How I Lost My Orthodoxy

This past Sunday at AUUF the sermon topic was "Atonement." A strange topic in a UU setting, some might think, but it reminded me of a major shift in my thinking that happened during my last semester at Princeton Seminary.

It's all about choices sometimes. I registered for an upper level theology class in "Atonement Theory." Without that choice, made predominantly for practical reasons, so much would be different.

Before taking the class, I had a vague understanding of atonement theory. We had covered the topic, of course, in two required introductory theology courses. But most of my knowledge of atonement came from the "Christ died for my sins" theology of my childhood and adolescence. That theology as so ingrained into the fibers of my worldview that a cursory introduction to alternate atonement theories barely registered.

A whole semester devoted to the topic, however, was another matter. There it was, laid out clearly by a professor who was as meticulous as he was tall (and he was very, very tall). Theory one--moral influence. Jesus saves us by the power of his moral influence (his teachings and manner of life). Theory two--substitutionary atonement. Jesus saves us by bearing the punishment we deserved (death). Theory three--Christus Victor. Jesus saves us by defeating the power of sin and death (as evidenced by his resurrection).

Three theories, and to my astonishment, I discovered that none of them made any sense to me.

Moral influence--didn't work for me. After all, there have been many spiritual teachers who have wielded a significant amount of moral influence. At that point in time, I figured Christianity was supposed to be, if not the one and only, then at least the best of the bunch. Moral influence leveled the playing field of world religions at a time when I much more interested in having my team win.

Christus Victor--again, didn't do much for me. My other classes were chipping away at the so-called virgin birth, Jesus' healings and other miracles, and even the resurrection. If the resurrection was nothing but the disciples' memory-turned-metaphor, then the proof was not in this pudding. Besides, it was clear to me that sin and death had certainly not been defeated.

And then there was substitionary or vicarious atonement--the one that had been unquestionable. I can still remember what it felt like when I realized that this, too, was bankrupt. It was like being jettisoned out the space lock and floating aimlessly in the dark.

I realized that I simply did not believe it was possible to transfer guilt. If I robbed a bank, and a friend of mine took the blame (and the prison time), how does that make sense? I have had no chance bear--and perhaps learn from--the penalty of my crime. An innocent person has been incarcerated. And the justice system has been duped. Considering that the justice system in this metaphor, both judge and jury, is God, it made little sense to me to put my faith in a theory that relied on God being duped.

So I was left with nothing, for a good long time. Which was a tricky situation for a Presbyterian minister. A lot of "blood of the Lamb" hymns to suffer through without rolling my eyes. Good Friday sermons to preach without horrifying the listeners or lying to myself.

I found solace a few years ago in a book by Rita Nakashima Brock and Rebecca Parker, called Proverbs of Ashes. It was reassuring to know that other people felt like I did about the absurd violence of substitutionary atonement theory.

As I look back on this journey, I find myself most comfortable in the moral influence camp. Not because I believe that Jesus saves us in any way. I believe that we are responsible for saving ourselves, and for helping others. Jesus was saving himself by following his own spiritual path, and in so doing, he helped us.

When I was in seminary, I needed a superpower (God) and a superteam (Christianity). I thought that I was weak and powerless, that I needed a powerful rescuer, and a powerful fortress within which to hide.

It's not that I have delusions of grandeur these days. I know my weaknesses very well. But I am also aware of the power within me, and within each person, just waiting to be tapped. And while I know that terrible things happen--to good and bad people alike--that knowledge doesn't make me want to cower in a fortress.

Life is what we make it, one choice at a time. We live with the consequences of our choices, and the choices that other people make. Sometimes that means ripples of good fortune come our way, and sometimes that means ripples of illness, destruction and death.

I like my theories small these days. They're less trouble that way when they're no longer useful, when it's time for them to be carted to the recycling center.