Abstract
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The major target of Johnson’s attention is Anselm’s view of salvation. After carefully describing Anselm’s satisfaction theory of atonement and noting several positive elements, Johnson offers a withering critique. Anselm’s theory presents a disastrous image of a vindictive God: it leaves out the resurrection, overlooks the ministry of Jesus, sacralizes violence, promotes a morbid spirituality that glorifies suffering, fosters submission in the face of injustice, and assumes nature is merely a stage for human salvation. Her critique, in my view, is spot on. We need to find other ways to think about the work of Christ.
After critiquing Anselm’s theology, Johnson develops her alternative. She argues for an approach that “envisions the living God actively accompanying the world in its evolutionary and historical breakthroughs, its human sinfulness, and its universal suffering and death, with overflowing mercy that endures forever” (p. xiii). In the four chapters that form the heart of the book (chs. 2‒5) she develops her perspective by exploring both testaments of the Bible and the early history of the church.
Johnson develops this theology of accompaniment by showing how the God who saves is the God who creates. Our Redeemer is our Creator. And she rightly reminds us that the biblical notion of redemption means the healing and restoration of all things. Put succinctly: “God is good and will prevail over evil, redeeming all creation” (p. 117). Furthermore, in one of the most helpful sections of the book, Johnson reminds us that there is no single theory or doctrine of salvation. There is, rather, a set of metaphors: victory on a field of combat, acquittal in a court of law, adoption into a new family, the restoration of health, and buying back the freedom of someone enslaved, to name just a few. While carefully explaining the plethora of metaphors, Johnson shows how they are used to describe the work of Christ in changed relationships with God, other people, and the earth. Enemies become friends, slaves become beloved children, the oppressed are liberated, and the estranged are reconciled. These changes, Johnson emphasizes, are a result of the grace of God. Indeed, this is one of Johnson’s central claims: none of these metaphors, not even the sacrificial metaphors, suggest placating God’s will or appeasing God’s wrath. These diverse images center on God’s grace and God’s mercy.
This emphasis on God’s grace is, in my view, a tremendous need for us today. Too many Christians believe, despite what they may profess, that grace is earned. In a quid pro quo world it is exceedingly difficult to really believe God’s love is unmerited. We tend to believe that God will accept us only if we (fill in the blank).
Johnson fleshes out her theology of accompaniment in her discussion of the incarnation. After helpfully reminding us that finitude and sinfulness are not the same, that flesh (whether in Hebrew or Greek) is not sinful or evil, and that while there is a tradition of Christian spirituality that denigrates the body and matter, Pope Francis in Laudato Si’ has “rendered a severe judgment on this tradition” (p. 168). Johnson masterfully outlines the biblical basics of incarnational theology, briefly explaining the wisdom tradition and how it becomes incorporated into early Christology.
The linchpin of her argument, and the piece that may be unfamiliar to many of her readers, has to do with her discussion of “deep incarnation.” Given that “the human connection to nature is so deep that we can no longer completely define human identity without including the great sweep of cosmic development and our shared biological ancestry with all organisms in the community of life,” Johnson argues that we must acknowledge that the incarnation “connects the creating God who saves with all biological life and the whole matrix of the material universe down to its very roots” (pp. 184‒85). Hence the incarnation “brings God near in a different way to the whole of earthly reality in its corporeal and material dimensions—all of earth’s ecosystems, plants, animals, and the cosmos in which planet Earth dynamically exists” (p. 187). This implies that in the cross “the God of suffering abides in solidarity with all creatures” and in the resurrection “the empty tomb stands as an historical marker for the God of creation who can act with a power that transfigures biological existence itself” (pp. 189‒90). In short, God accompanies not only humans in their pilgrimage on their home planet but also the rest of the creatures on earth. And humans are not the only creatures who await a future transformation. While we can only guess what this eschatological transfiguration will look like, Scripture testifies that it is a renewal that includes all creation.
This is a much-needed correction of the anthropocentric and escapist eschatology typical of much popular Christian thought. Far too many Christians envision the future as something like a solitary soul floating in heaven, rather than the new Jerusalem coming down from heaven to earth and all creation renewed and redeemed (Revelation 21‒22). But Johnson could have made more of this claim. While she mentions some of the typical biblical passages cited in support of a more earthy future, such as Rom 8:18‒25 and Col 1:15‒20, the grand vision of God’s good future, found in the last two chapters of Revelation, is missing.
Overall, Johnson’s treatment of redemption in a time of ecological degradation is informed and insightful. She draws on a wide range of biblical sources as well as the riches of the Christian tradition. Her arguments are crisp and persuasive. Her prose is clear and often evocative. While Johnson criticizes Anselm’s theory of atonement, she creatively adopts Anselm’s style (in Cur Deus Homo) by putting her argument in the form of a dialogue with an imaginary conversation partner named Clara. This rhetorical choice is well deployed and makes the substance of the book more understandable. Indeed, one of the strengths of the book is its ability to convey complicated theology in an easily comprehensible way to her audience of “believers, seekers, doubters, and critics” (p. xvi). I can readily imagine college and seminary teachers adopting this book for their classes. Indeed, I am considering using it for my “Perspectives on Christ” course with second and third-year college students.
In addition to the critique noted above, I wish more had been said about the fact that nature is cruciform. This acknowledgment that “pain and death are woven into the very fabric of life’s evolutionary history on earth” (p. 188) needs more attention. Other readers will no doubt raise questions about certain claims. For example, champions of the satisfaction theory of atonement will not be pleased with the admonition that it should be retired. But despite these points of critique, in my view this is a very good book—creative, insightful, and timely.
It should be noted that Johnson’s aim in writing this book is to put forward an understanding of the faith that “can take root in the Christian community’s worship, preaching, teaching, spirituality, and practice for the good of the world” (p. xvii). This is especially evident in her concluding chapter when she offers “five thought experiments” designed to engage our imagination and foster our ability to behold, commune with, and care for the natural world and our non-human neighbors. In short, the ultimate aim of this book is practical, and thus it will be of interest to professional theologians and college professors and also those engaged in various ministries (pastors and priests, worship leaders and Sunday school teachers). May this fine book find a wide readership.