out Good Friday, how will you comprehend Easter morning?

I think that Adrian Warnock has an exceptional ability to pick out annoying portions of quotes, as he does in his post Piper on Leading People Towards Reformed Theology. Now I don’t mean annoying in the sense that it is somehow convicting. I mean it in the sense that it frames the opposition inappropriately, in my view, and in this case it looks a bit arrogant.

Now having read Adrian’s extract, I clicked on through to Piper’s original words, and while they still contain that which annoys me, to which I’ll respond in a moment, they come in a much better context. Piper, who is an exceptional preacher in my opinion, even or especially when I’m busy disagreeing with him, is providing advice for a Reformed pastor who finds himself pastoring an Arminian congregation. His advice is excellent. I’d advise any pastor who has a congregation that disagrees with him in theology to follow it.

I think it would work just as well for an Arminian pastor who ends up pastoring a predominantly Reformed congregation, or any pastor who ends up pastoring a congregation that is not in tune with his theology. I’d like to recommend his advice to those United Methodist pastors who end up in a congregation that wants to be entertained, while the pastor wants to become more God-centered. Be who you believe you’re supposed to be. If certain aspects of theology are too difficult or controversial, focusing on God and who God is will be an excellent place to start.

Similarly, if you’re a liberal pastoring a conservative congregation, you too can focus on God. I assume that if you’re a pastor, you believe that the social imperatives you accept result from who God is and what God desires. So preach about who God is.

Of course, as Piper notes as well, there may be a time to move on, and I personally would add that one shouldn’t seek out such a mismatch. But I know of a number of United Methodist ministers who feel very challenged by the beliefs (or lack of same) in their congregations, yet believe strongly they are called by God to be where they are.

All those parts of Piper’s post are a delight. I’m not going to try to quote from it. You need to read the whole thing. In a few paragraphs, Piper gives all of us good advice–provided we ignore the slanted Reformed and Arminian bias, to which I now turn my attention.

Piper says:

In other words, a Reformed position mainly means, God is really big, really strong, really powerful, really knowledgeable, really wise, really great, really weighty, and he is going to be big in this service, and we’re going to make a big deal out of God here. There are a lot of born-again Arminian people who like that. It’s because they don’t see the implications of their theology.

The bottom line here is that this is not really the main Reformed position, at least not in distinction to other positions. I normally like to let people define themselves, but if that definition includes “unlike me” I am quite prepared to object. I too believe God is strong, knowledgeable, wise, and weighty, and you can put however many “really’s” in front of each word, because “infinite” licenses you to do so. I think the worship service should center around divine things as well.

Arminian theology doesn’t imply anything else either. You see, “God is sovereign” means that God gets to do what God wants, and that includes anything whatsoever that God wants to do, including ordaining free will. Somehow some Calvinists think that predestination gives greater glory to God because it takes human beings out of the equation. But you don’t give greater glory by saying something false about a person or thing. If I praise my hammer as a saw, I’m just being silly. It won’t make it a saw, and it won’t make anyone regard my hammer more highly because of its saw-like attributes.

I would note the condescension in the final sentence of the quote about us illogical Arminians. It may seem nice to give us the excuse of ignorance or blindness, but it seems to replace a certain spiritual arrogance with an intellectual variety.

That doesn’t answer the question of who is correct, however, because my argument cuts both ways. If I’m wrong about free will, I do not increase God’s glory by proclaiming it either. That’s beyond the scope of this particular post.

This ties in with my current series on Interpreting the Bible, and particular my last post in which I said:

Now how does this apply to my test passages? I want to make clear here that the problem with the passages I cited is not that I don’t like what they say. My feelings about what a passage says do not impact what it’s now dead author meant to say. The ancients said many things that I don’t like. God is represented as saying things that I don’t like in scripture. My dislike of the statement doesn’t alter the intent of that statement.

When we phrase the problem in that way we open things up for non-Christians to point out that we are simply taking what we like from scripture, for more conservative Christians to suggest that we are discarding passages at will, and for those more liberal to suggest that we haven’t moved far enough.

The inverse is also possible–when one presents a problem of interpretation which involves an apparent contention of two views in scripture, it is quite easy for one’s opponent to represent this as a problem of trying to discard something one doesn’t like.

But my major problem with predestination is not that I don’t like it. I admit I don’t, but I also don’t like the command to “take up my cross” and I think that one is absolutely valid and binding! My problem is that I think the doctrine of predestination, as stated in the Westminster Confessions, misrepresents God, who God claims God is.

So please do go on proclaiming the sovereignty of God. Make God-centered worship services. If you’re an Arminian who has somehow become pastor to a church of Calvinists, do the same. Make your worship services God-centered.

I am reminded of a friend who was discussing creation and evolution with me who proposed the same type of question. “How can this be reconciled with the Biblical picture of a loving God?” he asked me. Well, that is a difficulty, but it is not a difficulty that will alter the facts on the ground. When you get right down to it, things like the flood and hell fire provide at least as much reason to question one’s picture of God. And evolution occurred (or not) whether I believe it, like it, ignore it, or abhor it.

Even the Wesleyan-Arminian view of choice leaves many wondering. How can a choice, even by a prevenient-grace-enabled, yet finite human, settle an eternal destiny? Is it fair for God to allow such an uninformed choice to result in eternal consequences? Under this view, were the sinner permitted to look into the pits of hell when making the decision, would it be the same? Of course the word “fair” here begs for definition, but I’m using it because I’m intentionally framing this in a form based on human feeling. The Bible proclaims that God is just, which may not seem fair!

No, it’s not a question of just how sovereign God is. It’s a question of what we believe God actually has done. I think the evidence, both scriptural and historical, indicates God has, in his sovereign will, left a great deal more to humanity than we would like. But whether we like it or not, God, by definition, gets to make the ultimate choices.

I would suggest that a group has to have something substantial that is both distinctive and held in common to be cohesive [...]]]> John Shuck (Shuck and Jive) found this list here, and as I’m teaching a Sunday School class this morning precisely on who will be saved and how, I find it rather interesting.

I would suggest that a group has to have something substantial that is both distinctive and held in common to be cohesive and effective. At the same time, one need not try to force everyone else into one’s own category; “outside the group” doesn’t have to mean “consigned to hell.”

I have to confess that while I find this list intriguing, if it constituted my full list of beliefs, I would probably not bother to call myself a Christian. I might reference Jesus amongst many others, but there would be no particular and direct connection, and thus I would wonder why “Christian,” indicating a more direct connection with Jesus, rather than a connection with any other religious teacher.

I have written about this before in posts on Unity, Diversity, and Confusion, and Exclusion, Inclusion, and Vague Boundaries.

The first reason I have a problem with the list would be precisely that vagueness. This list is possibly a good list to define something, but it doesn’t define a Christian or a follower of Jesus to me. Don’t misinterpret this as a desire to poor contempt on Rev. John Schuck, nor to deny him the label “Christian.” That is not my business. I accept his description, accepted by his congregation and denomination.

But my second reason for having a problem with the list is more personal, and that is the fact that despite being called liberal by many, I am much more of a true believer. I believe I have encountered the living Jesus. If the disciples were deluded, then so am I. The call of Jesus that I heard was not to a particular social agenda, but rather to trust and obedience, founded on a realization that I couldn’t manage it myself. I do believe that a social agenda does result from that call, but it is a fruit of it. It is not the call itself.

So for me, at least, intriguing as it is, this list is far from adequate. My list starts with “… and the Word became flesh and dwelt among us.”

But in Calvinism, it seems, grace becomes even more shocking. Adrian Warnock posts a quote from Jonathan Edwards that expresses predestination quite well. You are saved by grace, someone else isn’t. Edwards notes that “although all things are exactly [...]]]> Grace is shocking, if you think about it, because by definition someone gets something unearned.

But in Calvinism, it seems, grace becomes even more shocking. Adrian Warnock posts a quote from Jonathan Edwards that expresses predestination quite well. You are saved by grace, someone else isn’t. Edwards notes that “although all things are exactly equal in both cases” one person has success which is denied to another.

Edwards’ statement is fairly straightforward as a statement of predestination. But Adrian’s comment is what caught my attention. He says:

…If this notion does not make you grateful to God that YOU should be so blessed by him, I don’t know what will.

Now this is what gets me. What’s shocking to me is the level of narcissism that I see in that statement. I’m headed for heaven, and I’m terribly grateful to God, and it doesn’t bother me at all that many other people have been equally arbitrarily consigned to hell. Because, of course, that is what being “denied success” means in this case.

I recall having this discussion with a Hebrew student who simply told me that it bothered him as well, but he believed it was the truth. Whether he liked it or not was immaterial. And indeed whether I like something or not is quite immaterial. I could easily understand that student’s view.

What I don’t understand is the frequently heard expressions of great joy. It is almost as though one is living under a tyrant, and arbitrarily the secret police will arrest some, but not others. The ones who haven’t been arrested can express great thankfulness for the fact that they are allowed to live, due to no actions of their own. But somewhere out there others are suffering, also through no fault of their own.

Under either set of circumstances, I hope I would not be indifferent. I hope that the joy of my escape would be tempered by my knowledge of those who did not. If I believed that God was arbitrarily sending me to heaven, but at the same time was going to arbitrarily send others to hell, I believe I would find it would drive me insane, and I would find it impossible to love such a God or to regard such a God as loving.

I have found over the years that Calvinists don’t fit my stereotypes of them. Just as they do not sit down and neglect Christ-like living because they have already been predestined, nor do they neglect evangelism because God has already made his choice, so they are not, in fact narcissists, whatever may seem to be implied by their doctrine.

Nonetheless I cannot fit this doctrine with any notion of a loving God. And yes, I do mean using a scriptural definition of love. It is, in fact, the description of a tyrant, and not even a benevolent despot.

I guess it’s a good thing I also see little scriptural or logical reason to believe it!

Adrian is concerned with the suggestion that anything in the Bible might be culturally conditioned. Wake up and smell the coffee, Adrian! Practically all of Hebrew scriptures is about leading people from here to there. The narrative is built around the exodus, about physically moving [...]]]> So far as I know, no, they’re not related.

Adrian is concerned with the suggestion that anything in the Bible might be culturally conditioned. Wake up and smell the coffee, Adrian! Practically all of Hebrew scriptures is about leading people from here to there. The narrative is built around the exodus, about physically moving from here to there, and then that becomes a metaphor for spirituality. On what basis would one imagine that what God taught them would be anything other than culturally conditioned?

But there is explicit scripture for this as well:

I also gave them statutes that were not good, and judgments by which they could not live. — Ezekiel 20:25, my translation

The whole context of that verse is worth studying, as is the entire book of Ezekiel. In fact, looking at Ezekiel and Jeremiah as they deal with the Babylonian exile is a theological exercise well worth the time. The exile did not occur with its theological context all ready to go. These prophets, and 2nd Isaiah after them, had to build that context in the people’s mind. The success of this enterprise is demonstrated by the survival of Judaism.

I think Paul reflects this somewhat with his concept of the law as a schoolmaster (Galatians 3:24). God’s revelation is not always intended to be eternal in the form in which it was given. Even Jesus, God in the flesh, had a temporal context in which he spoke and acted.

Dave Warnock, however, responds to this in somewhat more detail and with some excellent scriptures. I commend his post, Sub-Biblical arguments against Steve Chalke to you for study and thought.

Now that you did that (you did go and read Dave’s post, right?) let me just comment that one doesn’t honor scripture by pretending it is something it is not, and was never intended to be. One honors scripture, I believe, by taking it as it is, as much as one is able.