Jesus' Life, Death, and Atonement Theology

Jesus is, for us Christians, the decisive revelation of what a life full of God looks like. Radically centered in God and filled with the Spirit, he is the decisive disclosure and epiphany of what can be seen of God embodied in a human life. As the Word and Wisdom and spirit of God become flesh, his life incarnates the character of God, indeed, the passion of God.

In the judgement of the majority of mainline scholars, atonement theology does not go back to Jesus himself. We do not think that Jesus thought that the purpose of his life, his vocation, was his death. His purpose was what he was doing as a healer, wisdom teacher, social prophet, and movement initiator. His death was the consequence of what he was doing, but not his purpose. To use recent analogies, the deaths of Mahatma Gandhi, and Martin Luther King Jr. were the consequence of what they were doing, bu not their purpose. And like them Jesus courageously kept doing what he was doing even though he knew it could have fatal consequences.

In it's first century setting, the statement "Jesus is the sacrifice for sin" had a quite different meaning. The "home" of this language, the framework within which it  makes sense, it he sacrificial system centered int he temple in Jerusalem. According to temple theology, certain kinds of sins and impurities could be dealt with only through sacrifice int he temple. Temple theology thus claimed an institutional monopoly on the forgiveness of sins; and because the forgiveness of sins was a prerequisite for entry into the presence of God, temple theology also claimed an institutional monopoly on access to God.

In this setting, to affirm "Jesus is the sacrifice for sin" was to deny the temple's claim to have a monopoly on forgiveness and access to God. It was an antitemple statement. Using the metaphor of sacrifice, it subverted the sacrificial system. It meant: God in Jesus has already provided the sacrifice and has thus taken care of whatever you think separates you from God; you have access to God apart from the temple and its system of sacrifice. It is a metaphor for radical grace, of amazing grace.

Thus "Jesus died for our sins" was originally a subversive metaphor, not a literal description of either God's purpose or Jesus' vocation. It was a metaphorical proclamation of radical grace; and properly understood it, it still is. it is therefore ironic to realize that he religion that formed around Jesus would within four hundred years begin to claim for itself an institutional monopoly on grace and access to God.

Because the sacrificial metaphor has often been taken quite literally, we in the church have often domesticated the death of Jesus--by speaking of it as the foreordained will of God, as something that had to happen,a s a dying for the sins of the world. But it ant he other purposive ways of seeing the death of Jesus are post-Easter retrospective providential interpretations. They matter, they're important, and rightly understood, they continue to be a way of proclaiming the gospel. but they should not be allowed to eclipse the historical reason for his execution.

-Marcus Borg, The Heart of Christianity, pg. 92-95

The work of love in remembering one who is dead is a work of the utmost unselfish love...If one wants to make sure that love is completely unselfish, he eliminates every possibility of repayment.  but precisely this is eliminated in the relationship to one who is dead.  If love nevertheless remains, it is in truth unselfish.

- Soren Kierkegaard

Quoted in Terryl & Fiona Givens, The God Who Weeps, pg. 98

If the whole mission of Christ and His atonement is to enable change, to render repentance and personal transformation possible, to empower and sanctify, then what are we to say about the billions who have lived in obliviousness to such power and grace?  The question is not how can they be rescued from damnation, but how can the be elevated or ennobled, given their inability to participate in all that His grace makes possible?

Terryl & Fiona Givens, The God Who Weeps, pg. 95

Two Obstacles to spiritual growth that are often reflected in Mormon mantras:

1.  SUPERSTITION.  Mormon's aren't superstitious.  We are modern and sophisticated; we don't dance in circles or chant incantations. Or do we?  If someone uses words or actions to influence God to do what they want, I believe that is superstition.  Prayer and ordinances were designed to put us in harmony with God so we can be spiritually nourished.  They are not designed to turn God into a cosmic vending machine.  Acts of service are designed to benefit others, not to motivate God to be nicer to us.  Keeping commandments should be acts of faith and love, but too often they seem to be approached as ways to get "blessed" (which, in our minds, usually means getting what we want or avoiding what we don't want).

2.  "BAD" RELIGION.  Bad religion occurs when the ordinances and practices become ends in themselves rather than support for spiritual growth.  I've seen couples extend themselves to become worthy to get "married int he temple" only to return to past problem behaviors afterwards.  They somehow thought the ordinance itself would be transforming and give them power over sinful attitudes and behavior.  In counseling, several Latter-day Saints have said to me: "I keep the Word of Wisdom, pay my tithing, and serve faithfully in my calling.  Why is my marriage failing?"  Or "Elder _____ said in conference that if we attended the temple regularly, our marriage would be successful!"  My response is usually something like, "I'm glad you are doing all this good, church-related stuff,  but until you learn how to be patient, kind, affectionate, and emotionally honest, your marriage is going to be a mess."  There is no doubt that LDS practices and ordinances can help us acquire these qualities but only if they are seen as supports and not ends.

-Philip McLemore, "Mormon Mantras", Sunstone, April 2006

In one Talmudic text, the passage made famous by Handel's Messiah is markedly recast to suggest that God, burdened by the sins of the world, appeals to His people to console Him, not the other way around.  "Comfort me, comfort me, my people, " the text reads.  As early as the days of Noah, the pain of humankind "grieved him to his heart."  In this connection, it is significant that the God of the Old Testament asks His people to "Make me a sanctuary, so that I may dwell among them."  In other words, the temple Solomon builds, like the tabernacle in the wilderness, is God's sanctuary and place of refuse, not ours.  For a being as good and pure as God to enter into this realm of darkness and depravity must be exquisitely painful on every level.  His love impels Him to visit His people in their distress, and the temple is His shield and refuge from the full onslaught of worldly pain and evil.

Terryl & Fiona Givens, The God Who Weeps, pg. 26