In my last post , I described in a fair amount of detail what I call the "Truth about Easter." In popular, Western Christianity, there is an unconscious, mostly unthinking prejudice toward understanding the cross as a picture of God's wrath and punishment against sin unleashed upon Godself in Christ. As I argued in my post, however, if we presume that God were not to respond in such a way to human sinfulness (that is, to punish human sin with death, destruction and hell), we can still adequately describe the nature and reality of "hell" exclusively from the basis of considerations of the "natural" consequences of human sinfulness and violence towards God and self.

The truth about Easter, then, is not that God needs the cross in order to forgive humanity by punishing Christ, but rather that the cross is an expression of sinful humanity's "gratitude" for God's love: God in Christ comes with grace and mercy, and we respond in our hatred by nailing Christ to a cross, exulting in his brutal and violent end. Therefore, the cross is really a revelation of our true predicament apart from God, and casts a bright light on what our fundamental need is: to be freed from slavery to sin and the fear of death.

In this conclusion, then, I wish to describe how I believe that Christ has accomplished this work in the cross. However, before we get to the conclusion, let me make just a few remarks.

Behind the Curtain

While we see that the truth about Easter is the depravity of the human species as evidenced in their response to God's love and mercy by their brutal slaughter of Christ, we must recognize that it is not humanity alone that is acting in this great drama. That is, Christ's death is not simply the result of prime historical forces falling into place, as if what transpired in the Incarnation would have had a different result in some other scenario. No, because of the nature of human sinfulness, and the depth of human hatred and animosity toward God, there is a manner of inevitability to Christ's death, for the cross is a trans-historical picture of sinful humanity's natural response to the kingdom of God.

But again, this inevitability is not based in historical coincidences or the fortuitous alignment of the fates; it is the result of the driving force of human sinfulness ultimately expressing itself over and against the will of God. You see, while humans are certainly sinful individually, there is a power behind the sinfulness that is more than the sum of the persons of humanity. Call it the devil, the forces of darkness, or even the phenomenon of transcendent, demonic power emerging from group violence, there is a power--the power of sin and death--underlying and compelling the events that transpire in the cross. As slaves to this power of sin and death, humans are the willing, yet perhaps unwitting participants in something that is beyond the combined force of their numbers. And so when Christ appears, they do what they are driven to do, even though, in Christ's own words, they don't entirely grasp the reality of what they are doing.

This is a critical point for what comes next, because the cross takes on a much greater place in universal history than would otherwise be. Far away from the apparently insignificant political/religious skirmish that it might be understood as apart from such considerations, the cross, properly understood, is the epic, cosmic culmination of the full and ancient history of human sinfulness in its final attempt to ascend above the most high. It is the final battleground where the purposes of God in creation will once and for all confront the rebellion of sinful humanity and annihilating forces of sin and death.

So in effect, what we see in the cross is the fulfillment of the struggle that began in Genesis. In the cross, the untold years of the history of violence and rebellion are amassed to make their final grasp at ascendancy over God. Every act of violence, every programme of hatred, every demonic event is resurrected and combined in power to once and for all confront and crush the kingdom of God. It is sinful humanity's last and greatest effort to deify the self, recreating itself in its own image, casting off the image of the creator which is has rejected in rebellion.

The Tactics of the Struggle

Of course, given the infinite history and experience of human sinfulness, the tactics brought to this armageddon are clever and, I believe, are at least two-fold.

Option 1: Capitulation

Knowing that they cannot ultimately bring about the ontological dissolution of God, the powers of sin and death's most desired end would be to get Christ to lash back out against the hatred and violence of humanity in the cross with a similar display of retaliatory violence. In fact, we see this temptation leveled several times against Christ. At one point, Christ remarks that it would be possible for him to call upon the powers of heaven, and legions of angels (warriors) would arrive to save him from death and bring about the swift end of his enemies. And on the cross, another temptation is veiled in a taunt: "if you are from God, save yourself." And: "you saved others, but you can't save yourself!" In all of these temptations, the desired reaction from Christ is that he will give in to the pressure of violence and respond in kind, that he will force the hand of God and bring about the greatest bloodbath that could ever be hoped for from the powers of sin and death.

But why were these temptations raised? The powers of sin and death had Christ where they wanted him, did they not? Why would they wish to incite him to call upon the powers of heaven, simply so that they could be crushed by divine violence? The reason is simple, and demonically brilliant. If the powers of sin and death could have elicited such a reaction from Christ, then the tactics and fundamental nature of human sinfulness and violence would have been legitimated. After all, if Christ responds in kind (with hatred and violence), according to the patterns of sin and death, there remains no room for judgment against the impropriety of such tactics. In the singular act of retaliation, Christ would have legitimated and validated the untold history of human sinfulness and rebellion against God. The designs of human self-will would have triumphed, the ascendancy above the Most High would have been complete.

Unfortunately for the plan of the powers of sin and death, Christ resisted the temptation. Although we see a clear internal struggle about this, Christ submits to the will of the Father, a will which obviously did not include this course of action.

Option 2: The Nuclear Option

Not being able to achieve such a capitulation, the powers settle for the next best thing: the nuclear option. By death on the cross, the powers of human sinfulness unleash the history of human violence and hatred upon Christ, judging him (and vicariously God) as deserving of death and destruction. The ancient curse of dissolution and destruction has been turned on Christ, its full consequences meted out in his person on the cross. As Christ breathes his last, the judgment of the powers of sin and death appears legitimate, for Christ has succumbed to the end which was originally promised for sinful humanity. The powers of sin and death exult in their apparent triumph, for in Christ's lifeless body is portrayed the final, magnificent triumph of human self-will over that of the divine, and God's claims as Creator and King dissolve as Christ's body is committed to the dust.

The Curse is Broken

For several hours, now, Christ has lain dead in the ground. The tables of the ancient curse of destruction have been demonically turned on Christ, and in his continued state of death is pronounced the apparent triumph of sin and death over very God. And lest we misunderstand, the judgment of Christ by the powers of human sinfulness was no trivial affair. As mentioned before, this judgment was the culmination of the entire history of human sinfulness, violence, and enmity toward God. In the cross, the full and ultimate power of human sinfulness was displayed; the chips were pushed all in; everything was laid bare on the table.

But then something unexpected happens. No, it's more than unexpected. It's actually impossible. The curse, after all, is binding, absolute. Death is the end, it is finality. The dead...are dead...are dead. They do not continue on and persevere; they do not taste life again. Death is the end. Blackness. Nothingness.

And yet against the very principles of reality, Christ is resurrected by God. He shakes off the curse of death and in ushered into the newness of life granted to him by the Father in resurrection.

The Real, Real Truth About Easter

Time for the payoff :)

Remember the "judgment" which the powers of sin and death leveled against Christ on the cross? In their judgment, they assert the ultimate condemnation of God and pronounce the propriety of their ancient claim to human self-rule apart from the designs and purposes of the Creator. And because they seal this assertion with the very death of the God-man, the ancient curse which was the fitting end for sinful humanity has now been turned on the head of God in Christ. The judgment appears valid and standing, for Christ has died and stays dead.

Yet in the resurrection, we see something very interesting happen. The premise of the judgment from the powers of sin and death, after all, was based on the "staying-dead-ness" of Christ, e.g., their assertions of propriety in judgment were intrinsically linked to the efficacy of the curse turned upon Christ in the cross. However, as Christ is raised from death to the newness of divine life in resurrection, the power of the curse is shattered. Because the curse and power of death no longer hold their grip on Christ, the judgment that the powers of sin and death bring against Christ is shown to be fundamentally illegitimate.

In essence, we see that the resurrection is really a judgment of its own. While the powers of sin and death determined that Christ (and vicariously God) was deserving of death, the resurrection of Christ by the Father reveals a divine counter-judgment. In death, Christ is judged as worthy of destruction, but in his resurrection from this very destruction, the Father vindicates the Son, revealing the ultimate depravity of the original judgment.

And so, because God's judgment of Christ overcomes the judgment of the powers of human sinfulness and death in the cross, there now remains ABSOLUTELY no power for sin and death. In God's counter-judgment, the ancient culmination of violence and sinful hatred which were unleashed against Christ have been pulverized, for the power which took his life was not able to hold Christ in destruction. As Christ is resurrected to the newness of life, all the claims and judgments of sin and death are shown to be entirely vacuous of power, the virulence of the same completely extinguished in their failed judgment. Their chains upon humanity are crushed, and a new way of life and reconciliation with God is made possible through the newness of life which Christ was granted in resurrection.

So we see that the fundamental problem of the cross--the sinfulness of humanity--is dramatically resolved. In his triumph over sin and death through resurrection, Christ breaks their power and judgment decisively. Humanity is no longer hopelessly enslaved to their power, and can now be united to Christ in reconciliation with God.

Conclusion

For all these words, the truth about Easter is not difficult to understand. For all my reflections through these two posts, the reality of what Christ has accomplished cannot be better expressed than how it was so many thousands of years ago:

Since the children have flesh and blood, Christ too shared in their humanity so that by his death he might destroy him who holds the power of death—that is, the devil—and free those who all their lives were held in slavery by their fear of death. [Hebrews 2:14-15]

I hope that your Easter is full of relaxation, celebration, and most importantly, the freedom for which Christ gave his life.

So if you didn't realize it, Easter is only a few short days away. And yes, we are in the midst of Holy Week, even though it seems far too early in the year (the tournament isn't even over yet, for crying out loud!).

Now with Easter comes some very regular and predictable things. We know that little girls all over the country will compel their parents to purchase new, spring-ish dresses for them to wear for one solitary Sunday (believe me, I know this all too well...). We know that many American children will go into certifiable sugar comas following the obligatory egg hunts on Saturday. We also know that their parents will achieve similar levels of pre-diabetic shock from eating the candy that their children "simply don't need"... And, from most pulpits in America, you're bound to hear something about the cross, Christ's blood, and the drama of Atonement (and maybe even something about the resurrection, if you're lucky).

If your church's theology is typical of Western, Protestant thinking, the subject of this discussion will probably revolve around one particular pole: that of the cross as a picture of divine punishment. While it seems perhaps a bit harsh to the non-initiated, the often-rehearsed logic of God's punishment of Christ on the cross seems reasonable enough. After all, humanity has sinned, and of course God MUST punish sin in order to be considered just (right?). Therefore, the familiar story goes that the promise of Easter--of the death of Christ on the cross and victorious resurrection--is that Christ has come to satisfy the wrath of God against human sin, enduring the divine punishment for human rebellion so that we, the guilty, might escape the terrible punishment that we so heartily deserve.

Again, this sounds perfectly reasonable. Many of us have heard the logic a million times and, of course, this is what everyone who believes believes, right?

If you answered "no", you can stop reading. This post is really not for you. Go find something pointless to watch on YouTube.

If, however, my brief description of a typical Easter Sunday sounds familiar, please hang in there. I promise this will not hurt, and may actually spur you to think about something in a way you never have before (or compel you to de-friend me immediately).

The Simple Question

So let's start with a simple question, and before I ask it, just indulge me for a few moments. You know all those presuppositions you probably have about divine punishment and "justice" (especially in relation to the cross)? Suspend them for just a few minutes. In fact, do more than that: deliberately set them aside.

Done? Okay, now think about this question:

If God's response to human sin was nothing at all, what would be the result?

Have an answer? If you do, forget it and look at the question again. Don't gloss over it, or jump immediately to your gut-reaction (after all, the gut reaction will probably betray the presuppositions you were supposed to set aside, remember?). Chew on the question a bit. Explore the nuances of the ideas that come to mind. Write down thoughts if it's helpful. When you've digested your answer entirely, keep reading.

Based on the suspension of belief that I asked before reading the question, you may have found it difficult to answer. And there's a good reason for this.

In popular atonement theology, God is often seen in a dual role. On the one hand, it is God who grants eternal life and heaven to those united with Christ, and on the other it is equally God who actively excludes those who are not. In this way, then, the cross serves as the great agent of salvation from God's punishment, a rescue from a God who was otherwise bound by divine "justice" (or simply desired) to damn us eternally for our sin. And of course, it must be acknowledged that in doing so, God is perfectly justified, for that which God does IS just, and the just-ness of whatever God does is in no way dependent upon human opinions about the same.

But back to the question. Remember, I asked you to suspend the notion that the cross has anything whatsoever to do with divine "punishment" or justice. So again, if God's response to human sin was not punishment or wrath, but was simply nothing at all, what would be the result?

(If you didn't fully think through the question, go back right now and do it. Done? Excellent...keep reading!)

Before we look at the answer, let's talk about sin very briefly. When we think of "sin," we often think of doing something that is morally "wrong" or, if we are feeling particularly theological, we might say that it is a "violation of divine law." While there are places for both these ideas, the answer is actually much more fundamental.

Properly understood, human sin is not simply "doing something that makes God mad" or a "violating the law," but is more accurately characterized as a breach of divine/human relationship--after all, our primary relationship to God is not legal or moral, but personal (remember, we're created in God's image...) Sin, then, is like a wedge that creates separation between the divine life of God and humanity. As in the metaphor of Adam and Eve being expelled from the garden "where God dwells," so human sin severs the dynamism of human relationship with God. In our "sinfulness," we are left to ourselves, thrust into a reality that is deathly hostile, continuously dissolving, and existentially painful apart from the life and goodness of God.

So then, if the experience of living apart from the divine life of God (e.g., sinfulness) is characterized by death, darkness, and the most poignant alone-ness conceivable, how do we answer the original question? If our "natural" state of sinfulness is itself a perpetual and incessant rush toward dissolution and self-destruction, what need is there for divine wrath or punishment? All the things that we characterize as "hell" are perfectly realized in our own self-induced separation from God--how could God improve upon this through "punishment"?

Getting to the Truth

So we begin to see the real truth about Easter. The problem that the cross resolves is NOT that God is angry with humanity and cannot be dissuaded from lashing out against human sinfulness with violence and blood apart from the brutal butcher of Christ. Rather, we see that the REAL problem of the cross is human sinfulness. We are sinful creatures, lost in the darkness of our hatred and enmity toward God. We are bound in chains of self-will and violence, and are hurtling--quite of our own doing--rapidly toward certain self-destruction. If God does nothing at all, hell remains our true domain, the fitting home built of our own sinful, blood-drenched hands. We need not imagine an angered deity casting us against our will into the eternal fires of torture, for the darkness, dissolution and torment of hell are the very things that our sinfulness constructs for us in its headlong rush to destruction. Whether or not God is angry with us and needs (or desires) to punish us for our sins, our end will be no different: the sinfulness to which we are bound will ultimately drag us to the same hell that the imagined punishment of God would have.

And now we get to the ugliest part of this redefinition. If Easter is not about divine violence and punishment being unleashed upon Christ, but is rather fundamentally about the problem of human sinfulness, the cross takes on a whole new meaning. In popular theology, we tend to think of the cross in a very God-oriented way--the human participants in the murder of Christ are only unwitting pawns at best, living, breathing means to the bloody ends that God achieves in the butcher of Christ. However, if the crux of the cross is NOT the appeasement of God's wrath but is rather the primal confrontation of God's purposes in creation with the self-destructive power of human sinfulness and death, then we are no mere bystanders.

Therefore, it is no longer God who is ultimately responsible for Christ's death, but us. In our blinding hatred of God, we respond to the incarnation of divine love with unimaginable violence and an insatiable blood-lust. Wanting nothing of God, we neurotically seek the brutal death of Christ, mocking, laughing and demonically rejoicing as his body is pierced. This brutality becomes our ultimate response to the revelation of divine love and mercy. As we spit in the face of the Great Rescuer and drive the stakes with an unparalleled gusto, the only thought of our depraved, self-destructing hearts is to drag very God to the same hell to which we are ever- rapidly hurtling. As Christ breathes his last, we exult in our apparent triumph, for our judgment of God has seemingly won the day. Sinful humanity has overcome very God, the death of Christ serving as a resounding affirmation of the successful ascension of human self-will over the power of God. We have triumphantly crucified the imago dei (and all the claims of the Godhead with him), recreating ourselves in our own image apart from the God we have so definitively rejected and violently overcome.

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So depending on your perspective, things might feel a little heavy at this point. It is certainly sobering to think of the depths of human depravity, how the hatred and enmity which enslaves our hearts compelled us to murder God's very salvation. But keep thinking about this over the next few days--let the gravity of it sink in. After all, it only when we come to terms with the depth of our true predicament that we can even begin to fathom what the cross really means. Stay tuned.

 

[[ Read Part I ]]

[[ Read Part II ]]

Based on what I outlined previously, I can imagine that a few objections might be raised to my conclusions (as unofficial as they might be...).

First, we might follow this logic:

• If God has already forgiven humanity for its sinfulness;
• and, in fact, the very coming of Christ is the great revelation of this reality;
• why, then, would we be concerned with the notion of asking for forgiveness?

That is, if our notions of "penalty" were really just confounded all along and we are not actually under any impending punishment for our sins, why the biblical injunctions to "confess" our sins?

I think this is a good question, but I also think it's imminently answer-able within the structure I have suggested. As before, however, it requires getting beyond the notions of "penalty" and "requirement" that have plagued our thinking about forgiveness and atonement.

In these paradigms, the act of "asking" for forgiveness is, in actuality, a request that the presumed "laws" of justice be put on hold. After all, transgression--within a penal model--necessitates satisfaction, whether in act or consequence. Therefore, the plea for forgiveness is a hope against hope that just maybe "this time" justice and the requirements of the law will be suspended.

However, as we see in the consummation of the theologies built on this model, no such suspension of justice is possible. Rather, these theologies orbit precisely around the precept that the law and its consequences must necessarily be satisfied; therefore, God must do something within the divine being whereby the self-created and self-maintained requirements of divine justice might be satisfied through the punishment of Godself in Christ's death on the cross.

So we see that even within these "classical" models of thought, the notion of "asking" for forgiveness is as equally absurd as one might accuse my suggestion of being. After all, if the sanctification of divine justice is accomplished in divine isolation through an act of Godself in the chastisement of Christ, what room remains for the plea for the suspension of divine justice? If divine justice has been satisfied fully and finally through the timeless act of Christ's ultimate atonement, those from whose "accounts" the penalty has been expunged through Christ's substitutionary work are in no more need of "forgiveness" than those who are gratuitously forgiven by God by mere divine will and desire (which is similar to what I have argued). That is, if Christ, through his death, has "released" God from the compulsion to punish humanity for its sins, there remains no obligation for which humans might appeal that God "pass over." The request for forgiveness becomes, in effect, completely superfluous, a prayer without any meaningful content or consequence whatsoever.

The actual reason for the superfluousness of the prayer for forgiveness within the penal model, however, is that the formulation of the problem of sin and its relationship to divine/human relationships suffers from an improper orientation. In this model, the primordial problem of human sinfulness is that the same has incurred the necessary and otherwise unavoidable wrath of God, which wrath is to be understood as being primarily manifested through divine violence in the punishment of humans (although rhetorically veiled in the language of "upholding the divine, eternal, and holy law of God"). Understood as such, the ultimate desired result of "forgiveness" is that the wrath of God be averted. Forgiveness, as I mentioned before, is equivalent to the removal of the threat of divine violence and retribution against humanity for its sins against God.

This is precisely why the prayer for forgiveness within such a model is inexplicably meaningless. If the prospect of punishment is removed through Christ's substitutionary bearing of actual divine violence, the threat has been rendered entirely innocuous. "Forgiveness" has been attained through Christ's solitary work (not a request for it), and there is nothing more to be wrested from the otherwise unyielding will of the divine.

Therefore, what should we make of the numerous biblical injunctions to "confess our sins"? I would argue that these instructions are made more intelligible when we step away from penal conceptions of divine/human relationship, and pursue such conversations--as I suggested earlier--on the basis of our understanding of the relationships which we experience in our own realities.

Before, I shared the example of my relationship with my daughter to explicate my understanding of divine forgiveness. With no intention of pressing my illustration too far, let's return to this to think about the place of confession and "asking for forgiveness" in human relationships.

As I mentioned in the earlier conversation, perhaps the most fundamental character of my forgiveness for my daughter's transgressions is that it is based not on her actions, either positive or negative, but is rather rooted exclusively in my love for her. There is nothing she could do to suspend my forgiveness or love for her (as imperfect as it is), nor could she do anything to somehow "compel" me to forgive her (given a scenario in which I was unwilling to do so, which I've argued is antithetical to nature of my love for my daughter...). What must be understood, however, is that although forgiveness has the primacy in our relationship (e.g., it is the instigator of the nature of our future relationship, NOT a reaction to some manner of atonement), this does not mean that the nature of our relationship is left unchanged by her transgression. Quite to the contrary, breaches of trust, deliberate disobedience, inappropriate behavior--all of these create fractures within our relationship...fractures which must be healed in order for the relationship to be restored.

And here we come to the primordial difference between the conception of forgiveness that I am advocating and that which might be found in a penal model of atonement. In my understanding, the reality of forgiveness is NOT a release from obligation to the divine, NOR a removal of the threat of eternal punishment and dissolution. Rather, it is fundamentally a conduit to the restoration and reconciliation of humanity and God through the great Mediator Christ.

The difference between forgiveness and reconciliation, of course, is crucial to grasp. Forgiveness is a necessary variable in the act of reconciliation, for without the deliberate "passing over" of the wrong, there can be no restoration of relationship. Forgiveness, in the great drama of reconciliation, is simply the proactive outreach of the offended to the offender wherein that to which the offended might have every "right" is deliberately forfeited so that the two may become one again. It is the purposeful "letting go" of the desire or intention of seeking retribution, for the forgiving heart knows that true "justice" is found in restoration, not dissolution; is realized in recreation, not destruction.

So in the life and work of Christ, we see the true heart of the eternally loving, eternally forgiving God. Christ's advent is the great proclamation to all of human history that in spite of the ancient and yet-enduring rebellion, God's intention for humanity is not to seek vengeance and "equity" on the scales of eternal justice. Rather, Christ's disclosing of God as "Parent," the everlasting father and mother of all humanity, reveals that God desires and seeks to be reconciled to the creation. Across the epochs of space/time, the everlasting God reaches down and in and through the immanence of the Spirit of Christ, urging and pleading with the creation to return to the source and life of all. Yet the call to reconciliation and restoration is not based on a prior condition of "satisfaction" for the infinite years of open enmity toward God; rather, the offer--no--the fullness of forgiveness precedes the invitation. In Christ is revealed the consummation of God's everlasting and unconquerable love, mercy, and grace poured out upon that which God has created...a love which seeks, through the Spirit of Christ, to reconcile all of creation to God.

Therefore, in the prayer for forgiveness, we can find great release. We need not nervously depend upon our prayer to "compel" God to "pass over" our sins. God has already revealed in Christ that our sins are forgiven. Our prayer for forgiveness, then, is really for us. It is a means whereby we can acknowledge and confess our rebellion and sinfulness. It is a conduit whereby we come to grips with the gravity of our depravity, a mechanism for grasping the destruction that our hatred and violence wreaks upon a creation that God loves. When my daughter asks for my forgiveness, her request comes from a place of understanding and deep regret for her wrong. As mentioned before, this act will never "compel" me to forgive her, for my forgiveness of her has come before any confession she could ever make. Nonetheless, her's is a move toward reconciliation, a necessary step toward the restoration of our relationship.

In the same way, I believe our prayers for divine forgiveness have a similar character. Rather than pleas for escape from divine violence, they are the movements whereby we begin to enter into the reconciliation to which God's ever-preceding forgiveness calls us. By setting aside our sinfulness and choosing the grace of God, we begin--even in the smallest of ways--to complete the divine embrace which God has forever begun in and through the Spirit of Christ in creation.

[[ Read Part I ]]

Without a doubt, becoming a parent has revolutionized how I think about God's love. Before my daughter was born, the concept of God as "Father" had a very one-dimensional nature to it as I filtered this metaphor through my own experiences of being a son. However, when my daughter was born, God as "Father" suddenly blossomed into a much fuller concept for me, for not only could I think of this in terms of God as "Parent," but now my own experience was impacted as God, as "Father," began to have meaning for how I am a "father" as well.

And it is precisely these experiences which make popular theology about sin, atonement, and forgiveness so unpalatable and inexplicable to me. Earlier, I described briefly the structure of atonement as envisioned in popular theology, complete with the notions of "penalty," "guilt," and what-ever-else. What I find so striking is that, from a parental perspective, these concepts have absolutely no meaning to me when I apply them to my relationship with my daughter.

For example, consider the notion of "penalty." Although I, as "father," do give "laws" that my daughter should follow, her periodic transgression of them do not EVER produce within me a blood-lust to punish her for her behavior. And while there are appropriate times for me to correct her behavior through negative consequences, there is nothing within me that feels compelled to punish her in order to "balance" some incorporeal scales of justice within our family. In light of this, I have a hard time reconciling theological belief that would envision God--as Father--demanding that which I as a deeply flawed and imperfect father would never dream of demanding of my own child.

But most striking to me is how forgiveness plays in all of this drama. Although I am by no means a perfect "forgiver," I am, nonetheless, capable of forgiving my daughter for each and every wrong that she does--without exception. She has never done anything, nor can I imagine her EVER doing anything that I would not forgive. But here's the issue: my forgiveness of my daughter is not based on anything that she does. She does not have to somehow "make up" the transgression to me through some arbitrary number of obedient deeds. Nor does she have to be punished in order for me to feel released to forgive her. In fact, as wild as it sounds to ears deafened by theological obfuscation, my daughter does not even have to ASK me for forgiveness. Quite to the contrary, before she could do, ask, or say anything to me, my forgiveness is already reaching out to her, seeking to embrace her and restore our relationship. The bottom line is this: my forgiveness of my daughter is not based on anything she does or does not do; it not based on "justice" being served through punishment; and it is not based on some requirement being met whereby I am "freed" to forgive her. No, it is based solely on my love for her, and my forgiveness necessarily precedes whatever manner of reconciliation comes to pass within our relationship.

In light of these admittedly experientially-derived ideas, my question is this: If we--as a fathers and mothers who are "evil" and imperfect--forgive our sons and daughters in this way, why is our understanding of God's perfect love and forgiveness not informed by this same character of love and grace? If we exhibit such freedom and unconditionality in our love and forgiveness of our children, why do we restrict the nature of God's forgiveness by such curious and convoluted theological structures?

So if I can be so bold, let me offer a reimagining of the drama of forgiveness and atonement as seen through this different lens.

In this creative theological space, we see the primal invasion of creation by God--the Incarnation--as the great trumpeting of the eternality of divine forgiveness. Rather than being "born to die" a fundamentally utilitarian death for the "opening" of the divine to the possibility of forgiveness, the coming of God in the person of Christ is, in fact, the great pronouncement that God has chosen grace and mercy, not punishment and penalty. Christ, as the great Revelator, is the embodiment of divine favor and forgiveness, incarnating in his own person the eternal reality of divine love and compassion for humanity. Again, his is not a mission to somehow enable God to overcome ancient animosity for human transgressions through the punishment and chastisement of Godself; to the contrary, the very arrival of Christ in the midst of human history is the heralding of the grand promise that God has already forgiven--in this, Christ is both the mechanism (as reconciler) and messenger of this profound gospel.

In this great drama, then, the cross loses many of the connotations attached to it while gaining a richer set of metaphors. Since forgiveness is no longer something to be pried out of God's hands by Christ's bloody corpse, the strange and distant notions of "penalty" and "divine punishment" that are so often latched on to our theologizing about the purpose of the cross begin to vanish. Rather than being understood as something which God plans for, or imposes upon Christ as a mechanism for the pacification of divine blood-lust for the sins of humanity, the reality shifts to something much more dreadful and, therefore, realistic. We begin to see in the cross not the rampaging anger of God, but the annihilating force of human sinfulness. We realize that the cross is not God's doing, but ours--it is our act of "gratitude" for the great promise of forgiveness heralded by Christ's coming and life among us. In the cross we see not the "justice" of God, but the true depravity of our own hearts, hearts that respond with hatred, violence, and destruction to the free and deeply gracious gift of life and reconciliation offered by the Creator in the person of Christ. In his death, Christ truly takes our sinfulness into his own person. However, this "transfer" is not for the object of deflecting divine wrath and punishment, but so that we might be freed from sin's annihilating clutches. In the cross, the full force and negation of the history of human sinfulness is gathered against Christ to serve the finishing blow in humanity's rebellion against God, but is extinguished finally and forcefully by the power of God through Christ's vindication in his resurrection to the newness of life in God. With the inevitability of self-destruction and annihilation broken forever, we are now freed, through Christ, to enter into the everlasting forgiveness and grace to which he testified in his advent, his life, and even in his death.

All told, the story of advent, atonement, and resurrection are not about "penalty" or "justice" or "punishment" or "setting things straight." Nor is it about how God "gets over" whatever divine anger and "need" for justice God is presumed to have over human sinfulness. Rather, it is simply and beautifully the unfolding of the most ancient story ever told, the grand revelation and completion of divine forgiveness poured out on God's creation. Christ's advent, life, and death are the trumpeting of the endless bounty of God's grace and mercy. They are the consummation of the free gift of God, unmerited either by human OR divine action, the eternally natural out flowing of the divine being in response to that which God has created and loves with an everlasting, unconditional, and unconquerable love.

[[ Read Postscript ]]

During my not-quite-eternal-but-still-15-hour return drive from Wichita to Kentucky over Christmas break, I happened to catch a radio interview of James Garlow, pastor of the ridiculously huge Skyline Wesleyan Church in sunny San Diego. On this program, Garlow was discussing his newest book, Heaven and the Afterlife, alternating between questions from the show’s host and callers to the show.