Liberating the Prisoner-of-War
A Comparison of Three Views:
The Unbiblical ‘Evangelical’, the Deterministic Calvinist,
and the Classical (or Wesleyan) Arminian
Adapted with slight modification from Jerry Walls and Joseph Dongell, Why I am Not a Calvinist (Downers Grove: InterVarsity Press, 2004), pp. 67-70. Both authors are professors at Asbury Theological Seminary, Wilmore, Kentucky.
THE GRACIOUS NATURE OF SALVATION
Perhaps the most serious weakness of some contemporary, unbiblical ‘evangelical’ thinking is its view of sin. Far too frequently, we narrow the problem of sin to the matter of guilt, largely understood (merely) as liability to future judgment. Our evangelism, therefore, often focuses solely on the offer of forgiveness to avert this threat, presenting its invitation with the presumption that the audience enjoys freedom of will, relatively sound judgment and an openness to consider fairly the gospel message. Accordingly, the most significant factor in determining the rate of success in evangelism is the power of the evangelist, whether in logic, persuasion or personal winsomeness.
Such a view widely misses the fuller range of sin’s destruction, the depth of human helplessness and the degree of human hostility to God. Compared to the unbiblical perspective, Calvinists surely have the clearer view, with a full arsenal of scriptural passages to prove that sin perverts the very mechanisms of insight and judgment, of desire and will, and of the fundamental moral disposition. The gospel call to deny oneself and to take up ones cross and follow Jesus (Mt 16:24; Mk 8:34; Lk 9:23) directly challenges every instinct for human self-preservation and self-rule and exposes human rebellion against God.
Contemporary Christianity’s underestimation of sin represents a shocking erosion from classical Arminian convictions, especially as taught by John Wesley (1703-1791; the founder of the Methodist movement). For his part, Wesley affirmed the dreadful effects of the Fall in the strongest terms, agreeing fervently with his Calvinist contemporaries that sinners, left to themselves, stand utterly hopeless and helpless before God. Yet in the generations succeeding Wesley, and especially in American Methodism, the pendulum swung from Wesley’s emphasis on free grace to an emphasis on free will, with an accompanying tendency to consider free will a natural human possession fully capable in its own right of assessing and accepting divine truth. While this innovation may resonate nicely with contemporary culture, it fails to account for biblical teaching about the fallen human condition. In the past, Arminians have agreed with Calvinists that salvation can only occur if God radically, powerfully and graciously invades the human heart. Given the human condition, this invasion will take place without human invitation and prior to any human interest in God or inclination toward the good. Only as God opens blind eyes, stirs the desires and loosens the grip of sin can saving faith follow.
However closely Calvinists and classical Arminians should agree on this point, we do part ways over the nature of God’s rescue operation. A three-way comparison should make the matter clear.
(1) The contemporary unbiblical ‘evangelical’ addresses the sinner as a convicted criminal standing at the gate of the penitentiary. Standing under a legal obligation to enter into eternal imprisonment, the prisoner will be escorted into inescapable confinement and punishment upon death. There at the front gate, an evangelist offers release from the coming horror and urges the convict to accept the gift of total pardon.
In contrast, Calvinists and classical Arminians see the sinner as already imprisoned in the deepest corner of a terrorist camp. Bound, gagged, blindfolded and drugged, the prisoner is weak and delusional. Calvinists and classical Arminians know that the preacher at the gate cannot reach the prisoner through the layers of confinement and sensory distortion. The prisoner can’t even begin to plead for help or plan an escape. In fact, the prisoner feels at home in the dank squalor of the cell; she has come to identify with her captors and will try to fight off any attempted rescue. Only a divine invasion will succeed.
(2) The Calvinist view of divine invasion is simple. God invades the camp, carries the prisoner out, strips the prisoner of her shackles and blinders, and injects “faith” into the prisoner’s veins. The former prisoner, having already been rescued from prison and positioned outside its walls, now trusts the Deliverer because of the potency of the administered faith serum. God has been the lone actor throughout, in the sense that the human response of faith is directly and irresistibly caused by God. Whether this saving action of God takes place over a longer or shorter period of time, faith is the inevitable result of divine illumination.
(3) The classical Arminian believes that God steals into the prison and makes it to the bedside of the victim. God injects a serum that begins to clear the prisoner’s mind of delusions and quell her hostile reactions. God removes the gag from the prisoner’s mouth and shines a flashlight around the pitch-black room. The prisoner remains mute as the Rescuer’s voice whispers, “Do you know where you are? Let me tell you! Do you know who you are? Let me show you!” And as the wooing begins, divine truth begins to dawn on the prisoner’s heart and mind; the Savior holds up a small mirror to show the prisoner her sunken eyes and frail body. “Do you see what they’ve done to you, and do you see how you’ve given yourself to them?” Even in the dim light, the prisoner’s weakened eyes are beginning to focus. The Rescuer continues, “Do you know who I am, and that I want you for myself?” Perhaps the prisoner makes no obvious advance but does not turn away. The questions keep coming: “Can I show you pictures of who you once were and the wondrous plans I have for you in the years to come?” The prisoner’s heartbeat quickens as the Savior presses on: “I know that part of you suspects that I have come to harm you. But let me show you something—my hands, they’re a bit bloody. I crawled through an awful tangle of barbed wire to get to you.” Now here in this newly created sacred space, in this moment of new possibility, the Savior whispers, “I want to carry you out of here right now! Give me your heart! Trust me!”
This scenario, we believe, captures the richness of the Bible’s message: the glory of God’s original creation, the devastation of sin, God’s loving pursuit of helpless sinners, and the nature of love as the free assent of persons. Here also is room for tragedy, for the inexplicable (but possible) rejection of God’s tender invitation by those who really know better and who might have done otherwise. Sin shows up in its boldest colors when it recapitulates the rebellion of Eden and freely chooses to go its own way in the face of divine love and full provision. The tragedy of such rejection is the risk God took in making possible shared love between creature and Creator, the very love shared between the Father and his eternal Son (Jn 17:23-26).
As we see it, the prisoner’s trust in the Rescuer was not caused by God, though God caused every circumstance that made it possible. God did all the illuminating, all the clarifying, and all the truth telling. The prisoner’s trust possessed no power of its own, for it didn’t remove one shackle or take one step on the way to freedom. God alone shatters all bonds and lifts the emaciated body on his own shoulders. The prisoner’s trust had no monetary value for enriching the Rescuer or compensating him for his wounds. Since God bore all the cost, took all the initiative and exercised all the power required for the saving event, God owns exclusive rights to all praise and glory for the miracle of redemption.
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The classical Arminian perspective of the prisoner-of-war analogy described above seems consonant with Paul’s account of our pre-conversion plight and the wonderful life given us by grace. Listen to Paul’s own words from Ephesians: We were “dead in our trespasses and sin” (Eph 2:1-3), “darkened in our understanding, alienated from the life of God” (Eph 4:17-19). Yet in the gospel proclamation we are enabled to hear the gracious invitation to participate in the life of Christ, “Awake, O sleeper, and arise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you” (Eph 5:14). After we arise to new life, we discover that this transformation was the Lord’s doing—all we did was thrown our arms around his neck so he could carry us out of the prison camp. God did not cause our trust, but as these authors tell us, “he caused every circumstance that made it possible.” Paul explains that “God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us, even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ” (Eph 2:4-5). This gives us reason to celebrate: “Bless-worthy is God who blessed with us every Spirit-wrought blessing in Christ!” (Eph 1:3).