The Pacific Journal
of
Baptist Research
Vol. 10, No. 1
May 2015
CONTENTS
David Starling
1
Introduction—Atonement, Justice and Peace: A BaptistAnabaptist Conversation
Graeme Chatfield
3
Penal Substitutionary Atonement in the Early Church
Fathers, the Creeds, and Trinitarian Theology
Anthony R. Petterson
11
Atonement, Justice and Peace in the Old Testament (especially
Leviticus and Isaiah 53): Response to Darrin Snyder
Belousker’s Atonement, Justice, and Peace
Matthew Anslow
17
Jesus’ Understanding of His Own Death: Reflections on
Chapter 9 of Darrin Snyder Belousek’s Atonement, Justice, and
Peace
David Starling
23
Atonement, Justice and Peace in Romans 1-6: Some Thoughts in Response to
Darrin Snyder Belousek’s Atonement, Justice, and Peace
Darrin W. Snyder Belousek
29
Continuing the Conversation: Rejoinder to Respondents from the Morling
Conference on Atonement Theology
Reviews
39
The Pacific Journal
of
Baptist Research
ISSN 1177-0228
Editor
Dr Myk Habets
Carey Baptist College,
PO Box 12149,
Auckland, New Zealand
myk.habets@carey.ac.nz
Associate Editors
Rev Andrew Picard
Dr John Tucker
Book Reviews Editor
Dr Sarah Harris
Carey Baptist College,
PO Box 12149,
Auckland, New Zealand
sarah.harris@carey.ac.nz
Editorial Board
Prof Paul Fiddes
Regent’s Park College
Dr Steve Harmon
Gardner-Webb University
Dr Steve Holmes
St. Andrews
Dr Donald Morcom
Malyon College
Dr Michael O’Neil
Vose Seminary
Dr Frank Rees
Whitley College
Dr Jason Sexton
University of SoCal
Dr David Starling
Morling College
Dr Martin Sutherland
Laidlaw College
Dr Brian Talbot
Dundee, Scotland
Contributing Institutions
Carey Baptist College (Auckland, New Zealand)
Malyon College (Brisbane, Australia)
Whitley College (Melbourne, Australia)
Morling College (Sydney, Australia)
Vose Seminary (Perth, Australia)
The Pacific Journal of Baptist Research (PJBR) is an open-access online journal which aims to
provide an international vehicle for scholarly research and debate in the Baptist tradition,
with a special focus on the Pacific region. However, topics are not limited to the Pacific
region, and all subject matter potentially of significance for Baptist/Anabaptist communities
will be considered. PJBR is especially interested in theological and historical themes, and
preference will be given to articles on those themes. PJBR is published twice-yearly in May
and November. Articles are fully peer-reviewed, with submissions sent to international
scholars in the appropriate fields for critical review before being accepted for publication.
The editor will provide a style guide on enquiry. All manuscript submissions should be
addressed to the Senior Editor: myk.habets@carey.ac.nz.
URL: http://www.baptistresearch.org.nz/the-pacific-journal-of-baptist-research.html
All business communications
Dr John Tucker
Carey Baptist College
PO BOX 12149
Auckland
New Zealand
Fax: +64 9 525 4096
Email: john.tucker@carey.ac.nz
The Pacific Journal of Baptist Research is sponsored by the N.Z. Baptist Research and Historical Society and
the R.J. Thompson Centre for Theological Studies at Carey Baptist College.
© Pacific Journal of Baptist Research, All Rights Reserved, Auckland, New Zealand
Pacific Journal of Baptist Research
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INTRODUCTION
ATONEMENT, JUSTICE, AND PEACE: A BAPTISTANABAPTIST CONVERSATION
DAVID STARLING
Morling College
Sydney, Australia
davids@morling.edu.au
The articles in this issue of PJBR all derive from a symposium at Morling College, Sydney, in May 2014,
organized by the Anabaptist Association of Australia and New Zealand. The principal speaker on the day
was the North American Anabaptist philosopher, Darrin Snyder Belousek, who presented lectures based
on the argument in his book, Atonement, Justice, and Peace: The Message of the Cross and the Mission of the Church.
Short responses to Belousek’s lectures were offered by local Baptist and Anabaptist scholars and their
papers (revised and edited in light of the conversations on the day) make up four of the five articles that
follow.
Graeme Chatfield’s article is a revised version of the paper that he offered at the symposium in
response to Belousek’s lecture on “Jesus’ Death and Christian Tradition: Ancient Creeds and Trinitarian
Theology.” In it, he explores the relationship between Penal Substitutionary Atonement (PSA) theory and
the teachings of the early church, concluding that the writings of the fathers and the language of the
creeds anticipate the themes of PSA but do not require it as the only possible theory consistent with
Christian orthodoxy: new cultural contexts may occasion the formulation of new theories. In the
formulation of such theories, Chatfield argues, the contemporary cultural antipathy toward hierarchical
institutions lends itself to a congregational hermeneutic along the lines of that argued for in the early
writings of Balthasar Hubmaier.
Anthony Petterson’s article responds to Belousek’s lecture on “Jesus’ Death and the Old
Testament: Atoning Sacrifice and the Suffering Servant,” focusing on Belousek’s interpretation of the
atonement language of Leviticus and the sufferings of the Servant in Isaiah 53, and his claims about the
relationship between sin, wrath and punishment within the Old Testament. Within both Leviticus and
Isaiah, Petterson argues, the surrounding literary context strongly supports an interpretation of the guilt
offering and atonement language that relate them to the plight of divine wrath aroused by human sin.
Matt Anslow’s article is a response to Belousek’s lecture on “Jesus’ Death and the Synoptic
Gospels: New Exodus and New Covenant,” with particular focus on the “ransom saying” in Mark 10:45
and the interpretation of his death given by Jesus in the context of the Last Supper. In both instances,
Anslow’s evaluation of Belousek’s overall case is largely positive, though he poses a number of critical
questions on matters of interpretive detail and method, e.g. whether Belousek is convincing in his
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argument for excluding an intertextual reference to Isa 53 in the ransom saying of Mark 10:45, and
whether he pays sufficient attention to the arguments of scholars who find a substitutionary meaning in
the ransom saying without relying on the assumption of an Isaian echo.
David Starling’s article responds to Belousek’s lecture on “Jesus’ Death and the Pauline Epistles:
‘Mercy Seat’ and Place-Taking,” and takes Rom 1–6 as a case study in how Paul describes the relationship
between atonement, justice and peace. Starling finds common ground with Belousek on a number of key
points: God’s justice is not one-dimensionally retributive, his saving righteousness does not terminate at
justification, and the peace announced in the gospel demands visible social embodiment, not merely the
inward tranquillity of the soul. Nevertheless, Starling insists, the frame within which Paul expounds the
saving work of Christ in Rom 3:21–26 offers strong support for a reading that interprets Paul’s depiction
of Christ as a hilastērion against the backdrop of divine, judicial wrath, and suggests no good reason for
taking this as inconsistent with these other, complementary, Pauline emphases.
The final article, by Darrin Snyder Belousek, offers brief rejoinders to each of the four papers,
dealing first with the two that offer a more favourable assessment of his argument and second with the
two that respond more sceptically. The total conversation represented in the articles and rejoinders, like
the face-to-face conversation at the symposium, adds up to a valuable exercise in careful, gracious, and
critical engagement on a set of issues that are of the utmost importance for Baptist and Anabaptist
theology and practice.
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PENAL SUBSTITUTIONARY ATONEMENT IN THE
EARLY CHURCH FATHERS, THE CREEDS, AND
TRINITARIAN THEOLOGY
GRAEME CHATFIELD1
Australian College of Theology
Sydney, Australia
gchatfield@actheology.edu.au
In July 2005 London School of Theology jointly hosted with the Evangelical Alliance (EA) a symposium
on the Theology of the Atonement. The EA had hosted a discussion on the same topic in October 2004,
and the 2005 event was organised to allow for differences of opinion within the EA on this topic to be
more fully canvased. For Steve Chalke and Alan Mann, who perhaps inadvertently sparked the EA 2004
meeting, a significant motivation for their challenge to the dominant penal substitution interpretation of
the atonement (PSA) was how to communicate the message of the cross in a cultural context in which it is
questioned whether it is possible to reconcile a God of love and justice with a God of violence and anger,
as they claim God is popularly depicted in evangelical preaching of penal substitutionary.2 Responses to
Chalke and Mann ranged from the more irenic response of I. Howard Marshall who prayed for “an
understanding of it [PSA] that can command general assent and form the basis for our evangelism,”3 to
that of Joel Green’s plea that interpretations of penal substitution are not used to “distinguish Christian
believer from non-believer or even evangelical from non-evangelical,”4 to Garry Williams who concludes,
“I cannot see how those who disagree [with PSA as he defines it] can remain allied [to the EA] without
placing unity above truths which are undeniably central to the Christian faith.”5
In 2012 Darrin Belousek published his contribution to the atonement debate. His motivation was
to provide a theological bridge between the mission of the church to proclaim salvation through the cross
of Christ and Christian action for justice and peace.6 In his view, the present teaching of PSA does not
1
Graeme Chatfield is Associate Dean of the Australian College of Theology. He previously taught Church History at
Morling College, and is an adjunct faculty member of TCMI, where he teaches Historical Theology at the Austrian
campus and other locations in Eastern Europe. He can be contacted by email: gchatfield@actheology.edu.au
2 S. Chalke, “The Redemption of the Cross,” in The Atonement Debate: Papers form the London Symposium on the Theology of
Atonement (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2008), 35.
3 I. Howard Marshall, “The Theology of Atonement,” in The Atonement Debate: Papers form the London Symposium on the
Theology of Atonement (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2008), 63.
4 Joel B. Green, “Must we imagine the atonement in penal substitutionary terms? Questions, caveats and a plea,” in
The Atonement Debate: Papers form the London Symposium on the Theology of Atonement (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2008),
167.
5 G. Williams, “Penal Substitution: a response to recent criticism,” in The Atonement Debate: Papers form the London
Symposium on the Theology of Atonement (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2008), 188.
6 D. W. S. Belousek, Atonement, Justice, and Peace: The Message of the Cross and the Mission of the Church (Grand Rapids:
Eerdmanns, 2012), 5.
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provide such a bridge. He takes issue with the claims of PSA proponents such as Mark Dever7 who states,
“At stake is nothing less than the essence of Christianity”; while Steve Jeffery, Michael Ovey and Andrew
Sach assert “differences over penal substitution ultimately lead us to worship a different God and to
believe a different gospel.”8 In his book on atonement Belousek the philosopher tests these claims.
In May 2014 the Anabaptist Association of Australia and New Zealand (AAANZ) invited Belousek
to Australia and New Zealand for a series of fora to discuss his work on the atonement, justice and peace.
As a Church Historian with a research interest in 16th century Anabaptism I was invited to respond to
Belousek’s presentation of two sections of his work: chapter 6 “The Apostolic Faith Taught by the Early
Church,” and chapter 16 “‘God was in Christ’: Propitiation, Reconciliation, and Trinitarian Theology.”
At the May 2014 conversation Belousek explored the claims of Dever, and Jeffery, Ovey and Sach
by exploring two questions: “Is penal substitution the faith of the Apostles and bishops of the early
church, taught in the ancient creeds of the church catholic?” and “Is penal substitution compatible with
the orthodox doctrine of Trinitarian theology?” He refined this second question by exploring two
additional questions: “Does PSA represent God divided against Himself, and God alienated from
Himself?” He rejected Dever’s claim that PSA was the faith of the Apostles. While he initially conceded
that that PSA may be compatible with the orthodox doctrine of the Trinity as expressed in the creeds of
the church, he later concluded that PSA does in fact represent “a Trinity comprising not only distinct but
separable, even conflicting, persons—quite contrary to the ecumenical creedal affirmations of Nicaea and
Constantinople.”9
ATONEMENT IN THE FAITH OF THE EARLY CHURCH FATHERS AND CREEDS
I agree with Belousek that PSA was not the faith of the Apostles and early church fathers and taught in
the ancient creeds of the church catholic. While Jeffery, Ovey and Sach claim PSA has been affirmed from
the earliest days of the Christian church, and that it was “central to the Christian faith and a foundational
element of God’s plan for the world”10 in Athanasius theology, a person represented as the defender of
the orthodox faith of the early Christian church, they also recognize that PSA was not the only
understanding of the atonement held by the early church fathers. More tellingly, Belousek rightly
challenges Jeffery, Ovey and Sach about reading back into Athanasius’ theology of the atonement an
Augustinian view of sin, death and punishment.11
I am persuaded by the arguments of Frances Young that PSA is only anticipated in the work of the
patristic theologians. She writes: “scholars telling the history of the doctrine of the atonement have always
been able to find anticipations of later doctrines in the patristic material. The classic histories were written
7
Ibid., 96.
Ibid., fn. 14, 100.
9 Ibid., 293.
10 S. Jeffery, M. Ovey and A. Sach, Pierced for our Transgressions: Rediscovering the glory of penal substitution (Nottingham:
IVP, 2007), 203.
11 Belousek, Atonement, Justice, and Peace, fn. 10, 365.
8
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at the beginning of this century, and they were shaped by the current conflict between so-called liberals
and conservatives both catholic and evangelical. The latter asserted that the traditional doctrine of the
atonement, as enunciated by Anselm in the Middle Ages and anticipated in the early material, was in terms
of “penal substitution.”12
Young and Belousek alert us to a key problem when interpreting historical data; identifying the
same word in documents from different periods and investing the older word with the meaning from the
more recent context. Historical explorations of atonement often fall into this trap. Interpretations of
Anselm’s Cur Deus Homo illustrate this problem. Key to the debate is the term “satisfaction.” Belousek
objects to proponents of PSA “conflating” Anselm’s idea of “satisfaction” with Calvin’s “penal
substitution,” and favourably cites Paul Fiddes in support of his view.13 However, Fiddes continues to
locate Anselm in a feudal setting, contrasting the feudal setting with the revival of Roman Law during the
period of the Reformation. Fiddes summaries Anselm’s argument: “Christ is not punished in our place,
but releases us from punishment through satisfaction,” whereas Calvin from his context builds on Anselm’s
premise that where honour is offended, satisfaction needs to be made, but understands the honour of
God to be linked to the divine law to which only punishment can provide satisfaction.14 While I agree
with Fiddes’ premise that historical context greatly influences theological development, more recent study
on the nature of feudalism, and the probable historical context in which Anselm lived and worked, would
question whether it is legitimate to understand Anselm’s understanding of “satisfaction” in terms of a
feudal worldview.15
There have been a series of key words used by theologians when writing about the atonement such
as, but not limited to, salvation, satisfaction, sacrifice, sin, justice, wrath, expiation, propitiation,
forgiveness, peace, reconciliation, obedience, honour, order. Across the centuries, these words have been
invested with meaning drawn from their specific context. Subsequent theologians have used the same
words, demonstrating a kind of continuity with those who have preceded them, but amended the previous
meaning by drawing on the worldview of their own context. For example, Cyprian’s writings (c. 249-258)
use many of the terms and phrases found in the writings of proponents of PSA. Cyprian, in his
controversy about re-admission of the lapsed, attributes the persecution engulfing the church at that time
to be the result of empowering Satan with authority to punish believers because they do not obey “the
12
F. Young, The Making of the Creeds (London: SCM Press, 1991), 89.
Belousek, Atonement, Justice, and Peace, 101-102.
14 Paul S. Fiddes, Past Event and Present Salvation: The Christian Idea of Atonement (London: Darton, Longman and Tood,
1989), 97-98.
15 For a convincing case for a non-feudal setting for Anselm see David L. Whidden III, “The Alleged Feudalism of
Anselm’s Cur Deus Homo and the Benedictine Concepts of Obedience, Honor, and Order,” Nova et Vetera English
Edition, Vol. 9, No. 4, (2011): 1060-1068. However the argument that the Rule of St Benedict provides the
interpretive framework for Cur Deus Homo does not convince me entirely. While Anselm as an Abbot lived with the
Rule as a daily framework, he also lived in a world that saw order beyond the walls of the monastery, a world where
Popes, Emperors, Kings, Princes, Lords, and Knights vied to assert their authority over people within their
territories on the basis of God’s revealed order for the world, a revelation open to varied interpretations.
13
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commandments of the Lord, while we do not keep the salutary ordinances of the law that He has given.”16
He challenges his fellow priests to follow the example of Christ to pray so that satisfaction can be made to
the Father: “But if for us and for our sins He both laboured and watched and prayed, how much more
ought we to be instant in prayers; and, first of all, to pray and to entreat the Lord Himself, and then
through Him, to make satisfaction to God the Father!”17 To the lapsed who seek the peace of the church
he notes that it is by “divine law” that only bishops hold the power to forgive sins, and the lapsed should
be “submissive and quiet and modest, as those who ought to appease God, in remembrance of their
sins.”18 In a telling outburst he contrasts the schismatics with the lapsed. “This is a worse crime than that
which the lapsed seem to have fallen into, who nevertheless, standing as penitents for their crime, beseech
God with full satisfactions. In this case, the Church is sought after and entreated; in that case, the Church
is resisted.”19
However, when Cyprian explains how Christ is able to restore the relationship of people with God,
he echoes Irenaeus’ focus on the incarnation rather than the cross:
Therefore of this mercy and grace the Word and Son of God is sent as the dispenser and
master, who by all the prophets of old was announced as the enlightener and teacher of the
human race. He is the power of God, He is the reason, He is His wisdom and glory; He
enters into a virgin; being the holy Spirit, He is endued with flesh; God is mingled with man.
This is our God, this is Christ, who, as the mediator of the two, puts on man that He may
lead them to the Father. What man is, Christ was willing to be, that man also may be what
Christ is.20
This concept of Christ becoming man so that man may be what Christ is does not appear as a
dominant theme in proponents of PSA. Similarly, Cyprian’s idea of salvation being initiated in baptism,
and guaranteed only when the baptized remain in obedient relationship to the bishops who represent the
Church catholic,21 would not resonate with proponents of PSA who identify continuity not through a line
of bishops but through the gospel as revealed in Christ in the Scriptures. Cyprian puts in place the ideas
that will develop into the medieval penitential system, of an order within society where clergy and laity
were divided, and salvation for the laity depended upon them staying in right relationship with the clergy
through obedience to complete the penance required of them by the Church representatives, the clergy.
However, the understanding of salvation and atonement enunciated by Cyprian was based on a pre“Epistle VII. To the Clergy, Concerning Prayer to God,” in Hippolytus, Cyprian, Caius, Novatian, Appendix (vol. 5 of
Ante-Nicene Fathers, ed. Alexander Roberts and James Donaldson; revised Cleveland Coxe; Peabody, MA:
Hendrickson, 1999), 286.
17 Ibid.
18 “Epistle XXVI: Cyprian to the Lapsed”, vol. 5 of Ante-Nicene Fathers, 305.
19 “On the Unity of the Catholic Church”, vol. 5 of Ante-Nicene Fathers, 427.
20 “Treaties VI: On the Vanity of Idols,” vol. 5 of Ante-Nicene Fathers, 468.
21 From baptism “springs the whole origin of faith and the saving access to the hope of life eternal, and the divine
condescension for purifying and quickening the servant of God.” “Epistle LXXII. To Jubaianus, Concerning the
Baptism of Heretics,” vol. 5 of Ante-Nicene Fathers, 382; “Thence, through the changes of time and successions, the
ordering of bishops and the plan of the Church flows onwards; so that the Church is founded upon the bishops, and
every act of the Church is controlled by these same rulers.” “Epistle XXVI. Cyprian to the Lapsed,” vol. 5 of AnteNicene Fathers, 305.
16
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Christendom worldview. Monks had not yet become a major sub-set of the clergy, who by the time of
Anselm vied with the priests in the minds of the laity as to which group could do for them what they
could not do. While the sacraments of the church were necessary, the intercessory prayers of monks and
nuns were also appreciated as effecting forgiveness for post-baptismal sins. By the time of Anselm the
Western Church had an adequate explanation for how the work of Christ achieved atonement for sinners;
the Church catholic as the representative of Christ through its priests mediated the prevenient grace of
God through the sacrament of baptism, and the medicine of grace through the sacrifice of Eucharist,
providing for the removal of punishment through penance, including the intercessory prayer of monks
and nuns. This was received by faith as the truth revealed by God through the church.
Anselm’s Cur Deus Homo does not challenge this understanding of the atonement.22 We might ask
the question “Why address the question of the incarnation and atonement in 1090 when no theologian
had addressed the topic for centuries?” Rather than posit a change in worldview based on the
development of feudalism, there is a more pressing issue that changed Anselm’s world, Islam. Not the
mere existence of that faith, but the increasing interaction of Christians on pilgrimage to the Holy Land
where pilgrims encountered people who argued that the Christian claim that God became man was
contrary to reason.23 Cur Deus Homo might then be seen as an early instalment of the underlying struggle
between revived Aristotelianism and Platonism that played out in parallel with the rise of universities that
began to rival the authority of the church as the locus of “truth,” a struggle that continued to inform the
context of Protestant Reformers when they located “truth” in the revelation of Christ in Scripture,
focused on the cross.
I would suggest that PSA is anticipated in the writings of the early church fathers and the creeds in
the sense that the language used to support PSA existed at that time and is not incompatible with the later
fully developed meanings attributed to it by those who support PSA. This means that other theories of the
atonement can also be anticipated in the writings of the early church and creeds. Each needed to wait till
a worldview existed that would nourish its ideas and assist it to dominate the landscape. The other
theories remained, remnants in isolated locations, until the cultural climate and context changed to allow
them to dominate. Such is the situation today, when the Western Church’s cultural context sees alternative
views to PSA begin to flourish as they are better able to engage with issues raised in the present cultural
context.
Fiddes helpfully notes that while history can only provide “probability” that an event did take place,
there is no need to retreat from locating Jesus in history and making faith only existential encounter.
Rather he would place “historical fact (that is probability) alongside the insights of faith,” not that historical
“Boso. Therefore, since I thus consider myself to hold the faith of our redemption, by the prevenient grace of
God, so that, even were I unable in any way to understand what I believe, still nothing could shake my constancy.”
Cur Deus Homo, ch 2, CLLL, 186.
23 “infidels are accustomed to bring up against us, ridiculing Christian simplicity as absurd … for what necessity, in
sooth, God became man, and by his own death, as we believe and affirm, restored life to the world; when he might
have done this, by means of some other being, angelic or human, or merely by his will.” Cur Deus Homo, ch. 1, 185.
22
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fact can “prove faith; rather, belief that certain events have happened will shape and educate a faith that
comes from encounter with Christ today.”24
The trajectory of this line of thought leads us to ask: Are all views of the atonement equally
legitimate? Who decides which are or are not legitimate? Representatives of the Western Church prior to
the Reformation identified the Church as the locus of authority: for the Conciliarist of the 15 th century the
Church was identified as the Council of Bishops gathered together; the supporters of Papal Primacy
identified the Church with the bishop of Rome. The Reformers rejected the idea that the Church was the
locus of authority to validate doctrine, replacing the Church with Scripture. The Reformers argued
Councils and Popes were fallible; Scripture as the revelation of God was not. Further, they rejected the
notion that the Church established Scripture, insisting that it was Scripture that established the Church. To
counter the accusation that this position would lead to unbridled individualism, the Reformers continued
with the hierarchical model they inherited from their Roman Catholic heritage, the differentiation of clergy
and laity, and investing their creeds established by their learned clergy with authority to determine which
positions were valid and which were not.
There was a third view during the early Reformation which was rejected by both Roman Catholics
and Magisterial Reformers, that the church as the body of Christ, that is believers (having no division
between clergy and laity) when gathered together, considered the Scriptures under the leading of the Holy
Spirit, taking into account the contribution of the scholars learned in the ancient languages and history of
the church, determined the validity of doctrine.25 Fiddes hints at the role the community of believers
played in understanding the cross and the resurrection, a role the present followers of Jesus need to also
undertake when understanding our present day encounters in faith with Jesus.26 Perhaps today’s Western
cultural context with its antipathy towards institutional authority will provide fertile soil in which
congregational hermeneutics can flourish.
GOD DIVIDED AND ALIENATED FROM HIMSELF
Belousek’s conclusion that PSA divides God and alienates God the Father from God the Son is in part
based on his assessment of Christ’s cry from the cross, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”27
He argues that if as John Stott, a preeminent proponent of PSA claims, this is an “actual and dreadful
separation,” then it cannot be avoided that God is divided and alienated at the moment of this cry of
dereliction. Where Stott sees the reality of an “actual and dreadful separation” is “balanced” by the faith
statement that there can be “no separation” in God, Belousek sees “incoherence.”28 Once again Belousek
24
Fiddes, Past Event and Present Salvation, 38.
This is a summary of Balthasar Hubmaier’s congregational hermeneutic that he initiated in Waldshut and
Nicolsburg 1525-1527 but moved away. G. Chatfield, Balthasar Hubmaier and the Clarity of Scripture (Eugene, OR:
Pickwick Publications, 2013), 365.
26 Fiddes, Past Event and Present Salvation, 41.
27 Belousek, Atonement, Justice, and Peace, 301.
28 Ibid, 302.
25
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the philosopher demands logical clarity. He summaries the PSA interpretation of Jesus’ cry of dereliction
as follows:
This separation between the Father and the Son happens … because at the cross Jesus both
bears the sins of all humanity and suffers the penalty for those sins in place of humanity,
both of which are necessary in order for Jesus to satisfy divine retribution as the universal
penal substitute. The Father, whose justice requires this punishment for sin but whose
holiness can have nothing to do with sin, must separate himself from the sin the son bears
and so must separate himself from—and, hence, “turn his back” on or “hide his face”
from—the sin-bearing Son.29
Defenders of PSA have recognized the problem of alienation of Father and Son inherent in PSA,
and have offered solutions other than that of Stott cited above. Jeffery, Ovey and Sach suggest the cry of
dereliction is only metaphoric, but this does not support the reality of the separation between Father and
Son PSA teaches. I. Howard Marshall focuses on the relational nature of sin, and the infliction of
proportionate suffering by God on the sinner, being exclusion from the presence of God. Christ as our
substitute on the cross not only experiences the wrath of God for our sin but also bears in himself the
consequences of our sin, “eternal exclusion” from God’s presence.30 Belousek claims the logical
conclusion of Marshall’s approach is an eternal separation in the Godhead. However, as Tony Campolo
put it, “It’s Friday, but Sunday’s coming,” the resurrection challenges the idea of eternal separation. I find
the insight of Paul Fiddes helpful at this point.
If we understand the “wrath” of God to be his confirming of the natural consequences of
human estrangement … and if we see Christ as participating in the deepest human
predicament, then we can speak (with Karl Barth) of God’s suffering his own contradiction
of sinful humanity; we need not speak of God’s contradicting himself. … The shock of the
silence at the cross is God’s exposure of his very being to non-being, as the Son is identified
with those for whom the Father must, with infinite grief, confirm death as the goal of their
own direction of life. This breach in God cannot be diminished, even by saying with Boff
that Jesus turns his deepest despair into “trust in the Mystery.” The cry of forsakenness
cannot be abridged like this; it is not resolved, at the cross, into a word of trust, but rings out
in all its starkness. But it is not the last word; the resurrection tells that as God takes death
into himself, he is not overcome by it. All hangs in the balance as the being of God and
death strike against each other; yet God sustains his being in the face of death, and makes it
serve him.31
As “God was in Christ” on the cross reconciling the world to himself, God the Father experiences
relationally in himself the reality of the consequences of sin as experience by God the Son. One of those
consequences is separation, a separation based on mutual consent. However, Belousek rejects the idea that
29
Ibid, 301.
Ibid, 303.
31 Fiddes, Past Event and Present Salvation, 194.
30
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mutual consent allows for abandonment. “How, though, can one consent to be abandoned or forsaken by
another? If I consent to your taking leave of me, then I have not been forsaken by you and you have not
abandoned me—we have merely parted; I am left alone, but not derelict.”32 If it could be shown that a
case could be imagined where two people could by mutual consent separate so that one was left
abandoned, totally forsaken to face death alone, then Belousek’s objection to the real abandonment of the
Son by the Father would be brought into question. Imagine a couple, married for many years and deeply
in love, driving in their car which crashes through a barrier into a lake. As the car is sinking, one is
trapped, the other can escape from the car. They both face death, but by mutual consent because of their
love for one another, they separate; the trapped one to die alone and abandoned, the other to experience
in the separation their own suffering from abandonment. Yet, mutual love which motivated the consent,
gives meaning to the act, while still not cancelling out the reality of the separation, suffering and death. If
such a scenario is possible for human beings, surely it is possible for God.
While it is helpful for the philosophers to challenge the thinking of theologians, there are some
areas of our faith where the limitations of human logic become evident. The creeds provided boundaries
around the mystery that is the Trinity, but the Trinity remains a mystery to be accepted by faith. If this
were not the case, then human reason would be sufficient to encompass God. In my view reason may
support faith, but the biblical revelation allows for mystery and paradox within faith. The atonement, be it
PSA interpretation or any of the other approaches must all, in the end, confront the finitude of our
human reason in the face of the mystery that God should willingly choose to become human to effect the
restoration of relationship with Him.
32
Belousek, Atonement, Justice, and Peace, 306.
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ATONEMENT, JUSTICE AND PEACE IN THE
OLD TESTAMENT (ESPECIALLY LEVITICUS
AND ISAIAH 53): A RESPONSE TO DARRIN
SNYDER BELOUSEK’S ATONEMENT, JUSTICE,
AND PEACE
ANTHONY R. PETTERSON1
Morling College
Sydney, Australia
AnthonyP@Morling.edu.au
Darrin Snyder Belousek’s book is written out of the conviction that theology shapes life, especially one’s
theology of Jesus’ atonement. This is admirable and I appreciate the opportunity to engage with his work
on the OT concerning such an important topic. While there is much with which I agree, in this limited
response I want to identify three significant points of disagreement, particularly his claims about God’s
wrath in the OT, the nature of atonement in Leviticus, and the significance of the Servant’s suffering in
Isa 53.
1. GOD’S WRATH AGAINST SIN IS IMPLIED EVEN IN PASSAGES WHERE IT IS NOT
MENTIONED
Belousek seeks to break the link between sin, God’s wrath, and the necessity of punishment for sin. He
says: “The personal wrath of God cannot be reduced to the middle term of a syllogism between sin and
punishment, as penal substitution would have it.”2 Yet the evidence that is mounted to support this thesis,
when examined more closely, actually supports the traditional connection between sin and God’s wrath
and punishment. For instance, Belousek contends that God brought about the flood in Noah’s day, “not
out of holy wrath against human evildoing … but rather out of heart-felt regret and sorrow for his own
having created a humankind whose heart is inclined toward evil (Gen 6:5-7; cf. 8:21).”3 Hence, the flood is
not an instance of God’s wrath, but his “heart-felt regret and sorrow.” While Belousek is correct to
observe that God’s wrath is not mentioned anywhere in the Genesis flood account, Isa 54:9 interprets the
1
Anthony Petterson lectures Old Testament and Biblical Hebrew at Morling College in Sydney. His email address is:
AnthonyP@Morling.edu.au
2 D. S. Belousek, Atonement, Justice, and Peace: The Message of the Cross and the Mission of the Church (Grand Rapids:
Eerdmans, 2012), 213.
3 Ibid., 182.
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flood in exactly these terms: “To me this is like the days of Noah, when I swore that the waters of Noah
would never again cover the earth. So now I have sworn not to be angry with you, never to rebuke you
again” (cf. 2 Pet 2:5-9). Significantly, in Isaiah this turning aside of God’s wrath is a result of the work of
the Servant in the previous chapter, Isa 53, something that I will come to later. Isaiah 54:9 demonstrates
that God’s wrath against sin is implied even in passages where it is not mentioned.4
God’s wrath and punishment are much more closely connected than Belousek allows.5 Even when
wrath is not explicitly mentioned in connection with punishment, there are several important passages that
establish this as the theological framework through which God’s punishment for sin in the OT is to be
viewed. For instance, the covenant curses in Lev 26 and Deut 28–29 provide a framework for interpreting
God’s punishment in Israel’s history, to which the prophets often refer. Here the covenant curses are
explicitly said to be an outworking of God’s anger (Lev 26:28; Deut 29:23-28). While the book of Judges
traces the spiralling of the nation deeper into sin, it only occasionally mentions God’s anger or wrath, yet
the framework established in Judg 2:6–3:6 indicates that the reader of the book is to interpret Yahweh’s
punishment for sin as an outworking of his wrath (vv. 14, 20).6 Solomon’s prayer at the dedication of the
temple also looks towards Israel’s subsequent history and indicates that sin arouses God’s anger and leads
to the punishment of exile (1 Kgs 8:46). Similarly, the writer of Kings explains the exile of the northern
kingdom in exactly these terms (2 Kgs 17:17-18).
So, my first point is: just because wrath is not mentioned, does not mean that wrath is not present.
The wider OT context clearly establishes an interpretative framework that teaches us to infer that God’s
wrath is a “middle term” between sin and its necessary punishment.
2. ATONING SACRIFICES IN LEVITICUS NOT ONLY CLEANSE BUT ALSO RANSOM
Belousek seeks to demonstrate that the atoning sacrifices in Leviticus make no sense in terms of penal
substitution, but in doing so he tells only one side of the story. Belousek rightly talks about the
rites bringing cleansing, but in Leviticus the rites not only bring cleansing, they also serve as a
ransom to appease Yahweh.7
4
Belousek seeks to demonstrate that there is no necessary link between wrath and punishment by citing the instance
of Uzzah reaching out his hand to steady the ark when David was transporting the ark to Jerusalem (2 Sam 6:6-7).
Belousek calls this “inadvertent contact with the holy” and that God’s wrath is “for a cause other than sin.” Yet most
commentators agree that David and Uzzah sin in transporting the ark on a cart in violation of Yahweh’s earlier
instruction (Num 4:15; 7:9; cf. Exod 25:12-15; 1 Chr 15:13). In transporting the ark on a cart, in the context of the
books of Samuel, the Israelites are acting just like the Philistines (1 Sam 6:7-12). Moreover, it may be that David is
guilty of manipulating Yahweh into his service. See for instance, R. P. Gordon, I & II Samuel: A Commentary (The
Library of Biblical Interpretation; Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1986), 232. Hence, this is not simply “inadvertent
contact”—it is the climax of a series of sins for which God’s wrath and punishment are a consequence.
5 A sample of passages that explicitly connect God’s wrath with his punishment of sin in the OT include: Exod 32:910; Lev 26:14-33; Num 12:9-15; Deut 4:25; 6:15; 7:4; 1 Kgs 8:46; 11:9; 2 Kgs 17:17-18; Ezra 9:13-14; Ps 11:5-6; Isa
10:5-6; Jer 4:4; Lam 3:42-43; Ezek 7:3, 8-9; Zech 1:12, 15.
6 God’s anger at sin which is expressed in punishment is explicit in Judg 3:8; 6:39; 10:7.
7 J. Sklar, Sin, Impurity, Sacrifice, Atonement: The Priestly Conceptions (Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press, 2005). This is also
suggested by J. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16 (AB 3; New York: Doubleday, 1991), 1082, and R. E. Averbeck, “,” in
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It is important to note that the rites only functioned in certain circumstances. Normally the
consequence of intentional sin in the priestly literature is death, either by the hand of Yahweh directly, or
by the hands of the covenant community.8 The sacrifice (also referred to in Isa 53) is only for sin
that may be atoned for. The or “guilt” seems to refer to some sort of general suffering that
prompts the sinner to seek out the sin they have committed, or to confess the sin that they have tried to
hide.9 If the sin was not properly dealt with through the appropriate sacrifice, then the implication is that
the person would also die.10
In determining the meaning of it is important to study the use of the cognate noun, .
It refers to the “payment” or “ransom” that in some sin contexts can appease the injured party and bring
peace to a damaged relationship (e.g., Exod 21:28-32; 30:11-16; Num 35:30-34). Jay Sklar, in a recent study
of atonement in Leviticus determines that a is:
…a legally or ethically legitimate payment which delivers a guilty party from a just
punishment that is the right of the offended party to execute or have executed. The
acceptance of this payment is entirely dependent upon the choice of the offended party, it is
a lesser punishment than was originally expected, and its acceptance serves both to rescue
the life of the guilty as well as to appease the offended party, thus restoring peace to the
relationship.11
Sklar demonstrates from several passages that the verb (“to make atonement”) in sin contexts,
refers to the effecting of a (“ransom”) on behalf of the guilty party (as well as purification).12 For
instance, Lev 10:17: “Why have you not eaten the purification offering in the place of the sanctuary, since
it is a thing most holy, and he has given it to you in order to bear away the sin of the congregation, to
make atonement for them before the LORD.”13 Note how the offended party (the LORD) has agreed to a
(the “purification offering”) by which sin is removed (“to bear away”) so that the sinner no longer
needs to face the consequences of their sin.14
Belousek notes that also occurs in the context of impurity and quite naturally asks: “Why
would YHWH be wrathful toward the very altar he has just ordained for the tabernacle? … [Why] is God
wrathful against a woman for having given birth or a man for having a skin lesion?”15 The answer is that
while it is clear that these are not sins that have aroused God’s anger, in the Levitical system, impurity
endangers life. Both sin and uncleanness have a polluting effect. For instance, Lev 20:2-3: “Any Israelite
New International Dictionary of Old Testament Theology and Exegesis vol. 2 (ed. W. A. VanGemeren; Grand Rapids:
Zondervan, 1997), 689-710 (693-695).
8 Sklar, Sin, Impurity, Sacrifice, Atonement, 41, notes the terms “death,” “cutting off,” and “to bear sin” are all found in
the context of intentional sin and refer to the death of the sinner.
9 Ibid.
10 Ibid., 43.
11 Ibid., 78. is also used to refer to an ethically questionable payment which delivers a guilty party from a just
punishment and is translated “bribe” (e.g. 1 Sam 12:1-5; Prov 6:34-35; Amos 5:12).
12 Ibid., 100. Note that the means of kipper is not always sacrifice (cf. the scapegoat in Lev 16:21-22; a golden plate in
Exod 28:38).
13 Following the translation of ibid., 94.
14 Ibid., 95.
15 Belousek, Atonement, Justice, and Peace, 176-177.
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or any foreigner residing in Israel who sacrifices any of his children to Molek is to be put to death. The
members of the community are to stone him. I myself will set my face against him and will cut him off
from his people; for by sacrificing his children to Molek, he has defiled my sanctuary and profaned my
holy name.”16 Those who suffer from a major impurity also defile the sanctuary, even if they do not come
in direct contact with it. This is seen in Lev 15:31: “You must keep the Israelites separate from things that
make them unclean, so they will not die in their uncleanness for defiling my dwelling place, which is
among them.”17
While impurity and sin have different starting points, they both end at the same place: they both
defile (requiring cleansing) and they both endanger (requiring ransom).18 This is why the rites must
not only cleanse and remove pollution, they must also ransom and appease. The life of the offerer is
ransomed by means of the life of the animal, its blood (cf. Lev 17:11), which is payment that the offended
party (Yahweh) has agreed to and provided.19 Hence atonement () sacrifices not only cleanse, they
also ransom. The life of the animal substitutes the penalty of death for those who are defiled by
uncleanness or sin.
3. THE SUFFERING SERVANT DEALS WITH GOD’S WRATH
Belousek claims that in Isa 53: “There is not so much as a single allusion to, much less mention of, God’s
wrath in the entire Song, no suggestion that God is angry and needs to be appeased.”20 While it is true that
the fourth Servant Song does not mention God’s wrath, the claim that God’s wrath is nowhere in view is
mistaken when the Song is read in the context of the book. Isaiah 1 sets up the frame for understanding
the book as a whole and central to Israel’s problem is God’s wrath at their sin (1:24-26; cf. 1:9, 18-20).21
Indeed, in Isa 40–66, a variety of vocabulary is used to refer to Yahweh’s anger/wrath: (42:24-25; 48:9;
63:6; 66:15); (47:6; 54:8-9; 57:16-17; 60:10; 64:5, 9); (42:25; 51:17, 20, 22; 59:18; 63:3, 5, 6;
66:15).
God’s wrath is the presenting issue in Isa 53. For instance: Isa 51:17, 19 “Awake, awake! Rise up,
Jerusalem, you who have drunk from the hand of the LORD the cup of his wrath … These double
calamities have come upon you—who can comfort you?” The question posed from the wider and
immediate context is—how can the cup of God’s wrath be removed so that God’s people can be
restored? The answer is that it is the Servant who effects salvation and turns aside God’s wrath. Isaiah 49–
52 anticipates this salvation and in 54–55, the people are invited to participate. As noted earlier, on the
other side of the Song, Yahweh states: “‘In a surge of anger I hid my face from you for a moment, but
16
The polluting effect of sin is seen also in Lev 16:30 and 18:24-25a.
Num 6:9-11 shows that the inadvertent defiling of something that has been sanctified is considered sinful—if
someone dies in the presence of a Nazirite, the Nazirite is considered to have sinned. In the priestly literature,
defiling the sacred is a serious sin itself.
18 Sklar, Sin, Impurity, Sacrifice, Atonement, 159.
19 Ibid., 173-174.
20 Belousek, Atonement, Justice, and Peace, 226.
21 Cf. M. A. Sweeney, Isaiah 1–39 with an Introduction to Prophetic Literature (FOTL 16; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1996),
70: “The oracles contained in this chapter summarize the main themes and message of the book.”
17
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15
with everlasting kindness I will have compassion on you,’ says the LORD your Redeemer. ‘To me this is
like the days of Noah, when I swore that the waters of Noah would never again cover the earth. So now I
have sworn not to be angry with you, never to rebuke you again’” (54:8-9). Isaiah 53 is the turning point
where the “arm of the LORD” (v. 1) will bring salvation through the Servant, just as it had in the Exodus
(cf. 51:9).22 The salvation is salvation from Yahweh’s wrath, like the days of Noah.
The language of this Servant Song resonates with the priestly world of sacrifice, which links the
function of the Servant with the substitutionary sacrificial motif.23 Given the context of exile, which is
explicitly connected with God’s wrath elsewhere in the OT (see my first point), and the way that the wider
context of Isaiah understands God’s wrath as the presenting problem, the wider context demands that
Isaiah 53 be understood as the solution to God’s wrath at sin.
While Belousek is correct to note that Isa. 53:5a should be translated “He was wounded ‘because
of’ or ‘by’ our transgressions” rather than “for our transgressions,” this is not the most compelling reason
for reading the Servant Song in terms of penal substitution. There are other more substantial reasons.
Verse 4 indicates that the Servant’s suffering is related to the people’s “pain” and “suffering.”24 Verses 1112 then indicate that the “pain” and “suffering” are the consequence of sin. The statement of v. 4, “surely
he took up () our pain” uses the same Hebrew verb as v. 12, “he bore () the sin of many.”
Similarly, “he bore () our suffering” in v. 4, uses the same verb as v. 11, “he will bear ( ) their
iniquities.” Using the same verbs, the terms for suffering early in the Song are replaced with terms for sin
at the end. The Servant does more than just share in the suffering of the people—there is a transfer of
suffering and sin to the Servant.
The verb “bear, lift up” (), is used in connection with “sin” () in eight other passages in
the OT. Four times it means “incur guilt” (by a person’s own wrong actions) (Lev 19:17; 22:17; 22:9; Num
18:22, 32) and in the four other instances it means “experience punishment” (for a person’s own wrong
actions) (Lev 20:20; 24:15; Num 9:13; Ezek 23:49). In all eight instances, the person incurs guilt or
experiences punishment for their own wrongdoing.25 In contrast, here the Servant incurs
guilt/experiences punishment not for his own sins, but for the “sins of many” (v. 12). There is clearly a
transfer of penalty from “us” to the Servant, a transfer that in the context of the Song brings salvation—
the “punishment that brought us peace” (v. 5). This transfer is traditionally captured in the phrase “penal
substitution” (cf. 1 Pet 2:24).
Furthermore, since in Leviticus the sacrifice both cleanses and ransoms, it seems defensible
to read these ideas from Leviticus into the sacrifice of the Servant (v. 10) as the way that God’s wrath is
J. N. Oswalt, The Book of Isaiah: Chapters 40–66 (NICOT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998), 385: “Yes, Israel had
suffered temporal results for its sins, but that did not mean that it was automatically restored to fellowship with God.
For that to happen, for Israel to be enabled to be the servants of God, atonement was necessary.”
23 M. J. Boda, A Severe Mercy: Sin and Its Remedy in the Old Testament (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2009), 209. For
instance, “sprinkle” (52:15); “bear” (53:6); “guilt offering” (53:10).
24 The following summarises R. B. Chisholm Jr., “Forgiveness and Salvation in Isaiah 53,” in The Gospel According to
Isaiah 53 (ed. D. L. Bock and M. Glaser; Grand Rapids: Kregel, 2012), 191-210 (199).
25 Ibid., 200.
22
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dealt with. Of course the sacrifice of the Servant here is unique, which is expected given the sacrificial
system was not designed to cover the kind of sin the people had committed.26
Belousek contends that the Servant intercedes for the people by “standing in the breach,” as Moses
did in the aftermath of the sin with the Golden Calf (Exod 32). Yet while Moses’ intercession mitigates
God’s anger and punishment, it does not remove it completely.27 God only relents from his earlier
intention to destroy the nation (v. 14), he still punishes them—the Levites strap swords to their side and
kill three thousand of the people (v. 28). Significantly, after this punishment Moses offers to substitute his
own life as atonement for sin (32:30-32). Yahweh rejects Moses’ offer and declares he will punish the
people for their sin, striking them with a plague (32:34-35). Moses’ intercession mitigates God’s
punishment (he will not destroy the nation), it does not remove it—the people suffer. Indeed, the whole
sacrificial system of Leviticus must be understood in the narrative flow of the Pentateuch as instituted by
God to deal with his wrath at sin.28 Furthermore, perhaps it is this instance in Exodus which provides the
background for the Servant.29 While Moses offered to substitute his own life as atonement for sin and was
rejected, God will provide a Servant whose obedience to death will bring atonement.
Admittedly, there are aspects of Isa 53 which are difficult to interpret. Yet, when the theological
framework of the OT is taken into account (which connects the exiles of Israel and Judah directly with
God’s wrath and punishment for sin), and the context of Isa 53 is acknowledged (which looks to a
solution to the problem of God’s wrath amongst other things), and the sacrificial language from Leviticus
is fully appreciated (where the sacrifice is shown to include cleansing and ransom), then it becomes
clear that the work of the Servant in dying to bear the sin of many is what finally brings atonement, deals
with God’s wrath, and restores fellowship with God. Yet this is not the end-point in Isaiah’s vision.
Yahweh’s salvation through the work of his Servant is a work of justice that not only brings about
restoration for the nation, it also brings about a new community who are agents of God’s justice and
righteousness in the world—people who have experienced Yahweh’s justice and so are to bring justice and
righteousness to the nations as part of the transformation of all creation, for the display of his splendour
(e.g., Isa 51:1-8; 55:13; 58:6-14; 60:21).30
26
Boda, A Severe Mercy, 209.
Belousek, Atonement, Justice, and Peace, 212, uses the Golden Calf incident to argue that God’s wrath sometimes “is
turned away by human actions, including prophetic or priestly intercession (Exod 32:7-14; Num 11:1-3; Num 14;
Deut 9:15-21; Ps 106:32).”
28 Cf. Boda, A Severe Mercy, 49: “[Leviticus] contains the legislation that will make possible the enduring presence of
Yahweh in the camp (Exodus 40) and nurture the covenant relationship established with Yahweh in Exodus 19–24.”
29 Suggested by G. P. Hugenberger, “The Servant of the Lord in the ‘Servant Songs’ of Isaiah,” in The Lord’s Anointed:
Interpretation of Old Testament Messianic Texts (ed. P. E. Satterthwaite, R. S. Hess and G. J. Wenham; Carlisle:
Paternoster, 1995), 105-140 (137). While Moses provides the background for the idea of a human substitute for the
nation, I would contend that for Isaiah the Servant is a Davidic figure. Also G. V. Smith, Isaiah 40–66 (NAC 15B;
Nashville: B&H Publishing, 2009), 448.
30 On the relationship between Yahweh’s justice in the atonement and justice, righteousness, and peace among God’s
people see A. Sloane, “Justice and the Atonement in the Book of Isaiah,” Trinity Journal 34 (2013): 3-16. E. A.
Martens, “Yahweh, Justice, and Religious Pluralism in the Old Testament,” in The Old Testament in the Life of God’s
People: Essays in Honor of Elmer A. Martens (ed. J. Isaak; Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2009), 126, notes how in the OT,
“Justice has both a retributive and a compassionate edge.”
27
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JESUS’ UNDERSTANDING OF HIS OWN DEATH:
REFLECTIONS ON CHAPTER 9 OF DARRIN SNYDER
BELOUSEK’S ATONEMENT, JUSTICE, AND PEACE
MATTHEW ANSLOW
Educator, TEAR Australia
PhD Candidate, Charles Sturt University
matt.c.anslow@gmail.com
I begin my reflections by expressing my gratitude to Dr. Belousek. I am deeply appreciative of his service
to the church by way of his monumental work on the subject of the atonement. It is crucial that we be
willing to thoroughly and critically engage the Scriptures and the history of Christian theology in order to
refine our understanding(s) of the central event of Christian belief—indeed, the central event of history
itself—the life, death and resurrection of Jesus. Equally important is our ongoing reflection on the
implications of this event for our discipleship; the mission to which we are called must of course be
understood in light of Christ’s person and work. Belousek does both in an impressive fashion.
OVERALL REFLECTIONS
Before moving to discussion of the chapter in question (“Jesus’ Understanding of His Own Death”), I
offer some overall reflections on Atonement, Justice, and Peace. As one who shares in Belousek’s commitment
to Anabaptism, I am well aware of the tension between, say, the teaching of Jesus regarding love of
enemies and biblical images of violence. How we interpret the cross is, in some ways, an indication of our
wider hermeneutical commitments. For those committed to Jesus’ teaching regarding peace, questions
around penal substitution have been pervasive in recent times given the obvious implications for Christian
discipleship of propitiatory sacrifice as a descriptive attribute of God.
Belousek’s book is important in regard to such ongoing debates, not least because of the approach
it represents. While it is nowadays common for Christians to cast doubt over doctrines such as penal
substitution, I cannot help but wonder whether such doubt is often motivated by a feeling of discomfort,
a subjective sense of dis-ease. Such feelings may be somewhat valid, but they hardly constitute a
meaningful refutation of the doctrine in question. Belousek’s work stands against such an approach by
committing to engage with the Scriptures in a robust and (I would say) orthodox fashion. In fact,
anecdotally, some people have commented to me regarding the conservative nature of Belousek’s
exegetical approach. I take this as a strength, since it means people from all stripes can engage with his
work (not always the case with critiques of PSA).
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Related to this is that I am impressed with Belousek’s commitment to an inductive approach on the
question of atonement. This involves his insistence on sifting through the textual evidence rather than
moving from a general theory of sin, sacrifice or justice toward more narrow conclusions. In this sense
Belousek’s approach is quite distinct from, say, the increasingly fashionable espousal of Girardian
sociological and anthropological theories for interpreting the atonement. This is not to say that
Girardianism or similar frameworks are without value—on the contrary, I think there is much value in
Girard’s work—but just that such theories are unconvincing to those who do not share their basic
presuppositions. Belousek’s work, focusing as it does on scriptural evidence as the starting point for a
larger theory, centres debate on the biblical text itself rather than on the theories that only potentially form
the basis of engagement with the text. This provides a methodologically suitable approach for people from
a wide range of theological and philosophical backgrounds.
Not that Belousek is blind to the necessity of presuppositions in biblical interpretation—indeed he
spends some time addressing the retributive paradigm as a commitment that exists prior to the act of
reading. Where, perhaps, Belousek’s book could be strengthened is in the exposition of his own
philosophical commitments as they relate to the act of biblical interpretation, although I acknowledge this
could easily be a tome in itself.
I also make note of the scope of Belousek’s work. While his treatment of penal substitution will no
doubt be a point of interest for enthusiasts and critics alike (hence this issue of PJBR), this is by no means
the sole aim of Atonement, Justice, and Peace, nor is a general treatment of atonement in an abstract sense.
Rather, Belousek’s work takes seriously the ethical implications for any atonement doctrine, noting from
the beginning that the retributive paradigm, particularly as reflected in certain approaches to Christian
doctrine, manifests itself very concretely in human society, including public policy. It is fitting, then, that
he sets out to explore the mission of the Church in terms of justice and peace as an expression of a
cruciform worldview.
JESUS’ UNDERSTANDING OF HIS OWN DEATH
From here we move to discuss the content of the book chapter in focus, “Jesus’ Understanding of His
Own Death.” Though in this chapter he will eventually move to analyse three key passages for his overall
case—two that are often used in support of PSA—Belousek begins with a methodological consideration
regarding the question of the historical Jesus. This allows him to set out his commitment to the historical
authenticity of the Gospels’ accounts of Jesus’ sayings about his own death. Such is in contrast to the
scepticism of some historical Jesus scholars who give primacy to their own historical presuppositions over
the evidence of Scripture. This may turn off some progressive readers, but they are probably not the target
audience since they are more likely to have already rejected PSA. Such readers would, however, benefit
from familiarising themselves with Belousek’s critiques of some of the recent attempts to formulate a
nonviolent atonement.
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Belousek then discusses the Lukan Transfiguration account, concluding that Luke understands
Jesus’ death as fitting the pattern of the rejected prophets, and as a New Exodus. Again, this is somewhat
uncontroversial, though the implications are not minor. I imagine some exploration of the Matthean and
Markan accounts of the Transfiguration may have been helpful since they also picture Jesus as fitting the
pattern of a prophet, but with particular focus on the relationship with Elijah/John the Baptist, though I
am sympathetic to the sole choice of Luke’s account for the sake of brevity.
The “Ransom Saying” (Mark 10:45)
Where the chapter moves into more challenging and controversial territory is in the section dealing with
the so-called “ransom saying” in Mark 10:45, and indeed this is the section most requiring attention. The
ransom saying is one of the most difficult and debated verses in the NT. Belousek is critical of John
Stott’s insistence that this verse is connected with the Suffering Servant of Isa 53, preferring instead to
connect it to the Son of Man reference in Dan 7. Despite the towering influence of Stott, particularly his
The Cross of Christ, I am left wondering why Belousek makes him his primary conversation partner at the
outset of this section. There have been more scholarly treatments of this passage in subsequent decades,1
including by those who concur with Stott’s insistence that Mark 10:45 should be connected to Isa 53.
Belousek does refer at some points to significant studies on the topic—including those of Hooker,
McKnight and Kaminouchi—but these are not primary. Moreover, given Belousek’s eventual dealing with
Isa 53,2 whereby he interprets the Suffering Servant poem as not supporting PSA, it is not clear why
separating Mark 10:45 from Isa 53 is critical to his overall case. In fact, in light of Belousek’s enlightening
discussion of the Suffering Servant in a later chapter of his book, an intertextual discussion of these texts
would have proved interesting, if nothing else. It may be that Belousek is too stringent, and in principle I
do not see why an echo of both Isa 53 and Dan 7 cannot exist concurrently in Mark 10:45.3 It may also
have been a strengthening factor for Belousek’s book to have engaged with more Markan commentators
on this question, since many of them associate Mark 10:45 with Isa 53.4 To be fair, Belousek does
1
See especially the discussion by well-known scholars in William H. Bellinger, Jr. and William R. Farmer, eds., Jesus
and the Suffering Servant: Isaiah 53 and Christian Origins (Harrisburg: Trinity, 1998), esp. Morna Hooker, “Did the Use of
Isaiah 53 to Interpret His Mission Begin with Jesus?” 88–103; Rikki E. Watts, “Jesus’ Death, Isaiah 53, and Mark
10:45: A Crux Revisited,” 125–51; and N. T. Wright, “The Servant and Jesus: The Relevance of the Colloquy for the
Current Quest for Jesus,” 281–97. See also G. R. Beasley-Murray, Jesus and the Kingdom of God (Grand Rapids, Mich.:
W.B. Eerdmans, 1986), 273–83; Adela Yarbro Collins, “Mark’s Interpretation of the Death of Jesus,” JBL 128/3
(2009): 545–54; Craig A. Evans, Mark 8:27–16:20 (WBC 34b; Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 2001), 109–25; Peter
Stuhlmacher, “Vicariously Giving His Life for Many, Mark 10:45 (Matt 20:28),” in Reconciliation, Law, and Righteousness
(Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1986), 16–29; Rikki E. Watts, Isaiah’s New Exodus in Mark (Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr,
1997), 270–87; N. T. Wright, Jesus and the Victory of God (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1996), 579–91. For seminal
examples prior to Stott’s work see C. K. Barrett, “The Background of Mark 10:45,” in New Testament Essays (ed. A. J.
B. Higgins; Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1959), 1–18; Morna Hooker, Jesus and the Servant: The Influence of
the Servant Concept of Deutero-Isaiah in the New Testament (London: SPCK, 1959).
2 Chapter 13 of Atonement, Justice, and Peace.
3 For an example of seeing echoes of both passages see Brant Pitre, “The ‘Ransom for Many,’ The New Exodus, and
the End of the Exile: Redemption as the Restoration of All Israel (Mark 10:35-45),” Letter & Spirit 1 (2005): 41–68.
4 E.g. R.T. France, The Gospel of Mark (NIGTC; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2002), 419–21; Ben Witherington III, The
Gospel of Mark: A Socio-Rhetorical Commentary (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2001), 288–89; R. Alan Cole, The Gospel
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acknowledge that even if one sees a textual link between Mark 10:45 and Isa 53, this is not sufficient
grounds for equating ransom with penal substitute—a point with which I agree—and so he does make
space for his argument even if his conclusion about the link between Mark 10:45 and Isa 53 were to be
incorrect.
In any case, Belousek is correct to note that any interpretation of the ransom saying should begin
not with Isa 53, another external passage, or any presupposition about Jesus, but with Mark 10:45 itself.
Belousek notes some basic literary-critical observations, and I think incontrovertible his suggestion that
the ransom saying is an elaboration of the entire pericope found in Mark 10:35–45 dealing with greatness
and servanthood. However, when Belousek draws an intertextual comparison between Mark’s ransom
saying and Luke 19:10 (“the Son of Man came … to serve … to give his life”) he opens himself to the
criticism of conflating two distinct narratives, even if he has already stated a hermeneutic of trust
regarding the historicity of the accounts of Jesus’ statements in the Gospels. I am not necessarily opposed
to such a connection, but the point that he makes—that Jesus’ serving is a reference to his whole life and
not just his death—need not rely on Luke 19 since it can be inferred from Mark 10’s insistence that the
disciples are to serve in the same way Jesus serves. Such service cannot refer solely to Jesus’ atoning death
since the disciples cannot emulate it. Belousek’s conclusion that Jesus’ service involves his whole life, and
not merely his death, helps overcome the problem of reducing Jesus’ life and ministry to a mere prelude to
the crucifixion.
In the next part of Belousek’s argument he argues that “ransom” (lytron) refers neither to sacrifice
nor punishment but to the price of the liberation of a slave.5 In this way, Jesus’ way of servanthood
becomes the ransom, the way of liberation. This conclusion regarding this verse is of course not novel; it
was reached by Ched Myers over 25 years ago in his Binding the Strong Man.6 Others have offered various
versions of this interpretation.7 Nonetheless it is necessary to repeat it; Mark 10:45 is one of those
passages that arises regularly for those that seek to explore alternatives to penal substitionary atonement,
and the sole reason is this word “ransom.” Indeed, John Phillips calls 10:45 the “key verse in Mark’s
gospel,” before associating it directly with the lex talionis.8 Belousek goes to some lengths to define lytron in
a way that is consistent with the Hebrew OT (kōpher)/LXX, thus freeing this passage from the imposition
of an external substitutionary paradigm. Moreover, his demonstration of the logical problems of seeing
ransom as substitution is also helpful in clarifying what precisely is meant by the relevant terms
According to Mark: An Introduction and Commentary (TNTC; Leicester: IVP, 1989), 244–45; John R. Donahue & Daniel
J. Harrington, The Gospel of Mark (Sacra Pagina; Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 2002), 313–15.
5 A contested claim, no doubt. See especially Collins, “Mark’s Interpretation,” 545–49.
6 Ched Myers, Binding the Strong Man (2nd ed.; Maryknoll: Orbis, 2008), 279.
7 See for example Sharyn Dowd & Elizabeth Struthers Malbon, “The Significance of Jesus’ Death in Mark: Narrative
Context and Authorial Audience,” JBL 125/2 (2006): 271–97; Alberto De Mingo Kaminouchi, But It Is Not So Among
You: Echoes of Power in Mark 10:32–45 (London: T&T Clark, 2003), 88–156; also those works referenced in Belousek’s
chapter.
8 John Phillips, Exploring the Gospel of Mark: An Expository Commentary (Grand Rapids: Kregel Academic, 2004), 227–
28.
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21
“substitution,” “exchange,” “ransom,” and “life.” Too often references are made to substitution—
whether for or against the idea—without a firm understanding of what substitution logically entails.9
One issue with Belousek’s work is in his critique and response to the “penal substitution view.” As
stated above, Belousek summarises the PSA view of Mark 10:45 as being in agreement with Stott’s
association of the verse with Isa 53. But this is an incomplete summary. For example, Collins, though
affirming the connection between Mark 10:45 and Isa 53, bases her affirmation of the synonymous
relationship between lytron in Mark 10:45 and hilasterion not on any Isaian connection, but rather on a
combination of a lexical study of lytron in OT and Greek literature and literary-critical considerations in
Mark.10 It would have been helpful for Belousek to engage with such a perspective, or others like it that
do not rely on Isa 53 to hold to a substitutionary reading of Mark 10:45, since they conflict with the
chapter being discussed without being directly addressed in it.11
Another issue worth mentioning is Belousek’s insistence, following Leon Morris, that the ransom
of Mark 10:45 is not literally paid to anyone, that the ransom is not an “exact description of the whole
process of salvation.”12 I am sympathetic to this perspective, though I do wonder if rejecting the need for
a literal explanation of the mechanism of ransom is hermeneutically problematic in light of Belousek’s
very literal rendering and critique of the notion of “substitution” vis-à-vis “exchange.” If we are able to
take the concept of ransom as a “useful metaphor”13 in which certain details are not exact (to whom the
price paid), why can we not, in principle, do the same with other concepts embedded in the metaphor
(“exchange”)? This concern cascades into another regarding the persuasiveness of Belousek’s argument
for his intended evangelical audience. Specifically, will those who subscribe to an alternative and exact
explanation of the mechanism of ransom within the framework of PSA be convinced by Belousek’s
argument here? Of course, this last point is not a criticism of Belousek’s position, since even if he is
correct, he will not be convincing to all readers.
The Last Supper
Belousek moves finally to discuss the Last Supper accounts. He rectifies the PSA insistence on associating
the “cup of Jesus’ blood” with the Levitical sacrifices by pointing out that, narratively speaking, the Last
Supper is actually associated with the Passover. Here Belousek must be careful not to create a false
dichotomy, as if the Last Supper cannot reference more than one narrative of the past. Belousek does
defend the exclusion of a reference to Levitical sacrifice by pointing out Jesus’ bypassing of the temple
system, but there is still the possibility that Jesus intends his act at the Last Supper to reference and subvert
See Collins, “Mark’s Interpretation,” 547 for an example of blurring the distinction between “substitution” and (in
Belousek’s language) “exchange.”
10 Collins, “Mark’s Interpretation,” 545–49. See also Adela Yarbro Collins, “The Signification of Mark 10:45 among
Gentile Christians,” HTR 90/4 (1997): 371–82.
11 Belousek, Atonement, Justice, and Peace, 149–56.
12 Belousek (quoting Leon Morris), Atonement, Justice, and Peace, 156.
13 Ibid.
9
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this system. Jesus’ forgiveness of sins, and thus his assumption of the atoning function of the temple cult,
prior to the Last Supper, however, suggests Belousek is probably correct on this point.
The remainder of Belousek’s discussion of the Last Supper is fairly detailed, and I am not able to
do justice to it in this context. His acumen in deconstructing the logical problems of seeing Jesus the
Passover Lamb as a penal substitute is clear and formidable. The same is the case with his treatment of the
blood of the covenant as seal of relationship rather than instrument of remission of sins. By portraying
Jesus’ death as the moment of a New Exodus and the restoration of covenant, Belousek puts forward an
aspect of the atonement that includes liberation from slavery to sin and death, the renewal of relationship
with God, the forgiveness of sins, return from exile, the healing of disease, and the coming of God’s
kingdom, all without giving up anything of crucial importance within the penal substitutionary model. It
does this without the need for a retributive approach to justice and peace but with a profound
appreciation for the details of the biblical story.
CONCLUSION
I conclude by noting that among Belousek’s most sage pieces of advice is his reminder to us that, “When
interpreting Jesus’ death, we must be careful neither to collapse its manifold of meaning into a singularity,
nor to superimpose the view of Jesus’ followers onto Jesus himself.”14 This does not entail accepting every
proposed meaning for Jesus’ atonement (indeed Belousek clearly does not), but it does mean being
attentive to the varied aspects of the scriptural witness. May the ongoing discussions of Belousek’s work
be open to more than just our favourite texts. Furthermore, may these discussions approach the subject of
the meaning of the atonement with the necessary patience to sit with the whole story of God’s restorative
action in the world and to attempt to be faithful to it in its fullness. I thank Dr. Belousek for his
magisterial attempt to do such things.
14
Belousek, Atonement, Justice, and Peace, 159.
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ATONEMENT, JUSTICE AND PEACE IN ROMANS 1-6:
SOME THOUGHTS IN RESPONSE TO DARRIN
SNYDER BELOUSEK’S ATONEMENT, JUSTICE, AND
PEACE
DAVID STARLING
Morling College
Sydney, Australia
davids@morling.edu.au
The first words I want to offer in response to Belousek’s book are words of warm appreciation. As a nonphilosopher I’m grateful for his efforts to help us be aware of and explicit about the paradigms and
presuppositions that we bring to Scripture; as a New Testament lecturer, I’m encouraged to see the
lengths Belousek has gone to in attempting to do justice to the details and particulars of Scripture,
including those that are not necessarily congenial to his case, and to read them in relation to the Bible’s
over-arching narrative structures and their climax in the death and resurrection of Jesus; as a pastor and
teacher of pastors, I appreciate the way in which Belousek’s book, from start to finish, keeps open the
question of how the church’s theology relates to the life of discipleship and the mission that we are called
to as followers of Jesus; as an evangelical, I’m thankful for the way in which Belousek attempts to address
the “double audience” that he speaks about in the opening pages of the book, and doesn’t simply
surrender to the necessity of a permanent schism between people who care about the gospel and people
who care about peace and justice; and as a lecturer on Paul’s epistles, I’m glad that he isn’t content with
the stereotype of Paul and his gospel as abstract, theoretical, and ethically and politically barren. There is
much in this book and in what it is attempting to do that I am glad of and thankful for.
RETRIBUTIVE JUSTICE, JUDICIAL WRATH AND PENAL SUBSTITUTION IN ROMANS 1-6
There are, however, some points of significant disagreement that I have with Belousek’s reading of
Scripture, on matters that are closely connected to the heart of his thesis. In this paper I want to outline
several of those points of disagreement, taking as a test-case his reading of Rom 1-6, then offer some
suggestions for what I think is a better way of relating atonement, peace and justice, following Paul’s lead
in those chapters.
The majority of my criticisms relate to Belousek’s claim—crucial to his reading of Paul—that “Paul
frames the cross, not by the problem of God’s wrath, but by the demonstration of God’s
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24
righteousness/justice through covenant faithfulness.”1 My main problem with that claim, if I understand it
correctly, is that it implies a false dichotomy. I would want to ask in response: why can the cross not be
both a demonstration of God’s righteousness and justice in fulfilment of his covenant promises and a
resolution of the problem that is posed for us by God’s wrath and judgement? Showing that the cross
fulfils God’s promises and manifests his righteousness does not amount to a disproof of the notion that
the cross takes place against the background of God’s threatened judgement and as a resolution of its
demands.
Underneath that unnecessary dichotomy built into Belousek’s thesis is a series of additional
dichotomies that are constructed as arguments in support of it. The first and most obvious is the
assumption that the cross must be the solution either to the problem of God’s wrath or to the problem
of human sin, but not to both. Certainly, in Rom 3:21-26, the passage that Belousek lays out in ch. 8 as an
elaborate chiasm in support of his thesis,2 the explicit references are to “sin,” not to “wrath,” as the plight
that is addressed by the redemption accomplished in Christ. But in the picture Paul has painted across the
preceding chapters, sin and wrath are tightly bound together in a single package—as they are, for that
matter, across the whole of the Old Testament, including such structurally prominent places as the
covenant curses of Leviticus and Deuteronomy (e.g. Lev 26:14–45; Deut 29:22–28). To be a sinner and a
slave to sin is to be under wrath, and the salvation Paul announces in the gospel addresses all of the
dimensions of that plight.
Of course, Belousek does not simply ignore the question of God’s wrath altogether. But his reading
of how Paul speaks about it in Rom 1 and 2, as he sets up the frame for the revelation of God’s
righteousness in Rom 3, is weakened significantly by two more unwarranted dichotomies that he imposes
on the text. The first is the dichotomy between wrath against sin and wrath against sinners. According
to Belousek, “the object of God’s wrath [in Rom 1:18] is not human beings themselves, but their wicked
ways and evil deeds.”3 Once again, as was the case in Rom 3:21–26, there is a certain surface-level
correctness to Belousek’s claim. But the fact that Paul talks in Rom 1:18 in terms of the wrath of God
being revealed against “wickedness” and “godlessness” does not mean that Paul imagines those
behaviours as neatly separable from the people who are the subject of them. There is a difference, of
course, between how Paul depicts God’s stance toward sin and his stance toward sinners—it was, after all,
while we were still sinners that Christ died for us, demonstrating God’s love for sinners and enemies. But
there is still a sense in which, according to Rom 1-3, the wrath of God stands over against us ourselves, as
sinners—on the day of wrath, there will be wrath for us if we do not receive God’s kindness as an
invitation to repentance (2:5); the wrath of God that is revealed in the present as being against evil and
self-seekingness and falsehood will be visited on the final day not just upon practices but upon persons—
1
Darrin W. Snyder Belousek, Atonement, Justice, and Peace: The Message of the Cross and the Mission of the Church (Grand
Rapids: Eerdmans, 2012), 129: “Penal substitution … frames the cross of Christ by this question of the wrath of
God, so that the divine-wrath-propitiating cross of Christ is the logical answer to this question: How can sinful
humanity under diving wrath be saved? By contrast, Paul frames the cross, not by the problem of God’s wrath, but
by the demonstration of God’s righteousness/justice through covenant faithfulness.”
2 Atonement, Justice, and Peace, 129-30.
3 Atonement, Justice, and Peace, 214.
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upon “those who are self-seeking and reject the truth and follow evil” (2:8). The wrath against sin
described in Rom 1 implies the wrath against sinners described in Rom 2.
The second false dichotomy in Belousek’s reading of how Paul describes the wrath of God is the
dichotomy that he implies between suffering as a divine penalty imposed on sin and suffering as the
consequence of forces and actions within the natural order. According to Belousek, if the wrath of
God is to be understood as penal, it needs to be described by the biblical writers as “something external to
the cause-effect order of creation, a judicial penalty imposed directly by divine intervention in the world”.4
But the biblical writers know no such assumption. When God “hands people over” to judgement—
whether the judgement eventuates through natural processes like plague and famine, or through the
outworking of the consequences of their own sin, or through the hostile actions of others—the meaning of
the language is still penal, regardless of whether the means that God employs involve direct divine
intervention.
Thus, for example, in Ps 106 (the psalm that Paul alludes to in Rom 1:25), when God delivers Israel
over into the hands of the nations, there is no suggestion of any direct, supernatural divine intervention—
the point, if anything, is that God does not intervene to prevent the conquest and oppression of his people
taking place—but the event is still depicted as an expression of God’s judgement and wrath.5 The same
language of “handing over” is also used, crucially, in Rom 8:32 to describe the death of Jesus himself,
when God gave up his Son for us, delivering him over to death on a cross.6 There is no divine
intervention implied, but the providential purpose of God is still unmistakeably at work. Even within
history, the revelation of God’s wrath as Paul describes it in Rom 1 has a penal meaning, in which the
escalating consequences of sin are simultaneously an expression of its judgement under the decree of God.
If the wrath of God that Paul describes in Rom 1 as being manifested within history is implicitly
penal, the depiction that Paul gives in Rom 2 of the wrath of God at the end of history is explicitly and
emphatically penal and retributive. In Rom 2:1 Paul turns to the person who is complacently assenting to
the previous chapter’s description of pagan humanity under the wrath God and warns of the coming day
of judgement, when—according to verse 6—God will “repay each person according to what they have
done.” The kind of retribution that Paul has in mind here is not an iron law of strict mathematical
correspondence between the visible, outward crime and the punishment that equals it; God’s final
judgement, Paul insists, will involve a searching of the secret thoughts and motives of the heart, not just
the wooden application of a fixed, statutory penalty. But the basic shape of the judgement that he
describes within this chapter is still unmistakeably retributive, paying back to the evildoer trouble and
distress as a deserved punishment for the wrong that they have done.
At this point there is an important correspondence worth noting between the justice of God made
known in the gospel and the broader human understanding of what justice means, including the classical
4
Atonement, Justice, and Peace, 214.
Cf. the similar language in 1 Kgs 8:46; 2 Chr 6:36; 2 Kgs 21:14; 2 Chr 36:17; Ps 78:60-61; LXX Isa 64:6; Isa 65:12;
Jer 21:20; 22:25).
6 Cf. Belousek’s brief comment in Belousek, Atonement, Justice, and Peace, 113.
5
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Graeco-Roman accounts. Belousek is right to argue that, since the life, death, and resurrection are the
culminating revelation of God’s peace and justice, “we cannot assume beforehand that the life-ministry
and cross of Jesus Christ will conform to our prior, natural human thinking about justice and peace.”7 The
redemptive righteousness of God that is made known in the gospel is certainly presented by Paul as
something that could never have been anticipated by the pagan cults or the speculative philosophers (cf. 1
Cor. 1:18–31), and the just and peaceable way of life to be followed by Christ’s people involves sharp
contradictions with “the pattern of this world” (cf. Rom 12:1–21). But at the level of the fundamental
retributive assumption that wrongdoing is liable to punishment, Paul’s argument in Rom 1–3 assumes a
basic coherence between “[what] the law says” (Rom 3:19), “[what] my gospel declares” (Rom 2:16) and
what Paul depicts in Rom 1:32 as a universal, intuitive, human awareness of “God’s righteous decree that
those who do such things deserve death.”
There is therefore an ample basis for the traditional reading of Rom 3:21-26, in which the depiction
of Christ as a hilastērion, a mercy-seat, through the shedding of his blood, is understood against the
backdrop of not just our sin but also the divine, judicial wrath that stood against us because of our sin.
According to the vision that Paul presents in Rom 1–3, there is good reason to speak of us as being saved
through Christ from God’s wrath—as indeed Paul does in Rom 5:9—and to understand that wrath as
personal, universal, eschatological, and penal.
JUSTICE BEYOND RETRIBUTION, RIGHTEOUSNESS BEYOND JUSTIFICATION, PEACE
BEYOND THE SOUL
But that is not the only way in which Rom 1-6 describes our salvation; nor does Paul depict the sinbearing death of Jesus and the verdict of present justification spoken over those who believe in him as if
those things were the end of the story and the sum total of the revelation of God’s righteousness. And
here, I think, is the place at which it makes sense to speak about a number of important points of
agreement that I have with Belousek, and to suggest what I think is a better way to establish some of the
claims that he wants to make.
(i) Justice Beyond Retribution
The first and most basic point of agreement between us is on the meaning of the biblical language about
the righteousness and justice of God. Whilst Belousek and I differ on whether God’s justice includes
within it an irreducible element of retribution, we agree emphatically that the justice of God is not limited
to a merely retributive settling of scores. When Paul speaks in Rom 1:16–17 about the gospel as “the power
of God that brings salvation” and asserts that “in it the righteousness of God is revealed,” the language he
uses carries multiple echoes of Ps 98:2: “The LORD has made his salvation known and revealed his
7
Atonement, Justice, and Peace, 20.
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righteousness to the nations.” Here and elsewhere in the Old Testament, as Belousek rightly emphasizes,
the manifestation of God’s righteousness on earth is depicted as a glorious future hope, cosmic in scope
and restorative in content.8 In the language of the biblical writers, justice, righteousness, salvation and
peace keep company together, and the revealing of God’s righteousness is cause for the rivers to clap their
hands and the mountains to sing for joy. Paul’s own vision of the saving righteousness of God is no less
expansive. The effect of God’s saving work in Christ, according to Paul, is to end the dominion of death
over the world, and to bring in a day when “grace … reign[s] through righteousness” in the life of the age
to come (Rom 5:21). As he goes on to say in Rom 8, the whole creation groans, waiting for that day, when
it will be “liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the freedom and glory of the children of
God” (Rom 8:21).
(ii) Righteousness Beyond Justification
This has important ramifications for the way in which we are to understand Paul’s language about the
righteousness of believers. “Justification,” for Paul, is a fundamentally forensic metaphor, referring to a
declarative event.9 But “righteousness” language, as Paul employs it, can refer to realities that take place
before, during and after the metaphorical law court in which the verdict of justification is pronounced.
And for Paul, the righteousness of the life that is transformed by obedient faith and participates in the
manifestation of God’s righteousness on earth is not just the evidence of our salvation but the purpose of it,
or at least a crucial dimension of that purpose. Our salvation is not only from wrath (Rom 5:9) but also
from sin (Rom 6:22), and the purpose of that salvation was “in order that, just as Christ was raised from
the dead through the glory of the Father, we too may live a new life” (Rom 6:4)—a life in which we are
summoned to offer every part of ourselves to God as “instruments [or ‘weapons’] of righteousness” (Rom
6:13).10
(iii) Peace Beyond the Soul
As for righteousness, so for peace. While the “peace” and “reconciliation” that Paul speaks of in Rom
5:1–11 are, as Belousek grants, references to the vertical reality of peace with God,11 Paul’s depiction of
the plight of unreconciled humanity in the preceding chapters repeatedly refers to horizontal dysfunctions:
“They are full of envy , murder, strife, deceit and malice” (1:29); “their mouths are full of cursing and
8
See especially Atonement, Justice, and Peace, 59-67.
I am not persuaded by Belousek’s assertion that “full justification, in Paul’s view, is both a status of right standing
before God by faith in Christ and a life of right acting by walking faithfully in the way of God through the Spirit of
the risen Christ.” Atonement, Justice, and Peace, 121. Cf. N. T. Wright’s critical observations on the similar formulation
proposed by Michael Gorman, in N. T. Wright, Paul and the Faithfulness of God (London: SPCK, 2013), 913-14, 957.
10 See further in David I. Starling, “Covenants and Courtrooms, Imputation and Imitation: Righteousness and
Justification in Paul and the Faithfulness of God,” JSPL 4 (2014): 1-12, and “Meditations on a Slippery Citation: Paul’s
Use of Psalm 112:9 in 2 Corinthians 9:9,” JTI 6 (2012): 241-55.
11 Belousek, Atonement, Justice, and Peace, 512-13.
9
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bitterness” (3:14); “their feet are swift to shed blood” (3:15); “the way of peace they do not know” (3:17).
This should come as no surprise, given the fact that Paul’s outline and defence of his gospel in chapters 1–
4 is intended to prepare the way for a string of exhortations in chapters 12–16, urging the readers to live at
peace with one another and with their enemies, within and beyond the Christian community.12 There is
undoubtedly a sense of inward tranquility that is part of the good fruit Paul sees the gospel of Jesus as
bearing in the lives of those who believe it, but the peace of the gospel cannot be contained within the
confines of the individual soul; it cries out for visible, concrete, social embodiment.
CONCLUSION
There is, therefore, an important claim at the heart of Atonement, Justice, and Peace, which needs to be heard
and taken seriously by those who, like myself, are committed to the centrality of the gospel events in
God’s saving economy, and to penal substitution as a crucial dimension of the meaning of the atonement.
God’s justice involves more than the punishment of sins and the settling of scores; God’s saving
righteousness has implications for the individual believer that involve more than the verdict of
justification; God’s peace, announced and established in the gospel, offers and accomplishes more than
the inward tranquillity of the soul.
But these realities, as Paul depicts them in Rom 1–6, are not alternatives to penal substitution or
short-cuts past the costly integrity of retributive justice. They sit alongside and beyond the penal and
retributive dimensions of Paul’s gospel, as part of the great “in order that” with which Paul accounts for
the bloody necessity of the cross and summons us to live in the light of it. If we are to be faithful to the
whole of Paul’s theological vision, we need not and must not choose between them.
See especially S. Gathercole, “Romans 1-5 and the ‘Weak’ and the ‘Strong’: Pauline Theology, Pastoral Rhetoric,
and the Purpose of Romans,” RevExp 100 (2003): 35-51.
12
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CONTINUING THE CONVERSATION: REJOINDER TO
RESPONDENTS FROM THE MORLING CONFERENCE
ON ATONEMENT THEOLOGY
DARRIN W. SNYDER BELOUSEK
Ohio Northern University and Bluffton University
Ohio, USA
The Morling Conference in May 2014 comprised four lectures by me encompassing a range of topics and
texts, based on my book Atonement, Justice, and Peace: The Message of the Cross and the Mission of the Church,
followed by responses to each lecture: “Jesus’ Death and Christian Tradition: Ancient Creeds and
Trinitarian Theology” (Graeme Chatfield responding); “Jesus’ Death and the Old Testament: Atoning
Sacrifice and the Suffering Servant” (Anthony Petterson responding); “Jesus’ Death and the Synoptic
Gospels: New Exodus and New Covenant” (Matthew Anslow responding); and “Jesus’ Death and the
Pauline Epistles: ‘Mercy Seat’ and Place-Taking” (David Starling responding). I thank each of my
interlocutors for their respective contributions to the conversation. As readers will have discovered, two
of the respondents were more favorable, and two were more sceptical, toward the Anabaptist perspective
and particular arguments presented in my book. I will present my rejoinder in that order.
REJOINDER TO GRAEME CHATFIELD AND MATTHEW ANSLOW
Graeme Chatfield adds some helpful historical background and nuance to the question of the relationship
of the penal substitution theory of atonement (PSA) to Christian tradition. In addition to Cyprian, whose
view he nicely details, one could consider Tertullian and Augustine as Western-Latin writers articulating
views of atonement that could, in retrospect, be read as “anticipating” later developments of atonement
ideas in Anselm and Calvin. Yet, as Chatfield appropriately cautions us, the historical and cultural
distances between these respective writers prevents easy identification of such terms as “satisfaction” that
depend on context and thus shift in meaning over the centuries. Furthermore, I would add, while
Athanasius is not to be read as an ancient anticipation of Calvin, even reading Anselm as a medieval
anticipation of Calvin obscures the way in which Anselm’s apologetic not only explicitly addresses the
same question as Athanasius—“Why the incarnation?”—but also effectively aligns with Athanasius both
by viewing the whole incarnation—Jesus’ obedience in life and death—as having redemptive value and by
understanding (in differing terms, to be sure) Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection as integral to God’s
purpose in the divine economy to restore creation.
In general, I concur with Chatfield’s conclusion: “I would suggest that PSA is anticipated in the
writings of the early church fathers and the creeds in the sense that the language used to support PSA
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existed at that time and is not incompatible with the later fully developed meanings attributed to it by
those who support PSA. This means that other theories of the atonement can also be anticipated in the
writings of the early church and creeds.” In stating that God the Son became human “for (dia) us and for
(dia) our salvation” and that Christ “was crucified for (hyper) us,” the Nicene Creed affirms in generic
terms the saving purpose of the divine incarnation and the vicarious function of Jesus’ death. Whereas the
creedal tradition, I think, does place broad constraints on theological construction, these statements
themselves do not specify any theory of atonement; the generic language is compatible with many possible
theories. While any atonement theory could look back to the Nicene Creed as precedent for its preferred
explanation of Jesus’ death, it is an exercise in special pleading to argue that the creedal language privileges
one theory over others.
One general constraint on atonement theories derived from the creedal tradition is that Father and
Son are related as both one (qua “substance”) and distinct (qua “persons”) and that this relationship of
unity-in-distinction is maintained continuously throughout the divine economy. I am not the first critic to
question whether PSA transgresses that boundary by (implicitly, at least) pitting Father against Son or
dividing Son from Father at the cross. Chatfield challenges my critique of John Stott on this point and
defends (a la Paul Fiddes) the idea of “a separation based on mutual consent” between Father and Son at
the cross as a consequence of the reality of sin as experienced by the Son, a separation of “real
abandonment” expressed in Jesus’ cry of God-forsakenness. He illustrates this idea with a story of a final,
consensual separation between husband and wife that leaves one partner to die “alone and abandoned.”
I agree with Chatfield that faith accepts mysteries beyond reason and thus that theology is not
reducible to logic. My concern here is not merely logical, that our language not contradict itself, nor only
systematic, that our language not contradict the creed, but in the first place biblical, that our language not
contradict the testimony of Scripture. While I think that there is a subtle slide in meaning from “alone” to
“abandoned,” to avoid further squabbles over words let’s focus simply on “alone” and consider one text
from John’s Gospel.1 On the night before his death, during his final discourse to his disciples, Jesus issued
a warning: “The hour … has come” when they would scatter in fear and “leave me alone” as he faced his
death. “Yet,” Jesus immediately affirmed, “I am not alone because the Father is with me” (John 16:32,
emphasis added).2 Jesus went on, praying: “Father, the hour has come; glorify your Son so that the Son
may glorify you … I glorified you on earth by finishing the work that you gave me to do. So now, Father,
glorify me in your own presence with the glory that I had in your presence before the world existed” (John
17:1, 4–5). As to what this final “hour” of his glorification would be, Jesus had already given testimony in
anticipation of his death: “Now my soul is troubled. And what should I say, ‘Father save me from this
hour’? No, it is for this reason that I have come to this hour” (John 12:27; cf. vv. 32–33). To say that Jesus
died “alone,” in the absence even of the Father, is at odds with Jesus’ testimony that the Father’s “own
presence” would glorify Jesus in “the hour” of his death with the same glory that Jesus had known in the
1
Atonement, Justice, and Peace: The Message of the Cross and the Mission of the Church (Grand Rapids, Michigan: Eerdmans
Publishing, 2012), 303–305.
2 All Scripture quotations, unless indicated otherwise, are taken from the New Revised Standard Version.
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Father’s presence from all eternity. Whatever one’s interpretation of Jesus’ cry at the cross, therefore, it
cannot lead to the conclusion that Jesus died “absolutely alone,” bereft even of the Father’s presence (as
Stott claimed). Perhaps I overplay the philosopher here, but I would suggest that any atonement theory
that contradicts Jesus has, at best, missed the mark.
Matthew Anslow asks some warranted questions concerning my methodology, both hermeneutical
(how I read Scripture and why) and rhetorical (who I engage with and why). First, Anslow accentuates the
“conservative nature” of my exegetical approach, assessing it as a virtue of the book. This approach is
both convictional and tactical. While informed by critical scholarship, my interpretive habits reflect my
faith commitment concerning Scripture as primary authority for Christian doctrine: Scripture is “the Rule
that rules” against which every candidate for Christian doctrine must be measured. Accordingly, I would
test any atonement theory against careful exegesis of the biblical text; and that is the measure by which I
have sought to judge PSA in the book. My approach to Scripture also respects readers inclined to favour
PSA, whose own theological convictions are likely to be based on what they believe “Scripture says.” To
retain the sceptical reader, much less have any chance of persuading him or her to seriously consider an
alternative perspective, I must adhere closely to, and persuade primarily on, Scripture.
Second, Anslow wonders why I picked John Stott as primary interlocutor for discussion of the
“Ransom” text, rather than more recent biblical scholars and commentators. Picking Stott follows my
deliberate strategy to engage directly with prominent proponents of PSA and address their arguments on
their own terms and texts rather than rely on arbitrary reconstructions or, worse, distorted caricatures of
PSA. Throughout the first half of the book, which develops a comprehensive critique of PSA, I engage
with such recognized and respected scholars as Charles Hodge, Roger Nicole, Leon Morris, I. Howard
Marshall, J.I. Packer, Thomas Schreiner, and Daniel Wallace in addition to John Stott. Accordingly, I
begin the discussion in each of the thirteen chapters dealing with PSA by engaging with the views of one
or more PSA proponents before involving other scholars, precisely to avoid prejudicing the discussion
against PSA. I picked Stott for initiating discussion of the “Ransom” text because I thought he provided
the best standard representation of the PSA viewpoint on that text from among the major proponents of
PSA.
Now, a couple of comments on fine points about specific texts: Regarding the “Ransom” saying in
Mark 10:45, Anslow states that I seek to disconnect this text from the “Suffering Servant” of Isa 53 and
instead connect it to the “Son of Man” of Dan 7. I don’t think that this accurately reflects what I’ve
argued in the book. I do not actually try to connect Mark 10:45 to Dan 7, but only suggest that in Jesus’
self-reference as “Son of Man” in Mark 10:45 one might hear an echo of the “Son of Man” of Dan 7
rather than an allusion to the “Suffering Servant” of Isa 53. The question at stake is not whether the
Gospel writers depict the ministry of Jesus according to the pattern of the Servant of the Lord in Isa 40–
55—they clearly do so. The question, rather, is whether by his “Ransom” saying Jesus meant to selfidentify with the “Suffering Servant” of Isa 53, as is often claimed; and I find the inter-textual evidence for
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that specific connection to be insufficient to draw the inference with confidence.3 Nonetheless, even if we
cannot pin Jesus’ “Ransom” saying precisely on Isa 53, I do affirm that Isa 40–55 is the appropriate
canonical reference of the “Ransom” saying. I thus go on in the book to interpret Mark 10:45 against the
background of the broader theme of “ransom/redemption” in Isa 40–55. In doing so, I give emphasis to
the first and second Servant songs in Isa 42 and Isa 49, which are often neglected in atonement
discussions in favour of the third Servant song in Isa 53 but which, I would argue, are just as relevant for
understanding Jesus’ ministry as fulfilling the pattern set forth in the prophets.4
Regarding the Last Supper, Anslow warns against unnecessarily narrowing the Gospel narrative to a
single canonical reference. I agree. While arguing that the Levitical cult is not the appropriate canonical
reference for interpreting the Last Supper (an argument with which Anslow is sympathetic),5 at the same
time I do not interpret the Last Supper by reference to a single canonical narrative. Rather, I elaborate
Jesus’ understanding of the saving significance of his death and resurrection as symbolized in the Last
Supper in terms of two inter-connected canonical narratives, the Exodus from Egypt that was
remembered at the Passover meal and the covenant at Sinai that Jesus referenced by his “cup” saying.6
Indeed, it is precisely by seeing both of these canonical narratives as converging in the Last Supper that I
am able to draw the connections between Jesus’ death and resurrection and liberation (“ransom”) from sin
and death, renewal of covenant, and forgiveness of sin without resort to the presuppositions and
categories of PSA.
REJOINDER TO ANTHONY PETTERSON AND DAVID STARLING
Anthony Petterson and David Starling have offered detailed responses to specific arguments in the book
as well as biblical interpretations from their own perspectives. Together they present substantive
contentions that merit serious consideration, but to which the limited space of this venue does not allow a
point-by-point response. Rather, I will respond by tracing out a common thread of logic that runs through
their respective contributions.
Petterson offers a rebuttal to my argument in the book that challenges the PSA premise of a
necessary linkage between sin, wrath, and punishment as sin’s consequence to satisfy God’s wrath. He
observes that there are many texts in the Old Testament that do exhibit sin, wrath, and punishment linked
in this way. Lest the reader be confused, we need to clarify the question. The question is not whether God
is disposed against sin or whether God’s opposition to sin is expressed by wrath; there is, of course, ample
biblical evidence that such is the case. Nor is the question whether there are various texts in the Old
Testament that exhibit sin, wrath, and punishment in a sequence that links (a) sin to (b) God’s wrath and
to (c) punishment of sin as the satisfaction of God’s wrath: yes, there are such texts. To this extent, there
3
Atonement, Justice, and Peace, 146–48.
Atonement, Justice, and Peace, 153–55; cf. 369–71.
5 Atonement, Justice, and Peace, 156–59.
6Atonement, Justice, and Peace, 159–63 (concerning the Passover context) and 164–67 (concerning the covenant
connection).
4
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is no dispute; in fact, I catalogue various such texts in the book.7 The question, rather, is whether the sinwrath-punishment sequence, having been observed in certain texts, thereby establishes a general pattern
that (and this is the crucial point) then warrants us to infer (b) God’s wrath and (c) punishment of sin to
satisfy God’s wrath in other texts where (a) sin is mentioned but (b) wrath and (c) punishment are not
mentioned. Petterson claims that there is a general pattern, such that “God’s wrath against sin is implied
even in passages where it is not mentioned.” In Petterson’s view, there is no need for the text before us to
explicitly reference God’s wrath, or even explicitly link God’s wrath against sin to punishment of sin to
satisfy God’s wrath; the general pattern establishes an implicit linkage such that where sin is mentioned we
can then infer God’s wrath and punishment of sin to satisfy God’s wrath.
The necessary linkage of sin-wrath-punishment for which Petterson argues is essential to PSA.8
The PSA rationale for the necessity of Jesus’ death as sin’s punishment to satisfy God’s wrath is premised on
the presupposition of a necessary linkage between sin, wrath, and punishment, such that: (1) wrath is God’s
necessary response to sin; and (2) punishment for sin is the necessary remedy to satisfy God’s wrath against
sin. If the latter necessities (1) and (2) are lacking—that is, if wrath is not God’s necessary response to sin
or if punishment for sin is not necessary to satisfy God’s wrath against sin—then the former necessity of
Jesus’ death as sin’s punishment to satisfy God’s wrath is also lacking. Petterson’s argument thus calls for
careful scrutiny.
Let’s consider the logical form of Petterson’s argument. That logic goes like this:
Text A exhibits sequence sin-wrath-punishment.
Text B exhibits sequence sin-wrath-punishment.
Text C exhibits sequence sin-wrath-punishment.
Text D mentions sin; therefore it implies wrath and punishment.
This argument form will be recognized as an inductive inference (all the crows observed thus far
are black, therefore all crows are black). Now, an inductive inference of a general pattern is confounded
by a single counterexample (the observation of one white crow disproves the inference that all crows are
black). And, in fact, Scripture exhibits two classes of “white crows”— counterexamples to the sin-wrathpunishment sequence—that undercut the twin necessities (1) and (2), respectively. One class of
counterexample comprises those texts that depict God’s response to Israel’s sin, not as the wrath of a
punishing disciplinarian, but as the sadness or sorrow of a disappointed parent or spurned lover (Isa 1:2-4;
Isa 5:1-7; Jer 3:19-22; Hos 11:1-9). Another class of counterexample comprises those texts that depict
God responding in wrath to sin but where God’s wrath is turned away by other than punishment: by acts
of humility (2 Chr 32:24–26; Zeph 2:1-3) or petition/confession (Pss 6 and 32) or repentance (2 Chr 7:13–
14; Jer 4:1–4) on the part of the sinner; and, frequently, by acts of God, either on account of sheer mercy
or for the sake of God’s name (Isa 12:1; 48:9–11; 57:16–18; Jer 3:12–14; Ezek 20:7–9, 13–14, 21–22; Hos
14:4).9 Psalm 78, which recounts God’s leading Israel through the wilderness, exhibits both classes of
7
Atonement, Justice, and Peace, 211–12.
Atonement, Justice, and Peace, 210.
9 Atonement, Justice, and Peace, 212–13, 401.
8
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“white crows.” Although God has liberated the people from slavery and supplied them with drink in the
desert, the people sin against God by ingratitude and complaint (vv. 9–20). Israel’s lack of faith offends
God, arousing God’s anger; yet, God’s first response to Israel’s sin is not to pour out wrath to punish
them but rather to rain down manna to feed them (vv. 21–29). Despite God’s gracious response to their
sins, Israel continues sinning, provoking God further to anger; and in wrath God does dispense
punishment on Israel (vv. 30–37). But then God restrains wrath, suspends punishment, and forgives sin—
not because God has been satisfied by punishment, nor even because the people have appeased God by
repentance, but simply because God is “compassionate” and remembers that “they were but flesh” (vv.
38–39).10
From these counterexamples, we can draw two conclusions. First, Scripture testifies that wrath is
not God’s necessary—not God’s only—response to sin; God can respond to sin in ways other than wrath.
And, second, Scripture testifies that even when God does respond in wrath to sin, punishment is not the
necessary—not the only—means by which God’s wrath is turned away; God’s wrath can be turned away by
means other than punishment. Not only can God deal with sin otherwise than by punishment to satisfy
wrath, moreover, but the Torah, Prophets, and Psalms bear repeated witness that God actually does deal
with Israel’s sins in a manner that transcends the sin-wrath-punishment sequence—and thus that God, in
characteristic love and faithfulness, is free to break the sin-wrath-punishment linkage. Even when Israel
persists in sinning to the point of provoking God and receiving punishment, neither is wrath God’s first
response to, nor is punishment God’s final word concerning, Israel’s sins: YHWH is “slow to anger”
(Exod 34:6–7; Pss 86:15; 103:8; 145:8), “ready to relent from punishing” (Jonah 4:1–2; Joel 2:13) and
“ready to forgive” (Neh 9:17). God’s just dealings with Israel’s sins, framed within God’s covenant,
display a “redemptive tension” between wrath and mercy held together by God’s characteristic love and
faithfulness—which always holds out promise of, and thus grounds Israel’s hope for, redemption beyond
retribution.11
What is the upshot of all this? The scriptural testimony of the Old Testament pulls the logical rug
from under the PSA rationale for the necessity of understanding Jesus’ death as sin’s punishment to satisfy
God’s wrath: because God can (and does) respond to sin other than in wrath, and because God can (and
Petterson disputes my reading of the Uzzah story (2 Sam 6:1–11) as illustrating God’s wrath against transgression
of the holy (i.e., God’s wrath on account of some cause other than sin). He contends that Uzzah suffered the
penalty of death to satisfy the wrath of God aroused by the sin of mistreating the ark of covenant. He is correct, of
course, that the treatment of the ark in this incident is contrary to God’s intentions and instructions and is
displeasing to God. Petterson’s reading of the story entails a conundrum, however. The military campaign to retrieve
the ark and enshrine it at the recently conquered Jerusalem was planned and led by King David; and he did this to
consolidate his power in “the city of David” rather than to honour God’s glory (2 Sam 6:16–19). If there is guilt to
be punished here, then the greatest guilt—and the first punishment—should fall on David. Moreover, if one thinks
the guilt should fall on all participating, then the punishment also should be shared by all. Both Uzzah and his
brother Ahio were transporting the ark on the ox cart; both brothers should thus have suffered the same fate for the
same sin. But neither David nor Ahio die, only Uzzah dies. Therefore, if Uzzah dies by God’s wrath as punishment
for the sin of mistreating the ark, then God’s retribution appears arbitrary in selecting Uzzah for death. To avoid this
implication of Petterson’s interpretation, I have concluded that the cause of God’s wrath and Uzzah’s death lies in
some factor peculiar to Uzzah: he is the only one to touch the ark and thus the only one to die; for improperly
touching the holy things of God is deadly (Num 4:15).
11 Atonement, Justice, and Peace, 396–433. Unfortunately, Petterson’s response is unaware of my extensive discussion of
divine judgement in a covenant framework.
10
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does) deal with sin other than by punishment, it is not necessary that we understand Jesus’ death “for our
sins” in terms of PSA, as punishment of sin to satisfy God’s wrath.
The reader may wonder at this point whether being taxed by this exercise in logic is itself necessary
or beneficial. That such careful scrutiny is needed and helpful is evident when we turn to two central texts
in atonement theology—Isa 53 and Rom 3:21–26—and consider how Petterson and Starling, respectively,
read those texts. Petterson acknowledges that “the fourth Servant Song does not mention God’s wrath.”
That fact notwithstanding, Petterson argues that we should still read Isaiah 53 as depicting the penal
satisfaction of God’s wrath by means of the Servant’s suffering because God’s wrath is “the frame for
understanding the book as a whole.” Accordingly, Petterson catalogues various references to God’s wrath
throughout Isaiah, including references in chapters near Isa 53; this textual milieu of divine wrath, in
effect, carries over into Isa 53, such that God’s wrath is the main point of that text as well. In Petterson’s
reading, Isa 53 is “the turning point” of the book, in which the Servant’s suffering resolves Israel’s
problem of God’s wrath: before this point, YHWH is declaring wrath and inflicting punishment; after this
point, YHWH is announcing compassion and bringing salvation.
Petterson’s reading, however, does not successfully correlate all the textual evidence. If Isa 53 is
“the turning point” that resolves Israel’s problem of God’s wrath, with wrath coming before and
compassion following after, then we may ask: (a) Why does God announce “comfort” to the people and
“speak tenderly” to Jerusalem, assuring the city that “her penalty is paid” (Isa 40:1–2) before the prophet
reveals the Lord’s Servant to Israel (Isa 42:1)? The text here would seem to indicate that, prior to the
Servant’s commissioning, God’s wrath and Israel’s punishment have already come to an end and God’s
compassionate salvation is already underway (Isa 40:3–11)—and, thus, that the Servant’s suffering was
unnecessary to resolve Israel’s problem. (b) Why does the prophet petition God to “not be exceedingly
angry … not remember iniquity forever,” to not “punish us so severely” (Isa 64:8–12) after the Servant’s
suffering? The text here would seem to imply that, despite the Servant’s suffering, God’s wrath is not yet
satisfied, God’s punishment has not yet relented, Israel’s sins are not yet forgiven—and, thus, that the
Servant’s suffering was insufficient to resolve Israel’s problem.
There is, moreover, a significant anomaly in the textual evidence for the “wrath” reading of the
Servant’s suffering. The mention of God’s wrath immediately preceding Isaiah 53 is found in Isaiah
51:17–23, which comes between the third and fourth Servant songs. The prophet proclaims that, whereas
the people of Jerusalem “have drunk at the hand of the LORD the cup of his wrath” (v. 17), now YHWH
announces: “See, I have taken from your hand the cup of staggering; you shall drink no more from the
bowl of my wrath” (v. 22). YHWH’s wrath against Jerusalem has ended, says the prophet; yet YHWH’s
wrath is not ended—the “cup” is to be transferred to another to drink. To whom does YHWH transfer
the “cup of wrath”? On the “wrath” reading of the Servant’s suffering, we would expect YHWH to hand
the “cup” to the Servant, who would then “drink to the dregs” and exhaust God’s wrath in the people’s
place. However, YHWH says: “And I will put it into the hand of your tormentors” (v. 23). According to
the prophet, therefore, YHWH transfers the “cup of wrath” from Jerusalem, not to the Servant, but to the
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nations, who will now be judged because they have oppressed God’s people and despised God’s name
(52:3–6).
While one could try to work out an interpretive fix to resolve these anomalies in the “wrath”
reading of Isaiah 53, we might just as well seek a different reading by taking different texts as the “frame”
for Isa 53. The four Servant songs, of which Isa 53 is the last, all fall within the section of Isaiah that is
sometimes called “the book of consolation” (Isa 40–55). That section begins with God announcing
“comfort,” not wrath, for Israel (Isa 40:1–2). Accordingly, we observe, none of the four Servant songs (Isa
42:1–7; 49:1–13; 50:4–11; 52:13–53:12) makes any mention of, or allusion to, God’s wrath. Suppose, then,
that we take Isa 40:1–2 as projecting the horizon for interpreting the Servant’s mission; and suppose,
further, that we interpret the fourth Servant song in line with the thematic trajectory of the first three
Servant songs. We might thus interpret the Servant’s mission and suffering in relation to God’s work of
redemption in a mode other than as penal satisfaction of God’s wrath. Consider this alternative reading:
God announces “comfort” to Israel, that Jerusalem’s “penalty is paid”—wrath is ended, punishment is
finished, forgiveness has begun (Isa 40:1–2). The prophet envisions God returning in glory to the ruins of
Jerusalem and gathering the scattered flock with tender care—exile is ending, return is commencing, peace
is renewing (Isa 40:3–11). God then calls the Servant to facilitate God’s work of redemption and
restoration: the Servant’s mission is to teach God’s justice to the nations (Isa 42:1–4), liberate prisoners
from captivity (Isa 42:4–7), gather Israel back to God and return the people to the land (Isa 49:1–13), and
repair the streets of the city (cf. Isa 61:1–4). When the Servant, willingly obedient to God’s cause,
encounters accusation and abuse from the very people to whom he is sent, God comes to the Servant’s
defense (Isa 50:4–11). And when the people finally turn in hostility against the Servant, taking him away to
trial by injustice and putting him to death by iniquity, God lets the people strike down the Servant in their
rebellion.12 But then God not only vindicates the Servant but also—by a surprising act of sheer grace—
turns the Servant’s unjust punishment at the people’s hands to the people’s peace by making the Servant’s
life an offering to heal the people’s guilt (Isa 52:13–53:12). Reading the mission and suffering of the
Servant in this way, we might easily see why the Gospel writers depict the mission and passion of Jesus as
fulfilling the pattern of the Lord’s Servant.
It is crucial to how we interpret the Servant’s suffering that we get the translation of the text correct. Most English
translations read like the NRSV: “he was wounded for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities” (Isa
53:5a). This rendering is usually interpreted in terms of penal substitution: God punished the Servant instead of the
people to pay the penalty for the people’s sins and so satisfy God’s wrath. But this translation is simply incorrect; it is
not what the Hebrew or Greek text actually says. The Hebrew preposition min carries the sense of “from” or “by”
(not “for”) and the Greek preposition dia carries the sense of “on account of” or “because of” (not “instead of”).
The translation should read: “he was wounded from our rebellion, he was crushed by our sins.” The same preposition
appears a few verses later in the same vein of thought: “By (min) oppression and by (min) judgement he was taken
away … stricken from (min) the rebellion of my people” (Isa 53:8, my translation). Thus, the prophet reveals that the
Servant suffers, not from having been “stricken” by the hand of God as the people had wrongly supposed (Isa 53:4),
but from the rebellion of the people: the Servant suffers because the people have, by their own unjust acts, killed
him! Nonetheless, by means of the Servant’s endurance of the unjust punishment inflicted upon him by the people,
God brings forth healing and peace for the people: “upon him was the punishment that made us whole, and by his
bruises we are healed” (Isa 53:5b). See my detailed discussion of this text in Atonement, Justice, and Peace, 224–43.
12
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Next we turn to Starling’s response and Rom 3:21–26, a key Pauline text concerning “the
redemption that is in Christ Jesus” (Rom 3:24). Like Petterson, Starling acknowledges that this text makes
no mention of God’s wrath against sinners much less of Jesus’ death as satisfaction of God’s wrath:
“Certainly, in Rom 3:21–26 … the explicit references are to “sin,” not to “wrath,” as the plight that is
addressed by the redemption accomplished in Christ.” Nonetheless, Starling observes, the textual milieu
of Rom 3 is itself framed by the problem of God’s wrath and retribution against sinners (cf. Rom 1:18–32;
2:5–10; 5:9). Therefore, Starling concludes, the rest of Romans establishes an interpretive framework
centered on God’s wrath and retribution such that we should interpret this text, and thus God’s work of
redemption in Christ, in terms of resolving the problem of God’s wrath and retribution: “There is
therefore an ample basis for the traditional reading of Rom 3:21–26, in which the depiction of Christ as a
hilastērion, a mercy-seat, through the shedding of his blood, is understood against the backdrop of not just
our sin but also the divine, judicial wrath that stood against us because of our sin.”13
There is no disagreement that, according to Paul, sinners live under God’s wrath and, by persisting
in their alienation from God, receive the deserved end of their disobedient choices, death (Rom 1:18–32;
6:20–23). Indeed, Paul says that all those who choose disobedience against God and live according to the
“desires of flesh” are “children of wrath” and are already “dead” in the life of sin they now lead (Eph 2:1–
3). There is also no disagreement that Paul understands God to hold the prerogative of retribution (cf.
Rom 12:19) and thus envisions a final judgement when God will “repay according to each one’s deeds,”
such that those who are unrepentant and persistent in their sinful ways will receive the “wrath” that they
have “stor[ed] up for [themselves]” (Rom 2:5–10). The question here is how Paul understands the
redemptive work of Christ in relation to both sin and judgement. Again, as with Isa 53, key to this
question is which text we are to take as our cue for interpreting the cross when Paul introduces it at Rom
3:21–26. Petterson interprets the cross in Rom 3 as the logical conclusion to the premises of sin and of
God’s wrath against sinners set forth in Rom 1 and Rom 2: the cross of Christ satisfies the wrath of God.
Suppose, however, that we take a different cue for reading the text. I would suggest that, at the very
point in his argument where he introduces the cross, Paul deliberately signals a decisive break from the
logic of sin-wrath-punishment with an emphatic declaration: “But now ... ” (Nuni de). Up until “now,” in
the old era, the law of sin-wrath-punishment had reigned: humanity, having denied the truth about God
evident in creation, had exchanged the worship of the Creator for the worship of creatures; God, revealing
“wrath” against such “impiety” and “injustice,” thus “gave up” humanity to their “lusts” and “passions”
with the decree that those who chose to sin as a way of life would be destined for the end of death that
their sins deserved (Rom 1:18–32). Since “all … are under the power of sin,” all were also “under the
law,” such that no one was exempt from the judgement of sin and thus no one could escape the end of
13 Unfortunately, Starling’s response ignores my detailed examination of the Old Testament background and the
New Testament usage of the noun hilastērion (along with the related verb hilaskomai and noun hilasmos), which is
crucial to interpreting Rom 3:21–26. The textual evidence demonstrates clearly that hilastērion (which referred
originally to the lid of the ark of covenant) does not signify propitiation of God—and thus, I think, warrants the
conclusion that Paul, by saying that God presented Jesus as hilastērion through the cross (Rom 3:25), did not intend to
depict Jesus’ death as satisfying God’s wrath. See Atonement, Justice, and Peace, 244–64.
Pacific Journal of Baptist Research
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death (Rom 3:9–20, 23). “But now” God has acted in Christ with justice that transcends the law of sinwrath-punishment: “But now, apart from law, the justice of God has been disclosed … through the
faithfulness of Jesus Christ” (Rom 3:21–22, my translation, emphasis added). God’s law-transcending
justice-doing has provided a way of “redemption in Christ Jesus” (Rom 3:24) and thus has opened a new
era for humanity, such that those who had been “slaves of sin” under the “dominion of death” in the old
era (“in Adam”) are now freed from “the power of sin” in order to live for righteousness in the new era
(“in Christ”) (cf. Rom 5:12–6:23). What “justice of God” is this that has been disclosed by the faithfulness
of Jesus and by which God has redeemed sinners through the cross of Christ? God has “justified [sinners]
by his grace as a gift” (Rom 3:24; cf. 5:15–17). God’s justice has redeemed us “by his grace as a gift”—not
justice by punishment to satisfy the personal wrath of God (per PSA) but rather justice rooted in the
personal generosity and abundant grace of God.14 The “redemption that is in Christ Jesus,” one could
thus read this text, is not the logical conclusion to the law of sin-wrath-punishment but rather the faithful
outworking of God’s law-surpassing, grace-giving justice: God’s justice through the cross of Christ
transcends retribution for the sake of redemption.
Although God’s wrath cannot be found in Isa 53 or Rom 3:21–26, Petterson and Starling contend
that God’s wrath can be inferred in these texts; and God’s wrath, once inferred, becomes the gravitational
center and interpretive axis around which revolves their readings of these texts. This hermeneutic
principle—that God’s wrath is implied by, and thus may be inferred in, texts where God’s wrath is not
mentioned—prompts various questions. (1) What is the textual criterion for inferring God’s wrath in a
text where it is not mentioned? Is the mere mention of sin sufficient or is some further textual cue
necessary? (2) Insofar as the milieu of wrath may carry over from one text where wrath is mentioned to
another text where wrath is not mentioned, how close to the present text must be the nearest mention of
wrath to warrant making an inference of wrath in the present text? (3) What is the canonical scope of this
hermeneutic principle? Is God’s wrath the frame for understanding the Bible as a whole? Are there any
salvation texts that cannot be read as implicitly about God’s wrath? Making a reasonable defense of this
hermeneutic principle, I think, requires giving plausible answers to these questions; otherwise, it seems to
me, invoking this mode of interpretation is an exercise in begging the question.
Petterson and Starling read Isa 53 and Rom 3:21–26 in a manner that is par for the PSA course.
No doubt, one can read those texts to revolve around the interpretive axis of God’s wrath. The question,
rather, is whether these texts must be read in that manner—and, if not, why those of us who do not share a
prior disposition toward PSA should read those texts in that manner. Were we to remove PSA as the
assumed lens for reading Scripture, then interpreting those texts in terms of God’s wrath and punishment,
despite the fact that the texts make no mention of such, is not at all obvious much less necessary.
14 Starling might respond at this point by charging me as guilty of making a “false dichotomy.” Can we not, he might
ask, understand God’s “grace as a gift through the redemption in Christ Jesus” to be the penal satisfaction of God’s
wrath by Jesus’ death? The “false dichotomy” charge begs the question, I think, because it implies that any attempt
to interpret the text in terms other than PSA (wrath and retribution) is guilty of a “false dichotomy.” Of course, it is
logically possible to stipulate that “grace = penal satisfaction of God’s wrath by Jesus’ death” but why, other than
having a prior bias in favor of PSA, should we adopt that theological equation?
Pacific Journal of Baptist Research
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Reviews
STEVEN FINAMORE AND JOHN WEAVER, EDS. WISDOM, SCIENCE AND THE
SCRIPTURES: ESSAYS IN HONOUR OF ERNEST LUCAS. OXFORD: REGENTS PARK
COLLEGE, 2012. xvi + 264 PP. [ISBN 978–1–907600–13–5].
Csilla Saysell,
Carey Baptist College, Auckland.
This book is a labour of love by friends, former colleagues and students of Ernest Lucas on the occasion
of his retirement. The collection of essays reflects Lucas’ fields of interest as a specialist in OT wisdom
literature (Part One: Wisdom in the Bible), as a biochemist with a keen interest in science and apologetics
(Part Two: Science and Christian Faith) and as a biblical theologian with a clear Christian faith perspective
(Part Three: The Scriptures). Echoing this explicit Christian commitment of Lucas’ each contribution is
followed by a prayer that reflects something of the thoughts set out in that essay. The final piece connects
with Lucas’ love of sport; especially cricket (Part Four: ...and Cricket). The majority of contributors are
involved in theological education with background in pastoral ministry (mainly Baptist).
The first essay, “Creation in the Psalms” by Gordon Wenham, explores creation theology
primarily through an examination of three Psalms (pp. 8, 33, 104) and their connection with their
surrounding context (psalms on either side of them). Wenham highlights the Psalms’ emphasis on the
theme of God’s steadfast love and benevolent care for all his creation that is juxtaposed in the Psalter with
God’s involvement in human history through the vindication of the righteous and the divine guidance and
forgiveness of the penitent sinner. Although this essay uses some Hebrew it is all transliterated and words
are given an English equivalent, so the discussion is accessible to the non-specialist and illuminating in the
way it highlights the connections between creation and salvation history.
The second piece by John Bimson, “Fierce Beasts and Free Processes: a Proposed Reading of
God’s Speeches in the Book of Job” is a provocative and thoughtful essay. It explores the second divine
speech at the end of Job and argues that through the mythological creatures of Behemoth and Leviathan
who personify primordial chaos, the speech challenges Job to make space in his thinking for chaos as part
of God’s creation. He argues that this perspective, though unique in the Old Testament, does provide a
kind of theodicy to Job’s question even though it gives no answer to Job’s personal suffering. Bimson
finds parallels in this interpretation with the free–process defence of scientist-theologians that maintain
that a certain amount of chaos, randomness and chance are built into natural processes.
This part of the book concludes with two essays on aspects of Proverbs. Hillary Nyika in “The
Traditional Israelite Legal Settings: Social Contexts in Proverbs?” argues for the probable use of proverbs
in the judicial processes whether “at the gate” or in the royal court. Knut Heim in “Personified Wisdom in
Early Judaism” traces the development of personified wisdom in Prov 8 in Second Temple/Early Jewish
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literature in order to shed light on the traditions that early Christians applied and adapted in their
understanding of Jesus Christ.
Paul Fiddes’ fascinating study of “Ancient and Modern Wisdom: The Intersection of Clinical and
Theological Understanding of Health” opens Part Two of the book engaging with questions of theology
and science. Fiddes explores how ancient Israelite wisdom may speak into the debate in the medical field
between evidence–based medicine and the wisdom represented in the clinical judgment of a medical
practitioner. He argues that these two echo the two aspects of ancient Israelite wisdom: observation
evidenced in the collection of wisdom sayings and an attitude of being attuned to Lady Wisdom’s
guidance through life. Moreover, these two should not be pitted against each other as object and subject
but are to be seen as two aspects of the same reality, which are connected by participation. In the
contemporary example, doctors need to engage, dialogue and empathise with their patients to make wise
decisions using their accumulated experience and the information obtained. This is a relational
understanding of how wise decisions come about that is modelled on a Trinitarian perspective of constant
engagement within the triune God. Fiddes suggests further that this triune God also makes room for
creation to participate in the divine life so that when the creation attunes itself to “the rhythm of life,” it
will be in line with divine wisdom. This is a demanding read, but well worth engaging with for its insights
and thoughtful exposition.
Brian Haymes in “The Way of Practical Modesty” compares epistemology in science and theology
particularly against the claims of the New Atheists that religious belief is irrational and delusional.
Two essays follow on climate change. Elaine Storkey’s “The Environment and the Developing
World” examines the present situation of climate change and the humanitarian crisis of the developing
world as well as some responses made to these and calls Christians to acknowledge human responsibility
of stewardship over the world that God created. John Weaver’s “Hopeful Disciples in a Time of Climate
Change” focuses more specifically on Christian responses necessary in light of biblical texts from both
testaments.
Finally, this second part closes with Robert White’s “Take Ten: Scientists and Their Religious
Beliefs” in which he examines the religious beliefs of ten scientists from 350 years chosen by the Royal
Society (UK) for their major impact on science and commemorated by a set of stamps. He finds that the
percentage of these ten with religious beliefs, spiritual ones and with a secularist stance correspond closely
to a recent survey of scientists at leading US universities. White argues that most scientists do not see
science and religion in conflict and many explicitly claim that the two cohere. While I agree with his
conclusion, his methodology for arriving there is not entirely convincing (e.g. unequal proportions of ten
scientists from three and a half centuries compared to a couple of thousand from our era; the need for
defining terms like spiritual beliefs compared to religious ones, etc.).
Part Three opens with Simon Woodman’s “The Evolving Agenda of Biblical Studies,” which
follows the developments in the recent history of interpretation from the emphasis on “the original
context” of historical criticism through Gadamer’s Wirkunggeschichte (history of effects/influence) to
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reception history and reader-response theory. He suggests that the work of Lucas, as biblical scholar,
scientist and practising Christian, resonates with an emerging methodology that allows the text’s original
context to impact interpretation even as the reader engages with it from a contemporary context. This
essay sets up the third part of the book well in its focus on the integration of perspectives and contexts
from which readers do interpretation.
Mike Pears’ essay “Moving Towards a Theological Perspective on ‘Place’ by Using Cresswell’s
Notion of Doxa and Deviance as a Hermeneutical Tool for Place–based Readings of Mark’s Gospel”
follows next. He argues that place is not simply a backdrop to Mark (and the other gospels) but reflect
ideological, hierarchical powers embedded in topography and suggests that Jesus begins the
transformation of place by creating new space defined by his presence, which, however, will only be fully
established in the eschaton. This essay would greatly benefit from some concrete examples from Mark to
anchor the discussion for the non–specialist.
Stephen Finamore’s “‘Not Made with Hands’: the Heavenly Temple in Hebrews and Revelation”
explores the meaning of the heavenly/eschatological temple in these books. In the latter the temple
represents all of creation and is the goal of creation, while in the former, body typology has a stronger
emphasis. In particular, Hebrews seems to draw on Second Temple Jewish ideas echoed also elsewhere in
the NT that the temple is symbolic of the human body and both are purified by sacrifice of some sort.
Finally, Robert Ellis’ essay “‘Play Up! Play Up! And Play the Game!’ Cricket and Our Place in the
World” concludes the volume with a theological reflection on cricket highlighting principles that can also
be applied more broadly to sport in general.
This collection of essays is laudable in its aim of integrating different aspects of Lucas’ interests
and so in some sense, crossing disciplines to engage with the world and with Scripture. The first two parts
cohere particularly well with part three linking with them perhaps more loosely. The volume’s strength is
this broad spectrum although few will share an interest in or be knowledgeable about all aspects of the
book. The depth and expertise required varies among the essays. Some make for easier reading and are
accessible to a wider, lay readership while others engage with Hebrew and Greek and/or are more
technical and so will primarily be useful for Bible college/seminary students. Overall, this is a rich and
interesting volume engaging with a broad range of issues and a worthy tribute to the work of Ernest
Lucas.
EDWARD ADAMS, THE EARLIEST CHRISTIAN MEETING PLACES: ALMOST
EXCLUSIVELY HOUSES? LIBRARY OF NEW TESTAMENT STUDIES 450. LONDON: T & T
CLARK, 2013. 263 PP + XIV. [ISBN 978-0-56728-257-6 (HB). 978–0–56715–732–4 (ePDF)].
Sarah Harris
Carey Baptist College, Auckland.
Pacific Journal of Baptist Research
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In this monograph Edward Adams challenges the long–held idea that in the pre–Constantine period,
Christians met almost exclusively in house churches. While others have previously noted various locations
for church gatherings in the biblical text, this is the first comprehensive survey of the primary and
secondary data available, making the material invaluable to the current conversations about the life of
earliest Christians. Of particular note is the attention to archaeological data and primary source material,
which not only secures the book's academic usefulness, but also brings this conversation to life for any
informed reader.
Adams clearly shows how scholars have fallen into the trap of taking a few very clear passages
about Christians gathering in houses (such as the Pauline formula ἡ α ͗ οἶ όν ἐ
η ία in 1 Cor 16:19;
Rom 16:3-5; Col 4:15; Philem 2) and then reading any reference to a "house" or "gathering" and assuming
the physical location of a home. As with any biblical conversation where evidence is reasonably laconic, it
becomes a matter of which information you privilege and therefore what you then assume must have
happened. Adams' book is likely to stem the tide in this debate and so help sharpen our thinking about
early church practices. It will almost certainly be the death–knell to the common term: "house churches."
The book is divided into two sections; chapters one to five outline the biblical and archaeological
evidence; and chapters six to eight provide evidence and new possibilities for non–house settings for
church gatherings. The book ends with two short but useful appendices addressing the setting of the
Corinthian communal meal and figures and photos of a range of dwellings.
Adams turns first to the Epistles (Pauline, Deutero–Pauline, General) to establish what the text
actually says and open up the field for other possible locations for church gatherings. He is quick to
confirm that houses were used for meeting places, but makes clear that other references may not, in fact,
allude to homes. Rome is one city where it is well known that there were multiple groups of Christians
that gathered together; often we hear that there were four or five "house churches." However, while
Pricilla and Aquila may have met in their house (or more likely at their tent–making workshop where they
may also have lived), the other groups listed do not imply a domestic location; "those who belong to
Aristobulus" (16:10) and "those who belong to Narcissus" (16:11) are defined by a person (perhaps an
employer or master as Paul does not personally greet them); and the two other lists of low socio–
economic names (16:14, 15) have no implied location. Therefore, while Roman "house churches" is a term
referred to in today's textbooks, it is likely that this term is quite inaccurate and misleading.
The Gospels and Acts are addressed in chapter two where Adams considers Jesus and the early
church who are frequently in meeting in homes. However, as the Greek terminology of οἶ ός and οἰ ία
can mean any kind of dwelling and not simply a house, and as archaeology has shown a number of
dwelling–types in Palestine in the Roman period, not all uses of these words may be domestic structures.
There are times the house was a place of gathering and mission; one particularly interesting text is Luke 10
as scholars are confident this tradition does go back to the historical Jesus and furthermore, Luke
foregrounds this in his travel narrative. I appreciate that Adams' task is an historical one, and this is the
first task which needs to be undertaken, yet his work now "begs" some synthesis with a narrative reading
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which is especially appropriate when reading Luke (1:1). How does Luke view the "house"? What literary
role does it play? Notably the house is a liminal space where women have considerably more freedom to
exercise leadership, something we see in Lydia for example (Acts 16:11–40); it is also a place that children
inhabit and are visible. While Adams gives considerable attention to Acts with its many references to
gatherings in houses, there is less attention to the companion Gospel; what about the women who
accompanied Jesus on the road (Luke 8:1–3), how can they be viewed with respect to the household
mission? And what of the women who sweeps her house to find the lost coin (15:8–10)? As she is a
female picture for God who is engaged in domestic duties, what might this mean for a Lukan
understanding of "church?" I admit these are outside Adams' parameters for an historical engagement, but
they are questions that must now be asked. The household mission for Luke must be seen as (1) a
movement away from the formal structures of Jerusalem and the temple which are hierarchical and restrict
access to God, and (2) a place where the new (non–nuclear) family of God is evident. This reader would
have welcomed some acknowledgement and attention to Lukan narrative readings and some attention to
the theological questions this data raises; at least Adams could have tipped his hat in this direction.
Chapters three and four attend to further literary and archaeological evidence. Adams shows that
there is only explicit literary evidence for the use of unaltered houses as gathering places in the Apocryphal
Acts while other places are also specified. The thinking that houses were altered for church use is very thin
both in literary and archaeological evidence; the house did not ultimately become the church building.
Comparative literature, which is surveyed in chapter five, does however, show the domestic cult used the
home (which makes sense!) while this cannot be said necessarily of synagogues; Jews and God –fearers
favoured the use of an open air space (such as we see in Acts 16:13).
The final three chapters deal with other possible spaces which literature and archaeology point to:
retail, industrial and storage spaces; commercial hospitality and leisure spaces; outdoor spaces and burial
places respectively. This data will prove to be a fruitful smorgasbord of alternatives for the exegete other
than simply assuming Christian gatherings were mainly in houses. As a result, this book should become a
necessary addition to any theological library and for any serious scholar of biblical studies and
ecclesiology; the implications of this study could stand to be quite significant. Further, the discussion
arising from this book will also be important for ecclesiology as there has been an over emphasis and
linking of metaphors such as the household of God, terms such as master, and father, and the various
Haustafeln to the church gathering; some see houses and the paterfamilias model as normative (and so
ordained by God). Adams' book will help inform this important conversation.
TONY CUPIT, ROS GOODEN & KEN MANELY (EDS). FROM FIVE BARLEY LOAVES:
AUSTRALIAN BAPTISTS IN GLOBAL MISSION 1864–2010. PRESTON: MOSAIC PRESS, 2013.
600 PP. [ISBN 9781743241004].
Pacific Journal of Baptist Research
44
Laurie Guy
Carey Baptist College, Auckland.
This is an ambitious book — with a size to match its ambition: over 600 pages! It spans 150 years of
Australian Baptist missionary endeavour (with a number of seconded Kiwis and other nationalities thrown
into the mix as well). That outreach includes a number of global areas: the Indian subcontinent, Papua
New Guinea and West Papua in Indonesia, Africa (especially Zambia and Zimbabwe) and Thailand, along
with lesser forays into China, the Philippines, Singapore, Hungary, Nicaragua, parts of Indonesia,
Cambodia, Kazakhstan and Lebanon.
The story begins with Baptists in South Australia in the 1860s, catalysed particularly by the
missionary enthusiasm of Silas Mead, pastor of the Flinders Street Baptist Church in Adelaide. This soon
led to the formation of the South Australian Baptist Missionary Society in 1864.
Several things can be noted about this event. First, it was a state organisation, with a national
body not coming into existence for another half century (1913). Secondly, when its first missionaries were
sent out in the 1880s (quite a lag from the founding of the society), they were initially all women — the
focus was reaching high-caste, largely house–bound Indian women (‘zenana’ mission). This contribution
of women at the beginning is important to highlight, for there was a subsequent period when the status of
married women missionaries was uncertain —often regarded as wives of missionaries, not missionaries in
their own right. However, of the first 70 missionaries sent out prior to the national organisation being
formed in 1913, 38 were single women, with only 17 men in the missionary mix (p. 12). The book
honours the contribution of women to Australian Baptist cross-cultural mission in its title, From Five Barley
Loaves. This is a double reference, both to the multiplication of loaves by Jesus and to five of the early
zenana missionaries, known as the five barley loaves because of a sermon by Silas Mead referring to the
barley-loaf miracle at the commissioning of these five women. A third point to note with the founding of
the mission in 1864 was its subconscious focus on British India — a natural focus with the South
Australian colonists being first-generation arrivals from Britain and with the mother church (the English
Baptists) having already established major missionary work in that part of the world.
When the national mission began it was named the Australian Baptist Foreign Mission, later being
renamed the Australian Baptist Missionary Society (ABMS, 1959) and more latterly Global Interaction
(from 2002). As well as narrating the missionary story the book includes three chapters focusing on three
periods of mission policy and leadership at home. These periods largely coincide with the three names of
the mission. They highlight a shifting (though often overlapping) focus: initially largely evangelistic, then
church strengthening with a view to a fully indigenous and independent church, and then much more
broadly holistic and often more short–term in nature.
Nearly one-third of the book is devoted to mission in the Indian sub-continent. Initially this was a
response to the mission pull of the English Baptists — hence a location in East Bengal, with oversight
being provided initially by the (English) Baptist Missionary Society. The missionaries in the political
Pacific Journal of Baptist Research
45
upheavals, particularly the independence of India in 1947, and its division into two countries, later to
become three, with civil war in East Pakistan and the birth of Bangladesh in 1971, faced major difficulty.
These events were linked with the diversification of fields of service, both within the Indian subcontinent
and further afield. Evangelistic success amongst Muslims and Hindus in what is now Bangladesh was
meagre. Interestingly though, at a time when the number of missionaries was significantly reducing, both
through government restrictions on the number of missionaries from 1981 (p. 129) and increasing
localisation of leadership and institutions, the church in Bangladesh linked with the Australian Baptist
Missionary Society (ABMS) grew from 16 congregations and 986 members in 1973 to 478 congregations
with 9014 members in 2012. This was linked with an increased focus on winning people groups and of
winning decision-makers within those groups (p. 134). However, the greatest success was the winning of
tribal Garos in Bangladesh (p. 176), along with support for the already strong Assam Baptist churches
from 1947 to 1970.
A second major section of the book focuses on ABMS moves into what became Papua New
Guinea and into what became West Papua in Indonesia. Response there was enormously greater than in
East Bengal, though it was several years before the first baptisms occurred (pp. 213ff). However, mass
movements soon occurred, with hundreds being baptised at Tekin in 1965 (p. 229) and 6,000 across the
border amongst the Dani people in 1980 (p. 321). Along with that was the fervour of occasional revival
movements (pp. 253ff, 321).
Other ABMS missionary outreach was on a lesser scale and commonly much less pioneering in
nature. ABMS stepped into the breach when the South African Missionary Society was less welcome in
other parts of Africa, sending missionaries for a time to Zambia, Zimbabwe, Malawi and Mozambique.
Interestingly, from its beginnings, ABMS saw its role in Zambia as being for only a decade or two, with
the last missionary leaving in line with that policy in 1998.
From around the beginnings of the twenty-first century ABMS missionaries have been sent to a
number of countries, sometimes for evangelism, sometimes for church strengthening and sometimes for
community development. This reflects the changing nature of church life in recipient countries (there are
fewer accessible unreached major people groups), political realities (some countries are closed to
missionaries and others have major visa restrictions) and a greater focus towards holistic mission.
Major questions regarding institutional books of this type hinge around questions such as ‘What is
the purpose of the book?’ and ‘Who is it for?’ Institutional histories usually celebrate the institution being
written about; so it is not surprising that the book has a major celebratory tone, noting major
conversion/church growth in many places, and recognising the breadth of mission both in earlier
educational and medical endeavours and in later development projects. As well as celebration the book
also notes sacrifice and difficulty, including loss of life. It also touches on in inter-missionary relationship
difficulties (pp. 35, 211, 298, 414, 434) — not surprising when lots of strong-minded missionary personnel
are thrown together in pressuring situations.
Pacific Journal of Baptist Research
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As an institutional history the book is very well done. However, as an ex–missionary I would like
it also to have more deeply explored theological and missiological issues thrown up by its narrative. Is
conversion essentially individual or is it often a group phenomenon? Is it fundamentally a crisis or is it
also very significantly a process (noting John Calvin’s comment that we are converted little by little and in
stages, and noting sad examples of post-conversion lapse (pp. 9, 329)). Is revival essentially a movement
of the Spirit, or does culture play a part, and human nature (noting John Wesley’s phrase ‘nature mixed
with grace’). And how should development projects start and is it essential that they be genuinely birthed
first in the hearts of the recipient people — noting the digging of 80 wells in Zambia, followed by the
lingering question: will the locals maintain them afterwards (p. 368)?
My questions are those of an outsider. But for insiders this is a magnum opus, a very fine work
telling the story of Australian Baptist global mission work (including some amongst Australian
Aboriginals) and providing some levels of reflection on an evolving world and evolving mission policy.
LIS GODDARD ET AL. AWESOME VOICES: GOD WORKING THROUGH ORDAINED
WOMEN TODAY. MALTON: GILEAD BOOKS, 2013. 185 PP.
[ISBN – 13: 978–0–9926713–0–3].
Sarah Harris
Carey Baptist College, Auckland.
This small book is a collection of women's voices from the Church of England who tell of their journey to
ordination. What relevance has that for Baptist men and women in the Pacific? you might ask. Certainly the Church
of England landscape spoken of in this book is not the experience of NZ ordained Anglican women who
have considerable scope for employment and engagement in the church of Aoteoroa, NZ, but their voices
nonetheless resonate with those in the wider church. From an Australasian Baptist church perspective,
this is an extremely helpful and appropriate book if you want to hear about the journey of women into a
largely male world.
Lis Goddard begins the book with the history of the AWESOME network: Anglican Women
Evangelicals: Supporting our Ordained Ministries. The network began after the NEAC4 (Fourth National
Evangelical Anglican Congress) where Women Bishops was the presenting issue. Women, who began
networking over the washbasins in the ladies toilet, felt "marginalized, voiceless and unsupported" (p. 13).
They recognized that the discussion happening in Blackpool that year was symptomatic of a "wider
malaise" in the church that needed to be taken seriously. They began sharing something of their stories:
They were told that by definition, because of their gender and calling, they could not be fully
evangelical. There were dreadful stories of being slow–handclapped by male colleagues, of female
curates or associates being marginalized. Alternatively, evangelical women just could not find jobs
Pacific Journal of Baptist Research
47
in evangelical churches and found themselves going to jobs outside their churchmanship…it was
taken as proof that…the women were indeed not really evangelical (pp. 12-13).
This was beginning of the AWESOME network. A key strength of this group is that it holds
together voices who disagree on the context for women to minister and the nature of their ordination;
some are "permanent deacons" and follow a headship principle of being "under" a male leader. This is an
admirable quality of the group where listening and dialogue is central; they support one another regardless
of their theological views. The facts in the UK Church of England are stark; women fill only 18% of
stipends and there are only a couple of women who work in a "larger church" (over 350). While these
numbers are not reflected in NZ Anglicans, the numbers of women pastors in NZ Baptist churches is
equally small (perhaps smaller). If God calls women, why are they not employed, and when they are
employed, does their job reflect their calling and capability? NZ Baptists need to ask some very hard
questions — men and women together. This is not a "women's issue" it is "men's issue" too for it is about
the gospel of Jesus Christ.
The following six chapters are individual stories of women. They are varied as each person's
calling and gifting is unique. Jane Plackett and Suse McBay's stories are interwoven in chapter two; they
are both currently undertaking their training at a residential college; one is heading toward urban parish
ministry and one into theological teaching. Their chapter centers on their "calling" making it a helpful
chapter for those considering their own call to ministry, particularly because their contexts for ordained
ministry is clearly different; not everyone who will be ordained will be a standard vicar (stipended senior
or sole pastor). The chapter, like the rest of the book, is written in informal prose that is simple and
honest. At first this was a little irritating but I came to appreciate the style for I heard something of the
person behind the words which is very important for this type of book; if you're after a theological
consideration, this is not the book to read. If, on the other hand, men want to listen to what it is really like
for a women leader to journey in the church, or if women want to find out about some honest highs and
lows of life as an evangelical minister, it is worth a read. I read it in a couple of hours.
Sally Hitchiner talks of her training at Oxford as a 25 year old, her subsequent ministry as a
university chaplain at Oxford and her role with TV and radio, which she fell into by default. She is clearly
a woman who can think on her feet and communicate well and she has seen evangelistic spins offs with
non–Christians eager to attend an Alpha course with a BBC presenter. Sally makes an interesting
comment about young girls and church; she writes,
I come into contact with so many young girls and women who feel that the church is not for
them. Young women are one of the fastest rising groups to drop out of church attendance in the
UK and the least likely to put themselves forward for ordination. As someone who has worked
with youth, students and young professionals for over 10 years I feel strongly that one of the
contributing factors to this is the lack of role models (p. 90).
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This is food for thought for men who often hold the ability to give a woman an opportunity (or not);
where are the female role models in our NZ churches? These comments alone make her chapter worth a
read.
This review cannot include a comment on each chapter (as much as I would like), but I will end
with thoughts on two more chapters which widen the scope of the book; Clare Hendry's chapter on being
called as a "permanent deacon," and Kate Wharton's on being a single Priest–in–Charge.
Clare's theology is complementarian and her call was unexpected. She was about to start a two –
year Masters in Marriage and Family Therapy at the Reformed Theological Seminary in Mississippi, when
God spoke to her about working in the Church of England. When she applied, she was rejected and
instead began teaching Pastoral Counselling at Oak Hill Theological College where she trained other
ordinands. For Clare her journey to ordination took many years; this is not an uncommon story for
women or men. In each step she has sensed "God had the place" for her. She now works as an honorary
assistant minister (yet another unpaid woman) in a church plant on the edge of Muswell Hill.
Kate Wharton is an inspirational young woman who talks openly about the reality of life as a
single women minister. When she was aged 14, the vote was passed in favour of women priests; "how could
there be any other view" she mused, "but [the vote] didn't have much bearing on my day to day life" (p. 164). How
wrong we can be! As Kate continues with her story she is clearly a women who thrives on the challenges
of pastoral ministry and who takes being young, single and a women in her stride. "In the first week of my
curacy," Kate writes, "I was greeted cheerily with, 'Morning Father!' People often ask 'so what do we call
you then love?' to which I tend to reply 'well I'll answer to most things, but Kate will do for a start!'" (p.
174). Kate has gone on to speak about singleness in large gatherings (she had planned to say no!) and later
to write a book, Single Minded, and is now an Area Dean in Liverpool. Her story is one where there was
little angst around her gender and so maybe as the final chapter, is one which leaves increased hope for
what may lie ahead for women in the church and a good place to end this book.
I think there is also hope for women evangelicals in NZ, but I want to leave this review with a
plea: Getting to know and appreciate the challenges for women is critical for men; we need to think about
what we say and how we say it; we need to think theologically and relationally; have you begun this
journey? This book may be a start for you but it will not be all you need. It is a light read, and it offers no
answers, but it might make both men and women think more deeply. The church is in desperate need of
women's voices in key leadership roles; how can we image God with only one gender doing most of the
thinking and planning, let alone all the pastoral caring, payer and teaching. Women and men notice
different things in the biblical text, we "see" different opportunities and viewpoints. Together these give a
wider, deeper, richer picture of God. Together.
DONALD P. MOFFAT. EZRA'S SOCIAL DRAMA: IDENTITY, MARRIAGE AND SOCIAL
CONFLICT IN EZRA 9 AND 10. LIBRARY OF HEBREW BIBLE/OLD TESTAMENT STUDIES
579. NEW YORK: BLOOMSBURY, 2013. xiii + 218 PP. [ISBN 978–0–567–60912–0].
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Csilla Saysell,
Carey Baptist College, Auckland.
In recent years a host of studies have appeared on the post-exilic period and more specifically on the
intermarriage crisis in Ezra 9–10. Moffat adds his perspective to this using the anthropologist Victor
Turner’s “social drama” model to interpret the events. To Turner’s four stages (breach, mounting crisis,
redress/reconciliation and reintegration/schism) he adds Cottle’s fifth stage of ebbing/revivification
where the memory of the social drama ebbs and revives in the public consciousness. Moffat states his aim
as twofold (p. 3): to understand the meaning that writer(s) and readers of Ezra 9–10 may have derived
from the story and to recover something of the historical situation behind the narrative that can
contribute to a historical reconstruction of Persian Yehud.
After setting out his agenda and some methodological matters regarding the possibilities and
limits of social science methods in the first chapter, Chapter 2 paints the larger picture of the Persian
province, Yehud. Moffat describes its geography, population size, and political situation in order to
illuminate social processes at work in the mixed marriage crisis. He concludes that Yehud was run on
authoritarian lines both in terms of the Persian administration and in the local communities. Thus he
convincingly questions scholarly views that imagine the resolution to the mixed marriage crisis as a
democratic process with individual freedom to dissent from the community’s decision.
Chapter 3 argues for the compositional unity of Ezra 9–10 with sufficient linguistic connections
and unified narrative flow to be treated together. Moffat also agrees with a number of other scholars that
Neh 8 (the public reading of the law) is chronologically prior to Ezra 9–10. This is particularly significant
for him because it becomes the foundation for his later argument that Ezra in his teaching role is central
to the crisis even though the narrative downplays him.
Chapter 4 begins the textual study proper with the acknowledged focus being on the cultural and
religious aspects of the narrative. Perhaps the title could have reflected this, as its present name (“Ezra 9 –
10”) does not reveal much of the content one could expect. Moffat explores how the community defined
itself, the “foreigners”, the sin of intermarriage and how the crisis developed and was resolved. Moffat
sums up the emphasis of the text on the sin of the community as a “transgression of cultic purity”, which
I find puzzling (p. 71). Does he mean ritual impurity? Although it does not disturb his larger argument, his
use of “cultic” here and elsewhere is, in my view, confusing. On the one hand, he uses cultic in the
standard sense relating to the people (“cultic staff” p. 71) and practices around the temple (p. 83). On the
other, he applies it more broadly to describe worship of and faithfulness to Yahweh, which he calls “cultic
loyalty” as opposed to idolatry and apostasy (p. 181). In Deuteronomy, he calls the major sin “cultic
pollution” (p. 72) when he means the worship of other gods (he cites Deut 11:17; 29:23–27). This is
especially problematic when Deuteronomy does not associate sin with pollution (unlike the priestly
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material) and faithfulness to YHWH in obedience to his commandments is much more broadly defined in
the book than the cult and its practices.
Nevertheless, this chapter has some good observations and a convincing argument for Ezra’s
central role in forcing the issue in the crisis through the use of ritual (a tool whose centrality Turner
highlights). Moffat makes the case that given the directive nature of the Persian administration and Ezra’s
high status, his public act of self-humiliation could not be ignored by the community leadership. He also
understands Ezra to have been influential in providing the teaching on the law that led to the breach, and
the solution suggested by Shecaniah. This is plausible if one accepts Neh 8’s priority before the events in
Ezra 9–10 and given the reference to Ezra’s advice in the matter (10:3).
Chapter 5 comes to the heart of the matter. Moffat concentrates on three aspects: root paradigms,
symbols (key aspects of Turner’s theory) and the stages of the social drama. He identifies the exodus as
the root metaphor for restoration. Although exodus motifs have long been noted in the book of Ezra,
Moffat argues that the exodus paradigm forms a key aspect of the exiles’ worldview, which shapes their
understanding of the mixed marriage crisis. He sees two particular stories from the exodus period which
inform the issues in Ezra 9–10 along with Deut 7 (the ban on intermarriage with Canaanites). One is the
story of Achan’s unfaithfulness (ma‘al) in taking dedicated things (herem) in Josh 7, which shares key
language with Ezra 9–10. The other recounts Israel’s sin at Baal-Peor in Num 25. This latter connection is
not alluded to in Ezra 9–10 though Moffat points out that Ezra’s genealogy included Phinehas (7:5)
whose descendants are also mentioned among the people who returned with Ezra (8:2). It is plausible, as
Moffat claims, that the incident at Baal–Peor was part of a pool of stories used in penitential prayers (e.g.
Ps 106:28-31) and other literature (e.g. Deut 4:3) in the post–exilic period and so will have shaped the
larger background of post-exilic thinking.
Moffat identifies foreign women as major symbols in the crisis that cause the breach but also
become the means of redressive action and reintegration for the community (through divorce as part of
the reparation needed alongside a guilt offering). He sees here again a link with the exodus paradigm and
especially Num 25. The “foreign” label attached to the women builds on Deuteronomic ideas of
foreignness defined as not conforming to Israel’s worship and the practice of abominations, a description
routinely applied to pre-conquest inhabitants of Canaan. Moffat also notes some similarities with the
“strange woman” in Prov 1–9, though he posits no direct connection. Rather, he sees in these texts a
testimony to a social discourse that conceives some women as foreign and dangerous. Drawing on priestly
ideas Ezra 9 also associates these foreign women with a highly contagious pollution that is compared to
the impurity of menstruation. There is some uncertainty how Moffat understands this impurity: as
metaphorical–symbolic or ritual. Whatever the exact meaning he clearly shows that this cluster of ideas
make the symbol of foreign women a powerful motivator for action.
Finally, the chapter walks the reader through Ezra 9–10 as social drama identifying Turner’s four
stages in the narrative. Moffat reiterates and expands on a number of points already mentioned in Chapter
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4 particularly highlighting the importance of Ezra’s ritual action in turning the breach into a social crisis,
which demands a response from the community.
Chapter 6 then concludes with some explorations regarding the relationship between the narrative
and historical events and examining the residual memory of the crisis in later literature. Moffat covers here
a variety of issues, which give weight to the claim of many that the intermarriage crisis in Ezra 9–10 is not
literary fiction. Rather, its many details correspond to recognisable features of the post –exilic period with
an internal logic discernible in the story that is rooted in historic reality. So, for instance, he notes the
recurrent motif of the exodus in postexilic literature, which demonstrates that the paradigm was deeply
embedded in the consciousness of the period. He takes issue with Grabbe, who sees several Ezras
reflected in the narrative and who considers Ezra’s action weak and inappropriate to a man of his high
status. Moffat discusses the economic and political explanations frequently given as to why marriages with
“foreign” women were feared, but concludes that notwithstanding these subsidiary considerations the
primary reason was the ideological emphasis on purity. He argues against Janzen’s witch-hunt theory that
places the blame on the women and instead suggests that the text holds the men responsible and requires
reparation from them. He also critiques Blenkinsopp’s suggestion that not all may have complied with the
community’s decision on divorce. Moffat thinks this unlikely based on his explorations into the social
dynamics of postexilic society. Finally, he examines the residual effect of the crisis comparing the localised
and slightly differently presented issue in Neh 13. He concludes that the recurrence of the intermarriage
crisis does not mean that the process was ineffective in Ezra 9–10. He wonders if the differences he notes
in Neh 13 reflect a shift in the community’s understanding of holiness (purity language recedes in
connection to lay people). He also speculates about the effects of the social stigma on those whose names
were recorded in the earlier crisis in Ezra 9–10.
While Moffat mentions some biblical books that are more accepting of cross-cultural marriages
(Esther, Ruth), he does not explore other Second Temple writings (e.g. 4QMMT, Jubilees, the Book of
Judith, The Testament of Levi), which condemn mixed marriages and echo ideas of pollution present in Ezra
9–10. The fact that later rabbinic teaching finally regularised practices around intermarriage and
condemned the approaches of zealotry evident in many of these non–biblical sources suggests that the
issue continued to be a live one for several centuries and the earlier solutions offered were, in the final
analysis, not entirely satisfactory.
Overall, Moffat’s book is an interesting and valuable contribution to the study of the postexilic
period and the story of Ezra 9–10. His discussion of the exodus as root paradigm, the foreign women as
symbol and key motivators for action, as well as his exploration of Ezra’s role as catalyst in the crisis
through the power of ritual, are particular highlights. This is a worthwhile piece of work that gives added
weight to arguments already raised by other scholars and fills in details in the text and its historic
background not covered by others. As a revised dissertation this is primarily of benefit for those in biblical
studies interested in the postexilic period or in social science approaches of biblical texts.
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SUSAN MATHEW, WOMEN IN THE GREETINGS OF ROMANS 16:1-16: A STUDY OF
MUTUALITY AND WOMEN'S MINISTRY IN THE LETTER OF ROMANS. LIBRARY OF NEW
TESTAMENT STUDIES 471. LONDON: T & T CLARK, 2013. 206 PP + xv. [ISBN 978–0–567–
42944–5.]
Sarah Harris
Carey Baptist College, Auckland.
Austen begins Pride and Prejudice with this statement: It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single
man in possession of a fortune must be in want of a wife; then she goes on to discuss relationships and
marriage, challenging the class structure and cultural norms. Her opening words reflect a cultural
assumption, and if we are honest, assumptions inform our daily life more than we often want to
acknowledge. I want to suggest to you that it is also (unfortunately) true that a biblical reader in favour of
theological view is often in search of a text with which to support it. Biblical readers also have
assumptions, our blind spots from personal and cultural prejudice, even sheer ignorance, when we come
to the sacred text. When readers think of Paul's views on women, may go straight to a couple of isolated
passages—1 Cor 14:34–35, 1 Tim 2:11–12 – and yet this is to overlook other texts where women are
clearly engaged in the mission of God alongside Paul and others. Paul talks of women reasonably often
but many of these occasions are in lesser–known passages such as Romans 16, which is the raison d'être of
Susan Mathew's excellent book.
The letter to the Romans is a significant piece of writing and for many it is the bedrock of Paul's
theology. As a result, there have been quite literally thousands of books exploring his theology and ethics
in chapters 1–15. In comparison, there are relatively few that engage well or extensively with chapter 16,
the coda of the letter. Some might wonder — Does it really matter? What can we really learn from a list of
greetings? Mathew, alongside a growing body of scholars, believes we have much to learn from this chapter.
Weima says, "A Pauline letter closing…is a carefully constructed unit, shaped and adapted in such a way as
to relate it directly to the major concerns of the letter as a whole" (Weima, Neglected Endings, 11). In this
monograph Mathew proposes, "a balanced mutual ethic [which] is engendered by the basileia of God" (p.
13) and suggests Paul presents "relationships of reciprocity…whose purpose is mutual promotion" (p. 15).
This kingdom of God she claims is divorced from gender; indeed for Mathew it is gender blind for it is
centered "in the Lord." She notes the sixteen occurrences of the second person plural aorist imperative
aspasasthe, which binds the ending into a refrain of "love-mutualism:" You (plural) greet one another! With
probably five church groups mentioned from varying social strata and with men and women actively
involved (16:3–5, 10, 11, 14, 15), the potentiality for cross–fertilization and mutual understanding and
respect is considerable. Mathew makes an excellent point; sixteen occurrences can only be considered to
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be deliberate on the part of the author, and that Paul is building on the earlier themes of accommodation
and love, cannot be denied as powerful rhetoric.
In chapter two Mathew deals with the form of imperative showing how this third party greeting is
designed to strengthen the bonds amongst the Christians. She also demonstrates that Paul had both men
and women as his associates. This exegetical consideration is solid and succinct.
Chapter three considers women in the Roman Empire showing that women were not a
monochrome group of submissive maids in the kitchen but many were engaged in the public sphere of
life. Mathew upholds the "new women" described by Bruce Winter (Roman Wives, Roman Widows), and
gives epigraphic evidence for women in courts, politics, magistracy, patronage, priesthood and Jewish
synagogues. I too am not ready to disregard Winter's work as Lynn Cohick has done in her book Women in
the World of the Earliest Christians (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2009, 72-75). This was clearly a period of
history when women were emerging onto the public stage of Roman society, otherwise Augustus would
not have legislated on marriage to try and stabilize trends he saw as threatening to the Empire, and poets
and writers would not have presented them so consistently and prominently in their writings (see Ovid,
Catullus, Tibullus and Cicero). An historical chapter such as this is increasingly what I am after in biblical
discussions for it provides the tools for better informed exegetical discussion; without new information it
is too easy to simply to take the well–worn path which cannot lead anywhere other to the terrain we have
already visited. The historical world is the landscape which sets the parameters for any biblical
conversation; so in this reader's opinion anyway, we need more history rather than less — a point which
Mathew seems to understand. This chapter is likely to make it onto a reading list when I teach Romans or
Pauline theology.
Against this backdrop of women's involvement in society, Mathew then engages in a reasonably
lengthy discussion of the women from Romans 16. Mathew, having effectively dismissed the assumptions
that women were not leaders in chapter two, looks at roles they may have played. She also stresses Paul's
public appreciation for their work through her exegetical discussion. This work is not new (while the need
for it never seems to go away), but the call for collective mutuality within the church groups is her unique
contribution.
In chapters five and six Mathew sets her thesis within the wider argument of Rom 12–13 and 14–
15 respectively, demonstrating that this is an integrated idea and part of Paul's wider rhetoric in the letter;
it is not really a coda at all; it has theological and rhetorical value. She then concludes with the challenge of
Paul's "love–mutualism" to the community. His ethic is "initiated by grace, mediated by love, and
sustained by the Spirit" (p. 165) and it avoids extremes of both individualism and collectivism; Paul's ethic
is theological not anthropological and it is concerned with processes not states — a "dynamic process of
equalization" (p. 166).
This book supports an egalitarian theology, while challenging a complementation view. If the
biblical text is what challenges theological truth, then Paul's Lietwort (which is a command not a
suggestion) to greet one another must inform our discussion with regards to women as leaders. Literary
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theorists rightly claims that a "lead–word" is one of the strongest of all techniques for making meaning
(see Buber, Amit, Bar-Efrat, Alter, Fokkelman, Freedman), and so the challenge is given by Mathew to
consider Paul's use of aspasasthe in the task of reading Romans and to apply it to Christian community
praxis. This book will inform and open up the ever–present discussion on women in leadership, while her
conclusions seem sound to this reader.