The Death of Jesus Christ and Redemption #

Bishop Mikhail (Semyonov)

We have spoken about the Person of Christ, about the radiance of His countenance. But it is well known that, for Christians, the center of Christ’s life is found in His death. The center of Christianity is the Cross and Redemption. It is not merely the God-Man with the purest teaching whom we venerate in Christ, nor simply a worker of miracles, but above all the Redeemer, the Savior, who by His death delivered us from death and sin. And from this arises a question of essential importance: do we have the right and the foundation to consider Christ the Redeemer?

It is known that L.N. Tolstoy regarded the doctrine of redemption as a harmful superstition, and he was not alone in this view. “There is no doubt whatsoever that this doctrine appears to the majority of modern people as sheer absurdity, an incredible medieval superstition…” (Gerhard Gilbert).

In essence, the significance of death as a great feat, as an event of major moral import, is acknowledged even by those of non-ecclesiastical views.

“Nations,” says Paulsen, “live because the best and most self-sacrificing, the strongest and purest among them, offer themselves up for them. The highest blessings possessed by humanity have been won by such individuals, and in gratitude for this they were subjected to scorn, exile, and even death. The history of humanity is a history of martyrdom: the text for the sermon called the history of humanity is taken from the fifty-third chapter of the Prophet Isaiah.

“If one delves into history, it will become clear that the sufferings of the righteous and the pure are the salvation within history, that the decisive moments of its forward movement are not words but deeds — and not merely deeds, but deeds full of sacrifice — and even not merely deeds full of sacrifice, but the sacrifice of one’s own life. In this sense, I believe that, however foreign to us all theories of redemption may be, only a few of us will deny the inner justice and truth of the words we find in the fifty-third chapter of Isaiah: ‘Surely He hath borne our griefs and carried our sorrows,’” says Harnack.

Yet, granting full justice to this acknowledgment of the moral meaning of sacrifice, we must, of course, say that this is not how we understand redemption.

On the cross of Golgotha, it was not merely a hero who suffered, one who sacrificed himself to strengthen the power of his teaching or his truth. We believe that on Golgotha was accomplished the mystery of the redemption of sin, the destruction of the power of sin and death.

How could another’s death — the death of Christ — become the redemption “of my sin”?

To assert, as some Western theologians do, that redemption was not accomplished in the death of Christ but in His teaching, and that His death was merely an example and a sermon, is absolutely not permitted by the clear meaning of Scripture. Let us take its most expressive passages. In the Gospels it is said that the Son of Man came not to be ministered unto, but to minister and to give His life as a ransom for many (Matthew 20:28; cf. Mark 10:45). The full force of this passage lies in the word “ransom,” which is the translation of the Hebrew kofer and denotes:

• The ransom payment for the firstborn, who by law were dedicated to the service of God and could be redeemed for money paid into the temple treasury (Numbers 18:15–16);

• The redemption price for prisoners of war and slaves (Leviticus 19:20; 25:51; cf. 1 Corinthians 6:20; 7:23);

• The fine or ransom price for a criminal who, according to the law, was bound to undergo punishment — even sometimes death: a known monetary payment, whose amount was precisely determined for each case in the law, could free one from punishment (Exodus 21:30; Numbers 30:31–32; Proverbs 6:30–35; 13:8; Psalm 48:8–9);

• An atoning sacrifice for sins (Psalm 48:8–9).

Thus, Jesus Christ by His death gave a ransom for us.

We were bound to bear death as punishment for our sins; but His death became the ransom, the means by which we were freed from death as the punishment for sin.

In the words of the institution of the sacrament of the Eucharist (Matthew 26:26–28; Mark 14:22; 1 Corinthians 11:23–25), the meaning of Christ’s death on the Cross is revealed even more clearly as the means of the forgiveness of sins, and an indication of its sacrificial character is given. Here the death on the Cross is compared to the Old Testament sacrifice by the words: “This is My Blood of the New Covenant,” namely, the so-called Covenant Sacrifice which Moses offered on behalf of the people when concluding the covenant with God at Mount Sinai. To the blood of sacrificial bulls under the Old Covenant, Christ opposes His own Blood of the New Covenant. It is shed “for us,” for many — that is, it is a vicarious sacrifice.

The death on the Cross is also associated with the Paschal sacrifice. In the writings of the holy Apostle John, Christ “bears the sins of the world, our sins” (John 1:29, 36; 1 John 3:5). To bear the sins of the world means to take upon oneself the guilt, to transfer the sins onto oneself. “Ye know that He was manifested to take away our sins, and in Him is no sin” (1 John 3:5). In the Apostle Paul (Galatians 3:13), Christ redeemed us from the curse of the Law, becoming a curse for us — that is, falling under condemnation in our stead. “But Christ being come an High Priest of good things to come… by His own Blood He entered in once into the holy places, having obtained eternal redemption for us” (Hebrews 9:11).

Also, in the Epistle to the Ephesians: “Christ hath loved us, and hath given Himself for us an offering and a sacrifice to God” (5:2).

And again: “The Blood of Christ shall purge your conscience from dead works” (Hebrews 9:14), meaning from the deeds belonging to sin. “Whom God hath set forth to be a propitiation through faith in His Blood, to declare His righteousness for the remission of sins that are past” (Romans 3:25). And thus the precise conclusion drawn from Scripture is presented in the words of St. Athanasius the Great in his work On the Incarnation of the Word of God: “The death of the Son of God was necessary; there necessarily had to be a death on behalf of all men, because it was necessary to pay the general debt lying upon all men…”

Such a view is clearly expressed in liturgical hymns and in the confessions of faith: “For Christ the Lord, though innocent, suffered and died for the sake of our deliverance from sins, and poured out His precious Blood: as the holy Apostle Peter says, ‘Knowing that ye were not redeemed with corruptible things, as silver and gold, from your vain conversation received by tradition from your fathers, but with the precious Blood of Christ, as of a lamb without blemish and without spot’” (Small Catechism).

Thus, the sacrifice is a ransom, redemption. But how is this ransom possible? From whom did the Lord ransom us?

The first answer to this question was given by St. Irenaeus of Lyons. According to his understanding, the Savior ransomed people from the one who held them captive — that is, from the devil. Among Western theologians, Tertullian inclined toward this view, and among the Easterners, Origen. But this view completely contradicts the clear teaching of Holy Scripture, which speaks of victory over the devil, the destruction of his power, and nowhere of a ransom to him or a treaty with him. For example: “Forasmuch then as the children are partakers of flesh and blood, He also Himself likewise took part of the same; that through death He might destroy him that had the power of death, that is, the devil; and deliver them who through fear of death were all their lifetime subject to bondage” (Hebrews 2:14–15).

Therefore, this view provoked a sharp refutation by St. Gregory the Theologian (Nazianzus): “If the price of the ransom was given to no other than the one who held us in his power, then I ask: to whom and for what reason was such a price offered? If to the evil one, then how outrageous! The robber receives the ransom, receives not only from God but of God Himself!”

Thus, then, was the ransom offered either to God in the Trinity or to God the Father.

St. Gregory answers: “If to the Father, then why? We were not held captive by Him. And furthermore, why should the Blood of the Only-Begotten be pleasing to the Father, when He did not accept even Isaac, who was being offered by his own father, but instead substituted the sacrifice, providing a ram in place of the rational victim?”

And he concludes: “Is it not evident, therefore, that the Father accepts the sacrifice not because He demanded it or had need of it, but out of the divine economy — and precisely because mankind needed to be sanctified by the humanity of God?”

This answer of St. Gregory the Theologian provides the first guiding thread in the doctrine of redemption. The death of Christ is redemption from the bonds of sin and death — but not in the sense of a payment either to the devil or to the Father, but in the sense of the sanctification of mankind through union with the God-Man in nature and in voluntary self-crucifixion. Thus the holy Father emphasized that God needed and accepted not an external offering — for such an offering could not propitiate God, nor was it necessary for Him — but rather the sacrifice of Christ as a sacrifice that heals man through the obedience of the Son of God.

The love of God could not admit sinners into communion with Himself without making them righteous, without sanctifying them, for otherwise it would not have bestowed upon them the blessedness to which they could not be naturally capable. Love and holiness are mutually complementary aspects of the Divine Being: the love of God must be, and can only be, a holy love. Consequently, it demands holiness from man, whom it seeks to bless; it demands liberation from sin, the removal of sin.

Yet the annihilation of sin could only be achieved through the denial of sin, of its very essence and root — namely, the self-willed direction of man’s will, the death to his selfish “I.” Only such a state of man — the opposite of the “state of sin” — could be the sign of his complete turning toward God, of his perfect obedience and love toward Him. And reconciliation with God is possible only through such a rebirth of man, through the renunciation of the “God-opposing” Adam, through the mortification of sin within oneself.

Since such a rebirth for a man living in sin is a difficult and painful self-crucifixion, it may be said that the love of God required sacrifice, a sacrificial offering on the part of man — not as a satisfaction to God, but because a loving turning of the sinner toward God could not be accomplished without this offering of oneself to God, without sacrificial self-renunciation, without a “sacrifice of repentance.” Man had to conquer and annihilate his hostility toward God, his God-opposing nature, in order to destroy the separation. “It is not God who is hostile toward us, but we who are hostile toward Him…” (Chrysostom).

However, it is evident that man, having corrupted his will through sin, poisoned both in soul and body by sin, could not offer such a sacrifice. For him, rebellion and reconciliation with God were impossible. Thus, the Lord Himself offered such a “sacrifice of repentance” on behalf of all humanity.

At first glance, this sacrificial offering seems even less comprehensible than the idea of a formal ransom. Therefore, even after St. Gregory the Theologian, theology neglected his teaching and advanced once more the view he had already rejected. Western theology adopted the theory of Anselm of Canterbury.

“Man,” reasoned Anselm, “has infinitely offended the majesty of God’s justice and therefore must be punished.”

“The restoration of the honor stolen from God by man’s transgression could have occurred through the punishment of sinners, for just as sin robs God of His due, so punishment takes away what belongs to the sinner. But God did not choose this path to restore His honor, for then His honor would have been restored without the will and consent of the creature, that is, forcibly. Satisfaction, or reparation for the dishonor, must consist of merits beyond mere obligation, capable of compensating for the insult. Yet man could not offer such satisfaction, because whatever he might do to please God, he is already bound to do — it is his duty. The satisfaction corresponding fully to man’s infinite guilt could only be offered by God, who stands above all creatures. And since satisfaction had to be rendered on behalf of mankind, the one who offered it had to be not only God, but also man — that is, the God-Man.” (Anselm of Canterbury’s theory).

This view was later adopted by the theology of the Russian dominant Church:
“In the person of Christ, man, through perfect obedience to God, atoned for his former disobedience, and through His sufferings redeemed his transgression. Man himself could not have accomplished anything like this; but when it pleased the Son of God to unite human nature to Himself in hypostatic union, then in Him man was able to offer — and did offer — to God such satisfaction for his guilt as not only equaled his moral debt (as sin is called in the Word of God) but infinitely surpassed it: for it was man who sinned, but it was the God-Man who died for him.

Such a sacrifice is incomparable, and by it were acquired for us the most abundant gifts of God’s grace, which, poured out upon the humanity of our Savior, are through Him poured out upon all the faithful; and of His fullness have we all received, grace for grace — that is, grace upon grace, an endless series of God’s gifts, beginning with the grace of rebirth in baptism and culminating in the eternal blessedness of union with God,” — thus develops this thought the theology of the dominant Church.

Yet this theory raises perplexity precisely in the respect in which St. Gregory the Theologian pointed out its unorthodoxy. It is true that God’s justice demands retribution, redemption — that is correct. Those are wrong who think that the Lord could forgive man’s sin without any retribution. In that case, God would not be pure Justice. Sin is a violation of the moral world-order, and order, as we have said, must be restored; peace in the moral realm must become a “cosmos” — an ordered and harmonious whole. Of course, it is not required for the restoration of order that there be punishment in the human sense of the word, as an act of vengeance; but it is necessary that sin be extracted, washed away, annihilated within man, for only then is union with God, reconciliation with Him, possible, which is equivalent to forgiveness.

But in the view described, satisfaction to God is clearly understood as a purely external, juridical act, necessary only so that God might not impute sin to man. Here, sin is not eradicated in man, he is not purified from sin — rather, sin is simply not counted against him, not imputed to him. And forgiveness is granted, not because of an inner transformation of man, but for the sake of a sacrificial act performed by another, without any unfolding of the thought that humanity itself must also participate in this sacrifice.

To smooth over the confusions of such a view — already rejected by the thought of the Church — the theory of representation was advanced. Christ, the new progenitor of humanity, or, as the Apostle says, the Second Man (1 Corinthians 15:45), from whom we are born by grace as we are born from the first man by nature, and from whom we inherit justification just as from Adam we inherited condemnation… He represented in His Person all humanity; He was its substitute (Favorev).

This thought is defended rather skillfully. The idea of representation, they say, is entirely acceptable to moral consciousness. No one can precisely determine how much of the guilt in a given person’s crime belongs to him individually, and how much of the responsibility falls upon society, upon those around him, upon humanity itself. In every sinful deed, there is an inseparable intertwining of individual will and communal will. A man is never simply an isolated being: he constantly lives only in humanity and with humanity. This applies also to the moral sphere: there exists a common guilt in which every person participates both actively and passively; everyone, in his measure, bears responsibility for it, and therefore must also suffer for it together with others. Since humanity forms a single whole, there have always been representatives — individuals who have fulfilled, on behalf of others, the tasks that properly belong to the whole. This must be said also of other vocations: artists, scholars, farmers, and craftsmen not only perform their own individual work, but also labor for others, for their entire class. Such representation, in a certain measure, exists even in the moral sphere: a father is the representative of his family; a ruler, of his people; they resolve moral questions on behalf of society and bear moral responsibility for others. It is fitting to say: what the ruler is to his people, Christ is to humanity. He is its natural and active representative: as such, He took upon Himself the guilt for the sake of His brethren.

One might ask: what moral right did He have to do this?

According to E. Hartmann, He had no “lawful collective relation to the whole of humanity.” But Scripture sees this right in the fact that He is the Messiah: this was the vocation appointed to Him by God. As the Messiah, the resolution of humanity’s moral and religious task became His personal mission: what each man individually owed to God, He offered to God on behalf of others. In our time, people look with disdain upon this conception of the Messiah held by Israel. But do not the facts of history justify it in reality? Has not the “Messiah” Jesus acquired moral significance for the whole human race? The task of the “Messiah” is twofold: He must be the Judge and the Savior of the world. Now Jesus Christ, with irresistible power, gains dominion over the conscience of every person. At the same time, He more and more becomes the Judge of the world. This fact proves that this unimaginably high right of Jesus must have an objective foundation: whoever has become the Judge of the world can also be the Savior of the world. Some even add that, as the Creator, God could take upon Himself the responsibility for the sins of the world, as the one who brought the world into existence (S. Nikolin, Course of Dogmatic Theology).

There is undoubted sense and some truth in these thoughts (except for the clearly blasphemous last point). However, it cannot be said that they fully satisfy the mind and moral consciousness. Christ, the representative of all humanity, the second Adam — this is true. He is the Messiah, the Leader and King. But the death of the King for the people does not, by itself, make the people — perishing in their sins — righteous; it does not remove their sin. The personal conscience of each individual, under such mere substitution, remains untouched — or, if changed at all, it changes only morally under the influence of the act of self-sacrifice. Thus, the death of Christ, as the representative of humanity, would be not redemption for the people, but only a call to them to a new life, a renunciation of the life that had driven their Representative to offer Himself as a sacrifice to mark their unrighteousness. It would be not a sanctification, such as the holy thought of Gregory the Theologian demands, but only a proclamation of sanctification.

Clearly, the teaching about representation needs some complement. The holy Fathers, fully continuing the thought of St. Gregory, expounded those foundations which render the teaching of representation profound and comprehensible. They explain that Christ not only represented humanity but enclosed it within Himself, within His death, so that in His sacrificial act of repentance humanity itself participated.

The doctrine of the imputation of redemption, as developed by St. Athanasius the Great, is profound. He understands the connection of Christ with humanity not merely in a genetic, generic sense — that is, not only in the fact that all people have common natural traits with the man Jesus — but in the sense of a mystical union. “The Lord, by assuming a body like unto all others, destroyed death by means of a like body, remaining united with all.”

“Christ is the vine, and we are, as it were, the branches, united to Him not by the essence of the Godhead (for that is impossible), but also by His humanity, because the branches must be of like nature with Him.”

Here, for now, the word “likeness” is still not entirely clear, but further on this penetration of Christ’s humanity into the nature of all men is explained by St. Athanasius with the Platonic term participation. “We,” he says, “partake of His Body, we become one body, having in ourselves the one Lord.”

The Body of Christ is inherent in human bodies, as a universal concept contains within itself every particular instance of the same kind. Christ did not assume an individual human person, but the entire nature of humanity. He accepted humanity into eternal union with Himself, so that it (redeemed) became in Him the eternal body of God. As you can see, all these statements coincide with the teaching about the Church as the Body of Christ. What does St. Athanasius wish to express? In this way: that the Lord, by assuming human flesh, did not merely unite with it morally, nor merely represent it as a Messiah or King, but mystically became the Head of humanity, of all mankind, enclosing them within Himself.

All humanity (joined to Him) was raised up upon the Cross along with its sin and impurity.

To be continued

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