Guest Post: How Penal Substitution is the antithesis of Spiritual Abuse

January 25, 2021 Tom Creedy

In this thoughtful guest blog post, All Souls Student Worker Ollie Lansdowne ponders the difference between the power of this world and the power of the gospel.

“At some point, you’re going to need to get together with some of your conservative evangelical friends and ask a hard question: ‘what ways of thinking have we been formed in that perpetuate abuse, and what will reformation look like?’”

I was asked that question 12 months ago while sitting in a café in Carnaby Street, and I haven’t been able to shake it since. The man sitting across from me asked the question gently, but it was gentleness undergirded with the sort of poignance that can only come from knowing as much about abuse in the British Church as he does. I’d asked to meet up with him to ask a simple question ─ ‘what do I need to understand?’ ─ and this question was part of his answer.

In a similar post last year, I suggested that Isaiah has what British Evangelicalism needs: a thoroughly classical doctrine of God. Here, I want to suggest that Paul’s letter to Philemon offers us the cruciform ethics of power to go with it. If we are serious about confronting abuse, then we need to relearn what cross-shaped power looks like.

Philemon and Roman Power

The context is 1st Century Colossae, and we’re surrounded by the might of Rome. What we need to know is that the might of Rome was built on slavery. More than an occupation or a job, slavery in Rome was a status; a status that meant someone else has absolute power of life and death over you.

Up to ⅓ of the people in the Roman Empire were slaves. One of the reasons we know that is because there was a motion in the Roman senate to force slaves to wear distinctive clothing ─ Seneca tells us it was voted down out of fear that slaves would then become conscious of their strength in numbers and revolt.

The institution of slavery was foundational to the hierachy of Rome, kept in check by a cycle of fear and coercion: fear from those who benefited from the status quo about what they would lose if the hierarchy collapsed, leading to the reinforcement of that order through continued oppression and coercion. Absolute power, exercised through coercion to maintain hierarchy.

That’s the context. Zoom in to see the characters. Imagine yourself into the mind of Paul as he is writing this letter. You are in prison, when you meet the run-away slave Onesimus. You get talking, and two things happen: first, you find out that the master he has run away from is Philemon, your friend who leads a church; and second, as you share the gospel with him, he gives his life to Christ.

These two events create a profoundly complicated relational dynamic across two dimensions. First, Philemon and Onesimus are now Christian brothers who are estranged from one another, and for two Christian brothers to be estranged from one another is a tragedy. Second, Philemon has absolute power of life and death over Onesimus. What that means is that if Onesimus returns, Philemon would be within his Roman rights to torture, kill, or crucify him ─ whatever he saw fit.

Such is the situation Paul finds himself in. Now imagine yourself into the mind of Onesimus. You have run away from your master, Philemon, the man who has absolute power of life and death over you. You stole from him, you fled him, and though you are now in some senses “free” from him, you have come to understand the gospel, and your ambitions in life have been transformed. You have come to understand the lengths that Jesus went to reconcile himself to you, and it is the self-giving love of Christ that now burns in your heart. Freedom from your master is no longer your primary ambition. You know this may not work, but you are walking up the road to Philemon’s house with this letter in your hands, because reconciliation with your brother is worth at least one shot.

Can you imagine what would be going through Onesimus’ mind? I struggle to read this letter without tears in my eyes. The letter, Paul’s epistle to Philemon, is a letter with the aim of reconciling two Christian brothers to one another by creating new conditions for the relationship between a master and slave. And the context is a world in which Imperial power is normative. The stakes could not be higher.

With that in mind, one verse of this letter especially stands out: v8, “although in Christ I could be bold and order you to do what you ought to do, yet I prefer to appeal to you on the basis of love.” Paul is as concerned about the basis of his appeal as he is about what he is appealing for. He applies the gospel to the means of his appeal as well as the ends of his appeal: refusing to borrow from Roman Imperialism in what he hopes to achieve or in how he hopes to achieve it.

Papal Evangelicalism

If the conservative evangelical church in Britain is fertile ground for abuse ─ and at this point that seems undeniable ─ then it won’t just have been the corrupt ends to which power was used that made us that way; but also the corrupt means by which power has been exercised.

When I was a student at university, I sat through a talk with the title “Why Charismatics are the new Roman Catholics”. It was a concoction of crass generalisations in both directions, and, rightly, it should have been met with concerned laughter. But it wasn’t, because of a silent and significant irony: this minister’s teaching was received as though it had papal authority.

What does that look like? I spoke to that minister a while after his talk, and asked him why he said things that he must surely know weren’t true. I remember his response: “Sometimes fire is useful ─ you can cook with it and it keeps you warm. But from the front, the way to teach about fire is to say ‘Fire is dangerous. It’s very bad. Avoid it.’ If someone wants to ask me about cooking with fire, they can do that privately later on.”

The power that this pedagogy would give to ministers is as broad as it is unchecked. The people that this minister taught presumed they were getting the unvarnished truth, but instead his words were calculated to achieve the particular reaction he presumed best ─ avoid fire, fire is bad. They thought these were black and white principles that imposed themselves; but instead, ‘simple gospel’ principles were being imposed through force of personality.

Once you’ve noticed that dynamic ─ force of personality masquerading as force of principle ─ you’ll notice it an uncomfortable amount. You’ll think you’re peaceably arguing about principles; but you’re called divisive, because the hidden reality is that you’re questioning personalities. You’ll notice that ethical issues are emphasised far more than ethical virtues, replacing doctrine as the tightest test of orthodoxy ─ because whether you do what you’re told is more important than whether you test what you’re taught. ‘Imminent danger!’ and ‘Urgent need!’ are writ large, but the people shouting seem exclusively interested in generating die-hard ‘martyrs’, without first nurturing discerning saints. Each passage is only afforded one meaning ─ and so all Bible studies must walk in single-file. Most obviously, something you were told was a principle yesterday is no longer considered a principle today ─ what really mattered was closing ranks. Whether it’s over the handling of historic abuse, the urgency of resisting contemporary culture, or the strategy for future ministry ─ too many conservative evangelicals are too quick to close ranks amongst outsiders and to pull rank amongst insiders, under the pretext of gospel conservation.

This isn’t a new problem. The protestant theologian Philip Schaff was lamenting in 1845 that “The most dangerous foe with which we are called to contend, is again not the Church of Rome but the sect plague in our own midst; not the single pope of the city of seven hills, but the numberless popes ─ German, English, and American ─ who would fain enslave Protestants once more to human authority, not as embodied in the church indeed, but as holding in the form of mere private judgment and private will.” (see The Principle of Protestantism)

I’m convinced that British evangelicalism needs to recover the theology of the Magisterial Reformers: theology that was as much about corrupt means of power as about corrupt ends. To put it simplistically, the Magisterial Reformers didn’t denounce Roman Catholicism’s aspiration to catholicity or whole church unity. Rather, they protested against the way that the 16th Century Church of Rome sought to secure catholicity through the means of Papal, Roman power. Lancelot Andrewes wrote on this point in his 1610 response to Cardinal Bellarmine: “We declare aloud that we are Catholic, but not Roman, the last of which words destroys the meaning of the first. We will never confine words of so wide an import within the narrow limits of one city or one man’s breast. The more that a man refuses to do that, the more Catholic is he.” (Responsio ad Apologiam Cardinalis Bellarmini)

If 16th Century Roman Catholicism imported the power dynamics of Imperial Rome to knit the church together in catholic unity, the danger for conservative evangelicals is that we become ‘Papal Evangelicals’; importing the power dynamics of Rome in our defence of the simple gospel.

At least the Pope in Rome is bound by the Church that has gone before him. The particular danger of this Papal Evangelicalism is that narrow, papal authority is combined with the private judgement of the minister; against whose judgement any incursion is readily denounced as appealing to Tradition, Experience or Reason. My fear is that we are raising up a die-hard generation who will go to the stake defending personalities while thinking they’re defending principles. That isn’t Christianity, it’s a sect.

Come back to Paul’s letter to Philemon; because our best hope for resisting the coercive and enslaving power dynamics of Rome is to learn from someone who lived for Christ under its Empire.

Love makes level ground

It’s hard to think of a more imposing personality in the first-century church than Paul. Paul was the apostle commissioned directly by Jesus for the sake of the Gentiles. If the first-century church was going to mirror the power-dynamics of the Roman empire, Paul would have been right up there on the top tier.

And Paul is aware of his status: but in this appeal, he refuses to make use of it. Instead, Paul deliberately creates level ground by stepping down from his status. Verse 9: “It is as none other than Paul – an old man and now also a prisoner of Christ Jesus – that I appeal to you” Paul doesn’t big himself up or puff out his chest. He doesn’t pull rank. Not once does he refer to himself as an apostle in this whole letter.

Paul gets down from his status, and makes sure Philemon knows that he is looking him in the eye as an equal. Paul: a prisoner and an old man. Paul deliberately redescribes himself in lowly terms, because he knows that you cannot love someone well while looking down on them.

And next, having gotten down from his status, Paul redescribes Onesimus. v10: not as a slave, but as Paul’s son: fathered by Paul, sharing his status as a child shares the status of a parent. It’s taken almost half the letter for Paul to name Onesimus, and v11 shows us why.

But there’s something we need to notice before we read it. Onesimus was a horrible name: it’s a Greek word that literally means “useful”; a horribly common name for slaves. But in v11, Paul takes Onesimus’ dehumanising name, and makes it a point of praise by amplifying it to the high heavens.

v11: “Formerly he was useless to you, but now he has become useful both to you and to me.”

“He has become ‘useful’” ─ but the word here isn’t Onesimus. Paul has replaced the word “Onesimus” with the word “Euchrestos” ─ truly useful, and nearly indistinguishable from the Greek words “en Christos”: “in Christ”. Paul is redescribing who Onesimus is: once useless, now highly useful. Once without Christ, now in Christ to you and to me. Paul refuses to look down on Philemon, and he will not let Philemon look down on Onesimus, despite his name and legal status; because love makes level ground.

Coercion makes slaves, but love makes families

At this point we might want to ask Paul a tough question: why aren’t you ordering Philemon to do what you want him to? Why are you willingly giving up the strongest ground for your appeal? Think of it; if you were Onesimus, which would you prefer to be carrying: a letter from Paul, “apostle by the will of God”, or a letter from Paul “an old man and in prison”?

One part of the reason Paul gives is to do with Paul’s relationship to Philemon; v14, Paul doesn’t give him an order so that Philemon’s actions “would not seem forced but would be voluntary.” And the other part of the reason has to do with the future of Philemon’s relationship to Onesimus; v15–16, Paul wanted Philemon to take Onesimus back “no longer as a slave, but better than a slave, as a dear brother” and as “a fellow man”.

Paul did not order Philemon’s obedience, because to use force or coercion to get Philemon to do what Paul wants him to do would be to enter into the very power-dynamics that Paul is seeking to undermine in the relationship between Philemon and Onesimus. Paul will not treat Philemon as an inferior that he can order about. He will not use his status to lean on Philemon. Paul refuses to use coercion: because coercion makes slaves, but love makes families.

Paul gets down from his privilege. He makes a point of not ordering Philemon to do what he wants, choosing instead to love him as a brother. So, how ought Philemon treat Onesimus?

If Paul had used force of status to coerce Philemon into loving Onesimus, he would have been buying into the power-dynamics of slavery in a vain attempt to undermine them. You can’t change the world while borrowing its power structures. All he would succeed in doing would be bringing the power-dynamics of Rome into the life of the church; and the church isn’t an empire, it’s a family. Paul isn’t here to reinforce the dynamics of slavery, he’s here to reconcile a family. You don’t reconcile families through coercion, you reconcile families through love. Paul unpicks the dynamics of slavery with brotherly love.

I wouldn’t be the first to point out that the tautology ‘love means love’ has reached creedal status for many, even many within the wider church. It is a plastic, non-definition; but its dangers aren’t yet bred in conservative evangelical pulpits. “‘Speak the truth in love’: and you speak in love by speaking the truth” is a re-definition just as un-Biblical, and one I’ve heard in enough talks to render it unattributable. Scripture tells us to speak “the truth in love” because we will not resist “the cunning and craftiness of people in their deceitful scheming” by simply speaking the truth. Truth is a sword, and it is easy for abusive leaders to blame wounds on its blade. For Paul, to make his appeal on the basis of love means getting down from his rank and handing the sword to Philemon.

Coercive control can be easy to hide and hard to spot, especially when it’s exercised by those in authority ─ whether that’s formal, role authority or unwritten, relational authority. How might we discern between properly exercised authority and coercive control? Look at whose will-power is being fed. A weak sheep will be easier to manipulate, but it is a wicked shepherd who keeps his sheep weak on the basis that he is better able to direct them. In contrast, Paul restricts the means by which he makes his appeal, so that Philemon’s actions “would be voluntary”. So here’s one question to ask: is greater volition being afforded to the person in authority, or the person under it?

Coercion can be hard to spot; so Paul makes its absence hard to miss. Paul gets down from his status, reaches one arm out to Philemon, and, looking him in the eye says: ‘I love you as my brother.’ He reaches another arm out to Onesimus, and, still looking Philemon in the eye, says: ‘I love this man as my brother, too. We are a family, now: so love one another.’ This is a love that is cross-shaped. Where do you think Paul learnt that trick?

The power of penal substitution

In v17, we finally come to the appeal: “if you consider me a partner, welcome him as you would welcome me. If he has done you any wrong or owes you anything, charge it to me.”

Paul’s love is cross-shaped because he learnt it from Jesus: the one who laid aside his heavenly privileges, and, reaching his arms out for us, said to his Father: ‘these people are my sisters and brothers. Welcome them as you would welcome me.’ Paul learnt the meaning and means of love from the one who embraced us at the cross and said: if they have done you any wrong or owe you anything, charge it to me.

Jesus reconciles us to God by substituting himself for us. He takes our debts so that we could be welcomed back into God’s family forever: no longer as slaves, but better than slaves, as dear sisters and brothers. And this isn’t just how Jesus loves us, it’s how he expects us to love one another: stepping into others’ debts so that they can step into our welcome. Penal substitution is at the heart of Paul’s ethics as well as his doctrine.

That is how the gospel transforms the world: by filling the church with the cruciform love of Jesus.

How to conserve the Evangel

The power dynamics of Imperial Rome are not the friend of the Church. They will not help us live out the gospel, and they will not help us to conserve the gospel. If Papal authority is an unchristian means of knitting the church together in catholic unity, it is just as vainly unchristian to mimic that authority in micro for the purpose of gospel conservation.

Our churches have become fertile ground for abuse, and passivity about our power structures will only perpetuate our desecration. In Paul’s letter to Philemon, the Lord has given us precisely what we need: a worked example of how force of personality and force of principle relate within a cruciform power structure. Paul rejects Roman power, modelling his use of power on Christ crucified: making his appeal on the basis of love, not force of status; refusing to pull rank, but rather stepping into the position of others so that they can step into his welcome. If penal substitution is the gospel, the desire to pull rank or to close ranks is its antithesis. Philemon may have expected the force of Paul’s personality; but instead he got a fully worked demonstration of Jesus’ cruciform use of power.

You can’t enforce the gospel with Roman power or Papal authority, but you can strengthen it with self-giving love. We will only preserve the message of the cross by nailing ourselves to it. If the conservative evangelical church is fertile ground for abuse, then this is the cruciform Reformation we need.

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IVP adds - Ollie's post leaves us with food for thought, and a call to pray. We suggest the resources below might be helpful in thinking through some of the issues he's touched on.