Month: June 2019

The visible Church of Christ is a congregation of faithful men, in which the pure Word of God is preached, and the Sacraments be duly ministered according to Christ’s ordinance, in all those things that of necessity are requisite to the same.

As the Church of Jerusalem, Alexandria, and Antioch, have erred; so also the Church of Rome hath erred, not only in their living and manner of Ceremonies, but also in matters of Faith.

by Tony Hunt

There was an article recently published in the Christian Century in which a man confessed to not attending church. This by itself would hardly be worth mentioning. What was curious, and in my view alarming, about the article was that it was written by someone who makes a living teaching about the Church’s mission at a seminary and consulting with churches about how to live more fully into that mission. And he can’t even be bothered to put down his magazine to participate in a Sunday service.

In a world where one sees no need to participate in the life of a church, the Church has all but disappeared. It is invisible.

The question of who is truly a part of the Body of Christ and who is one in appearance only has become important at various times in the Church’s history where there has been a perceived crisis of faithfulness. St. Augustine in the late 4th and early 5th centuries, in debates with the Donatists, was one of the first to examine the distinction between the “visible” and “invisible” church. But during the Protestant Reformation the question was of central importance. As Christian groups began to splinter off one from another (from another…), people fought over who was truly being faithful to the Gospel – over where the “true” Church was. “Can a church err?” they asked. Who are “the faithful?” That is, who is part of the people whom God has chosen for salvation? Can you know if you are one? If so, how? This debate is why the second part of Article XIX exists. It is a polemical point, asserting that a church can err “in matters of faith.” And if a church can err, as they believed the “Church of Rome” had, then one can be justified for breaking from it. For this point the Article draws on precedent in the Church’s history – “As the Church of Jerusalem, Alexandria, and Antioch…” It goes beyond the scope of this essay to explore these controversies, but I think it is important to understand how this part of the Article is functioning.

It is only very recently that a charitable, ecumenical spirit has marked relationships between churches. For most of post-Reformation history, churches often considered other bodies faithless to some fundamental part of the Gospel. Over time, as Protestant churches continued to multiply and vie for political legitimacy, the question of what constitutes a true church became more and more complicated. Presbyterians, Anglicans, Anabaptists, and assorted free churches all believed that how an institutional church was organized mattered a great deal. But in the absence of means or a will to negotiate a shared Christian life, the many churches end up sitting alongside each other. The very thing that could help a group navigate divisions, a common order, was the thing that could not be agreed on. Unity in the structure of a church, be it episcopacy, universal Christian democracy, or a presbytery, was unable to unambiguously demonstrate the legitimacy of one church against others.

The second way Christian churches in this time sought to legitimate themselves against other groups was by claiming that they held to true doctrine. It’s not that church order and correct doctrine were necessarily pitted against each other, but there were some who thought that how one organized their church was of secondary importance. It may seem somewhat quaint now, given the sheer number of Protestant churches, that it was ever thought a group could guarantee absolute purity with regard to everything one must believe for salvation, but the Reformers had great faith that Scripture plainly expresses its own truth. The Bible did not need an historical community in order to disclose its manifold content. It can speak for itself.

What we can see here are the beginnings of a profoundly significant development in the history of Christianity. Here is the latent belief that some can be Christians “by themselves.” They have no need of shared practices for corporately discerning the truth about God. Neither have they need of historical actions that show an intention to participate in the catholic Church. Though churches are everywhere in view, the “True Church” has become invisible.

In the beginning of the mid-nineteenth century in England a handful of people in the Church of England began to compose a series of essays that proved to be quite controversial. These “Tracts for the Times” changed the way Anglicans have thought about themselves ever since. There are several of these tracts on “The Visible Church.” These articles were originally letters exchanged between friends. The first letter, contained in Tract 11, is by John Henry Newman, who quotes his friend as saying this:

“Why may I not be satisfied if my Creed is correct, and my affections spiritual? Have I not in that case enough to evidence a renewed mind, and to constitute a basis of union with others like minded? The love of CHRIST is surely the one and only requisite for Christian communion here, and the joys of heaven hereafter.”

For this person, it is enough to have the right beliefs and to have the right feelings. These are enough to constitute him as Christian, and to show that he has access to the same Spirit as every other Christian. I wonder if we can see here the connection to the person I mentioned at the beginning of this essay. You’ll recall that despite being a “church leader,” he isn’t a regular member of a parish. Indeed after visiting many churches in his area he says “it would take a lot of gumption for me to leave my NY Times app for any of them.” He describes a litany of reasons that none of them “fit” him and his family. Despite giving some money to one of them regularly, he hasn’t been there in months. The modern phenomenon of church shopping, though in many respects lightyears away from the crises that sparked the Reformation debates, bears a striking relationship to the marginalizing of the “Visible Church” that ensued in the centuries after them. When the Church has disappeared into a “spiritual” realm, it makes sense that beliefs and affections, both of them in a way invisible, can become the marks of inclusion in the “true Church.”  

In response to his friend, Newman says: 

“Scripture makes the existence of a Visible Church a condition of the existence of the Invisible. I mean, the Sacraments are evidently in the hands of the Church Visible.”   

Here the Blessed Newman hits at what the Article we are discussing says. Article XIX says that the Church is made visible in coming together to share in the sacraments. These are the actions the Church habitually performs. They are the means by which the Church becomes what it is. It represents itself in re-presenting the the story of Jesus. 

The Church gathers. It is a “congregation” of faithful people. The Article doesn’t mean by this a single isolated group such as is envisioned in congregationalist polity. Anglicans are organized around bishops, who themselves are ordained in “apostolic succession.” Bishops stand in an historic relationship with the Church before them. There is not a sense that we’re in this by ourselves, or that we can make a clean break from other churches so organized. Newman again: “Thus the Visible Church is not a voluntary association of the day, but a continuation of one which existed in the age before us.” A congregation is a group that congregates. We respond to the powerful acts of God in thankfulness and praise. In the language of the Book of Common Prayer, we assemble “to render thanks for the great benefits that we have received at his hands, to set forth his most worthy praise, to hear his holy Word, and to ask, for ourselves and on behalf of others, those things that are necessary for our life and our salvation” (41).

We join this congregation through the sacrament of Baptism. “All we who were baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death” (Romans 6:3). It is a participation in the death and resurrection of Jesus; the means of incorporation into his Body. It effects the forgiveness of sins, which is our adoption into the covenant people of Israel. But notice the language: Adopted, incorporated, sharing… they all connote a pre-given society. “Every one who is baptized, is baptized into an existing community” (Tract 11).

 So the Church baptizes. And the baptized people “proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes” in the Divine Service. The Sunday celebration is usually separated into a “service of the Word” and a “service of the Eucharist.” But of course these categories break down. What is the Eucharist but the Word par excellence? And what is the Word but a declaration of the work of God in Jesus, the Lamb slain before the foundation of the cosmos? A proper, full response to this work involves praise, thanksgiving, confession; hearing the word, sharing our gifts – the sacrifices of the people – and the true gift of the Eucharist, the real Body and Blood of Jesus. Both offering and offered, giver and given, here most truly and most fully is the Church transformed into what it already is; here it is rendered visible, because it is the work of all the people, not of voluntarily associated individuals who have arbitrarily elected to do such and such a thing on such and such a day.

The Liturgy of the Word includes the readings from Holy Scripture, the homily, the Nicene Creed, and the Prayers of the People. Sometimes “the pure Word of God being preached” in Article XIX gets conflated into meaning only the homily. But that would be to reduce the proclamation of the Word to a mere portion of the whole liturgy. As Richard Hooker reminds us (Laws of Ecclesiastical Polity, Bk V.xviii-xxii) preaching includes the reading of Scripture itself, which does not need human commentary to be efficacious. The “Word” is always Jesus, and the entirety of Scripture speaks of him, as does the symbol of the Church’s faith (the Creed).

There is also the word of reconciliation. The Church is a Body that is reconciled, and that shares in the “ministry of reconciliation” (2 Corinthians 5:18). There is a wonderful little bit of the liturgy that very rarely is used, but has been in the Books of Common Prayer since very early on, called the Exhortation. In it the Church is reminded that it is a grave matter to come to the Eucharistic Table while not being in right relationship with others. Christians are urged to:

Examine your lives and conduct by the rule of God’s commandments, that you may perceive wherein you have  offended in what you have done or left undone, whether in thought, word, or deed. And acknowledge your sins before  Almighty God, with full purpose of amendment of life, being ready to make restitution for all injuries and wrongs done by you to others; and also being ready to forgive those who have offended you, in order that you yourselves may be forgiven. And then, being reconciled with one another, come to the banquet of that most heavenly Food (317).

This is why we have the general Confession, but especially the Peace. We might at most times take the Peace for a chance to catch up with people in the parish, but it is also a moment of great importance. If we are not at peace with each other, then it must be made before we receive the Eucharist. Because in the Eucharist we are made one Body. We must discern the true nature of the Church, as St. Paul puts it.

Time fails me to give a full account of all the sacraments. But this is not a piece on sacramental theology, per se. Article XIX asks us to consider where the Church is, what it looks like, how it is made present. It tells us that the Church is not in our heads. It’s not for solitary persons trying to pick their church like they pick from a row of cereal. The Church is a concrete reality, even if the full nature of it cannot be limited to the senses – we pray with the Saints, after all! 

Tony Hunt is a postulant for Holy Orders in the diocese of Minnesota. He is currently pursuing an M.Div. at Luther Seminary and his previous education was in Greek and Latin at the University of Minnesota. He tweets at @adalehunt.

They also are to be had accursed that presume to say, That every man shall be saved by the Law or Sect which he professeth, so that he be diligent to frame his life according to that Law, and the light of Nature. For Holy Scripture doth set out unto us only the Name of Jesus Christ, whereby men must be saved.

by the Rev. Joshua Rodriguez-Hobbs

Article XVIII is, in many ways, the conclusion of a series of articles, beginning in Article IX, which represent an Anglican understanding of the Reformed doctrine of justification. These ten articles demonstrate the influence of the continental Reformation on the English Church and reveal a decidedly Protestant tendency among the Elizabethan Divines.

This article is a companion to Article XI and Article XII, which also deal with the question of whether our works, our outward religious observances, can save us. Article XI teaches that salvation comes by faith alone, and not by works, while Article XII teaches that good works are the result of faith. This is a classically Anglican pairing, going all the way back to Thomas Cranmer, the first Protestant Archbishop of Canterbury, in his “A Sermon of the Salvation of Mankind, by Only Christ Our Savior, from Sin and Death Everlasting,” in the First Book of Homilies. Article XVIII’s insistence that we are saved only through the “Name of Jesus Christ” must be read in this light. The outward observance of the Law—or following the traditions of our Church or Sect—does not save us. However, the observance of the Law is the fruit of the Gospel, and is a sign that we are working out our own salvation, as St. Paul exhorts (Phil 2:12). That is, we become partners with God, not in our salvation, but in our sanctification, a hallmark of Anglican pastoral theology.

This article also points us to the Acts of the Apostles, where St. Peter, when he and St. John are called before the Sanhedrin, confesses, “There is salvation in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given among mortals by which we must be saved.” (Acts 4:14, NRSV) This insistence upon salvation through Christ should be read as a rebuke to other Reformation groups which took their name from their founder (sometimes, as in the case of the Lutheran Reformation, against the founder’s wishes). Anglicanism has always sought to be simply Christian, something which was keenly on the mind of the Elizabethan Divines when they drafted the Thirty-Nine Articles. After all, Elizabeth I’s goal was to create a church which could comprehend all of her subjects.

Why is this important? What does this article, drafted in the midst of centuries-old religious polemics, have to say to us today?

Article XVIII drives home the doctrine of justification by faith. It tells me that I am utterly unable to save myself. I am utterly dependent on the mercy and grace of God expressed in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ, the Incarnate Son. The previous nine articles have variously expressed this. However, Article XVIII makes this abundantly clear by describing my efforts to save myself as “accursed.” This is strong language, and my immediate reaction to it is frustration. It is a message that I do not want to hear.

Yet, it is the message that I most need to hear. This is the heart of the Gospel. As St. Paul says in his letter to the Galations: “For through the law I died to the law, so that I might live to God. I have been crucified with Christ; and it is no longer I who live, but it is Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me. I do not nullify the grace of God; for if justification comes through the law, then Christ died for nothing.” (2:19-21) I have been crucified with Christ. Christ lives in me, and not me in myself any longer. Paul, in all of his letters, assures us that Christ did not die in vain, and so it must follow that I cannot be saved through my outward observance of the Law.

And the Law comes in many forms, secular as well as religious. It comes in the form of religious scrupulosity, rejoicing in how well I uphold the rubrics of the Book of Common Prayer. As a new father, it comes so often in my attempts to justify myself to everyone around me, my son’s pediatrician included, of my parenting skills. It comes in my seeking self-worth through my resume, in my appeals to my degrees and training, in my attempts to be a “good” son and husband. None of these things can save me. All of my efforts to justify myself through them are, ultimately, accursed.

Cranmer, in his homily on salvation, preached, “Neither doth faith shut out the justice of our good works, necessarily to be done afterwards, of duty towards God . . . but it excludeth them, so that we may not do them to this intent, to be made just by doing them.”[1] Cranmer was intent to defend himself from charges of antinomianism, and he wanted to show the place of good works in the Christian life. His classically Anglican answer was to position good works as our response to God, our duty, as Cranmer called it. Yet, Cranmer’s words in the Prayer Book also teach us that our dutiful response to God is also joyful.

My attempts to justify myself are seldom joyful. The purpose of the Law is to convict us of sin and to point us toward Christ. Upholding the Law for its own sake can never bring me joy, because the Law can only convict me. In itself, it offers no solution to the demands it places on me and which I place on myself. It is only through the Name of Jesus Christ that I can find this solution. When my efforts to be a good father, son, husband, and employee are my joyful response to God, seeking his glory rather than my own, then I can find peace. As the Prayer Book says, borrowing from Augustine of Hippo, serving God is “perfect freedom.”[2]

This freedom is only found in the practice of humility. St. Paul, in the middle of his great discourse on the resurrection, reminds the Corinthians, “I die daily.” (1 Cor 15:31, KJV) Here is where Cranmer’s homily and Article XVIII point us. It is ultimately only through death to self that we find life. I have been crucified with Christ. It is only through his name that I find the justification that I so desperately seek. John Jewel, the Bishop of Salisbury, wrote, “We, verily, because we know this [i.e. Christ’s death] to be the only sacrifice, are well content with it alone and look for none other.”[3] This constant practice of humility, dying daily to myself, teaches me to be content with Christ alone. Nothing else can satisfy.

Here also is where Cranmer concludes the second part of his homily on salvation: “It is not I that take away your sins, but it is Christ only; and to him only I send you for that purpose, forsaking therein all your good virtues, words, thoughts, and works, and only putting your trust in Christ.”[4]

Only putting my trust in Christ can be so very hard. It seems so counterintuitive. There must be more that I need to do. And yet, in both my on spiritual life and my ministry as a hospital chaplain, I am constantly brought back to the realization that it actually is this simple. All we need to do is to turn to Christ.

I constantly encounter patients who are carrying heavy burdens, burdens which were often placed on their backs by their faith communities. They are convinced that their illness is their fault or a divine punishment. They feel their own sins, their own failures, have brought this crisis upon themselves. They are suffering, not just physically, but mentally and spirituality by their own inability to uphold the Law. The cruel irony is that none of us can uphold the Law, whatever its source. So many faith communities, Episcopal and otherwise, seem hellbent on convincing people otherwise, however. My ministry as a chaplain is to bear witness to the pain that each of us feels in this failure, and to point to where God is already active in their lives. This is a living out of salvation coming through the name of Jesus Christ alone. I, like John the Baptist, simply point patients to their own belief in Jesus and trust him to bring peace and healing. I am simply a witness.

Somehow, this is the only thing that brings contentment to any of us.

The Rev. Joshua Rodriguez-Hobbs serves as the Episcopal Chaplain to the Johns Hopkins Hospital, a joint ministry of the Episcopal Diocese of Maryland the Johns Hopkins Medical Institutions. Josh is a 2018 Episcopal Church Foundation Fellow and a Certified Educator Candidate with the Association for Clinical Pastoral Education.

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[1] Thomas Cranmer, “A Sermon of the Salvation of Mankind,” pages 19-30 in The Book of Homilies (Nashotah: Nashotah House, 2013).

[2] The Book of Common Prayer, 1979, 57.

[3] John Jewel, An Apology of the Church of England (New York: Church Publishing, 2002), 39, emphasis added.

[4]Cranmer, 25.

Predestination to Life is the everlasting purpose of God, whereby (before the foundations of the world were laid) he hath constantly decreed by his counsel secret to us, to deliver from curse and damnation those whom he hath chosen in Christ out of mankind, and to bring them by Christ to everlasting salvation, as vessels made to honour. Wherefore, they which be endued with so excellent a benefit of God, be called according to God’s purpose by his Spirit working in due season: they through Grace obey the calling: they be justified freely: they be made sons of God by adoption: they be made like the image of his only-begotten Son Jesus Christ: they walk religiously in good works, and at length, by God’s mercy, they attain to everlasting felicity.

As the godly consideration of Predestination, and our Election in Christ, is full of sweet, pleasant, and unspeakable comfort to godly persons, and such as feel in themselves the working of the Spirit of Christ, mortifying the works of the flesh, and their earthly members, and drawing up their mind to high and heavenly things, as well because it doth greatly establish and confirm their faith of eternal Salvation to be enjoyed through Christ, as because it doth fervently kindle their love towards God: So, for curious and carnal persons, lacking the Spirit of Christ, to have continually before their eyes the sentence of God’s Predestination, is a most dangerous downfall, whereby the Devil doth thrust them either into desperation, or into wretchlessness of most unclean living, no less perilous than desperation.

Furthermore, we must receive God’s promises in such wise, as they be generally set forth to us in Holy Scripture: and, in our doings, that Will of God is to be followed, which we have expressly declared unto us in the word of God.

by the Rev. Canon Dr. Kara N. Slade

1. Fear and Trembling

Article XVII, by far the longest of the 39 Articles, is long for a reason. All theology should be carried out in a spirit of fear and trembling, but this maxim applies in a special way to theologizing around the doctrines of election and predestination. Here, care is called for as well as humility. Here we reach a tremulous hand towards the eternal decrees of God before the beginning of time. Here, we ask a terrible question before the throne of a sovereign God. How, and in what sense, are humans chosen to receive salvation? How, and in what way, do we participate in our salvation, if at all? 

As I write these words about God’s loving justice, I am aware that I above all stand under that judgment first. I do not, and indeed cannot, stand outside it as a detached theological observer. The question of anyone’s salvation is the question of my salvation. And so it goes for you too, my dear reader. This is not an intellectual exercise. 

What are the doctrines of predestination and election? In the simplest terms, election for Christians means that God chooses to be God for us in Christ. It is a notion that goes back to the calling of Israel to be God’s people, to the covenant with Abraham in Genesis 17:7, “I will establish my covenant between me and you, and your offspring after you throughout their generations, for an everlasting covenant, to be God to you and to your offspring after you.” Again and again in Scripture, we see that God chooses to be in relationship with humans in their particularity. Historically, however, election can also mean that God chooses some people for salvation but not others. 

The doctrine of predestination is associated with this latter understanding of election. There are several flavors of this doctrine that have been considered over the centuries, and a careful examination of each flavor is far beyond the scope of this post. However, the major categories can be generalized like this:

• Arminian view: God predestines people based on his foreknowledge of who would exercise their free will to hear and accept the Gospel. 
• Calvinist view: From eternity, God decrees who will receive salvation, entirely without regard to their actions. 
• Lutheran and Thomist view: God decrees who will receive salvation, but reprobation is a product of human sin. 

Why is this doctrine important? Why delve into matters that are at best an unapproachable mystery and at worst run the risk of painting a caricature of an arbitrary God? There are two reasons. 

• First, the doctrine of predestination and election is a question of the doctrine of God. It deals with how God’s nature as all-knowing and God’s sovereignty interact with human free will. 
• Second, it is a question of the all-sufficiency of grace for salvation. Simply put, a strong doctrine of predestination and election means that it isn’t up to us to contribute to our own salvation. Rather, it is sheer gift. It is all grace. And it cannot be lost. This is a comfort to all those who, like me, worry on our worst days that we have to try harder in order to be in right relationship with God. 

These doctrines should be good news. But the history of how they have been used is often ugly. They have been the site of separation between us and them, between saved and damned, between human and less-than-human. They have been used not for spiritual self-examination and consolation, but for comparison with others, scrutinizing their behavior and fortune to ferret out the fruits of election or the deserved consequences of reprobation. 

When overlaid with ideas of Western culture as salvific, it can result in other parts of the world – and particularly Africa – being marked as the site of reprobation, unelection, and damnation. And so, as we consider this Article and its implications, we must do so with deep and abiding caution against any acts of comparison. 

2. Sweet, Pleasant, and Unspeakable Comfort 

Looking at the text of the article itself, we find that one of its most striking features is its pastoral emphasis. This is not an article that travels in the realm of the abstract. Instead, it takes into account the fact that thoughts of one’s eternal destiny have a profound impact on our hearts and our lives, on what my pastoral theology colleagues might call our affect and behavior. When we meditate on God’s freely given and unmerited gift of salvation, it should be a “sweet, pleasant, and unspeakable comfort” that works to “establish and confirm” our “faith of eternal Salvation to be enjoyed through Christ” and “fervently kindle” our “love towards God.” It is good news, indeed the best news, that God has chosen to be for us in Christ outside any accounting of our own things done and left undone. Our salvation is not a matter of divine bookkeeping, of balancing out credits and debits through our own efforts. Thanks be to God. 

But the Article doesn’t stop there. It is also quite clear that we are not to look for the marks of reprobation in others, or to preach God’s judgment of the reprobate. We are not to drive others into despair. The end of the Article leaves much unsaid, and perhaps quite strategically. Many commentators argue that it can be read as supporting so-called single predestination, or predestination of the elect only. But I believe it can also be read as endorsing double predestination, even while admonishing those within the Church to exercise prudence in how that doctrine is taught or proclaimed for the sake of “curious and carnal persons.” Whenever we talk about God’s “no” to humanity, we are enjoined do so with our neighbors’ faces always before us. 

3. Predestination as Good News

Reformed theologians describe predestination as one of the doctrines of grace. It tells us that God has never been God except that God has chosen to be God for us, and to be in relationship with us. What’s more, it reminds us that grace is a gift: free, unmerited, and beyond all measure. Grace overflows us, surrounds us, and sweeps us up in God’s embrace so that in Christ we are made heirs of the promise. At the heart of this Article, and of this doctrine, is the great consolation that Paul speaks of in Romans 8:28-39:

We know that all things work together for good for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose. For those whom he foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son, in order that he might be the firstborn within a large family. And those whom he predestined he also called; and those whom he called he also justified; and those whom he justified he also glorified.

What then are we to say about these things? If God is for us, who is against us? He who did not withhold his own Son, but gave him up for all of us, will he not with him also give us everything else? Who will bring any charge against God’s elect? It is God who justifies. Who is to condemn? It is Christ Jesus, who died, yes, who was raised, who is at the right hand of God, who indeed intercedes for us. Who will separate us from the love of Christ? Will hardship, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? As it is written,

‘For your sake we are being killed all day long; we are accounted as sheep to be slaughtered.’ 

No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. (Romans 8:28-39, NRSV)

God’s love for us is so complete, so all-embracing, that he will and does go all the way tous, forus and for our salvation. Not part of the way. Not halfway. All the way.  

But what are we to say about the matter of election to reprobation? What are we to say about the sentence of God’s No that echoes with God’s Yes? For me, and for my theological beloved Karl Barth, the difficulty with predestination comes when we attribute it to specific individuals, or to groups of people. I am elect, and you are not. My nation is elect, and yours is not. 

What if predestination was truly not a matter of comparison, of distinguishing between me and you, between us and them? What if we took the words “in Christ” in this Article seriously?  

As Barth writes in his commentary on Romans, and again in the Church Dogmatics, there is only one object of election: Jesus Christ. On Christ, and on Christ alone, falls both God’s election and God’s reprobation. As the electing God and elected man, Christ bears what fallen humanity cannot. In him and through him, we hear God’s resounding Yes to each one of us as the first and last word. In that is our hope, our comfort, and our salvation.  

The Rev. Canon Dr. Kara N. Slade is Associate Rector of Trinity Church in Princeton, NJ and Associate Chaplain to the Episcopal Church at Princeton University. She also serves as Canon Theologian of the Diocese of New Jersey. Canon Slade holds the PhD in mechanical engineering and materials science as well as the PhD in theology and ethics, both from Duke University. Her research interests include Karl Barth, Søren Kierkegaard, epistemology, and the ethics of medicine and war, and her first book, The Fullness of Time, is forthcoming from Cascade Books.

Predestination to Life is the everlasting purpose of God, whereby (before the foundations of the world were laid) he hath constantly decreed by his counsel secret to us, to deliver from curse and damnation those whom he hath chosen in Christ out of mankind, and to bring them by Christ to everlasting salvation, as vessels made to honour. Wherefore, they which be endued with so excellent a benefit of God, be called according to God’s purpose by his Spirit working in due season: they through Grace obey the calling: they be justified freely: they be made sons of God by adoption: they be made like the image of his only-begotten Son Jesus Christ: they walk religiously in good works, and at length, by God’s mercy, they attain to everlasting felicity.

As the godly consideration of Predestination, and our Election in Christ, is full of sweet, 
pleasant, and unspeakable comfort to godly persons, and such as feel in themselves the working of the Spirit of Christ, mortifying the works of the flesh, and their earthly members, and drawing up their mind to high and heavenly things, as well because it doth greatly establish and confirm their faith of eternal Salvation to be enjoyed through Christ, as because it doth fervently kindle their love towards God: So, for curious and carnal persons, lacking the Spirit of Christ, to have continually before their eyes the sentence of God’s Predestination, is a most dangerous downfall, whereby the Devil doth thrust them either into desperation, or into wrethchlessness of most unclean living, no less perilous than desperation.

Furthermore, we must receive God’s promises in such wise, as they be generally set forth to us in Holy Scripture: and, in our doings, that Will of God is to be followed, which we have expressly declared unto us in the word of God.

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by the Rev. K.D. Joyce

A tremendous amount of ink has been spilled concerning the topic of predestination over the last half-millennium, a reality which I believe owes to two facts. First, while there are some who have sought to dismiss the question of election as ultimately unimportant, for many Christians the question of whether and how God has predestined humans for salvation [and perhaps also for damnation] directly touches on questions of God’s goodness and power. What we believe about predestination also has implications for our understandings of human nature, free will broadly speaking, and the ethical obligations of the Christian, especially concerning evangelism.

The second reason that predestination inspires such extensive discussion and debate is that it is a doctrine that is tremendously difficult to articulate with clarity and concision. Article XVII is the longest article of religion, by a significant margin, and with good reason. There is a great deal of apparent tension within the Bible itself on the question of what election means and how and when it occurs, and the doctrine has been the point of significant confusion and distress for many, as the text of Article XVII itself indicates.

The position that Article XVII articulates is, in true Anglican fashion, not one that lies at either of the extremes, though it is certainly more Calvinist than Arminian, to use anachronistic terms. The article is entirely silent on the question that so often vexes contemporary Christians – does God elect some subset of humanity to be damned, placing them outside the reach of salvation? While the article references Romans 9 and its language of “vessels made to honor,” it entirely avoids Paul’s simultaneous discussion of the possibility of “vessels of wrath.” While I don’t claim to know the thought process behind this, I wonder if it is because Paul’s own words later in the same Epistle don’t lend themselves well to making a decisive claim in favor of double predestination (the doctrine that God has proactively destined some for salvation, and has with equal proactivity destined others for eternal damnation). His discussion of vessels for honor and for destruction concludes with the assertion that the Jewish people who have “stumbled” in refusing Christ have done so because God willed it. But in chapter 11 he returns to the question of those whom God has caused to stumble, saying “Have they stumbled so as to fall? By no means! …Now if their stumbling means riches for the world, and if their defeat means riches for Gentiles, how much more will their full inclusion mean! …if their rejection is the reconciliation of the world, what will their acceptance be but life from the dead! …as regards election they are beloved, for the sake of their ancestors; for the gifts and the calling of God are irrevocable.” And indeed, even if chapter 9 were to be read on its own without the context of the surrounding chapters, Paul only suggests that God might well have prepared vessels for destruction, without directly stating that it is certainly so. In any case, Article XVII makes no claims concerning the idea of election to damnation.

The apparent concern of this article, then, is not to declare that the whole world has been demarcated by God into two exhaustive and mutually-exclusive groups – those chosen to be saved and those chosen to be doomed – but to emphasize that salvation comes to people not as a result of their ethical merit, or because they independently choose to turn to God, but because God freely willed their salvation from before the beginning of time – or, in the words of the author of 1 John, “We love God because he first loved us.” Those who obey the calling of the Spirit do so only through God’s grace.

While this concept may produce rather less anxiety in the contemporary soul than the claim that God desires and glories in the utter damnation of many, it is by no means a universally-held position within the global Church or within Anglicanism itself. (If this is not immediately evident, the very fact that this article was included, and at such length, suggests that the topic was contested at the time.) This article is, then, the logical continuation of another controversial article – Article IX. “The condition of Man after the fall of Adam is such that he cannot turn and prepare himself, by his own natural strength and good works, to faith and calling upon God. Wherefore we have no power to do good works pleasant and acceptable to God, without the grace of God by Christ preventing us, that we may have a good will, and working with us, when we have that good will.” Our salvation depends on God’s sovereign choice to save us, not because we are somehow prohibited from wanting what is good, but because unless we are aided by God’s favor and power, we lack the *capacity* to will what is right and good for us and the world. Put another way, the problem is not that we aren’t able to *wish* we could lift a car overhead with our bare hands, it’s that whatever we might wish, we fundamentally lack the strength. It isn’t a particular individual moral failing of specific humans, it’s simply the reality of our very nature apart from grace.

The second paragraph of the article reflects on the effects of our consideration of the truth of the doctrine of election. Such consideration is “full of sweet, pleasant, and unspeakable comfort to godly persons,” but “for curious and carnal persons” it “is a most dangerous downfall, whereby the Devil doth thrust them either into desperation, or into wretchlessness of most unclean living, no less perilous than desperation.” (Note that the word “wretchlessness” here means “recklessness,” and is etymologically unrelated to the noun “wretch.”) Many have interpreted the “godly persons” of this paragraph to be the elect, and the “curious and carnal persons” to be the reprobate, but this is far from clear on a plain reading of the text. Instead, I understand this passage to be primarily descriptive, and intended as a warning – a warning which would be unnecessary and ineffectual if the “curious and carnal persons” in question were already eternally condemned by God’s incontrovertible will.

If we read this section of the article as being about two different sub-categories within the broader category of “those God has predestined for salvation,” its meaning shifts. For those who rightly understand the doctrine of election and its implications for them, it is a source of joy and relief, because it means that our eternal salvation doesn’t depend on anything we do. If God has willed to save us totally apart from an examination of our merits, then we need not live in fear that by our transgressions we will somehow snatch ourselves from the hand of Christ. Such people will walk in good works not as a means by which to earn their salvation, but out of gratitude for what has already been accomplished for them, and because the process of becoming holy is itself a part of the salvation which they have been freely given.

By contrast, those who seek to understand predestination from an earthly perspective, and who are overly curious about the mechanics of election, will find despair in it. John Calvin warned Christians strongly against attempts to articulate the mechanics of the doctrine of election in too much detail, saying that “the subject of predestination, which in itself is attended with considerable difficulty, is rendered very perplexed and hence perilous by human curiosity, which cannot be restrained from wandering into forbidden paths and climbing to the clouds, determined, if it can, that none of the secret things of God shall remain unexplored.” It obviously follows, by the logic of this article and the articles as a whole, that those who approach predestination not as an article of faith to be accepted as a revealed truth about a good and loving God, but as a puzzle or a death sentence, will find anxiety in it rather than comfort. Misapprehension of the doctrine can lead to despair, or to wanton and wicked living. While sanctification should be, and ultimately will be, the path walked by the elect, the articles are clear that those who are being saved can, will, and do in fact sin, and not in merely trivial ways. In the article immediately previous, it is made clear that when we are not living and walking in the spirit of Christ, “we may depart from grace given, and fall into sin, and by the grace of God we may arise again, and amend our lives.” Despair and unclean living are not the will of God – they are states into which “the Devil doth thrust them.”

The article concludes somewhat ambiguously, but here is my best interpretation. Even those who believe in predestination by faith and experience it as a “sweet, pleasant, and unspeakable comfort,” there may yet be a temptation hidden in the application of the doctrine. Upon learning that salvation comes to humanity by the sovereign and incontestable will of God, one might mistake the accurate statement, “Our salvation does not depend on keeping the commands of God as revealed in scripture,” and proceed to the inaccurate conclusion that it does not *matter* whether or not we live our lives in accordance to the will of God as revealed in scripture. Election is a doctrine that derives from scripture, not a trump card to exempt the elect from following the teachings found in scripture.

How, with all this said, is the contemporary Anglican to understand predestination generally, and the version of it put forth in Article XVII specifically? One thing, first and foremost, should guide our interpretation: “Predestination to Life is the everlasting purpose of God.” When a passage of scripture is unclear to us, it should be read in light of passages that are more clear. No interpretation of a passage or a doctrine can be defended if it contradicts the consistent, clear, core teachings of the whole of scripture taken together. As Augustine says, “anyone who thinks that he has understood the divine scriptures or any part of them, but cannot by his understanding build up this double love of God and neighbour, has not yet succeeded in understanding them. Anyone who derives from them an idea which is useful for supporting this love but fails to say what the writer demonstrably meant in the passage has not made a fatal error, and is certainly not a liar.” And so it’s to our benefit to avoid endlessly dissecting every possible theology of election, either out of curiosity or fear, and to rest instead in what is certain – the God revealed to us in Christ, who judges justly, whose property is always to have mercy, and who hates nothing that he has made, will be the one to decide the question of salvation. We don’t determine our own salvation, or that of others, and whatever happens in the end of all things will by caused by and in accordance with God’s love and grace which pass all human understanding, to whom be honor and glory, dominion and blessing and praise, now and forever. Amen.

The Rev. K.D. Joyce is a priest serving at Saint Philip’s in the Hills in Tucson, Arizona. She lives with her wife, Bailey, who is a Presbyterian minister, and their dog, Amos.

Not every deadly sin willingly committed after Baptism is sin against the Holy Ghost, and unpardonable. Wherefore the grant of repentance is not be denied to such as fall into sin after Baptism. After we have received the Holy Ghost, we may depart from grace given, and fall into sin, and by the grace of God we may arise again, and amend our lives. And therefore they are to be condemned, which say, they can no more sin as long as they live here, or deny the place of forgiveness to such as truly repent.

by the Rev. Michael B.E. Kurth

A friend recently invited me to a dinner fundraiser to support a criminal justice reform agency in New York City.  I’m always game for getting dressed up and supporting a good cause – May is gala season in New York, after all. Dinner was lovely – a bright green salad to start, crispy chicken thigh with creamy polenta as an entrée, and triple chocolate mousse that became the perfect good night hug to end the evening. 

The night wasn’t about the food, of course, but for raising funds and awareness of a nonprofit whose aim is to increase educational opportunities inside American prisons. Throughout the evening, graduates of the program took the microphone to share how education changed the trajectory of their life, from a life in prison to a life of promise. A few refrains stick in my head: “I believe in education. I believe that you are so much more than the worst thing you have done in your life.”  When it came time to eat, graduates of the program sat at every table, taking their place at the banquet feast alongside the organization’s ardent supporters. Upon sitting down, it was impossible to determine the felon from the Fortune 500 financer. No one asked about each other’s background, what put them in jail, or the lessons learned behind bars. We all shared a meal in the hope that the resurrected life experienced by the program’s graduates could continue for others still on the inside. 

Who does forgiveness belong to? Are some sins worse than others? Is anyone (or any sin) beyond pardon? These are a few of the questions that swirled in my head on the train home that evening. They are also questions Archbishop Thomas Cranmer addresses in Article XVI of his Thirty-Nine Articles of Religion.  Some of these questions seem a little more straightforward with explanations that can be excavated through a dive into Cranmer’s (and, hence, Anglican) theology of sin and baptism; other questions have been wrestled about for millennia and resist easy explanation. Above all, Article XVI confronts two pertinent theological issues that the newly reformed Church in England needed clarity on: sin and baptism.

Theologians have forever grappled with understanding sin, as it is elemental to our experience as fallen humans and our relationship with God. The Jewish and Christian notion of sin has roots in the story of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden.  Though the Hebrew word for sin (chatah) is not explicitly mentioned Genesis 3, the first human’s disobedience to God has been interpreted as sinful. The predominant outcomes of The Fall are humanity’s banishment from the Garden of Eden and our mortal fate. Yet God maintains care for Adam and Eve in their banishment, clothing them with “garments of skins.”[1] Yes, they disobeyed God by eating fruit from the tree God commanded them not to eat from. But despite their disobedience, God maintains love for humanity, providing care for them even in their punishment.

The first scriptural mention of chatah in the Hebrew scriptures comes in the story of Cain and Abel. Cain converses with The Lord in the moments before he kills Abel, and The Lord ominously foreshadows to Cain that “sin is lurking at your door.”[2]  Cain’s punishment for murder is greater than he can bear: he will no longer be able to till the ground for its fruits and is forced to become a fugitive wanderer. Harsh indeed. But, like the care given to Adam and Eve, the Lord cares for Cain in his banishment, marking him and sealing the fugitive wanderer as his own.  Cain killed his own brother. Yet the Lord preserves his life and promises him protection, for he is much more than the worse thing he has done in his life.

The Fall in the garden and Cain’s banishment reveal humanity’s constant wrestling with sinful actions contrary to God’s desire for harmonious relationship with us and one another. Interpretations of our origin stories have led theologians to believe, in the words of Saint Paul, that “all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God” (all, except for Christ: see Article XV).[3]  Patristic theologians grappled and formulated a Christian notion of sin, with one theologian’s thoughts emerging as the clear winner (Augustine. Augustine always wins).  In Confessions, Augustine states that it is humanity’s will that is the origin of evil, and the will is something we’ve had since birth.[4]  As sinful humans, our response must be to repent, turn toward God, profess our faith in Christ crucified, and be baptized in the waters of salvation.

In the time before (and after) Augustine, opposing theologians spread ideas that the church ultimately deemed heretical. Novatian, an Italian priest in the third century, preached that serious sins committed after baptism could not be forgiven. Pelagius posited that humans are without original sin, and that the will can choose good without the divine aid of God’s grace. Others even taught that it was impossible for the regenerate to sin.

Article XVI addresses such heresies clearly and succinctly. Cranmer tees up Article XVI in the final sentence of the previous article: “If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us.”[5]  This reaffirmation of 1 John addresses the basic human belief that (going back to The Fall) we can and will operate away from God’s desired goodness for us.

With the premise that humans are sinful and will continue to commit sins, Cranmer addresses deadly and unpardonable sins, using the established the work of Thomas Aquinas and the Roman theology of sins against the Holy Spirit as a launching point. Like Aquinas (who argues that some sins are graver than others), Cranmer maintains that “Not every deadly sin willingly committed after Baptism is sin against the Holy Ghost, and unpardonable.”[6] Cranmer does not name a tier of sins like Roman teaching (unpardonable sins, mortal sins, venial sins and the vices represented in the seven deadly sins). Rather, Cranmer acknowledges that not every deadly sin after baptism is a sin against the Holy Ghost. His acknowledgment that “not every sin” is a sin against the Holy Spirit leaves room to interpret that some sins are sins against the Holy Spirit. However, he does not identify the unpardonable sins, nor does he claim there to be mortal or venial sin. Instead, he insists that even our deadly sins (sins Rome defines as lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, envy and pride) are not necessarily sins against the Holy Spirit. We will commit such deadly sins, even after we have been baptized. But they are pardonable, as long as we repent.

Fragments of Cranmer’s baptismal theology become apparent in the second part of Article XVI.  First, he refutes the notion that one cannot sin after baptism. This is inherent in the introductory sentence and outright rejected in second half of the article. Second, he confirms the orthodox theology of the gift of the Holy Spirit given at baptism. Finally, Cranmer acknowledges that in our sin, we depart from the grace given to us by God. The great irony, of course, is that we may only “amend our lives” and “rise again” by the power of that same grace we have strayed from.[7]

Article XVI ends with a condemnation on those who disagree with Cranmer, the only condemnation specified on antagonists in all thirty-nine articles. In particular, Cranmer condemns those who say “they can no more sin as long as they live here,” as well as those who “deny the place of forgiveness to such as truly repent.”  The first group to be condemned, those who say the baptized can no more sin here on earth, are rightly cast aside with ease.  However, Cranmer’s condemnation of those who withhold the place of forgiveness deserves more attention.

The place of forgiveness. As a “miserable and wretched sinner” myself, I’d love to discover this place, though I know what Cranmer has in mind is not a physical destination.[8] Instead, Cranmer is speaking of the merit of forgiveness, the worthiness of forgiveness, the act of forgiveness embodied by the penitent.

Forgiveness always has a place in our world, because it is a vital act of our relationship with God and one another. In the Lord’s Prayer, Jesus shows us how to pray to God, and a vital part of such prayerful connection is asking for and showing forgiveness. In his final moments on the cross, Jesus embodied true forgiveness, pleading for mercy for those who knew not what they did, and reception in heaven for a fellow victim of crucifixion. God is the source of all forgiveness, and God’s grace enables us to welcome those who have wronged us, and, when necessary, enables us to become the one who grovels with repentance.

When discussing forgiveness, we ultimately must examine the Prodigal Son, perhaps Jesus’ most famous and provocative parable. A wealthy man has two sons, between whom he divides the wealth of his property. The younger leaves town with his riches and squanders his fortune, while the elder stays at home and continues his life alongside his family.  Upon the wasteful son’s return home, he begs for forgiveness. When the father welcomes him with open arms and a fabulous feast, the elder son is miffed. Why such celebration for a son who threw away his life? Why not celebrate the son who stayed true to the family?  The father responds to his eldest: “Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. But we had to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found.”[9]

The younger son is much more than the worse thing he has done in his life.  While the father sees this, it not so with the elder son, who demands his father deny forgiveness. Little does the eldest son know, of course, that forgiveness is not his to generate; forgiveness comes through the grace and mercy of the Father, embodied by the father. The father does not condemn either son; rather, all are to enjoy the great banquet prepared for them.

The image of the Prodigal Son resounds across Article XVI. The younger son is wasteful, committing great sins after receiving his share of his father’s property. His sins, however, are not unpardonable, an idea reproduced in Cranmer’s explanation to the faithful.  The young son returns home to his father and shows true repentance, proclaiming he has sinned against heaven and before his father. By the grace of God the younger son amends his life, and by the forgiveness and reception of the father he is forgiven. The ‘place of forgiveness’ in this story, an idea rejected by the elder son, is restored by the father in light of the younger son’s true repentance in returning home. As Cranmer mandates, the place of forgiveness is not to be denied to those who truly repent. 

And then they feast. On the menu for their celebration that evening was the family’s fatted calf. I’m reminded, though, of a simple green salad with crispy chicken thighs and triple chocolate mousse. Whether an unknown prisoner or a long lost son, we are to rejoice when the lost have been found. We are to welcome them and not deny the place of forgiveness to those who truly repent.  I witnessed such rejoicing and welcome at the banquet dinner last month as I dined with ex-convicts, members of our society we are so quick to deny welcome and forgiveness.  Indeed, I must seek forgiveness for the ways I’ve denied the place of forgiveness, and for the many ways I am complicit in the failings of the American criminal justice system.

As Cranmer imparts in Article XVI, we are all sinners. But not every sin is an unpardonable sin against the Holy Spirit. Repentance and the place of forgiveness is not ours to deny.  Through the grace of God we can amend our lives and rise again. Because God loves us, we are forever loved and valued so much more than the worst thing we have done in our life.

Despite our mortal sinfulness and our desire to depart from grace given, God will continue to care for us. God cared for Adam and Eve after the Fall and for Cain in his wandering, just as the father cared for his prodigal son upon his return home. God’s sweet, amazing grace fills us all with love and mercy. Through even the lowest moments of our lives, we live with the knowledge that through grace we may rise again.

Michael B.E. Kurth is the curate at Christ’s Church in Rye, New York. He is a 2018 graduate of Yale Divinity School, Berkeley Divinity School at Yale and the Yale Institute of Sacred Music. While at seminary, he was awarded the John A. Wade Prize for the greatest originality in expository preaching at Yale University. He is a lover of hymns and his Bernese Mountain Dog puppy named Cozy. 

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[1] Gen 3:21

[2] Gen 4:7

[3] Rom 3:23.

[4] Augustine, Confessions, Book 7.

[5] Article XV

[6] Article XIV

[7] Article XVI

[8] Thomas Cranmer, A Sermon of the Misery of All Mankind, Book of Homilies: Sermon 2.

[9] Luke 15:31-32.

Christ in the truth of our nature was made like unto us in all things, sin only except, from which he was clearly void, both in his flesh, and in his spirit. He came to be the Lamb without spot, who, by sacrifice of himself once made, should take away the sins of the world; and sin (as Saint John saith) was not in him. But all we the rest, although baptized and born again in Christ, yet offend in many things; and if we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us.

by David Rowe

Here there is comfort and there is challenge. There is ‘like unto’ and there is utterly unlike. There is familiarly human and there is wholly Other. There is spotless sacrifice and there is sin taken away. In short, there is us and there is Him.

The incarnate Christ was completely like us, and yet there is no one like Him. Of all the humans who have ever, or who will ever, come into existence, there is only one who failed to conform to our fallen sinful state. And it’s not for want of opportunity. According to formal estimates, over 100 billion creatures of the species homo sapiens have probably been born in the last 50,000 years. But not one of them has remained untouched by the stain of sin. So Jesus is utterly unlike us.

And yet, as the Article affirms, Christ comprehensively knows our state. He has experienced birth, childhood, puberty, and adulthood. He knows a mother’s love, the rich joy of companionship with friends, the tearing grief of bereavement, and what it is to be betrayed. He knows hunger, prayer, weariness, pain, laughter, temptation, baptism, feasting, and death. He is not alien to our condition, a far-off superhero flying through the spiritual sky. He washed, ate, slept, and used the toilet. We do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathise with our weaknesses, but one who has been tempted in every way. Yet without sin. He was made like unto us in all things, save this one.

Why is Christ’s unique sinlessness so significant? Firstly, because it is part of the proof that He is God. God from God, Light from Light, true God from true God. Jesus is not just an exceptional human, or a man who ‘tapped into’ the divine, but He is God in the flesh. Article XV allows no grey area to those theologies which hold that Jesus was enlightened but not unique (as is the case in Hinduism and Islam, for example), nor for those which see Him as anything less than God incarnate (eg. Mormonism, Jehovah’s Witnesses, Arianism, etc.). Christ is not one of many: He is the One. Jesus is not a Lord, but the Lord. So when Paul gives ‘Jesus is Lord’ as the simple formulation to discern whether a teacher is speaking by the Spirit of God or not, we can trust that it is because the uniqueness of Christ must be at the heart and foundation of our faith.

Secondly, the sinlessness of Christ is significant because it is fundamental to our own forgiveness and salvation. ‘For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God,’ says St. Paul. (II Corinthians 5:21) ‘He appeared in order to take away sins; and in him there is no sin,’ asserts St. John. (I John 3:5) Our salvation is bound up in Christ’s sinlessness because, as St. Peter teaches, our redemption was not accomplished ‘with perishable things… but with precious blood, as of a lamb unblemished and spotless’. (1 Peter 1:18-19) By becoming participants in Jesus’ divine and perfect sinlessness, we escape the just results of our sin; we have peace with God through Christ and in Christ. No one else could possibly make ‘a full, perfect, and sufficient sacrifice, oblation, and satisfaction, for the sins of the whole world.’ The Sinless One achieved what only He could.

And thirdly, the sinlessness of Christ is significant because, in light of it, even our own best efforts at piety are shown up for the self-centred, vain, and rotten things they are. Christ’s incarnate sinlessness shows that mortal flesh is not de facto sinful, yet we are still corrupt, crooked, venal, and vacuous. ‘All our righteousnesses are as filthy rags’ as the King James Version puts it. And it is worth noting that Article XV is careful to say that being baptised and saved will in no way except us from this rule. We Christians, like all the rest of humanity, offend in many things, it says, and we are fooling ourselves if we make any pretence towards true virtue. The righteousness we have is His. The effect of this stark and unambiguous contrast between Christ’s perfection and our degradation is at least two-fold: on the one hand it should keep us in a mindset of continual repentance, knowing our deep ongoing need of His grace; and on the other it can show us how deeply and richly we have been forgiven – we are invited, in recognising that we have been forgiven much, to love much.

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All theology should lead to doxology, as J.I. Packer is fond of saying. How then do we take Article XV and the significant truths it affirms, and plant them in the soil of praise and devotion? How do we step beyond merely agreeing with the Article, onto applying its insights in private and corporate worship? Here I would like to suggest how the seasons of the Church Year might be approached in light of these sentences.

i. During Advent, as we groan in expectation of the new life about to be born, we can focus on our need of a sinless saviour, aching for Him. We are the people walking in darkness; let us not deceive ourselves and pretend that we can achieve our way into the Light. We might also see that, before He became a baby, God first became an embryo, sanctifying even the precarious pregnancy process that we all share. In this season let’s intercede for our dark world with a thirst for His goodness, with patient endurance in labour pains, and with hopeful expectation of His coming.

ii. During Christmas, we might focus on the truth that Jesus was made like unto us in all things. Christ didn’t just appear to be human – His enfleshment was real, not a trick of the light. And as we remember His infancy, let us be willing to be beginners in our faith. Babies. Let us be dependent on our Father to feed and grow us, and also be forgiving of our own frailties and mistakes. In this season let’s choose to pray with simple, joyful words and simple, joyful faith.

iii. On Epiphany and during the Ordinary Time beyond it, may our eyes grow wider. May we increasingly recognise how different Jesus is to us – that this human, born two millennia ago, is in fact the Word who was before all things, and in Whom all things hold together. In this season let us be dazzled by the glory of the one and only Son, and pray with reverential gladness, praising Him and delighting in His brilliance.

iv. During Lent, as we remember Jesus’ temptation in the midst of human weakness, we should remember that He knows what it is to undergo temptation and spiritual warfare. He understands. May we also take inspiration from His sinlessness. He overcame temptation, so let us beat our bodies into submission so that we can run with endurance the race that is set before us. And let’s pray with deep and sincere repentance, knowing that we still offend in many things.

v. During Holy Week, we can renew our gratefulness that the Lamb of God has taken away the sins of the world. Let us know our great need of Him, and be thankful for the institution of the Eucharist, through which our physical bodies are fed with the Bread of Heaven. Let our words be few.

vi. During Easter, we can recognise that not only was Christ made like unto us, and not only did He offer Himself as a sacrifice, but also that by His glorious resurrection He ‘destroyed death and brought life and immortality to light’. Let us feast and be glad! Death has no dominion over us, because we are in Him! In this season, may our prayers bubble over with joy and gratitude, and our worship be euphoric.

vii. On Pentecost and the Ordinary Time beyond it, let us be filled with the Spirit. May we truly know that, because of Christ’s sinless offering of Himself, we are now the Temple of the Holy Spirit, the dwelling place of the Most High. May our prayers (in many languages!) be full of faith and power.

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Article XV articulates a foundational truth, but may it not only be a truth that is foundational to good theology or good teaching, but also one that becomes a cornerstone for life in all its fullness. Jesus was really like unto us, therefore we can really be like unto Him. ‘I gave you an example,’ He said in John 13, ‘that you also should do as I did’. We have no need to make a pretence of our perfection, but neither should we shield our eyes and lower our sights. St. Paul called himself an imitator of Christ; we should be too.

David Rowe is studying for his Masters of Divinity through Trinity School for Ministry, whilst also being a stay-at-home dad and a Tolkien addict. Based in Charleston, SC, he was born in Sheffield in England and has also lived in New Zealand, Scotland, and Virginia. He is the author of The Proverbs of Middle-earth and is a postulant for Holy Orders in the Diocese of South Carolina.

Voluntary Works besides, over and above, God’s Commandments, which they call Works of Supererogation, cannot be taught without arrogancy and impiety: for by them men do declare, that they do not only render unto God as much as they are bound to do, but that they do more for his sake, than of bounden duty is required: whereas Christ saith plainly When ye have done all that are commanded to you, say, We are unprofitable servants.

by J. Brandon Meeks

Article XIV is the last in a series on the subject of Good Works. Whereas Article XIII teaches us that those works “done before the grace of Christ, and the inspiration of His Spirit, are not pleasant to God” since they do not find their source in faith in Christ, Article XIV goes further in limiting the meritorious value of works performed in true and living faith. As such, this Article is a trenchant denial of the Roman Catholic Dogma which serves as the logical basis for indulgences, penance, purgatory, and all other accretions related to the supposed “Treasury of Merit.” With prophetic verve, the Anglican Divines abominated the concept of supererogation, maintaining that such ideas could not be taught “without arrogancy and impiety.”

Defining “Works of Supererogation”

What, then, is meant by the anathematized term? The term derives from the Latin, rogare, which meant “to propose a law.” Erogare meant to propose a law dealing with money matters, or with things which pertained to the treasury. From this came supererogare, which meant “to pay out more than was necessary.” For the purposes of Roman Dogma, this became supererogatio, which was understood to mean doing more than that which God required.

The ecclesiastical usage likely comes from a particular interpretation (and translation) of the story of the Good Samaritan in the Latin Vulgate. In that parable, the Samaritan says to the innkeeper, “Whatsoever thou spendest more when I come again, I will repay thee” (Luke 10:35 KJV). The Vulgate renders the phrase,“spendest more,” as quodcumque supererogaveris. This is the probable root from which the bitter fruit of supererogation sprang; namely, that it is possible to go beyond the requirements of revealed law, and render unto God more than He has required of men.

The Doctrine in History

Though we find little of the dogma in its fully developed form until the thirteenth century, it appears to have been cobbled together from concepts and conflicts which arose over the course of a thousand years. During the Decian Persecution in the third century, there were numerous examples of martyrdom, and countless other examples of apostasy as men’s hearts failed them for fear. When confronted with the choice between Christianity and the Colosseum, many believers suffered a lapse of faith. When the immediate threat of death subsided, many of these deserters sought refuge again in the arms of Mother Church. The problem, though, was that they were subject to penitential discipline—if they were to be readmitted to the Communion at all. Some, hoping to escape paying the price yet again, sought help from perspective martyrs to intercede to the Church on their behalf. These mediators were perceived as being superabundantly holy on account of their willingness to die for the Faith, and “Letters of Peace” were granted to those for whom they interceded which allowed the fallen to be taken up into the bosom of the Church without penalty.

Since these were taken as the basis by which confessors could grant remission of ecclesiastical penance, the “Letters of Peace” issued at the behest of would-be martyrs may be viewed as the first form of indulgences. The “Letters” set a dangerous precedent which would be used for nefarious purposes in the years to come. Though charity demands that we stop short of attaching blame to these early practices for every later corruption, a tree is known by the fruit which it bears.

In addition to an overvaluation of the inherent righteousness of martyrs, there arose an undervaluation of the holy estate of matrimony. There sprang up within the Church of the sixth century a fascination with virginity. By taking a line from Saint Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians, “Now concerning virgins I have no commandment of the Lord, yet I give my judgment…” theologians deduced a distinction between “commandments” and “judgments.” That is, between that which was necessary and that which was advisable. This ultimately led to the formation of discrete categories of ordinary and extraordinary; necessary and voluntary. Since some acts were deemed voluntary, yet unnecessary—even if advisable—the latter became known as the “Counsels of Perfection.” From this came the idea that those voluntary actions accrued a special value in the economy of God, thus meriting a form of spiritual credit laid up in Heaven’s Treasury.

Again, in deference to charity, we must note that the original meaning of the “Counsels” referred simply to those actions which were undertaken in the service of God concerning which no positive precept of obedience was explicitly given. Among those who given preeminence were martyrs, confessors, and anyone choosing a life of celibacy. Yet, it was upon this foundation that later churchmen would erect the twin pillars of merit and indulgences which support the burden of Tridentine Dogma. Wisdom has built her house, she has hewn out seven pillars; yet it appears that Folly is satisfied with two brittle posts.

As was mentioned earlier, it was around the thirteenth century that the doctrine of supererogation was officially sanctioned as teaching by the Church of Rome. The various abstractions which served as the underbelly of the dogma were reified by Alexander of Hales, and then later codified by Albert Magnus, under the title thesaurus perfectorum supererogationis. According to Magnus’ opus, the Pope—since he possessed the keys to the kingdom—could set aside temporal penalties here and purgatorial punishments hereafter.

But it was Thomas Aquinas who most fully dignified the proposal. According to Saint Thomas, the Church has many members who have supererogated beyond the measure of their debts, and by virtue of the mystical unity of the Body of Christ those merits are transferable to others, whether they be living or suffering in purgatory. Furthermore, the Bishop of Rome has the contents of the Treasury at his disposal, and may distribute the gathered fruit of the Church’s good works withersoever he will.

It is easy to see how such beliefs led to practices that were fraught with abuses, shrouded in scandals, and laden with superstitions. Thus, it should come as no surprise to us that these aberrant doctrines became fodder for the wild boar that tore through the tangled mess which was the papal vineyard. Unfortunately, despite her many concessions to the Reformers and their heirs, the Roman Church still has this counterfeit concept of merit on the books.

The Doctrine: Tried and Found Wanting

In seeking to hold fast the form of sound words and cleave to that which was good, the English Church tested the teaching of Rome against the pattern of doctrine laid out in Holy Scripture. The end result constituted the wholesale rejection of the supposed “works of supererogation.” Being reasonable men, but mortal men still, the divines who labored to give us a faithful confessional expression of the Christian Faith were repulsed by the idea of a crass, monetary principle trespassing upon the domain of grace. That men did not think that they owed God as much as they actually did was bad enough, but to go as far as to suggest that He was in their debt was beyond the bounds of sanity. For Anglicans, such high-mindedness was nothing short of brazen arrogance and godless impiety. Their response was to issue a statement which would deny any principle they feared threatened the saving efficacy of Christ’s redemptive and mediatorial work. The fear of the Lord was the beginning of their confessional wisdom; thus, Article XIV was a natural end.

This Article makes its assault on several fronts at once. First, by condemning the exaggerated notion of the sanctity of finite creatures. Second, by excoriating those who would diminish the elusive (and exclusive) sanctity of the Holy One of Israel. Third, by criticizing those who would strip the law of its unbearable weight. Fourth, by reminding those who would esteem themselves more highly than they ought of the humbling words of our Incarnate Lord.

The Roman Dogma presupposes that men have the ability (albeit by grace perfecting nature) to attain to a status of total conformity to the moral integrity of God. This is no mean feat! This suggests that the Holy One enjoys no unique place with regards to His holy estate. It is to darken the brilliance of the Light Unapproachable; it is to snuff out the heat of the All-Consuming Fire; it is to join Lucifer on his fool’s quest to usurp the alabaster throne of the Most High God! To say that mortal man can, by his labors or devotion, ascend to the lofty heights of the perfection required of God is the quintessence of human depravity. It is the primum mendacium; the chief cornerstone of the Devil’s Dogma—that by striving, “you shall be as gods” (Genesis 3:5).

The Scriptures uniformly exclude such attempts at boasting (Romans 3:27). They testify to humanity’s frailty and spiritual incompetency. Rather than that which grounds human pride, the law stands as the inviolable and inflexible standard which shatters proud imaginations. The law doesn’t give rise to lips that sing their own praises; indeed not! When the law comes, every mouth is shut up, and the whole world owns its universal guilt before its singularly Holy Lord (Romans 3:19). The law isn’t offered as some ladder whereby sinful creatures may climb to the gates of Heaven. On the contrary, the law comes as a hard disciplinarian which illuminates the utter futility of human effort, and drives us to the feet of a sinless Christ (Galatians 3:24). Whereas Rome says that through diligent effort men may exceed the righteousness which the law demands, Saint Paul condemns such haughtiness, declaring “by the deeds of the law there shall no flesh be justified in His sight” (Romans 3:20).

The Wanting: Found and Freely Favored

God calls us to perfection—absolute, total, complete perfection. This He does to expose our neediness. The demands of the law were intended to empty our hands of self-sufficiency so that they may be filled with the gift of God. The gift is free and unmerited. It is an unspeakable gift—God gives God. Whereas the Serpent spins gilded lies of demigods and immortality; the gospel of free and sovereign grace offers us the prospect of sharing in God’s own abundant life.

One will find here no hint of spiritual remuneration! For does man possess that he did not receive at the hand of God? All that we could possibly do by way of obedience—whether such actions are construed as voluntary or otherwise—is owed to the One who fills our lungs with breath and gives strength to our feeble hands. All things come from Him; thus, it is from His own that we give back to Him (1 Chronicles 29:14). Or as Saint Paul says, who has so given to the Lord that something should be repaid to him in kind? For of Him, and through Him, and to Him are all things. To Him be glory forever and ever (Romans 11:35-36).

What is there, then, “that bounden duty” does not require? After we have done all, says the Master of the House, we are but unprofitable servants (Luke 17:10). Truly, it is only of the Lord’s mercies that we are not consumed (Lamentations 2:22). Surely those do not come to us through toil and labor! No, we wake up to a fresh batch of mercies every morning, as though they rained down like manna at midnight (Lamentations 2:23).

Though we are ineligible to receive requital for service owed to our Maker, a better bargain was struck in the living heart of God. He does not ask us to pawn our filthy rags of righteousness in hopes of some dismal payout. Instead, He calls us—empty, hungry, thirsty, destitute—to come and buy wine and milk without money and without price (Isaiah 55:1). He then takes us—naked and ashamed—into His own wardrobe, and chooses from His own fine robes those suitable for beloved sons and regal heirs.

Thus, salvation is not a reward for the righteous, it is a gift for the guilty. If it is the wages that are owed to us that we desire, then we must be paid in the currency of death (Romans 6:23). However, if we truly come to understand our unworthiness, then we may finally find that Lone Worthy Figure who was left standing after Heaven’s own celestial search, and then we may add our own voices to that unending cosmic chorus: “Worthy is the Lamb that was slain to receive power, and riches, and wisdom, and strength, and honour, and glory, and blessing” (Revelation 5:12).

Grant us, O Lord, to trust in you with all our hearts; for, as you always resist the proud who confide in their own strength, so you never forsake those who make their boast of your mercy; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen. (Book of Common Prayer)

J. Brandon Meeks (Ph.D., University of Aberdeen) is an Anglican theologian who resides in his native state of Arkansas. In addition to constructing poor prose, he also dabbles in bad poetry. He is the author of God, the Universe, and Everything Else. You can also find his (ir)regular writings at www.highchurchpuritan.wordpress.com.

Works done before the grace of Christ, and the Inspiration of his Spirit, are not pleasant to God, forasmuch as they spring not of faith in Jesus Christ; neither do they make men meet to receive grace, or (as the School-authors say) deserve grace of congruity: yea rather, for that they are not done as God hath willed and commanded them to be done, we doubt not but they have the nature of sin.

by Elisabeth Kincaid

Article XIII raises the question of the value of works prior to or without justification. In other words, can non-Christians do good things?  There are two approaches which the article considers.  First, while it is clear that works cannot strictly merit justification, can they do so congruously, or, in other words, relative to a pre-defined unequal relationship? Do they prepare us to receive grace in some way or do they even make it fitting that we receive justification, even though justification is not strictly earned?  Secondly, are these works, considered in themselves, pleasant to God or sinful?  So, like the good works done after the receipt of grace, do they have some moral value, even if they are not salvific? The answer of the Article XIII to both of these questions is no.

At first, the use of a number of technical terms and the reference to scholastic debates may make Article XIII appear too abstract and irrelevant for contemporary theological questions and concerns. However, this question in fact touches on two key theological concerns which are equally relevant today: ecumenism and interfaith engagement. Because of the reference to the schoolmen (a reference to the Roman Catholic theologians of the various schools scattered throughout Europe which in Reformation debates often carried derogatory implications) this article especially presents itself as a challenge to ecumenical dialogue.  Secondly this article challenges us to consider how we discuss the actions of the unbaptized, making it important for engagement with those of different faiths and the “nones.” Although these do raise challenging questions, I will argue in this blog post that reading this article along with St. Thomas Aquinas provides an interpretive lens which both assuages contemporary concerns and anxieties while also providing an interpretation in accord with the tradition of the church.

I will begin with the simpler question relating to ecumenism. On its face, the reference to the schoolmen should most likely be read as an assumption regarding a deep theological divide with the Roman Catholic Church on the nature of the works of the unbaptized. Are these works required to make people “meet,” in other words suitable or fitting, to receive grace?  Or do people merit grace congruously?

 In the scholastic debates, two types of merit were recognized.  First, there is condign merit, which describes that which is merited in strict justice as a reward. Despite Reformation rhetoric regarding faith by works, there was no belief among orthodox Roman Catholic theologians by the time of the Counsel of Trent that any human, on his or her own power, could ever merit grace condignly. This would erase God’s divinity and transcendence, by implying we could make claims on God as if he were our equal. As Aquinas writes: “Now it is clear that between God and man there is the greatest inequality: for they are infinitely apart, and all man’s good is from God. Hence there can be no justice of absolute equality between man and God.”[1]  (ST I-II q. 114, a. 2)  In other words, we can never through our own works make ourselves suitable to receive God’s grace, because we can never become God or like God. This unbridgeable gap is, or course, what makes grace always God’s free gift, not something we can earn or prepare ourselves for. However, the second question, regarding congruous merit – the subject of Article XIII – was the topic of more actual debate.[2]  Aquinas defines congruous merit as a relative merit – specifically that which might be found between a parent and a child. (I-II, q. 114, a.1.) So, while a sinner can never merit absolutely, it might be possible to say that it would be fitting, based on pre-existing relationship, to claim that within the context of the vast disparity of the relationship, the person still merited relatively.

This claim that some merit might accrue relatively for works carried out before receiving grace was in fact argued by some scholastic theologians – hence the reference in the article. Without delving into all the complexities of these complicated theological debates, I think it is worth pointing out that congruous merit earned on behalf of one’s self  is not described or assumed either in Aquinas or the canons on justification of the Counsel of Trent. Aquinas, for instance only considers congruous merit as something which might accrue only after justification (not before as this article assumes) since nobody can merit eternal life on their own. Rather, it only a possibility after the parent/child relationship has been established between God and the Christian, not as a prerequisite or preparation for justification. Aquinas’s main discussion regarding the grace of congruity is whether, based on the model of Christ’s own atoning sacrifice, a person can merit congruously for another. (I-II q. 114, a. 6). So yes, in God’s great mercy he does give those who have already received sanctifying grace the opportunity to imitate Christ in working on behalf of others, but this is all carried out within the father-child relationship, not outside of it. This engagement with the mission of Christ is an example of God’s further grace to his children, not an attempt to smuggle in some form of works-based salvation, which seems to be the concern of the article.

The second question is more challenging. How do we talk about the moral value of the actions of those not yet baptized? To most contemporary readers of the Thirty-Nine Articles, the idea that the articles claim that the unbaptized always act in a sinful manner will elicit an emotional rejection. Our cultural moment has made us keenly aware of the power and the virtues of those who resist evil for the sake of justice and the common good and selflessly serve others, regardless of their beliefs. To say their actions not only have no moral good, but are in fact sin, seems unnecessarily harsh and inaccurate.

In this question, as in the first, I think Aquinas might be helpful to us in reading this article in a catholic mode which also conforms with our own moral intuitions and experience. Normally, our instinctive reading of something as a being described as a sin is that an action is wrong and lacks any type of moral value: a completely binary read of good and evil. Aquinas offers a more nuanced way to understand action – through the lens of perfection and charity.  Aquinas defines sin as a turning away among human “from that in which their last end really consists” i.e. union with God in the beatific vision. ( I-II Q. 1 a. 7, ad 1, I-II Q. 3 a. 8. ) Thus, all action which is properly oriented to its final end stems from love of God. “ However, to say an action is not carried out because of our love of God does not mean that we deny that it has some good, even if it is not perfectly good.   First, it has good because everything that has being as some good. It is evil only insofar as it lacks the fulness of perfection. (I-II Q 18 a 1.) Actions which lack perfection are sinful insofar as the will desires what is only “an apparent good: which has indeed some measure of good, but not of a good that is simply suitable to be desired.” (I-II  Q 19 , a1 ad 1).

Read through this interpretive lens, to say along with Article XIII that actions which are not stemming from God’s grace, which is what makes the true love of God possible, are sinful is not to deny that they are in many ways richly good, but rather to acknowledge that they lack the fullness of orientation towards love of God. 

Of course, making this statement always needs to be accompanied with the humility of acknowledging that to say that the principle of any action does not come from God’s grace does not mean that anybody can ever know which person has received this justifying grace and thus fall into the sin of presumption and limiting the actions of the Holy Spirit, who “blows where the Spirit pleases.” In addition, by acknowledging that these actions oriented by natural loves still have moral value, this approach opens up rich areas of collaboration for Christians working with others to promote the common good and advance justice.

Elisabeth Rain Kincaid is the Assistant Professor of Ethics and Moral Theology at Nashotah House Theological Seminary. She holds a Ph.D. in Theology from the University of Notre Dame and a J.D. from the University of Texas School of Law. Among other publications, she has had articles appear in Political Theology, The Journal of Moral Theology, and Christianity Today.  She blogs at https://livingchurch.org/covenant/author/kincaid-elisabeth/.

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[1] See  Christian D. Washburn, “The Transformative Power of Grace and Condign Merit at the Council of Trent,” in The Thomist Vol 79, 2 (April 2015): 173 – 212. See also Canon I of the Degree on Justification of the Counsel of Trent.

[2] For further discussion see, Heiko Augustinus Oberman, “The Tridentine Decree on Justification in the Light of Late Medieval Theology,” Journal for Theology and the Church 3 (1967): 28-54.

Albeit that Good Works, which are fruits of Faith, and follow after Justification, cannot put away our sins, and endure the severity of God’s judgment; yet are they pleasing and acceptable to God in Christ, and do spring out necessarily of a true and lively Faith; insomuch that by them a lively Faith may be evidently known as a tree discerned by the fruit.

by the Rev. Jennifer M. Owen

Article XII is the first of three in the Thirty-Nine Articles of Religion that address works and also expresses particular characteristics of the English Reformation. The context of these articles on good works require the preceding Article XI which states the key doctrinal claim of the Reformation – justification by faith.

Faith and Works and the English Reformation: Thomas Cranmer’s “Lively Faith”

As much as 16th century reformers were keen to articulate a doctrine of grace, they could not avoid questions that arose about what was to be said about the role of Good Works theologically, pastorally and practically. Article XX of the Augsburg Confession of 1530 jumps immediately into the fray disputing charges of promoting what might today considered “cheap grace.” The first line states: “Our teachers are falsely accused of forbidding good works.” This article goes on to articulate that while good works are not forbidden, they are certainly not the source of one’s salvation to be worked out on one’s own individually or based on merit. Rather than promoting a “doctrine of works” the Augsburg Confession concludes Article XX by stating that it is only through faith that good works are possible.

English Reformer and Archbishop of Canterbury Thomas Cranmer had a unique approach to discussing the role of good works and it is summarized here in Article XII of the Thirty-Nine Articles of Religion. Article XII makes key statements with regard to Works in general before getting to some particulars in following two articles (XIII and XIV). First, similar to the Augsburg Confession, Article XII affirms that good works are “pleasing and acceptable to God”. Following this, however, the origin of these good works is noted as springing out “of a true and lively faith,” which is evident “as a tree is discerned by the fruit.”

It is important to note that Article XII was not part of the original Forty-Two Articles in 1553. Rather it was added to the revised Thirty-Nine Articles after Cranmer’s death and during Elizabeth I’s reign by Archbishop Matthew Parker and Bishop Edmond Guest. It is fair to say, however, that this Article distills Cranmer’s writings on the necessity of works for salvation in relationship to one’s faith.

In 1547, a collection of twelve homilies (mostly) written by Cranmer was published for use in the (reformed) Church of England during the reign of Edward VI (1547-1553). As the Church of England underwent significant systematic Protestant reform under Edward VI after breaking from the Roman Church in 1533/1534 during Henry VIII’s reign, these homilies were intended to serve a number of purposes including theological and ecclesiastical renewal, improving literacy, and religious education. It is in this collection of homilies that we hear how Cranmer articulated a middle way between a doctrine of grace and a doctrine of works.

The homily titled “A Short Declaration of the True, Lively, and Christian Faith” is where Cranmer writes that there are two kinds of faith found in scripture: “dead faith” and “lively faith.” Dead faith “is idle, barren and unfruitful.”^[1] A dead faith, according to Cranmer, is one that professes belief in and even fear of God, without any outward expression of goodness. Even though he is not clear about scriptural examples of those with dead faith, Cranmer does point to contemporary examples in his sermon. For instance, he makes it clear that outward ritual and religious gestures are not evidence of lively faith. Cranmer is not condemning these religious practices in and of themselves, but claims they are not works of faith if the way a man lives his life is somehow contradictory to the faith he proclaims with his mouth and exhibits in church.

A great deal of Cranmer’s discussion of dead vs. lively faith depends upon his reading the of First Letter of John and the Letter of James. On the one hand, he relies upon 1 John’s articulation that one’s knowledge of God is made evident in the observation of God’s commandments (1 John 2:3-4). On the other hand, Cranmer looks to the Letter of James to define dead faith: “For just as the body without the spirit is dead, so faith without works is also dead.” (James 2:26)

Cranmer’s reading of James and Paul reveals a life inspired by faith that manifests in good works and charity. In introducing his discussion of “lively faith” in this homily, Cranmer starts pointing to Paul’s Letter to the Galatians declaring that faith “worketh by charity,”^[2] referring specifically to when Paul states, “the only thing that counts is faith working through love.” (Galations 5:6, NRSV). Cranmer equates what Paul says with what James says about faith – that the only true faith is a faith that manifests itself in works of love and charity. Augustine, along with other early Church theologians did not see Paul and James as opposed to each other (as Martin Luther so famously did). Augustine believed not only that Paul and James instruct us on works of faith, but that Jesus himself instructed his disciples to keep the commandments.”^[3]

As influenced as Cranmer was by Luther, this is also where Cranmer departs from him and stays closer to Augustine’s and other early Church readings of scripture, which Cranmer also  mentions in his sermons. For example, he quotes Augustine saying, “Good living cannot be separated from true faith, which worketh by love.”^[4] Additionally he quotes Chrysostom saying, “Faith of itself is full of good works: as soon as a man doth believe, he shall be garnished with them.”^[5] It is important to note the significance of Cranmer’s dependence upon early church readings of scripture to advance his argument. As many Protestant reformers argued against certain doctrines of the church in Rome, they were especially concerned to root their assertions not only being in scripture but also in the practices and doctrines of the early church. Cranmer, along with other reformers, insisted that their reforms were not doing anything new or starting a new church. Rather they were advocating what they believed was a return to a purer faith more fully in line with scripture and the early church.

Cranmer’s “Declaration” of lively faith in this homily is primarily intended to exhort people toward holiness and godliness in their everyday lives. In preaching on James 2:18, he proclaims, “Shew me thy faith by thy deeds. Thy deeds and works must be an open testimonial of thy faith.”^[6] Cranmer goes on to encourage people to try their faith in their living and to observe the fruits of it. A life lived in charity and love is one in which a person can continually rejoice.^[7] Thus, Cranmer, as well as James, is not claiming that works alone are necessary for salvation. In fact, earlier in this homily Cranmer maintains that no works or deeds can be considered good before God prior to or without faith.^[8] Cranmer reads James as asserting that true and lively faith leads to a transformation of life that cannot help but manifest itself outwardly in good deeds and works.

A next logical question is what sort of works and deeds of faith is Cranmer urging his listeners toward?  Even though he does not condemn worship and outward rituals of faith in and of themselves, he is clear that this is not enough. Deeds of faith must manifest in all parts of a person’s life. Anything less is considered “dead faith,” wickedness and hypocrisy. Cranmer’s fifth sermon in this collection is “A Sermon of Good Works Annexed unto Faith.” In this sermon he launches into the question of where to look for the works that emerge from faith and his answer is to look to the “Saviour Christ.”^[9]  He claims that it is in the life and teachings of Jesus that one can be guided into a lively faith. Cranmer specifically points to Jesus’ instructions to follow the commandments.

In many ways, Cranmer is trying to do what so many preachers attempt from the pulpit, which is to help connect the word of God and what we believe about God to our day to day lives. If there were a chicken and egg argument about faith vs. works, Protestant reformers are on the same page insisting that works emerge from what we believe about God. However, Cranmer points to the importance of finding the way of following Jesus by following the commandments.

Regardless, Cranmer’s discussion of lively vs. dead faith gets problematic as well. Those sitting in the pews seeking the Christian life are eager in every generation to know what that looks like in their own context. But Cranmer’s take, sounds like it could get judgmental rather quickly regarding the quality of one’s faith. His exhortation to a lively faith is only helpful to the extent that it helps Christians recognize that in Christ we are empowered by the Holy Spirit to live out our faith in meaningful and powerful ways.

Good fruit

Article XII and delving into Reformation doctrines on faith and works remain helpful reminders of our dependence upon God alone. In a culture today that is saturated with DIY projects and self-help books, it is easy to forget that we rely upon the grace of God and that grace working through others to live out our baptismal covenant. In some ways, this Article, asserting that a good works springs out of a true and lively faith is articulated in our responses to our baptismal promises: “I will, with God’s help.” On our own, a lively faith and living our faith is simply not possible.

This is articulated especially well in the 12th Step professed by recovery communities that states that it is only after having experienced spiritual transformation that it is possible to turn around and be of service to others and be a guide to them on their road to sobriety. Famously sober writer Anne Lamott says this in her 2012 book on prayer Help Thanks Wow: “Gratitude begins in our hearts and then dovetails into behavior. It almost always makes you willing to be of service, which is where the joy resides. It means you are willing to stop being such a jerk. When you are aware of all that has been given to you, in your lifetime and in the past few days it is hard not to be humbled, and pleased to give back.”^[10]

These Reformation and contemporary perspectives on faith and works are helpful in reminding us that we are not mere spectators of Christianity but instruments of God’s loving action and justice in the world. Good works emerging out of a lively faith are life-giving, inspired and inspiring. A lively faith is an Incarnational faith that recognizes that in us and through us God is still at work in the world and in the church today.

The Rev. Jennifer M. Owen is the Rector of St. Augustine’s Episcopal Church in Croton-on-Hudson, NY. She has worked in parish ministry since she was ordained in 2012 and is a graduate of Berkeley Divinity School at Yale.

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^[1] Thomas Cranmer, “A Short Declaration of the True, Lively, and Christian Faith,” in Certain Sermons or Homilies Appointed to be Read in Churches in the time of Queen Elizabeth of Famous Memory (London: Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, 1938), 33.

^[2] Cranmer, “A Short Declaration of the True, Lively, and Christian Faith,” 30.

^[3] Augustine of Hippo, “On Faith and Works,” in James, 1-2 Peter, 1-3 John, Jude, ed. Gerald Bray, Ancient Christian Commentary on Scripture, New Testament (Downers Grove: InterVarsity Press, 2000), 29.

^[4] Cranmer, “A Short Declaration of the True, Lively, and Christian Faith,” 37.

^[5] Ibid.

^[6] Ibid, 45

^[7] Ibid, 45.

^[8] Ibid, 35.

^[9] Thomas Cranmer, “A Sermon of Good Works Annexed unto Faith,” 51.

^[10] Anne Lamott, Help Thanks Wow: The Three Essential Prayers (New York: Riverhead Books, 2012), 56-7.

Although good works, which are the fruits of faith and follow on after justification, can never atone for our sins or pass the strict justice of God’s judgement, they are nevertheless pleasing and acceptable to God in Christ and necessarily spring from a true and living faith. Thus a living faith is as plainly known by its good works as a tree is known by its fruit.

by Mark Gladman

Survey people on what the ultimate topic of theological battle during the Protestant Reformation was and you can guarantee that “faith versus works” is going to come out pretty close to the top of the results. Luther’s sola fide (“by faith alone”) often used out of his intended context, along with the persistent rumours that he wanted the Epistle of James removed from the New Testament canon because James’ whole “faith without works is dead” passage in the second chapter contended with his theology of justification by faith alone (only sort-of true) have provided a muddy backdrop to what is still today, for many Christians, a confusing issue.

Article XII however is beautifully and powerfully expressed in such a way as to bring about a helpful balance of how faith and works are not so much an “either/or” consideration, but instead a “both/and.” Follow carefully the movement of the wording in Article XII and you discover a carefully considered argument to embrace both faith and good works as important elements of a holistically lived Christian life.

Works are the “fruits of faith”

“No good tree bears bad fruit, nor again does a bad tree bear good fruit; for each tree is known by its own fruit. Figs are not gathered from thorns, nor are grapes picked from a bramble bush.”

Jesus, (Luke 6:43-44)

Article XII begins by defining what works are. Put simply they are fruit that are a natural result of the tree doing what the tree does. While in the passage above Jesus is referring to how to identify false prophets, the same applies across the board. In his letter to the Galatians, Paul even spelled out what the fruit of the presence of God’s Spirit looks like: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-discipline (5:22-23). Note that Paul does not call them fruits (plural), but fruit (singular). In other words, these are a suite of possible fruits to one might exhibit; but all make up the fruit of that should naturally follow on as a result of one’s faith.

So while works do not save us, they will be the result of the justified life. If the tree does not bear fruit, there is something wrong with the tree. Or even more simply, if you say you’re a Christian but don’t act like one, perhaps you’re not.

Works are “…pleasing and acceptable to God…”

“What good is it, my brothers and sisters, if you say you have faith but do not have works? Can faith save you? If a brother or sister is naked and lacks daily food, and one of you says to them, “Go in peace; keep warm and eat your fill,” and yet you do not supply their bodily needs, what is the good of that? So faith by itself, if it has no works, is dead.”

James 2:14-17

Rather than get hung up on all sorts of abstract definitions of sin, let’s simply say that sin is a breach of relationship between ourselves and God (as found in the first four of the Ten Commandments or “Love the Lord your God…”) or ourselves and others (as found in the second six or “Love your neighbour as yourself…”). These breaches happen because we live outside of the way we were created to live – a way that in the beginning God defined as “good.” Jesus’ purpose was to show us that way of living. The task of a disciple is to learn how to mimic your Rabbi in every way. In doing so, we would bring about the Kingdom of God so that God’s will might be done on earth as it is in heaven.

Works therefore are pleasing and acceptable to God not because in doing them we impress God and please God per se, but that in doing them we do what we were created to do, and that is what pleases God. “For we are,” Paul tells us, “what God has made us, created for good works in Christ Jesus, which God prepared beforehand to be our way of life” (Ephesians 2:10). The life of faith in Christ is a life of good works – the two are inseparable. James reminds us that while one can claim that they have faith, without good works as the fruit of that faith the faith is dead.

And what do these works look like? Just before this discussion on faith and works, James has discussed the virtue of allowing one’s listening to be transferred into doing, ending that by speaking specifically to how one controls their tongue, and reaches out practically to widows and orphans; and to neither give nor expect favouritism for doing so denies the “royal law found in Scripture, ‘Love your neighbour as yourself…’” Afterwards he continues in the same vein on practical things that demonstrate our faith.

Works cannot but “…spring from a true and living faith”

“But someone will say, “You have faith and I have works.” Show me your faith apart from your works, and I by my works will show you my faith… For just as the body without the spirit is dead, so faith without works is also dead.”

James 2:18, 26

When an apple tree is living and healthy that apple tree will produce apples. It can do nothing else. We can pick a sick or dead fruit tree because it will not produce fruit. What I love about the way Article XII is worded is the use of the term ‘necessarily’: “… [good works] are nevertheless pleasing and acceptable to God in Christ and necessarily spring from a true and living faith.” What is being expressed here is a very simple observation: a life of faith must result in good works because it can’t result in anything else!

Immediately after speaking to recognising a good tree by it’s fruit in Luke 6 (as cited above), he then goes on to say the following: “Why do you call me ‘Lord, Lord,’ and do not do what I tell you?” (Luke 6:46). Jesus seems gobsmacked that someone could even think that calling him “Lord” could not result in producing fruit in keeping with that new life and worldview (to paraphrase John the Baptist). Rather that good works being an option, the impression we are given from Scripture is that good works are nothing less than a necessary and unstoppable result of a life given over to faith in Jesus Christ.

Works are the fruit that give others a visible discernment of God at work in one’s life. In many ways they are a sacrament in the proper definition of the term.

“By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”

Jesus, John 13:35

Article XII concludes with a beautiful summarising sentence: “Thus a living faith is as plainly known by its good works as a tree is known by its fruit.”

Within the Benedictine circles in which I practice my spirituality, many monastic households continue with the age-old tradition of wearing the habit. While there is much symbolism in the habits worn by monks and nuns, one of those is as a sign to the communities in which they live and work of the type of life and the promises in that life to which they have vowed. Seeing a monastic in a habit is a sign of the presence of prayer in the world and a reminder of the vows that we as Christians make or have made for us at our baptism. In some ways, a habit is a kind of witness to the presence of Jesus in the midst of us.

In a similar way, our good works do the same.

In the parable of the Sheep and the Goats (Matthew 25), Jesus shares a litany of good works that the King in the story uses to determine the status of those he has separated to his right and to his left. The list is the same for both: you gave me something to eat, you gave me something to drink, you invited me in, you clothed me, you looked after me, you came to visit me.

It has been pointed out that the difference between those on the King’s right and those on the King’s left is simply what they did or did not do for ‘the least of these’ which was, doing it unto the King.

It would seem from the teachings and example of Jesus that one cannot escape the reality that good works play in the life of those that follow him.  Furthermore, far from being at odds, James and Paul both teach that salvation is by faith alone but never exists alone, showing itself alive by actions of love that come out of the transformation that justification brings to the life of the one who has put their faith in Christ. These good works are both an expression of thanks to God for the free gift of salvation by faith in Jesus; and as an action of love, empathy and compassion that comes when one aligns their heart and minds with the teaching and actions of our Rabbi, Jesus.

Mark Gladman is the Senior School Chaplain at All Saints Anglican School on the Gold Coast, Australia and a Benedictine neo-monastic. You’ll find him on Twitter at @monkindocs.