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I just found out that in that that great theological fondue pot that is my mind, I have come to a conclusion that is shared with Karl Barth, kind of. (I guess that means that if I’m a heretic, at least I’m a semi-respectable heretic.)  For those who don’t know of Barth, he was a Swiss Reformed theologian that I have many disagreements with (being he was Reformed, for one thing). But, he may have come up with an analysis of election (the belief that God chooses who he will save) that fits in with some of my own thoughts.

Election, free will, and all that jazz

Part of the whole free will / predestination issue, as Philip Cary explains in the audio series I’m listening to, is that popular views on the issue eventually have to conclude that if God did indeed predestine people, then God has also chosen not to save some people. This is a doctrine known as double predestination. In other words, in the event you’re not a Christian, there’s a good chance that God didn’t choose you anyway (so apparently you are in a kind of agreement with God on this point).

The Gospel then is only “good news” (what the word gospel means) for some. It’s obviously very bad news for those who aren’t chosen (at least from the point of view of those predestined for salvation). And, since free will seems kind of a bust (as I discussed in my prior post), then we’re stuck with this Good News/bad news situation.

Who was elected?

Karl Barth proposed that both Luther and Calvin (and Augustine) were wrong in their interpretation of the Jacob and Esau story as discussed in Romans 9:6-14, which is a key part to any discussion on being chosen. The prophecy about the twins (Gen. 25:23), Barth said, was never meant to be about Jacob and Esau personally, but about their descendants the Jews and the not-Jews. Consider the prophecy:

“Two nations are in your womb,
and two peoples from within you will be separated;
one people will be stronger than the other,
and the older will serve the younger.”

Nations. According to Barth, election is always about Israel (the original nation, not necessarily the current U.N.-created state). This reading of the Jacob-Esau story fits incredibly well with a lot of what Jesus and Paul discuss in the NT.

This removes this passage from any discussion of individual salvation and destiny, and also moves the discussion into one of purpose. As we see in the last line of the verse, it is Israel’s calling to serve non-Israel.

What it means to be chosen

Over the last few years as I have been reading and studying, I had started to wonder if we have misunderstood what it means to be chosen. As Tevye pointed out in Fiddler on the Roof, it’s not necessarily a blessing to be chosen. In fact, to think it is a blessing might be to miss the point completely.

What if the point of being chosen was not to bless those who are chosen, but for them to bless others? Israel would not have been elected to be blessed, but rather as a vehicle to bless everyone else. In other words, Israel was to not only be a custodian of God’s promises but a messenger or tool for God to achieve his global agenda. In this way all nations will be blessed through Israel (Gen. 18:18), and provides a new context for “I will bless those who bless you (Gen. 27:29).” Israel was chosen, so that you and I (assuming you’re a gentile) could be blessed; a Good News/Good News scenario.

Back to Barth

So, according to Barth, Augustine and therefore both Luther and Calvin were wrong about election, both in scope and purpose, and I think he makes a compelling argument (from what little I know—Barth also believed that the only one who was truly “elect” was Christ, which I have a harder time with). I can see why Barth has been accused of leaning in a universalist direction, as his interpretation of election removes any notion that God has predestined some for damnation. The non-elect are not the damned; rather, they are those for whom the blessings given to Israel (and now the church) are intended. This, however, doesn’t seem to rule out the option that both the elect or the non-elect could have the option of rejecting God’s calling and blessing.

This gives a different spin to the statement, “Many are called, but few are chosen.”

My grasp on these issues is tenuous at best, but I will keep struggling through. It’s a good thing I enjoy theology. As the church lady character on SNL might say, “Well isn’t that special.”

“Mankind has a free will; but it is free to milk cows and to build houses, nothing more.” ~Martin Luther

Contrary to Luther, I believe in free will. I always have. It’s possible, I guess, that I was designed to believe in free will, but I don’t think so. When Peter says, “His divine power has given us everything we need for a godly life through our knowledge of him who called us by his own glory and goodness (2 Peter 1:3),” I believe him. I believe this means that God has given us what we need to make good choices, and the free will to make really stupid choices. For the most part, the quality of our lives are dependent upon our choices (and, of course, the choices of others).

Obviously, there are those who God has chosen for specific purposes, like Abraham, Jacob, John the Baptist, Paul, and so on. Oh, and the Jews. And, for that matter, us. But, within that destiny, we have a certain amount of choice (not that it did Jonah any good). While I believe (perhaps in vain) in free will, it is clear that the Bible also teaches that we are predestined. This tension has never bothered me; it merely indicates that either I don’t know enough, or that I actually do know enough [to recognize the tension].

Saved by what?

The question of free will becomes more important as we discuss salvation. Are we predestined to be saved, or does our salvation completely depend upon the rhetorical skills of an evangelist (with the help of the Holy Spirit, of course) and our decision to believe or not to believe?

Our reaction to this question often seems to come down to our inability to acknowledge that God might not have to ask us whether to save us or not—it’s not so much a theological issue so much as an emotional one. The mere concept of not having free will is offensive to our modern Western sensibilities.

Face it—no one asked you.

Last week I started thinking about this and realized something very key: no one ever asked me if I wanted to be born in the first place. This is my birth I’m talking about, and I had no input into it whatsoever. Nada. Not just where I’d be born or into what conditions I’d be born, but just being born. I didn’t even have a say about whether I was a boy or a girl. So, considering how little I had to say about my existence so far, how can I build any sort of argument at all that God should ask for my opinion concerning what happens next? (As Paul said, “what right does the clay have to talk back to the potter?”)

The Bible—Jesus himself, for that matter—says a lot of things about those who believe being saved. But then we also have Jesus statement in John 6:44, “No one can come to me unless the Father who sent me draws them, and I will raise them up at the last day.” Our belief, it seems, is at best a response to what God is already doing; our free will—when it comes to salvation—may merely be “going along for the ride.”

I guess the logical conclusion is that when all is said and done, it doesn’t really matter whether I believe in free will or not; so far, God hasn’t asked my opinions about too many things.

I’ve been listening to Phillip Cary’s series Luther: Gospel, Law and Reformation from The Teaching Company.  As I’ve said before, I was raised Lutheran (what used to be the LCA Synod). When I was 12 or so, I learned Reformation history as part of my confirmation classes (Can you believe 2 years of study in order to be confirmed?  What an amazing education!). But, though I remember some of it (the Diet of Worms always stands out), 12 was a long time ago.

Although I’ve read some here or there over the years (and watched the movie Luther a few times), I am just now getting what I feel is a half decent grasp of what really went on during the Reformation and the theological issues involved. And, besides understanding Luther better, I’m also getting a bit better grasp on Calvin, Zwingli and the other heretics Reformed crowd.

We are not to rest on our faith

While C and Z agreed with the Lutherans on the three major solas (sola fide, sola gratia, sola Scriptura), Lutheran theology sets itself apart by maintaining that even though we are saved by faith alone (sola fide), we are not to depend on our faith.

Luther’s thinking here is, I think, nothing short of brilliant. If we somehow start to think that our faith saves us, it raises the question, “how much faith is enough?”  Did we really believe, or did we only think we believed? Perhaps we should get baptized again, just in case. This could go on indefinitely as we try to determine if our faith was good enough.

For Luther, the point was that we can never believe enough. What is important is that God’s word—which is external to us—is true, and we simply have to believe it. It is God’s Word that saves us, we simply have to put our faith in that, not in our own ability to “have faith.” In talking about baptism, Luther wrote,

We are not to base baptism on faith. Whoever allows himself to be baptized on the strength of his faith is not only uncertain, but also an idolater who denies Christ, for he trusts in and builds on something of his own rather than on God’s word alone.

This concept permeates all of Luther’s thinking. Rather than placing importance on some inward decision or emotion, what is truly important is what God said.

Upon which Rock?

Our feelings change. There are days when I feel way more “saved” than on other days. Some days I feel full of faith. Other times I may be plagued with doubt. So what has changed?  Nothing, except my emotions. Do I depend on the sincerity of my prayers, or upon God’s Word that Christ has died for my sins?

In response to Peter’s proclamation, “You are the Christ, the Son of the Living God,” Jesus said, “… upon this rock, I will build my church.”  Peter, obviously, was never an unwavering rock—at least according to what we know in the New Testament. The “rock” is the unwavering reality of God’s Word as spoken here by Peter.

Luther seems to have been a lot like Peter, up one day and down the next. I expect they both finally discovered the truth: What is unchanging is God’s Word, and upon this rock, we can have faith.