In this series, we are considering the meaning of the Cross, the central event in Christian teaching, practice, and life. It is the thing that primarily separates Christian teachings from other religious viewpoints; so that is why, perhaps, I tell myself it is all right that I have somewhat belabored the point in writing fully five straight posts about it.
So far, as I’m sure you have noticed, I have really said very little in the way of discussing the questions that some of my readers have actually asked. While your cynical belief that I would never do so is really so typical of you, I am here to blast such stereotypical preconceptions. I want to tame that squirrel; ride that narwhal; sing like one of the “Wiggles.” (OK – please forget that last part; those guys creep me out something fierce. I have nightmares about tornadoes, snakes, and…the Wiggles).
Anyway, my point is that narwhals are awesome, and today, in this last post in the series, I will finally get back to the question of why on earth God saw fit to die for my sin. Last time out we covered the not-very-intellectual practical psychology side; and I suggested that while it may not be strictly necessary for God to have died for my sin, its practical effects are hard to replicate in some other way.
This week we tread on footing less comfortable for me by discussing stuff more along the lines of philosophy (a glorious but mostly hopelessly doomed enterprise) or theology (the very definition of which in Webster’s says see: love/hate relationship). In short, I aim to present a loose standard version of the typical Christian argument for the necessity of the Cross, and then elaborate on some aspects of it.
That typical argument goes something like this: (1) The just punishment for sin is death; (2) we sinned; (3) we deserved to die; (4) God is perfectly just; (5) therefore, He must kill us. However, (6) God is also perfectly merciful and mercy dictates that He should not want to kill us, and thus (7) to meet the demands of both justice and mercy, He offered His own life as a ransom for our own. The Cross is the logical intersection of God’s perfect justice and God’s perfect mercy.
I think that argument is true in as far as it goes – I believe everything in it in some form. However, I’m not all that attached to it as a logical argument, and I think several of those propositions are assailable. For example, while I do feel the weight of proposition 1 – the just punishment for sin is death – it isn’t obvious to me that every sin deserves death; on the surface, in fact, it seems that many of them don’t. (I do not think it would be just punishment to kill my daughter when she takes a little longer than she probably should in obeying my command to walk quickly across the street.) And while I also understand and heartily endorse proposition 7 – that the Cross helps solve the problem created by propositions 1-6 – I similarly think, as a strictly logical progression stated as such, it isn’t on the surface super compelling.
I could talk quite a bit each of those propositions separately – but I think it’s very complicated and a lot of that discussion would be beside the larger point; so I’m going to save some of that for another post entirely. (We will get back to those propositions as separate propositions – I’ve already written a fair bit about it for a future post). Instead, I’m going to sketch out some pictures and ideas that, while not a strict technical defense of this logical progression to the mercy-meets-justice highway, are loosely consistent with it. My hope in doing so is to simply make clearer why we Christians believe what we believe – why it was that God might think it important to die for our sins.
God can’t simply pretend like my sin is ok. It wouldn’t be right for Him to call my stealing a good thing for humanity. So given that it’s not ever ok to sin – that He can’t just wish it away and pretend it didn’t happen – what form would mercy take that didn’t fit the wishing away category? The main starting point for understanding the Christian approach to mercy is this: The doctrine that sin deserves punishment is something that, while not strictly axiomatic or logical, does seem built into us. There is a somewhat sloppy tendency to think God should just overlook the horrible things we do; but we don’t apply that standard very often to other people, when they do those things to us. So I think we do already have the notion of justice that Christianity preaches in our collective heads; but it’s intuitively built into our own relational approach and has to perhaps be drawn out a bit when applied to God.
I think this can be seen in two different ways, both of which are relevant to the Cross. (1) First, it seems natural to us that people seek punishment for crimes committed against them – someone has to be punished for the crime. (2) But also, and importantly, someone has to pay back, to make restitution, for the thing stolen. We want some person to be punished; but we also want for the wrong they did to be righted.
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Both feelings are somewhat natural to us; though often overlapping, they are not always the same thing; but both are intuitively necessary for completing our sense of justice. In the movie National Treasure, the main character steals the original Declaration of Independence – yes, that Declaration of Independence. When, at the end of the movie, he returns it, you might think that would be enough to clear the proverbial air and allow him to walk away. But no; it isn’t enough. When you take something like that, we understand that justice isn’t completely served by a simple (and successful) attempt to undo the crime; someone has to be punished. In a telling moment near the end of the movie, Ben Gates (the main character), upon being asked what he wants from the negotiation process, says to the FBI agent in charge, “I really, really don’t want to go to jail.” The agent replies, “somebody’s gotta go to jail, Ben.” In other words, whether you or someone else, there has been a crime committed and the ledger isn’t balanced just by trying to pay it back. It does need to be paid back; but it also requires someone to be punished.
The flip side is equally intuitively true – and perhaps more important. If someone steals a million dollars from you via credit card identity theft, you’re not going to be happy if they catch the criminal but you don’t get your money back. You might feel that part of justice was done – the criminal is going to go to jail, at least – but you might still feel a little shorted by the fates if you had to become a pauper and forego your retirement. You’d feel a lot better if Visa at least paid you the million dollars back.
Well, in the bank account of our lives, we’ve stolen much more than a million dollars from God and from other people. And indeed, in some way we’ve metaphorically stolen more than we could ever pay back. When I sin, I start a chain of events in motion that can never be undone by myself alone. It is incomprehensible. So there is a sense that if God just pardoned it, justice would not be completely done – even if you repented and the sin died, even if you were punished, you would not have re-paid the cost of your sin to other people. You cannot possibly undo all the bad stuff your sin caused.
That’s the logical point of the Cross. God took both of these things upon Himself. I deserve punishment – God took it for me. There is in addition a legitimate and serious deficit on my side of the ledger that I can’t overcome – someone has to pay it – and God, in some wild way that’s hard to fully grasp, paid it Himself. As the Bible says, He wipes the slate clean, so I can start over each day, free of my own burdens.
Now, we are reaching the limits of human comprehension when we talk about the Cross (which is a colossally arrogant way of saying we are reaching the limits of my comprehension, but I like to feel like it’s not just me). We are talking about something that, if it occurred, must in some real way be beyond us to fully understand – God taking the form of man and ransoming us by His own sacrifice.
But yet – but yet – even when I can’t think through all the implications in a fully coherent manner, I can feel them. I feel the need for a savior. I feel the need for someone to take the weight of all my own sins. I feel inside of me like I cannot possibly bear the weight of all that I’ve done. I searched hill and dale, mountain and valley, to find a place that I could lay my burden down. And on the Cross, I found somewhere on which, in a very real and very literal sense, I could lay it – because Jesus took it up for me.
And my experience is that sin is like that for everyone I know, in varying degrees perhaps, but still like that. Everyone I know seems burdened by their own humanness, guilt, anger, shame – they seem like they need someone to take it for them. They don’t seem capable of it – and if they aren’t capable of it, then it is necessary in some sense that someone carries it for them. Christianity says God did it Himself through Jesus. Now perhaps He could have carried it in many different ways, perhaps He could have removed it in many different ways, just like He could have killed it in many different ways – but I personally cannot think of any way more powerful than the one He chose. So while the logical progression we discussed here does not seem like a strictly compelling argument stated as pure logic – and I’d grant that up front – the Truth it captures does compel me nonetheless.
“Come to me, all you who are burdened and heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” Matthew 11:28-30
The Apologetic Professor is Still Alive…But His Former Computer is Not
So the outpouring of concern over my longer-than-usual absence from blogging has been truly…touching. By which I mean, jeepers, not a single one of you has noticed that I apparently fell off the planet earth for about six weeks. That’s so like you. You seem to forget that behind all this cheekiness and all these poorly-constructed attempts at wit, there lurks a living, breathing human being. You think I’m just a blogger. You treat us bloggers like dancing ducks that you can watch ironically doing the “Chicken Dance” (ducks have a dry but ironic sense of humor) and then, when you are done, calmly cook us in some kind of fancy wine sauce and devour us for dinner. Well, enough. I’m a person, too; I eat kale chips and/or incredibly fattening cheesy bagels just like you do. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?
OK, seriously, I’m back. And I want to say that I’m sorry for the long delay in between posts, and particularly sorry that I have not commented on the last excellent round of discussion from you, my beloved readers. I haven’t been ignoring you. The reason for the tardiness can be stated in four simple words: I TOTALLY HATE COMPUTERS! And I don’t mean I hate them in a broccoli kind of way, like “I really dislike the way this thing tastes but I’m quite sure it still has some redeeming value.” No, I mean I hate them in a rap music or NASCAR kind of way, like “I’m 100% certain the world would have been a way better place if this thing had never existed in any form.”
What happened is this: My former computer, which I actually called “Crash Johnson III,” finally died after a week-long noble fight with some computer technicians. I was hoping it would be resurrected, largely because I thought that would make a cool Christian metaphor of some kind, but the atheist metaphor won out: At this point, we can be pretty sure that it ain’t comin’ back.
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In short (haha), I have not been posting or commenting because I have had five or six weeks of existential computer angst during the middle of what is often the busiest time of year for me anyway. But I am now fully-functioning on a sleek new computer, and while I still expect my response time to be modest at best due to the time of year, I hope it will be closer to “a few days” than to the number of years the average televangelist would need to spend to confess all of their hypocrisy.
If you have actually read this far, I feel really, really sorry for you. You must have had a super-boring day. Onward and upward! I hope you are not a televangelist.