Christus Victor: the lie exposed

The victory on the cross was against a force whose primary tactic is that of the lie. Jesus submits to the lie – the old lie – and so exposes it to the truth. In the wilderness and in Gethsemane, he refuses the temptations of the Satan to follow an alternate path. He combats the lies of Satan with truth-telling. It is almost as if, on the cross, Jesus allows the lie an apparent victory, but by the manner of his dying, shows how corrupt it always was. He also exposes the untruth of the human conspiracy against him. Against his accusers, he is actually proved innocent.


Is this, properly speaking, a victory? I think it ought to be construed as such... Jesus himself speaks about binding up Satan (Mark 3). Satan is the primeval liar, the 'Father of lies'. To defeat him is to expose his lies to the truth - to unmask him. John 8 is a fascinating interchange in which Jesus links these themes, and also indicates that his cross ('when you have lifted up the son of Man') will be the moment of his vindication and triumph.

One of the points I have been trying to make (in Doc 2) is that the use of these metaphors for the atonement radically changes our whole perspective on the original terms. If 'this is victory' as the song says, then it says a lot about how God wins victories. Truth-telling is ultimately the way to defeat the chief of liars...

Stephen Holmes on Penal Substition

Some great stuff from The Wondrous Cross:

...we should not try to understand the cross of Christ through thinking about sacrifice, or love, or anything else in the world; rather, we should understand sacrifice, and love, and every other human reality by thinking about the cross of Christ. And if we take the view that only one of the stories of salvation is true, we end up denying this. (p. 78)

It seems to me that the key insight of any account of penal subsitution is precisely this: God takes the due punishment on himself...We cannot tell stories about an angry God and a loving saviour without being false to the Scripture and the gospel. The story that must be told is that punishment is due, and that the holy loving God takes it upon himself. (p. 95)

In being born as one of us, in baptism in the Jordan, in being made sin for us, God the Son identifies with us, so much so that, without injustice, he may bear our guilt and we may enjoy his blessedness. It is a marvellous exchange, which we cannot explain fully, but which we can begin to glimpse the possibility of. (p. 98)

Sharing in Christ's sufferings

A few posts back, Gordo reminded me of the texts that speak of the believer (well, the apostle) sharing in Christ's sufferings. I was pointing out that suffering persecutions was only to be expected as a condition of life as a believer in Christ - but that these sufferings were not our own but rather his. I cited 1 Peter 4:12.

But 1 Peter 4 continues:
But rejoice insofar as you are sharing Christ's sufferings, so that you may also be glad and shout for joy when his glory is revealed.

The nature of the martyr's sufferings are that they are, wondrously, a participation in Christ's.

The verse Grodo was alluding to is Col 1:24:

I am now rejoicing in my sufferings for your sake, and in my flesh I am completing what is lacking in Christ's afflictions for the sake of his body, that is, the church.

It's is a very interesting passage all up, coming as it does after a declaration of the cosmic scope and sufficiency of Christ's sufferings on the cross.

What could possibly have been lacking in Christ's afflictions? Can we allow Paul a hyperbole here - an ironic overstatement? i.e. 'I am supplying what is lacking in Christ's sufferings (not really meaning that something was, but I am suffering in participation with the sufferings of Christ etc)'. Is that his point? Or is that there needed to be an ecclesiogical working out of Christ's suffering in some manner?

The spectacle of Martyrdom

Martyrologists who exaggerate the details of the suffering and torture of the martyrs in order to increase the rhetorical impact of their work are in fact doing the martyr a great disservice. The risk here is that the martyr is painted as merely a victim, and the rhetorical impact of telling the story is then limited to pathos for the suffering of the victim. The content of their witness then disintegrates...

The gospels show the way here: as we read of the death of Jesus, we may feel pity for the disciples, and sorrow for the role our fellow human beings played in his execution, and even disgust and outrage at the injustice perpetuated: but the evangelists do not draw us to pity Jesus. They do not dwell on the gruesome details of his torture and suffering (pace Mel Gibson); they do not portray him as powerless or voiceless; they do not depict the sadistic pleasure of his executioners. Jesus is no victim; events do not get out of hand for him at all – he is seen as always ahead of them. His innocence is not established merely so we can feel appalled at the miscarriage of justice, but so that we can understand the significance of his sacrifice in a theological matrix.

There were (and are) worse, more painful deaths; there certainly were (and are) more pitiable victims of injustice. Jesus is not, like some protagonist in a Greek tragedy, the victim of a twist in fate or the misalignment of the planets. An account that emphasizes the pathos of Jesus’ death quite misses the point – which is that the cross of Christ is the expression par excellence of the divine rule over all. It is the moment of the enthronement of Israel’s messiah in Zion and over the whole world. Likewise, a martyrology that dwells too luridly on the blood that flows is not a martyrology but a victimology. A death cast in these terms in the end witnesses only to itself as a death. The best of the early martyr-acts, for all their faults, do not lapse in this direction: Polycarp, for example, though of great age, dies in such a way that his captors look more pitiable than he. Events are not in their control (nor Polycarp's); but Polycarp's faith and asssurance makes it a triumph. Who could feel sorry for him?

Mike Higton on Rowan Williams

Mike Higton's book on Rowan Williams is a very readable and challenging introduction to Rowan Williams' work. His central theme is encapsulated in the title: the gospel of Jesus of Nazareth, as preached by Williams is one that never leaves us comfortable or settled. It always challenges, always subverts, always complicates. It is never 'easy' in the sense of cheap.

The cross in Williams' thought stands for the judgement or condemnation of all our trying to secure for ourselves impregnable fortresses of certainty and security. The love of God in Christ is so total that it is almost unbearable to contemplate it. "We coat even the cross in sugar, and protect ourselves from the bitterness of the Gospel" (p. 35).

While he is generally affirming in his account, Higton finds this unrelenting darkness in Williams' theology itself almost too much: and I have to say it is a feeling I have had as well. In amongst the endless challenge, the persistent upsetting, what light is there, what joy? Higton writes:

It sometimes seems that Williams is willing to risk muting the note of joy, of thankfulness, of release and rescue, appropriate to the news that God has stepped over all the barriers which seperate us from him... We must ask, I think, whether the focus falls too consistently on the 'No' of the cross rather than on its encompassing 'Yes'. (p. 35)