How My Thinking About the Atonement Has Changed

First edition, 2000

Recently a former student, Nathan Hunt, asked me how my thinking about the atonement differs from twenty-five years ago when the first edition of my book, Recovering the Scandal of the Cross: Atonement in New Testament and Contemporary Contexts was published. I loved the question and the reflection it prompted.

 More Jesus, More Cross

 First, I should acknowledge that significant change happened through the several-year process of writing the book. I started with a strong, but narrow, pastoral concern—the suffering caused by people having a distorted concept of God shaped by common understandings of the cross. Co-authoring the book with Joel Green led me to see other negative fruit of poor atonement theology. And, Joel pulled me beyond just critique. He also broadened my awareness of the work and significance of the cross. Soon after the book came out, in the middle of a praise song about the cross, I realized that I sang with deeper and broader gratitude for the cross than I had before. That has continued to grow since book came out in 2000. In 2008 I started writing on the board at the beginning of my Theological Understandings of Jesus course—MORE JESUS, MORE CROSS. Whereas before my focus and passion had been eradicating something problematic, my goal became to not just remove, but to add more.

 Realizing Penal Substitution Theory’s Continuing Influence on Me

 I had begun critiquing a version of penal substitution theory in 1988. Even so, a few years after the book came out, I realized how much it still shaped my thinking about the cross—not the content, but the form. The New Testament proclaims the saving significance of the cross, it does not explain the mechanics of how the cross saves. Penal substitution theory of atonement (PSA) proposes an explanation of the mechanics. The theory provides a neat and logical explanation.  I felt pressure to come up with an alternative that was as equally logical, complete, and neat. In that sense PSA still influenced me. There were two significant problems to this. First, whereas theories, like PSA, close down with a strong period at the end. Images and metaphors, like those in the New Testament, open up to greater depths of meaning. Second, as C. S. Lewis so powerfully communicates through the stone table scene in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, the saving work of the cross and resurrection are about “deeper magic.” If we borrow the legal logic (magic) of the world to explain the mechanics of the cross in a way we fully understand, we will fall short of the deeper magic of God’s work through the cross and resurrection. Stepping away from striving for a tightly logical and watertight explanation is a significant way I have changed since 2000. That contributed to another change.

 More and Shorter Explanations and Images of Salvation Through the Cross

It troubled me that, even after I had co-authored a book on the atonement, I could not give a short coherent explanation to the question of how the cross and resurrection save us. (Underline “short”—I had written a chapter-length answer so long that Joel and the editor pulled it from the book.) The step described above created greater space for alternatives. Three other things led to me having a tool box full of images and explanations. First, one night, a few years after the book’s release, lying in bed, my wife asked me, “OK, if Jesus’ death on the cross does not provide for our salvation by appeasing God’s demand for punishment, please explain how does the cross save? Could you give me a brief answer?” Pressure was on! I obviously needed to say something short and coherent. Also, since I advocated for using multiple images of atonement, I felt pressure to not just give a single answer. I started talking and, to my relief and surprise, I quickly listed ten ways the cross saves and Lynn found it helpful. Grateful for her question, and what it led to, the next day I wrote down the list and later turned it into an article.

Second, I began looking for examples of people using images and stories, other than PSA, to proclaim the saving significance of the cross—in Sunday school classes, sermons, and conversations in coffee shops. I brought them together in a book, Proclaiming the Scandal of the Cross: Contemporary Images of Atonement. Third, in my Christology course I gave students an assignment to develop a contextual presentation of salvation through the cross. (Some of the best are at the bottom of this page of my website.) These two gave me a wealth of examples. Borrowing from others filled my tool box.

 Jesus Life as Foundational Narrative

Stepping away from the demand for a tight logical explanation of the mechanics of how the cross provides salvation also contributed to me giving greater attention to the relation between Jesus’ life and the cross. PSA, rooted in the legal dynamics of a western courtroom, has little connection to Jesus’ life—what matters is that he did not sin. I sought to do the opposite, to look at the dynamics of Jesus’ life that provoked powers of the day to want to kill him. How might that inform our understanding of how the cross and resurrection provide salvation? Over the years I developed and refined what I called, “A Foundational Narrative of the Atonement: Framed by Covenant and Rooted in Jesus’ Life.” (Here in article form with diagrams.)

My work on this foundational narrative also resolved a tension I felt in 2000. I am a systematic theologian, and systematic theologians seek to bring things together in coherent unity. For instance, systematic theologians construct theories of atonement. If they critique PSA they offer an alternative theory. My co-author, Joel Green, is a New Testament scholar. He thinks the significance of the cross and resurrection cannot be captured in a single theory—as I said above theories close down, metaphors open up. Joel advocates for following the New Testament and using multiple images to proclaim the saving significance of the cross. Joel persuaded me. Yet, I still felt the pull for something to unify. I settled on a foundational narrative as a compromise. It offers a unifying foundation for multiple images yet it avoids the swamp of logical explanation of mechanics, and it does not limit as theories of atonement do.

 Critical of Penal Substitution? It Depends . . .

Twenty-five years ago, if you asked me if I was critical of penal substitution I would have said “yes.” Now, before responding, I would ask, “what do you mean by penal substitution?” Two things led to that change. First, I encountered some who use the term “penal substitution” positively, yet I do not find their work problematic. (For examples, see chapter six in the second edition of Recovering the Scandal of the Cross.)  Second, during the couple-year period when I, and the seminary, were under intense critique because of my atonement books, I saw the value of stating specifics of what I critique. When I said I was against penal substitution theory of atonement, people heard different things in those words. So instead, I began saying, “I do not believe that the Bible teaches that God needed to be appeased in order to forgive, or that God had to punish Jesus in order to be able to forgive and be in relationship with us. I critique presentations of the cross that communicate this.” If I had space to say a bit more, I would add. “I affirm that God is angered by sin and injustice and that God judges and punishes, but I understand God’s justice as fundamentally working to restore and rectify. I critique explanations of the cross that portray God being obligated to punish as payback or recompense. Also, I critique presenting any theory or image of atonement as the one explanation of atonement.”

 Greater Care with Atonement Terminology

In a related way, I am more careful today in defining terms. Joel and I were clear, in our minds, and we thought in our book, that we affirmed substitutionary atonement but critiqued a particular type of substitutionary atonement—PSA. Yet, we learned that for many people terms like, “penal substitution,” “atonement,” “substitutionary atonement”, even “cross,” all meant the same thing. In the second edition we wrote more explicitly about distinctions between these terms.

Second Edition, 2011

Preparing the Soil—Adding Compost

In the first edition of our book Joel gave strong biblical arguments for alternative atonement theology and I mirrored that in class. Yet, I found that even people who were critical of PSA and wanted to step away from it, still saw it in the Bible. In 2007 I made a shift in my Jesus course—what I called soil preparation. I metaphorically “added compost”—for example, looking at the meaning of “redemption,” of sacrifices in Leviticus, and God’s judgment. The most significant soil amendment came from seeing how the meaning of justification shifted if we interpreted it through the lens of a Hebraic understanding of justice rather than a Western legal understanding (see this article or this video). This composting work is evident in the second edition of Recovering the Scandal of the Cross.

The Cross and Shame

Already, in the first edition of the book, I had begun to understand and proclaim, that the cross also liberates from shame. My understanding of how the cross does that and how to share that good news with others have both grown significantly in the last 25 years. (See, a handout I used in class that lists 11 Ways how Jesus’ life, death and resurrection liberate from shame.)

 What Has Not Changed

Recently, while visiting a friend, he asked me to talk about the atonement to a relatively new Christian—specifically to introduce him to alternatives to viewing the cross as an appeasement of an angry God. I eagerly agreed. They kicked us out of the coffee shop at closing, but the young Christian wanted to continue the conversation at my friend’s home. A month or so later at a conference, during a panel discussion on another topic, a former student, asked, “Mark, how might atonement theology relate to this topic?” Grateful for the opportunity, I quickly shared a few observations. Whether with one or many, whether for a moment or hours, my passion for introducing alternative atonement theology has not lessened—more on that in a future blog.

For more on the atonement see the Atonement Resources page on my website.

Liberated from Bounded-Church Shame by the Cross

“Is there a way I can sing these lines?” It’s a question I often ask myself when singing songs that refer to the cross. So much of the language and imagery flows from the penal substitutionary theory of atonement and the idea that Jesus’s death appeased God, that God had to punish Jesus to be able to forgive humans. Notice that I looked for a way I could sing. I did not just ask, "can I?" Having written two books that critique penal substitution theory of atonement, you might expect there are lots of lines I don't sing. But generally, I can fill the words with other meanings. I too affirm that Jesus died in our place, died for our sins. I can even interpret a phrase like, "he paid for our sins" in a way that allows me to sing it. Although there are some lines I don't sing, I asked the question Sunday with an expectation that I could sing them—and I did. As the song continued, however, I began to have second thoughts. READ MORE

The songwriter’s words of release through his sin being nailed to the cross had a sense of finality. It made it hard not to picture a western-courtroom God releasing a condemned sinner because the fine has been paid. By now I had moved past the original question and was asking myself other questions. "So, Mark, how about shame? Could you sing a line with that sense of finality, about shame?" I immediately thought of Luke 15. The father in the parable bore the prodigal son's shame in his place. Jesus removed shame from the despised and excluded through eating with them. Then he stood in solidarity with them through telling three parables—and, eventually, through dying on the cross. Yes, I said to myself, “We can think of Jesus taking on our shame with the same sense of completeness.” Then my next question, “Have you experienced this freedom from shame in its fullness, Mark?”

I immediately thought of the shame of being on the wrong side of a bounded group's line. On one hand, my answer was, "Yes, definitely." I have numerous times experienced release from a burden of shame through prayer and remembering Jesus and the cross. Yet, the internal question asker said, "But, the lines drawn by bounded churches still stir up anxiety and shame in your being. You do not have to live with that. You do not have to let them affect you." At that moment, I pictured Jesus bearing all of the shame I have experienced for feeling looked down upon by people on other sides of lines they had drawn—all the shame I have experienced, am experiencing, will experience. I heard the Gospel proclamation: “Mark, you are free; you have the possibility of living in freedom from the shaming effect of those lines.” To borrow imagery of our current reality, I did not feel that I had just taken a pill that would relieve the symptoms of a particular moment of shame, but a vaccine—the possibility of immunity.

Honestly, I feel a bit hesitant to write the above lines, perhaps even a bit of shame. A not-so-kind internal voice says, "You co-authored books on the atonement, co-authored a book on honor-shame, and wrote a book on bounded, fuzzy, and centered churches, and you still had not fully realized this? Had not fully experienced it?” Probably more accurate to say I had, but I needed a reminder. Regardless, let us accentuate the wonderful reality that God’s work through Jesus’ death and resurrection is of such depth and breadth that we can expect to continue to experience its liberating and healing significance in new and profound ways. May those of you who need it experience another layer of freedom from the debilitating shame of bounded group religiosity through Jesus and the cross, as I did this past Sunday.

The Cross: Atonement Analysis is One Thing. What does it Mean for Me?

I had already finished this month’s blog, sent it off to the webmaster. Then the cross broke into my life. Part 2 of last month’s blog will have to wait!

Good Friday. In addition to participating in a Zoom church service I decided to reflect on the significance of the day by reading two chapters from Proclaiming the Scandal of the Cross—Chris Friesen’s and Debbie Blue’s. Amazing chapters—a conversation in a coffee shop and a sermon. As I re-read these chapters the authors, once again, impressed me with their insight and the power of their images. I wish I was as smart as them and able to communicate as well as they do. In the middle of my appreciation of their atonement theology, however, an inner voice said “Mark, read this for you. What does this mean for you?” I have thought so much about the atonement, written so much about the atonement, taught so many times about the atonement, when I encounter talk about the saving significance of the cross my default is to go to analysis. I stepped aside from my appreciative awe of their excellent work and let their words and images engage my life. I am newly impressed that even with as much time as I have spent reflecting on the cross and resurrection, I have not exhausted the meaning of the atonement—neither at the level of analysis nor at its significance for my life.

I will not attempt to condense and communicate the images themselves. I encourage you to read, or re-read, these chapters yourself. I will summarize an aspect of the content of their images and focus on how they impacted me.

One of Friesen’s images is the cross as God turning the other cheek. God does not strike back to balance the relational equation. Turning the other cheek causes the math of reciprocity and retribution to unravel, leading to a relational situation with remarkable possibilities for reconciliation and growth. A beautiful, powerful message. Rather than responding in kind to our disrespect, disloyalty, disobedience (ours today and literally at the cross) God forgives. Through God’s act we are freed from the revenge and retaliation cycle and freed to forgive as well. A great message for the men in my jail Bible study, but for me? Today? I put the book down, prayed, asked God, “What does this mean for me?” Almost immediately I thought of a few students that frustrated me this week—for not following directions or for missing class, from my perspective, unnecessarily. I certainly would not call them enemies, and I am not plotting revenge. Yet I let the frustration simmer in my being; I complained about them to a couple friends. The cross of Jesus calls me to something else. I prayed and released what I was holding against them. I invite you to do the same. Take a moment, pray, listen—who or what comes to mind? And, may this, for you and me, be more than just a Good Friday activity.

Debbie Blue’s sermon on the last part of the Gospel of Mark’s passion narrative (15:21-39) begins with powerful stories of people coming together by uniting against a common enemy. She calls it the scapegoating machine. The power of the stories is not in their grandness, not Hitler uniting Germans against the Jews, rather in their everydayness. Her point is we do this all the time. Then she turns to the cross. She observes, Jesus could have done this; he could have easily unified the crowds against the religious leaders or against the Romans. But the cross is the opposite, all the competing factions in Jerusalem unifying against Jesus.

Blue says, at this point God could have responded with the ultimate scapegoating move—displaying how bad all these people are. But, she writes:

The death and resurrection of Jesus Christ isn’t a New Great Big Way to make the machine run, the Most Powerful Fuel Ever for that old mechanism, so that now God’s people can clearly unify, the believers in Jesus against the unbelievers. It collapses the machine. . . This story is not the ultimate reinforcement of over/against, this story reveals to us the destructiveness, futility, utter deathliness of all our againstness, shows us how our deeply ingrained mechanism for creating unity leads to death, even the death of God.

But surprisingly, stunningly, beautifully, unexpectedly and amazingly, the revelation does not end with utter condemnation for the violence at the heart of the social order. . .  It’s a story about Jesus absorbing, taking in, all our againstness, accepting all the death we have to hand out, all the fears that make it so impossible for us to be truly vulnerable, all the weakness that makes us mean. He takes it all totally and thoroughly in. And comes back. Comes back unbelievably undefeated by it. Comes back, not vengeful and resentful, all hyped to form some oppositional unity, some group communion against us (or anyone), all ready to get his army up against the bad stupid scapegoating people. He comes back and he comes back again and again and always, irrepressibly for them, us, all. He comes back loving and forgiving and desiring, as always, communion with the world.

It’s a little hard to get. It may not even seem entirely appealing to us, but this story isn’t told to harden our hearts against anyone. It’s given to us to break our hearts open.  To make love and communion. To make relationship with the Other (who’s the complete other) possible. To reveal to us how we are all together now, not in opposition, not in condemnation, but in forgiveness, gathered together in the love of God (68-69).

Then as I read her next lines I thought, bounded and centered. I invite you to look for that connection too.

It doesn’t seem like this story should fuel our sense of divine righteousness against bad people, wrong ways, strange, weird others, it seems like it might break our hearts open, for relationship based not on exclusion but on the ridiculously inclusive forgiving and redeeming love of God. It shows us that we can’t relieve our separateness by making a scapegoat, we can’t create love and unity fueled by againstness. The old mechanism, the old story is not creative of communion, or if it is, that love and communion is some thin false scared union compared to the new, practically unimaginable, vitally alive, thorough and wild communion made possible by the love and grace of God (69-70). 

As you know, I think relating church to bounded sets, fuzzy sets, and centered sets is a great tool. Reading this paragraph, however, reminded me that the tool is just an aid for understanding. What makes a centered church possible is the God of the center. It is through Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection that the wild, vitally alive, ridiculously inclusive communion of a centered church is possible. Beautiful thought, but then again the question: “What does this mean for you Mark?” I began to ponder, to listen. Where do I practice “againstness” rather than allow the reality of God’s work through the cross and resurrection to flow in my life? Ironically, the very first thing that came to mind was people who have attacked me because of my books on the atonement. It is not a stretch to say I have been scapegoated. Although I have not reciprocated by openly attacking as I have been attacked, I have feed the scapegoating machine with us vs. them thoughts in private and in conversation with friends (who are “on my side”). Other us vs. them dynamics easily came to mind. There is so much of it in the air in our society today.

I took a walk and pondered. What does it mean for me to let loose the resurrection reality in these us-them dynamics? What does it mean for me to practice a centered approach with these people? A key move is to distinguish agreement from communion. I feel no call from the Spirit to change my positions. Thinking of Jesus was helpful here. Jesus practiced amazingly inclusive table fellowship. He did not, however, approve of the behavior or beliefs of all those he ate with. For instance, eating with Levi, Zaacheaus, and other tax collectors was not an endorsement of their actions. What then am I called to do? Three ideas. 

First, when I feel us-them, over-and-against, type thinking in my being (or scapegoating sort of talk with others), remind myself: I do not need this for security or identity. My security and identity are found in the center—Jesus. We do not need an other, a scapegoat, to unite us. Our communion flows from God’s loving and gracious action of inclusion. We are united by the center—Jesus. 

Second, compassion. It is so easy to see a person only as their theological position or their political position. As I wrote in a blog two years ago: How might it change our days if we wrapped every thought about another person in a blanket of blessing and compassion? (See also this blog on Father Greg Boyle.) I will seek to shift my gaze.

Third, look for common ground, focus on common values and commitments.

What came to mind as you read Debbie’s words? Who came to mind? What ideas might you add to my list?