Show me the nail marks

In our journey into the depths of John Wesley’s sermon “The Scripture Way of Salvation” we are now entering a long section in which he answers questions and objections to what he has laid out thus far. The length of what is left in this sermon demonstrates that Wesley’s understanding of salvation was no less contested in his day than it is in ours. The only difference, perhaps, was that in his day there was a convinced, stubborn, and energetic advocate for Wesleyan theology who would not let detractors and questioners silence his voice or still his feet.

Let us turn to the crowd now and field some questions for the Rev. Wesley.

2. “But does not God command us to repent also? Yea, and to ‘bring forth fruits meet for repentance’–to cease, for instance, from doing evil, and learn to do well? And is not both the one and the other of the utmost necessity, insomuch that if we willingly neglect either, we cannot reasonably expect to be justified at all? But if this be so, how can it be said that faith is the only condition of justification?” This question, I believe speaks exactly of the confusion by some Christians I raised in my last post. In both the Bible and the preaching of the church, we hear a great deal about the good works God calls us to. And it does very much seem that if we refuse or neglect these, that we cannot expect pardon. If that is so, how is it that we can so strongly say that there is only one condition for our justification?

God does undoubtedly command us both to repent, and to bring forth fruits meet for repentance; which if we willingly neglect, we cannot reasonably expect to be justified at all: therefore both repentance, and fruits meet for repentance, are, in some sense, necessary to justification. It would seem Wesley has just given up the entire argument, but let us read on to see if there is more here.

But they are not necessary in the same sense with faith, nor in the same degree. So here comes a distinction. Let us see if this is a distinction that actually makes a difference or whether it is merely a clever use of words.

Not in the same degree; for those fruits are only necessary conditionally; if there be time and opportunity for them. Otherwise a man may be justified without them, as was the thief upon the cross (if we may call him so; for a late writer has discovered that he was no thief, but a very honest and respectable person!) but he cannot be justified without faith; this is impossible. Let us ignore the parenthetical aside. I assume this is a jab at someone known to Wesley and his audience, but I have not the depth of knowledge to even guess his target here. Wesley scholars, perhaps, can tell us, but I cannot.

The meat of Wesley’s point brings us to the Gospel of Luke, and one of the most famous anonymous men in the history of Christendom. This thief on the cross is the exception who proves the rule. Yes, God calls you to engage in the kinds of work that demonstrate your repentance and your serious desire for faith. He calls you to produce the works and fruits that true faith would produce in your life, until that time that you receive that gift. In one contemporary way of putting it, perhaps a bit scandalously, fake it until you make it.

If we have time and ability to do such works and refuse to do so, we should not expect the gift of faith or the pardon and justification which such faith secures. The refusal itself is a contradiction of the claim that we truly are seeking and desiring the faith necessary to our salvation. We cannot claim to want Jesus and also refuse to obey his commands.

But, of course, many of us do. Indeed, as a pastor I’ve encountered more people who draw the wrong lesson of the thief on the cross than I could count. I’ve met a great many men and women who say they believe in Jesus and yet appear to follow few if any of his commands.

Not all of them, but some of them, point to the thief on the cross as their champion. That man belonged to no church. He had no means of baptism. He had no time to study the Bible or attend a prayer group. He had no time or money to give to the work of the church or the relief of the poor. He had not time to take a moral stand that would put him at odds with popular opinion. All he had to do was express belief in the Lordship of Christ, and he was welcomed in paradise.

If the thief on the cross did not have to do any of those things to be welcomed into paradise, they say, then neither do I.

And here, when talking with such individuals, I’ve been prompted, but too timid, to ask whether they can show me the marks of the nails in their hands and feet that prevent them, like the thief, from acting on the commands of Christ. Show me these, and I will concede your point. Show them not, and I will urge you to consider whether your argument is one you stake paradise on in the face of the One who granted grace to your champion on that cross.

Yes, there are cases in which we can see that faith is the only unconditional condition for justification, but most of us are not so constrained as that poor sinner on the cross. As we have ability, we are called to various works as signs and expressions of our repentance, but there are circumstances — very few — where such actions are impossible and therefore not necessary. But those very rare cases demonstrate the distinction between the conditional works and unconditional faith that we require.

Likewise, let a man have ever so much repentance, or ever so many of the fruits meet for repentance, yet all this does not at all avail; he is not justified till he believes. But the moment he believes, with or without those fruits, yea, with more or less repentance, he is justified. Perhaps all that Wesley has written here can be summed up best by the Apostle Paul, “For it is by grace that you have been saved, through faith — and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God.”

–Not in the same sense; for repentance and its fruits are only remotely necessary; necessary in order to faith; whereas faith is immediately necessary to justification. It remains, that faith is the only condition, which is immediately and proximately necessary to justification. I will confess, again, my own lack of expertise to pry apart the full meaning here. There is a a great deal of philosophy and theology dealing with the necessity of causes and those which are near and those which are more distant from the thing caused, forming a great metaphysical chain.

Being ill equipped to illuminate Wesley’s precise meaning here, I would suggest, however, that it is, for those of us who follow in the tradition staked out by Wesley’s ministry, clear that his central point is repeated here: repentance and works are necessary for salvation but not in the same way that faith is. Repentance can bring us to a place of faith, but only faith can bring us to a place of salvation.

How do we tolerate Marley’s ghost?

This is the season in which millions of people will watch with joy some version of Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol.

It is interesting to me that we can watch this story and approve of its viewing in a world in which any talk of judgment is labeled as destructive to the mission of the church and the gospel of Jesus Christ. The central arc of this story is a redemption story driven home by the horrible fate awaiting Ebeneezer Scrooge if he does not repent. Granted, an eternity walking the Earth as a ghost burdened by heavy chain is not hell fire, but can there be any doubt that Scrooge’s reform is set in motion by the prospect of the wrath to come?

It strikes me as a deeply Christian parable. But make no mistake, it is a story that stands in deep judgment of Ebeneezer Scrooge and flinches not an inch at the punishment his heart’s unholiness deserves.

How can we reckon this with the popular response to judgment?

In our creed we say Jesus will judge the living and the dead. The Bible certainly says the same thing.

Although some people have popularized the idea that their is no judgment, I cannot agree with such ideas, no matter how appealing. I can’t agree because such a sentiment makes void so much of scripture and church teaching. It also seriously undermines the claim that God is just and faithful, a keeper of promises. The notion that there is no punishment for the wicked strikes me as a hope that only the comfortable hold dear.

The oppressed pray for justice. The oppressors and their anesthetized allies plead for a “reasonable” god, who does not hear the cries arising from Egypt and Babylon.

Isn’t Marley’s ghost nothing more than the convicting spirit of the Holy Ghost? Why do we reject conviction in the church but enjoy it on our television and computer screens?

Delmar’s baptism and Phil Robertson’s repentance

One of my favorite scenes in O Brother, Where Art Thou? is Delmar’s baptism:

Delmar comes up out of the water and declares his sins washed away to the point that neither God nor man has any claim on him any longer.

I thought of the scene while reading one of the less newsworthy parts of the GQ interview with Duck Dynasty star Phil Robertson.

During Phil’s darkest days, in the early 1970s, he had to flee the state of Arkansas after he badly beat up a bar owner and the guy’s wife. Kay Robertson persuaded the bar owner not to press charges in exchange for most of the Robertsons’ life savings. (“A hefty price,” he notes in his memoir.) I ask Phil if he ever repented for that, as he wants America to repent—if he ever tracked down the bar owner and his wife to apologize for the assault. He shakes his head.

“I didn’t dredge anything back up. I just put it behind me.”

As far as Phil is concerned, he was literally born again. Old Phil—the guy with the booze and the pills—died a long time ago, and New Phil sees no need to apologize for him: “We never, ever judge someone on who’s going to heaven, hell. That’s the Almighty’s job.

Robertson may not follow in the church of Delmar, but it sounds quite similar to me.

And that got me thinking. Is this correct? Doesn’t repentance require an effort to make right the damage we have caused others?

For some folks that could be an impossible task, of course. We cause so many hurts and wounds that we cannot even count them all, much less repair each injury. But there is still something here that sounds wrong to me. Even if we hold to a strong reading of Paul’s words that we die to the old self and rise as a new self, it seems to me that repentance toward God does not mean we have truly repented of the harm we have caused other humans. It feels to me, rather, that using our baptism as a way to absolve ourselves of wrongs we have done to other people is trading on God’s grace in ways God did not intend.

This is a complicated, pastoral question that probably does not lend itself to absolute rules. But I wonder how others understand it. To what extent does repentance require seeking to undo or heal the damage we have done to other people?