Are we afraid of the Gospel?

Seven hundred years ago, in the Euganean Hills of northern Italy, a guilt stricken nobleman approached God with a proposition.

Moved by a frightening vision of the last judgement, Enrico degli Scrovegni of Padua bargained for his soul with the Lord of lords. In exchange for his own salvation and the redemption of his late father, ¹ Enrico promised to build a beautiful little chapel on the land he had purchased for the construction of his private palace. When the promise was completed six years later in 1306, the single-nave church was adorned with glorious frescoes that would change the course of European art. But more importantly, the little votive chapel in Padua had become a stunning reminder of the absolute in congruity between the gospel of grace and any attempt to earn eternal salvation through human effort.

Scrovegni used his abundant wealth to secure the services of the brilliant young Florentine painter, Giotto di Bondone. In his first mature master piece, Giotto garnished the chapel walls with scenes from the life of Jesus. One scene is more striking than the rest. In the middle of the north wall, just above eye level, is Giotto's bold depiction of the Lamentation. The lifeless body of Jesus has been removed from the cross and now is sprawled on the ground in the foreground of the picture. Intense emotional pain is etched deeply on the face of Mary as she cradles the cold body of her precious Son. To the right, a distraught Mary Magdalene stares at the feet she so recently bathed with her tears and dried with her long hair. John, the beloved disciple, throws his arms back ward in a violent gesture of heart-rendering grief. Joseph of Arimathaea and Nicodemus stand in voiceless agony at the horror of the scene before them. Above them all, ten small cherubs are arrested in flight by the unbearable sorrow and immeasurable meaning of the death of Jesus.

I am overwhelmed by this passionate work of art. From across the centuries it speaks to me with a clarity I cannot ignore. Here is the dramatic and convincing proof of the unquenchable love of God for me (Rom. 5:8). Here is the Lamb, slain from the foundation of the world for my sin (Rev. 13:8). Here is Jesus suffering at the hands of His enemies "so that by the grace of God He might taste death" in my behalf (Heb. 2:9). Here is the clearest possible revelation of the unsearchable, incomparable riches of God's grace, paying for my sin and securing my redemption with His blood (Eph. 3:8; 2:7; 1:7). Here is what Ellen White pointed us to over and over and over again "The sacrifice of Christ as an atonement for sin," which she insisted "is the great truth around which all other truths cluster," ² the "ground of our steadfastness,"³ and "the foundation of the Christian's hope."⁴

But remember the setting in Padua. Giotto's powerful masterpiece is even more extraordinary because it shouts the gospel from the walls of a church built to purchase God's favor. Giotto's painting, located as it is in Enricho's chapel generates a contrast of limitless proportions. There is Enricho Scrovegni's little chapel, with its quaint but undeniably finite loveliness into which this sincere man poured the resources of his life and soul. But over against this there is the infinite and flawless magnificence of Christ and the ultimately extravagant cosmic act of God on the cross transcending by immeasurable distances any human action, even one as impressive as Enricho's. The infinite currency is the only kind that has any sway when the issues of salvation are at stake. In this setting the triumphant work of Jesus dwarfs any form of human action. Abounding grace embarrasses all human attempts to cause salvation even when the best of this work is proffered. The fullness of the gospel exposes the futility of "coredemption."

My natural reflex

Nevertheless, my natural reflexes and trained sensibilities persistently resist the good news of grace. The Scrovegni impulse rages in my life. Frequently, like Enrico, I approach God with my hands full of something of my own to use in the bargaining. In his frescos, Giotto also depicted a red-haired young man kneeling in front of Jesus, the Judge, holding up a model of the little chapel in an apparent attempt to influence a favorable sentence. In my case I present my orthodoxy, my service record, my busy schedule, my latest, best sermon. I am so capable of interposing my self into the transaction: my commitment, my obedience, my high standards, my genuine sorrow for personal failures, my repentance, even my growing faith in God's uncompromising grace.

Paul Tournier called this need to bargain with God the "reflex of self justification." ⁵ J. I. Packer refers to it as "the faith that has animated pagan religion ever since there was such a thing namely, the belief that we can repair our own relationship with God by putting God in a position where he cannot say no to us." ⁶ C. S. Lewis ob served the same temptation in his life and, as usual, precisely unmasked the temptation: "Thus, depth beneath depth and subtlety within subtlety, there remains some lingering idea of our own, our very own, attractiveness. It is easy to acknowledge, but almost impossible to realize for long, that we are mirrors whose brightness, if we are bright, is wholly derived from the sun that shines upon us. Surely we must have a little however little native luminosity." And then Lewis identified the remedy: "For this tangled absurdity of a Need, which never fully acknowledges its own neediness, Grace substitutes a full, childlike and delighted acceptance of our Need, a joy in total dependence."⁷

Running away from the gospel

Total dependence is a tough assignment. Obviously, Scrovegni wasn't the first or the last to be overwhelmed by the desire to contribute something to the salvation equation. The impulse is as ancient as Cain, as persistent as Sarah's laughter, as quick as Moses grasping credit for bringing water from a rock. Our words betray us. "Make me like one of your hired servants," we insist, speaking the language of merit so stubbornly that we miss the warmth of our Father's welcoming embrace, the significance of the robe and ring of acceptance, the joy of the opening moments of the resurrection celebration (Luke 15:17-24). It's almost as if we were running away from the gospel, as if we were afraid of grace, not wanting to be that rich, that for given, that sure.

We publish our cautions far and wide. "If grace becomes the central focus of our experience," a pastor admonished with disquieting fear, "the Sabbath may lose its importance in our under standing of the end of the world." Doesn't an emphasis on justification by grace through faith lead to a neglect of holiness and the fruits of the indwelling Spirit?" Don't we need to be careful to maintain "a balance between God's mercy and His justice?" Isn't the pendulum swinging "too far away from law toward grace?" Aren't those who preach grace "cheapening" Christianity just so they can fill their pews in these "member-competitive times"? ⁸ Don't we "nullify the law by this faith" (Rom. 3:31)?

It is important to address these concerns and put them to rest. But in the process we must never allow our focus, personal or institutional, to shift from Jesus to anything else. In our sincere efforts to respond to God's call to be peculiar, distinctive people, we must not rush right passed the core definition of our existence or push it into the periphery of our experience. "When all the shouting dies away, when all the is sues are laid on the table, when all the doctrines have been discussed, when all the policies have been voted, the only thing that matters is Jesus and our relationship with Him."⁹ Whenever we stray from our foundation at the foot of the cross of Christ and make any other ground our central position, we come perilously close to completely missing the point of the truth as it is in Jesus.

Not long ago an individual publicly reminded me that Adventists have been called to be a people of the end time. "It is our eschatology that makes us unique," the gentleman instructed, "and what does grace have to do with the Second Coming?" I was so shocked by his question that, for a moment, I couldn't speak. Tears rose to my eyes. Beyond the obvious answer that grace has everything to do with our salvation, even his question was wrong. It would have been much more accurate, and infinitely more Adventist, to ask, "What does the Second Coming have to do with grace?"

The true treasure of the church

The doctrine of salvation by grace begins with God's realistic evaluation of humanity's total inability to earn eternal life by conforming to His will. With His heart full of pain, God concluded early in human history that "every inclination" of us mortals was "only evil all the time" (Gen. 6:5,6). Over the next several thousand years the conclusion would remain the same. "There is no one who does good, not even one," David observes in Psalm 14. Paul repeats David's observation, then goes on to describe fallen humanity in the bleak est of terms: "worthless," "vipers," "powerless,""ungodly,""God's enemies," "dead in your transgressions," "disobedient," "by nature objects of God's wrath," (Rom. 3:10-23,5:6-10, and Eph. 2:1-3). Paul is not talking about "them" he's speaking of you and me. The stark conclusion is unmistakable: None of us can earn or merit salvation. It is impossible (Matt. 19:26). "No one will be declared righteous in his [God's] sight by observing the law" (Rom. 3:20). "By observing the law no one will be justified" (Gal. 2:16, emphasis added).

Adventists fully accept the consistent biblical testimony that humans cannot contribute to their own salvation. "We profoundly believe that no works of the law, no deeds of the law, no effort however commendable, and no good works whether they be many or few, sacrificial or not can in any way justify the sinner." ¹⁰ "We can contribute nothing to Christ's gift of righteousness." ¹¹ "It was possible for Adam, before the fall, to form a righteous character by obedience to God's law. But he failed to do this, and because of his sin our natures are fallen, and we cannot make ourselves righteous. Since we are sinful, unholy, we cannot perfectly obey the holy law. We have no righteousness of our own with which to meet the claims of the law of God." ¹²

But, thankfully, the doctrine doesn't end there! Since the beginning, the message of the "grace of God that brings salvation" (Titus 2:11) has been given to us to provide the "hope of eternal life" (Titus 3:7). From the Tree of Life in the center of the Garden of Eden to the dry ground in the middle of the Jordan River, from the jubilant worship in Solomon's temple to the quiet reflections of Paul in his prison cell, the gospel of our salvation (Eph. 1:13) has been the truth set before us. "Through the love of God the treasures of the grace of Christ have been laid open be fore the church and the world." ¹³ The good news of God's grace (Acts 20:24) is the matchless truth: "Christ has made a way of escape for us. He lived on earth amid trials and temptations such as we have to meet. He lived a sinless life. He died for us, and now He offers to take our sins and give us His righteousness. If you give yourself to Him and accept Him as your Saviour, then, sinful as your life may have been, for His sake you are accounted righteous. Christ's character stands in place of your character, and you are accepted before God just as if you had not sinned." ¹⁴

The glorious reality of God's salvation embraces us in every book of the Bible. Salvation requires perfect righteousness. All humans have sinned and therefore are incapable of being perfectly righteous. God, in His justice, judges our sin, pronounces us guilty, and demands that the penalty for sin be paid. Then, in the incarnation of grace (John 1:14), God pays for it all Himself, forgives us in Jesus (Jer. 31:34; Micah 7:18; 1 John 2:12) and accepts the perfect righteousness of Christ as sufficient atonement (2 Cor.12:9). We accept His gift through faith, confessing that we cannot by any means save ourselves but that we are fully persuaded that God has the power to do what He has promised to do (Rom. 4:21).

This is the gospel of our salvation (Eph. 1:13), the Bible truth about how we are saved by grace alone, through faith alone, in Jesus Christ alone. There are no exceptions. "We are saved by grace through faith in the Saviour's merits, or we are not saved at all." ¹⁵