Читать книгу The Cloak and the Parchments - Frank P. Spinella - Страница 11

Early the next morning our convoy departed Melos and headed southwest to Cythera, opposite the southern tip of the Peloponnesian peninsula, and according to legend the island of Aphrodite, goddess of love and beauty, who was carried there on a giant sea shell. The sea was choppy, but again with a tailing wind that strained at the sails and creaked at the timbers of the ship. This stretch of the journey was a bit longer than yesterday’s; we would need favorable winds throughout the day if we were to make the island before darkness.

After a breakfast of cakes and honey, Timothy was ready to indulge my inquisitiveness again, and began the conversation. “We were speaking yesterday of the distinction between earning eternal life, and receiving eternal life as a gift; were we not?”

“Yes. And I questioned, on whom is the gift bestowed.”

“Ah, yes. To answer your question, let us begin by asking, what else is there besides a person’s conduct which can serve as a basis for having this precious gift bestowed upon him? What, aside from how one lives one’s life, would induce God to extend that life beyond the grave? If not one’s actions, it must be one’s beliefs, must it not?”

“That would certainly make sense. It would naturally be those who believe in God who are most likely to gain His favor, if that is what you mean.”

“But let us be more specific, Mark. To believe ‘in’ God is too amorphous. What, precisely, is it about God that must be believed? Simply that He exists? Or something more?”

“In truth, it must be something more—yet I am not sure that I could compile a complete list of the propositions that must be believed. I suppose the first such proposition must be that He is One, and supreme over all creation.”

“Ah, but the Torah already teaches that—yet as we have agreed, its precepts are not sufficient for one to gain eternal life. Focus on His gift, Mark—on what must be believed about His gift. Must we not start with the proposition that eternal life is, indeed, a gift, and not something we earn through our actions?”

“You mean, accepting the notion that eternal life cannot be earned through our actions is itself a prerequisite to receiving it?”

“That is my meaning precisely—giving up the prideful belief in eternal life as a reward for one’s conduct opens one to the possibility of receiving it. Is this not the point of the story recounted in these very parchments, regarding the man who approached Jesus to ask what he must do to share in eternal life?”

“What do you mean?”

Timothy reached into his trunk for the parchments, and spread them before us. “Here,” he gestured. “Read with me:

‘A man asked him, “Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” Jesus answered, “Why do you call me good? No one is good but God alone. You know the commandments: ‘You shall not murder; You shall not commit adultery; You shall not steal; You shall not bear false witness; You shall not defraud; Honor your father and mother.’” He said to him, “Teacher, I have kept all these since my youth.” Jesus answered, “You lack one thing; go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.” At this, the man left in sadness, for he had many possessions.’

Do you understand, Mark? No human is ‘good’ so as to merit eternal life, nor is keeping the commandments enough to result in one’s own salvation. One must instead have faith that God will provide that salvation.”

“But was not this man told to give all his possessions to the poor? That seems to me to refer to actions he needed to take; and if he did, he would be saved.”

“Yet by giving away his worldly goods, would not this man be demonstrating complete faith in and reliance on God, rather than on himself?”

“I suppose that is so.”

“And here, Mark, we see the relation between faith and action. If a man truly believes something, he then will act as though it is true. Our very lives attest to this. If we believe it will be a cold day, we dress for the cold; if we believe that fire burns us, we refrain from touching fire; and so on. Is it not always thus?”

“Undoubtedly.”

“So, if this man had truly believed in Jesus as the way to salvation rather than in his own obedience to the Law, he would have divested himself of his possessions and gone with Jesus, would he not?”

“That follows.”

“Then by his actions, or rather inactions, he demonstrated that he lacked the faith that was necessary to save him, did he not?”

“I would have to agree.”

“And looking closer, his lack of trust in Jesus’ approach to salvation is mirrored by a reluctance to give up what he had accumulated on his own; he wished to continue his self-reliance, to trust in himself rather than to let go of those things and trust completely in God. In a word, we may say his was the sin of pride; do you agree?”

“Yes.”

“So it is in every case where one relies on one’s own efforts. In the end, the sin of pride is always the truly deadly sin. As the Proverb puts it, ‘Pride goes before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.’ It is precisely what Paul meant when he first wrote: ‘Salvation is yours through faith. This is not of your own doing; it is God’s gift; neither is it a reward for anything you have accomplished, so let no one pride himself on it.’”

“I agree, Timothy. It is pride we must overcome.” I quickly shrugged aside the thought that Timothy might have had me in mind when saying this. More likely, the truth was simply hitting close to home.

“And what is the opposite of pride, Mark? Is it not humility?”

“Yes.”

“And if we have humility, will we not then, and only then, be able to trust completely in God, who alone can bring us to eternal life?”

“Yes, Timothy. I see. So then, the second proposition that must be believed to be true is that salvation is a matter of God’s grace, and not of man’s individual achievement. What is the next?”

“To find the answer, let us look anew at this same passage—at the meaning of Jesus’ admonition that ‘No one is good but God alone.’ If God alone is good and perfect, and man therefore is not, how is the sinful to partake of the good? Must there not be forgiveness of sin in order for man to share in the goodness and perfection of God?”

“That is only logical.”

“And how is sin forgiven? Do not the Scriptures teach that it is by blood, by a sacrifice?”

“That is so; the Book of Leviticus instructs that it is blood shed on the altar that makes atonement for our lives, as blood contains life. But I must confess, I have always found this to be most troubling. To accept that without the shedding of blood there can be no forgiveness of sin entails belief in an exacting, vengeful God whose own forgiveness, and therefore whose own love, is conditional. Yet we have been taught that God’s love is unconditional.”

“We have been taught correctly, Mark; but you confuse unconditional love with unconditional forgiveness. All forgiveness must be conditional on something; for if forgiveness were automatic, sin and absence of sin would be of like effect, would they not?”

“I suppose so. But why should forgiveness be conditioned on sacrifice, of all things?”

“Let us consider your question by noting two aspects of the animal sacrifice that is prescribed in Leviticus—the victim’s vicarious bearing of the sins of the offeror, and the offeror’s giving up something of value. What is the symbolic meaning of the first aspect? Is it not to reinforce the notion that death is the penalty for sin?”

“Surely.”

“And is this death penalty not simply God keeping His word, keeping the bargain He made with Adam, that if he disobeys God by eating of the forbidden tree—the metaphor for sin—death will result?”

“I suppose it is.”

“Insisting on fulfilling a bargain cannot be unjust, can it?”

“No.”

“And if God also affords us a means of sparing the true sinner’s life through the vicarious sacrificing of an animal, that justice is tempered with mercy and love as well, is it not?”

“I see your point. God, being just, is not releasing us from our bargain, but He is deeming it satisfied vicariously.”

“Well, temporarily at least; we will come back to that in a moment. But now let us turn to the second aspect of sacrifice, that is, the giving up of something of value. Tell me: when one has wronged his neighbor in some way, is it not justice to require of the wrongdoer some recompense to make his neighbor whole, simply as restitution, and wholly apart from any motive of vengeance or retribution?”

“I agree.”

“And will not that recompense, that restitution, require some giving up of value, some sacrifice on the part of the giver?”

“Certainly.”

“Then once again, to condition forgiveness of sin on sacrifice for that sin may as easily demonstrate God’s justice, and not His vengeance; do you see?”

“Yes; I see your point.”

Timothy reached anew for the parchments, and spread them before us. “Here,” he pointed and read aloud:

A leper came to him, and kneeling before him beseeched, ‘If you will to do so, you can make me clean.’ And Jesus touched him and said, ‘I will it; be clean.’ Immediately the leprosy left him, and he was cured. And Jesus said to him, ‘Go and show yourself to the priest, and offer for your cure what Moses has prescribed.’

Even here, Mark, our Lord’s miracle, although occasioned by the leper’s faith and belief, was nevertheless followed by the command that the sacrifice prescribed by the Law must still be offered.”

After all the times I had heard Paul insist that even Jewish believers were free of the strictures of the Law, this passage gave me pause. “But that is what I do not understand, Timothy. Why was the leper’s faith alone not enough to merit forgiveness and cure from an unconditionally loving God, without further offering of sacrifice?”

“Perhaps the answer is best found by considering your objection that God’s love must be unconditional, side-by-side with the notion of God’s justice in requiring the death penalty as a sacrifice in discharge of sin in fulfillment of the bargain made with Adam. Do you not see how the two notions can be harmonized?”

“Tell me.”

“If God Himself were to provide the sacrifice—just as Abraham said to Isaac on their way to Moriah—surely that would demonstrate His love, would it not?”

“No doubt it would.”

“And if that sacrifice were truly an ultimate one, akin to that which Abraham was preparing to make of Isaac, surely then it could be said that God’s love was truly unconditional, could it not?”

“Assuredly; I cannot think of a greater sacrifice than the life of one’s only son.”

“Then forgiveness through sacrifice is fully consistent not only with God’s righteous demand that the ancient bargain be fulfilled, but also with God’s unconditional love for the forgiven—provided that God furnishes the sacrifice and that the sacrifice is sufficiently great, such as, for example, with the gift of God’s son.”

“I am constrained to agree.”

“Do you recall what our Lord said about himself as a sacrifice?” Timothy spread the parchments before us again, and began perusing them. “Here,” he gestured:

‘I have come not to be served but to serve, and to give my life as a ransom for many.’

If, then, Jesus is truly the Son of God, his sacrifice would satisfy your concern regarding the harmonization of God’s unconditional love and His forgiveness, would it not?”

“It would; but how can it be just for God to impose punishment and sacrifice on one for the sins of another?”

“Your point is well taken, Mark, but not your premise; for if Jesus voluntarily submitted to the punishment and sacrifice, we can no longer say that it was imposed upon him by God, can we?”

“No.”

“And is that not the import of what we have just read?”

“I suppose it is.” I was suddenly struck anew with wonder over how great must have been Jesus’ love, to take on such an ultimate sacrifice voluntarily. I imagined him conflicted as the hour approached, yet bending to the will of his Father. I imagined him praying, Father, you have the power to do all things. Take this cup from me. But let it be as you will, not as I will.

Timothy continued on. “Are we agreed, then, that God’s justice and His love would be merged in the sacrifice of His only Son as atonement for man’s sins?”

“We are. But is that the true import of our Lord’s death, Timothy? Is he truly the Son of God, literally rather than metaphorically, begotten rather than adopted? How could he be God, yet human? And, must we believe this in order to be saved? We must talk more about this!”

“And tomorrow, Mark, we shall.” Timothy had that familiar calmness in his voice again, unhurried and at ease. “But let us stop for today.”

With that, Timothy yawned. How he could possible be tired, how he could fail to be stimulated by this discussion to the point of excitement, was beyond my ability to fathom—unless it be that with wisdom there comes a certain serenity. Timothy was far and away the most serene person I had ever encountered. And serenity cannot easily be shaken.