Faith and the Gospel—Part 1

There is now living a Savior who is worthy of our trust, even Christ Jesus the Lord, and a deadly need of our souls for which we come to Him, namely, the curse of God’s law, the terrible guilt of sin. But these things are not all that is needed in order that we may have faith. It is also necessary that there should be contact between the Savior and our need. Christ is a sufficient Savior; but what has He done, and what will He do, not merely for the men who were with Him in the days of His flesh, but for us? How is it that Christ touches our lives?

The answer which the Word of God gives to that question is perfectly specific and perfectly plain. Christ touches our lives, according to the New Testament, through the cross. We deserved eternal death, in accordance with the curse of God’s law; but the Lord Jesus, because He loved us, took upon Himself the guilt of our sins and died instead of us on Calvary. And faith consists simply in our acceptance of that wondrous gift. When we accept the gift, we are clothed, entirely without merit of our own, by the righteousness of Christ; when God looks upon us, He sees not our impurity but the spotless purity of Christ, and accepts us as “righteous in His sight, only for the righteousness of Christ imputed to us, and received by faith alone.”

That view of the Cross, it cannot be denied, runs counter to the mind of the natural man. It is not, indeed, complicated or obscure; on the contrary, it is so simple that a child can understand, and what is really obscure is manifold modern effort to explain the cross away in such fashion as to make it more agreeable to human pride. But certainly it is mysterious, and certainly it demands for its acceptance a tremendous sense of sin and guilt.

That sense of sin and guilt, that moral awakening of a soul dead in sin, is the work of the Spirit of God; without the Spirit of God, no human persuasion will ever bring men to faith. But that does not mean that we should be careless about the ways in which we proclaim the Gospel: because the proclamation of the message is insufficient to induce faith, it does not follow that it is unnecessary; on the contrary, it is the means which the Spirit Himself graciously uses in bringing men to Christ. Every effort, therefore, should be made, with the help of God, to remove objections to this “word of the cross” and to present it in all its gracious power.

No systematic effort can indeed here be made to deal with the objections. All that can be done is to mention one or two of them, in order that our present point, that the cross of Christ is the special basis of Christian faith, may become plain.

In the first place, then, the view of the cross which has just been outlined is often belittled as being merely a “theory of the atonement.” We can have the fact of the atonement, it is said, no matter what particular theory of it we hold, and indeed even without holding any particular theory at all. So this substitutionary view, it is said, is after all only one theory among many.

This objection is based upon a mistaken view of the distinction between fact and theory, and upon a somewhat ambiguous use of the word “theory”. What is meant by a “theory”? Undoubtedly the word often has rather an unfavorable sound; and the use of it in the present connection might seem to imply that the view of the atonement which is designated as a “theory” is a mere effort of man to explain in his own way what God has given. But might not God have revealed the “theory” of a thing just as truly as the thing itself; might He not Himself have given the explanation when He gave the thing? In that case, the explanation just as much as the thing itself comes to us with divine authority and it is impossible to accept one without the other.

We have not yet, however, quite penetrated to the heart of the matter. Men say that they accept the fact of the atonement without accepting the substitutionary theory of it, and indeed without being sure of any theory at all. The trouble with this attitude is that the moment we say “atonement” we have already overstepped a line that separates fact from theory; an “atonement”, even in the most general and most indefinite sense that could conceivably be given to the word, cannot possibly be a mere fact, but is a fact as explained by its purpose and results. If we say that an event was an “atonement” for sin or an “atonement” in the sense of an establishment of harmony between God and man, we have done more than designate the mere external event; we have designated the event with an explanation of its meaning.

So the atonement wrought by Christ can never be a bare fact, in the sense with which we are now dealing. The bare fact is simply the death of a Jew upon a cross in the first century of our era, and that bare fact is entirely without value to anyone; what gives it its value is the explanation of it as a means by which the sinful man was brought into the presence of God. It is impossible for us to obtain the slightest benefit from a mere contemplation of the death of Christ; all benefit comes from our knowledge of the meaning of that death, or in other words (if the term is used in a high sense) from the “theory” of it. If, therefore, we speak of the bare “fact” of the atonement, as distinguished from the “theory” of it, we are indulging in a misleading use of words; the bare fact is the death, and the moment we say “atonement” we have committed ourselves to a theory. The important thing, then, is, since we must have some theory, that the particular theory that we hold shall be correct.

But, it may be said, might not God really have accomplished some wonderful thing by the death of Christ without revealing to us, except in the most general terms, what it was? Might He not have told us simply that our salvation depends upon the death of Christ without at all telling us why that is so? We answer that He certainly might have done so; but the question is whether He has actually done so. There are many things which He might conceivably have done and yet has not actually done. Conceivably, for example, He might have saved us by placing us in a condition of unconsciousness and then awakening us to a new life in which sin should have no place. But it is perfectly plain that as a matter of fact He has not done so; and even we, without poor finite intelligence, may perhaps see that His way is better than that.

He might conceivably have treated us thus. But, thank God, He has not done so; thank God He has been pleased, in His infinite grace, to deal with us not as with sticks and stones, but as with persons; thank God He has been pleased to reveal to us in the cross of Christ a meaning that stills the despairing voice of conscience and puts in our hearts a song of joy that shall resound to His praise so long as eternity endures.

That richness of meaning is found only in the blessed doctrine that upon the cross the Lord took our place, that He offered Himself “a sacrifice to satisfy divine justice, and reconcile us to God.” There are indeed other ways of contemplating the cross, and they should certainly not be neglected by the Christian man. But it is a sad and fatal mistake to treat those other ways as though they lay on the same plane with this one fundamental way; in reality the other “theories” of the atonement lose all their meaning unless they are taken in connection with this one blessed “theory.” The other ways are full of helpfulness to the Christian man; but without it, they lead only to confusion and despair.

Thus the cross of Christ is certainly a noble example of self-sacrifice; but if it be only that, it has no comfort for burdened souls. It certainly shows how God hates sin; but if it does nothing else, it only deepens our despair. It certainly exhibits the love of God; but if that alone, it is a mere meaningless exhibition which seems unworthy of God. Many things are taught us by the cross; but the other things are taught us only if the really central meaning is preserved. On the cross the penalty of our sins was paid; it is as though we ourselves had died in fulfillment of the just curse of the law; the handwriting of ordinances that was against us was wiped out; and henceforth we have an entirely new life in the full favor of God.

There is, however, another objection to this “word of the cross.” The objection comes from those who place faith in a person in opposition to acceptance of a doctrine, especially a doctrine based upon what happened long ago. Can we not, it is said, trust Christ as a present Savior without accepting a doctrine that explains the death that He died in the first century of our era? This question, in one form or another, is often asked, and it is often answered in the affirmative. Indeed, the doctrinal message about Christ is often represented as a barrier that needs to be done away in order that we may have Christ Himself; faith in a doctrine should be removed, it is said, in order that faith in a person may remain.

Whatever estimate may finally be made of this way of thinking, it must at any rate be admitted at the start that it involves a complete break with the primitive Christian Church. If any one thing must be clear to the historian, it is that Christianity at the beginning was founded squarely upon an account of things that had happened, upon a piece of news, or in other words, upon a “gospel”. The matter is particularly clear in the summary which Paul gives of the primitive Jerusalem tradition in 1 Corinthians 15:3-7: “How that Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures; and that He was buried, and that He rose again the third day according to the Scriptures.”

The earliest Christian Church in Jerusalem clearly was founded not merely upon what always was true but upon things that had happened, not merely upon eternal truths of religion but upon historical facts. The historical facts upon which it was founded were, moreover, not bare facts but facts that had a meaning; it was not only said that “Christ died”—that would be (at least if the word “Christ” were taken as a mere proper name and not in the full, lofty signification of “Messiah”) a bare fact—but it was said, “Christ died for our sins,” and that was a fact with the meaning of the fact. In other words, it was a doctrine.

This passage is of course not isolated in the New Testament teaching, but it is merely a summary of what is really the presupposition of the whole. Certainly the grounding of Christianity upon historical facts, upon events as distinguished from mere eternal principles, cannot be regarded as a point in which the apostolic Church was in contradiction to the teaching which Jesus Himself gave in the days of His flesh, but finds its justification in the words which Jesus uttered. Of course if Jesus really, as the New Testament books all represent, came—to use the language of a certain distinguished preacher—not primarily to say something but to do something, and if that something was done by His death and resurrection, then it is natural that the full explanation of what was done could not be given until the death and resurrection had occurred.

It is a great mistake, therefore, to regard the Sermon on the Mount as somehow more sacred or more necessary to the nurture of the Christian life than, for example, the eighth chapter of Romans. But although the full explanation of redemption could not be given until the redeeming event had taken place, yet our Lord did, by way of prophecy, even in the days of His flesh, point forward to what was to come. He did point forward to catastrophic events by which salvation was to be given to all men; all efforts to eliminate this element in His teaching about the Kingdom of God have failed. During Jesus’ earthly ministry the redeeming work which the Old Testament prophets had predicted was still in the future; to the apostolic Church it was in the past; but both Jesus and the apostolic Church did proclaim, the one by way of prophecy, the other by historical testimony, an event upon which the hopes of believers were based.

Thus the notion that insistence upon the message of redemption through the death and resurrection of our Lord places a barrier between ourselves and Him was not shared by the earliest Christian Church; on the contrary, in the apostolic age that message was regarded as the source of all light and joy. And in the present instance, as in so many other instances, it can be shown that the apostles (and our Lord Himself) were right.

The truth is that the whole opposition between faith in a person and acceptance of a message about the person must be given up. It is based, as we have already seen, upon a false psychology; a person cannot be trusted without acceptance of the facts about the person. But in the case of Jesus the notion is particularly false; for it is just the message about Jesus, the message that sets forth His cross and resurrection, that brings us into contact with Him. Without that message He would be forever remote—a great person, but one with whom we could have no communion—but through that message He comes to be our Savior. True communion with Christ comes not when a man merely says, in contemplating the cross, “This was a righteous man,” or “This was a son of God,” but when he says with tears of gratitude and joy, “He loved me and gave Himself for me.”

There is a wonderful clause in the Westminster Shorter Catechism which puts the true state of the case in classic form. “Faith in Jesus Christ,” says the Catechism, “is a saving grace, whereby we receive and rest upon Him alone for salvation, as He is offered to us in the Gospel.” In that last clause, we have the center and core of the whole matter. The Lord Jesus Christ does us no good, no matter how great He may be, unless He is offered to us; and as a matter of fact, He is offered to us in the good news of His redeeming work. There are other conceivable ways in which He might have been offered to us; but this has the advantage of being God’s way. And I rather think that in the long run, we may come to see that God’s way is best.

At the beginning, it is true, there may be much that we cannot understand; there are things about the way of salvation that we may at first have to take in the fullest sense “on faith.” The greatest offense of all, perhaps, is the wondrous simplicity of the Gospel, which is so different from the plans which we on our part had made. Like Naaman the Syrian, we are surprised when our rich fees and our letters of introduction are spurned, when all our efforts to save ourselves by our own character or our own good works are counted as not of the slightest avail. “Are not Abana and Pharpar, rivers of Damascus,” we say, “better than all the waters of Israel?” Are not our own efforts to put into operation the “principles of Jesus” or to “make Christ master” by our own efforts in our lives, better than this strange message of the cross? But like Naaman we may find, if we put away our pride, if we are willing to take God at His word, if we confess that His way is best, that our flesh, so foul with sin may come again like the flesh of a little child and we may be clean.

And then will be revealed to us the fuller wonders of salvation; then as the years go by, we shall come to understand ever more and more the glory of the cross. It may seem strange at first that Christ should be offered to us not in some other way, but so specially in this way; but as we grow in knowledge and in grace we shall come to see with increasing fullness that no way could possibly be better than this. Christ is offered to us not in general but in the Gospel; but in the Gospel, there is included all the heart of man can wish.

J. Gresham Machen (1881-1937) was a prominent theologian best remembered for being the intellectual force of conservative opposition to liberal theology in American denominations during the early 20^th Century. He was a professor of New Testament at Princeton Theological Seminary from 1915 to 1929, after which time he left the school in revolt against the school’s prevailing liberalism and founded Westminster Theological Seminary. In addition to his tireless work in preserving and defending the faith, he wrote a textbook of New Testament Greek which is still widely used by seminaries today.

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