He had to blink back his tears for a second or two, seized by a momentary stab of fond remembrance in his heart, and thinking that standing before him was an angel sent by his good friend Charles Rutherford as a reminder that he was thinking of him.
“—My name is Timothy Diggorsfeld,” the pastor added, extending his hand.
Fifteen minutes later he and his visitor were seated in Timothy’s parlor. The young man still clutched the tract which had been handed him by one of the members of New Hope Chapel several days before.
“Ever since I read these words,” he was saying, “I have not been able to get them out of my mind. Jesus seeks to introduce us to a life lived with the Father—an ongoing, moment-by-moment experience between loving Father and contented child. He does not protect us from God, he takes us to him. It is toward intimacy with the Father that the Son would guide us. For such he was born, for such he died. This is what a relationship with Christ is all about.”
He glanced up at Timothy as if the words were the most astonishing thing he had ever heard. “As I read them, an inner explosion went off in my brain,” he added.
As Timothy listened he could not help smiling to himself. He knew the words well, for he had written them himself, though his name appeared nowhere on the tract.
“You see, for years I have struggled with what people call the atonement,” the young man went on.
“You are . . . or are not, a Christian?” said Timothy.
“I don’t know,” replied his visitor. “I have never prayed a conversion prayer, if that is what you mean, though I have been a sporadic attendee of various churches. Perhaps I should explain that I am one who tries to make sense of things. Logic is important to me, though I have heard it scoffed at by some preachers. What do you think? Is logic of God or of the devil?”
“Who made it?”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand you.”
“Who made our minds?”
“God, of course.”
“Then logic must be one of his gifts to us.”
“But what if it is of the fallen nature?”
“A legitimate concern, for many aspects of our humanity are. Can you tell me—why does such a question occur to you?”
“I don’t know. I suppose because so much of the preaching I have heard emphasizes that there is nothing good within us, that everything about man has been tainted by sin. I heard a sermon just last month entitled ‘The Total Depravity of Man.’”
Timothy smiled. He was well familiar with that upside-down theology whose deepest foundations were rooted in the sinfulness of man rather than the character of God.
“I would agree,” he said, “that everything in us has been tainted by sin. We are sinners; there is no doubt about that. By no goodness of our own will we enter the kingdom of heaven, but only through the shed blood of the Savior and the loving forgiveness of his Father. However, I take exception with the total depravity view. Sinful . . . yes. In need of a Savior . . . yes. Totally depraved . . . no.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because we are still made in God’s image, and everything God made was good. Even the Fall cannot change that in-his-image-ness. And to return to your question about logic—I consider it too wonderful a thing for the devil to have invented. Of course it is tainted, as you say, by our sin nature. But I stand by what I said, that imperfect as it is, it remains one of God’s precious gifts to mankind.”
“Do you think logic can aid spirituality?”
“Not only can it, it is supposed to. I believe that faith, though by definition it concerns the unseen, must be bolstered as much as possible by sound reasoning, and that obedience must likewise be nourished by a wide-awake and thoughtful mentality.”
“Why do so few Christians emphasize that?”
“Because 1 Corinthians 1:19–20 and 3:19 are two of the most misread passages in the New Testament,” replied Timothy, “which foolish people use to justify the shoddy view that we are not supposed to make sense of God’s truth. Both Jesus and Paul were crafty and intelligent men, who brought the full weight of their intellects to the aid of their faith.”
“I cannot tell you how glad I am to hear you say it,” laughed the young man lightly. “I have never been able to accept ideas by rote simply because someone tells me I should. And so much of what I have been told about salvation, I am sorry to say, makes very little sense to me.”
“Common sense is one of the much overlooked virtues in theological circles,” rejoined Timothy. “I am pleased to see that it is one you value. Would you care to give me an example of something about the common explanations of salvation that grates against your common sense?”
“Such as,” replied his guest, “Jesus dying to satisfy the justice of an angry God.”
“Why do you think that makes little sense?”
“God punishing sin, even though he is the one who created mankind capable of that sin? It is logically backwards. It is as if I punished my dog for being unable to speak English.”
“In other words, punishing your dog for being something he cannot help being?”
“Exactly. We cannot help being sinners. Yet they say God created us imperfect and then will condemn us to hell for not being perfect unless we go through a process of repentance which our very sinfulness makes it impossible for us to thoroughly understand or embrace. This strikes me as monstrous cruelty. Yet theologians insist such to be evidence of his holiness and righteousness, and all the while maintain that God is love. The illogic of it is enormous.”
“You make a strong point,” nodded Timothy.
“Well if that is their God,” said their visitor, “I want no part of him. That is certainly like no love I am familiar with.”
He sighed and glanced away. Timothy waited.
“And yet,” he went on in a moment, “I am drawn to Jesus. For in him I see love, tenderness, compassion, reasonableness, intelligence, logic, manliness, humor, truth, and even, if I can say it, down-to-earth common sense. I have read the Gospels numerous times. And part of me desires to give myself to him and be his disciple.”
“But something has prevented you?” asked Timothy.
“Yes—the idea that he was a sacrifice to appease an angry God. I simply cannot in good conscience accept such a thing. As much as I respond to Jesus himself, I cannot accept him if that is what it means. So to answer your question, I don’t suppose I am a Christian.”
“But from the sound of it, you want to be.”
“Yes, I think I do. Because I am certain in my heart that Jesus’ death and resurrection must mean more than the theologians say.”
“You are right, they mean much more,” smiled Timothy.
“What do you think they mean?”
“That your image of God the Father is wrong.”
“If only I could believe that.”
“Do you believe Jesus?”
“I . . . I think I do.”
“What did he say of his Father?”
The young man hesitated, then cast Timothy a look of question.
“He said that he was just like the Father,” Timothy went on, “—in other words, full of love, compassion, tenderness, gentleness . . . and forgiveness—all the same qualities you say you see in Jesus himself.”
“What about his holiness in the face of our sin?”
“Who else but a holy and righteous Father could love and forgive us perfectly and completely?” replied Timothy.
42
Souls at Risk
I also see that revenues have nearly doubled,” said Chairman Roul as he perused the documents he had been provided.
Mrs. Paulus glanced down at her own figures and nodded.
“And yet you say he is not stressing the tithe,” went on Roul. “I fail to understand such a dichotomy. People do not contribute to the collection plate unless they are reminded to feel duty bound. The tithe must be preached or we are out of business.”
“I also hear there are many conversions,
” now put in Mr. Riper, who had not yet spoken.
“How can that be?” said Mrs. Packer, growing a little annoyed with her two colleagues who seemed intent on giving Diggorsfeld the benefit of the doubt. “We all know that liberals do not emphasize evangelism.”
“He has one of the most evangelistic outreach programs in the city,” added Taylor. “It is said to be quite effective.”
“A mere rumor,” she retorted. “The idea that such a man is capable of winning souls is doubtful to say the least. The question I would raise concerning these so-called conversions is whether they are true conversions?”
“If, as you say, his liberalism is well known,” now consented Riper, “then you raise a critical question. The wrong words, even uttered in prayer, will not insure salvation.”
“I say he is a dangerous influence,” rejoined Mrs. Packer.
“But the people listen to him eagerly,” added Vice-Chairman Taylor. “I saw some taking notes.”
“What in the world for?” asked Mrs. Packer.
“I don’t know. But I have never seen such a response to a man’s sermons.”
“I think we must come back again to the matter of the conversions,” said the chairman. “This could make it difficult to prove his liberalism.”
“There are conversions and there are conversions,” replied Mrs. Packer. “As I hear it, he insists on pointing people toward the Father for salvation rather than our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.”
A few heads began to nod, as if they had him now. Even Vice-Chairman Taylor had to admit that if this were indeed true, he would have no choice but to side with the others and make the vote unanimous.
“If these so-called conversions are not based on the blood of the cross,” Mrs. Packer went on, “then however good he may make people feel about the Father’s love, those poor unfortunate souls may still be bound for hell. It would be better, our Lord said, for a stone to be put around his neck and he be thrown into the sea.”
“Yes, you are right,” nodded Chairman Roul. “We must act, and act decisively. Not only is the man dangerous to the doctrine, souls could actually be at risk.”
More heads nodded.
“We must put a stop to the spreading of false teaching.”
43
The Passion to Forgive
Timothy Diggorsfeld’s unexpected visitor tried to take in the minister’s last words.
They had fallen like a divine chisel against encrusted traditional explanations of the atonement he had been struggling with for many years. “Because of his holiness—which is a good holiness, not a self-righteous holiness,” Timothy continued, “God wants to forgive, not punish. Forgiveness is the Father’s passion toward sin, not retribution. Of course, forgiveness always comes with a price. Yet it is what he is continually striving to achieve.—But tell me about this explosion that went off in your brain.”
The young man smiled. “Many explosions seem to be going off,” he answered. “I suppose even before I came here today I was gradually seeing glimmers of what you have just been saying. When I read the tract, the phrase ‘He does not protect us from God’ jumped off the page at me. Suddenly I realized that perhaps God might not be a vindictive, condemning judge, intent on exacting punishment of the innocent to satisfy his divine justice.”
“What do you think he might be instead?”
The young man hesitated and glanced down, as if the idea were too wonderful to take in.
“I am still trying to get my mind around it,” he said after a moment, “and what you just said adds a new piece to the puzzle. But what I am wondering is whether God might not be the avenging judge theology has made of him, but might rather be a loving Father to whom Jesus wants to take us in order that he may forgive our sins. In other words, a Father whose arms are open to receive us and to whom Jesus takes us, rather than a Father from whom he must protect us . . . a Father—I can hardly say it, but this is what I am thinking—with a smile of welcome on his face rather than a scowl of rebuke.”
“An uncommon view,” commented Timothy with hint of a smile. “In other words, just like the Father of Jesus Christ.”
“Yes,” said the young man excitedly. “But . . . could it be true!”
“I think it very likely.”
“Do you see what a difference it would make! It would mean that Jesus did not come to rescue us from God’s wrath, but to introduce us to his Father’s love. All of a sudden everything in the Gospels makes more sense. Even his death makes sense now. The injustice that fell upon him was man’s, not God’s. Jesus yielded to that injustice because of love. Thus he makes atonement for my sin, not only as a symbol of the Old Testament sacrifice, but to show me how much I am loved by both him and his Father, and to take me to his Father to cleanse me of the very sin that did not stain him.”
“I see you have been thinking this through very thoroughly,” smiled Timothy. “You almost begin to sound like a theologian yourself.”
The young man returned his smile sheepishly.
“I have tried to get to the bottom of what it may mean,” he said. “And yes, to be honest, I have studied and thought about the atonement a great deal, even prayed to God for insight about it. I want to make sense of it.”
“I applaud you for that effort,” said Timothy. “If only more Christians were as earnest about their system of beliefs as you are.”
“Upon the basis of what I have been thinking since reading this tract, if it is true, I can accept Jesus as my Savior and Lord, something I was never prepared to do before.”
He paused, then added quietly, “No . . . I want to accept him as my Savior and Lord.”
He looked earnestly at Timothy.
“So I have to ask you,” he said, and his voice was as one dying of thirst in the desert approaching Timothy as his final hope of finding water, “—do you consider this new revelation—at least it is new to me—that Jesus desires to take us to the Father rather than save us from his wrath . . . do you consider it possible? If not I must surely give up my quest, for I have exhausted every other explanation of Jesus’ life and death.”
“I not only consider it possible,” replied Timothy, “I consider it true. Triumphantly true! With all my heart I believe that our salvation as Christians exists in love rather than in the satisfaction of divine justice. Do not get me wrong. There is divine justice, and we will all face it. But it is a justice of love, not a justice of retribution. God is a good, fair, and just Judge, not a vindictive, condemning, angry Judge. He is a Judge we will want to face, for he will make everything right, including our sin, and will make truth prevail throughout the universe.”
“Do you believe in the cross?”
“Of course,” replied Timothy. “Without the cross there is no salvation. The death and resurrection of Christ are the greatest demonstrations of love the world has ever known. And by that love, atonement is made for our sins. Atonement originates in the loving forgiveness of a holy, righteous, and forgiving Father, not in the satisfaction of a vengeance, which foolish theologians call ‘holy,’ yet is anything but. Such demean the holiness of God by expending their energies inventing theological theories rather than doing the truth. They have set themselves to speculate concerning the mysteries of God’s forgiveness rather than yield to the Fatherhood out of whose heart that forgiveness flows. They read their Bibles in a condition of heart in which it is impossible for them to unearth its truths. They presume to explain the Christ to whom years of obedience could alone have made them able to comprehend. Forgive me,” he said. “I sometimes become quite exasperated with my colleagues.”
He smiled and took a deep breath.
“Let me try to put it like this,” he went on. “God’s wrath is all against sin, not against mankind. He is bound by his holiness, not to punish the sinner but to destroy sin. And destroy it altogether. Toward this end the death of Christ on the cross is the victorious weapon against which sin, hell, and the devil himself cannot stand. The victory of the cross will
be complete.”
“You cannot imagine how happy it makes me to hear you talk so,” said Timothy’s visitor, beaming. “You have set my heart to rest on many things. Would you then tell me what to do to become a Christian, to accept Jesus as my Savior?”
“Nothing would delight me more,” said Timothy. “The Bible says to believe by faith in Jesus Christ, and confess that belief. You have already evidenced your belief and confessed it to me today. So you are possibly already a believer. Jesus himself talks about repentance along with belief. And baptism is also an important New Testament symbol that you have become his disciple. All these elements—belief, faith, repentance, confession, and baptism—are involved.”
“Yes, I would like to be baptized too.”
“Good, we can talk about that later. You must keep in mind that there is not necessarily a formula to be followed,” Timothy went on. “God knows each individual heart. The most important thing is responding to him personally. But each of these elements can and usually does accompany that heart response to God to one degree or another.”
“I do not want to leave anything out. Once I make up my mind on something, I give myself to it all the way.”
“Then why do we not pray together and you can tell the Lord what is in your heart, and that you want to follow him and obey him.”
The young man bowed his head and closed his eyes. From the way he spoke and his familiarity with New Testament concepts, Timothy could see that he was no stranger to church life, just as he said, even though having stumbled over the common prescription for salvation.
“Dear Jesus,” the young man began, “I am sorry for being so slow about acknowledging my belief in you. But I just couldn’t understand before. I think I do now. I repent of my sins. I thank you for dying on the cross and shedding your blood that my sins could be forgiven. Thank you for showing me the way to deny myself by your willingness to endure suffering and death. I ask you to come into my life and I accept you as my Savior and Lord. I believe in you and trust you by faith for my salvation. I pray that you will help me grow as a Christian. From this day on I want to live for you, obey you, and be your disciple.”
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