Paul Graves: ‘Died for sins’ opens access to divine forgiveness

A month ago, I invited you to put your finger in a theological “finger trap” as we explored the meanings of Jesus’ death on the cross. I also asked you to not react quickly to what I say, lest your finger get stuck.

That caution fits today as well, as I more fully discuss “Jesus died for our sins.”

“Dogmas were doxologies before they were dogmas.” This unique insight comes from John Killinger in his evocative book “For God’s Sake, Be Human.” He reminds us that historically church doctrines/dogmas first were ideas and visions that caused the hearts of early Christians to sing in praise and gratitude.

One of the unfortunate consequences when a doxology became a doctrine is that it can lose its original intent and joy. It also can become a rigid religious “truth” that shut its believers off from other valid truths.

I believe that has happened with “Jesus died for our sins” for too many persons.

For those who believe this, it can create an unnecessary separation from those who don’t believe it as passionately. For those who struggle with “Jesus died …” theology, that separation can put the entire church into question.

Both extremes are so unfortunate and unnecessary. Today I want to add a little historical context and theological inclusiveness to the discussion.

Let’s try a metaphor here: “Jesus died …” is a key ingredient in the bread we share at Holy Communion, but it isn’t the only ingredient. It’s mixed with a great many other crucial ingredients.

This most popular interpretation of the cross in today’s Church is a relative latecomer. It didn’t become a substantial part of historic Christian thought until about 900 years ago (Marcus Borg, “The Heart of Christianity,” p. 94). Before that, Jesus’ followers were focused on other meanings of the cross.

When this phrase is used in today’s pulpits or between two persons talking about their faith, it almost always centers on individual piety – what Jesus’ death means in my life. That doesn’t appear to be the original, first-century meaning.

In that day, Jesus’ “sacrifice for sin” was a subversive challenge to the religious sacrifice system of the Jewish Temple in Jerusalem.

Temple priests demanded that they alone had authority to forgive sins. That forgiveness came after a suitable sacrifice of money, animals, produce, etc., was made.

Since forgiveness was required before a person could enter into God’s presence, the Temple also had a monopoly on access to God.

So to say Jesus was a “sacrifice for sin” effectively signaled the religious leaders that their claim to be sole authorities in forgiveness and access to God was a thing of the past. Jesus’ death effectively subverted the Temple’s sacrificial system!

The people now had complete access to God’s grace and forgiveness.

Too often, “Jesus died for our sins” insists that God’s offer of forgiveness is available only to those who believe Jesus died for them.

Ironically, today’s church can sound like it has an institutional monopoly on God’s grace. We seem more like the Temple religion and less like the first-century church.

In our own hearts – and mouths sometimes – we too easily decide to whom God’s unconditional grace and forgiveness will be offered. We decide that God’s grace and forgiveness are available only to those who spout the “company line,” those beliefs we believe. No deviations allowed.

That kind of judgmental attitude – whether spoken from a pulpit or in a private conversation – becomes an obstacle to the very grace it affirms. For the speaker who speaks judgmentally, the danger is double-edged:

1) It betrays a lack of attention to Jesus’ fuller gospel that included all persons; plus 2) it plops an obstacle of grace directly in the path of the person to whom the perhaps well-meaning but overzealous Christian is speaking.

Jesus said the way to find God is narrow. But we too easily reduce that way even further with rigid statements that may have far less to do with Jesus and more to do with our desire to keep Jesus for ourselves.

Our God is much bigger than that. We can and must be, too.