New Voices for Theology: Jeremy R. Treat’s “The Crucified King” (Vanhoozer, 2015)
Vanhoozer’s review of “The Crucified King” by Jeremy R. Treat
Vanhoozer’s review of “The Crucified King” by Jeremy R. Treat
The grand story of the atonement, like a huge symphony, with an overall shape, and various themes that lend themselves to it, sounds in our ears, compels us to gaze at it like a spectacle, and moves into the depths of our heart.
In recent systematic theology versions of the Ransom account of the atonement have proliferated. Much of this work uses Gustav Aulén’s Christus Victor as a point of departure. In this paper I first distinguish between models and theories of atonement. Then I discuss three recent theological perorations of the Ransom model as a prelude to setting out four interpretive strategies for understanding this view of atonement. I then offer some critical remarks on these strategies, concluding that the Ransom view as set forth here does not provide a complete model of atonement.
During the course of the Christian millennia, Christian claims about salvation and about the role of Jesus of Nazareth in God’s final and definitive deed of saving humanity have included a variety of understandings, explanations, and analogies. Moreover, those claims and their various renderings have a doctrinal and theological history, within which St. Thomas Aquinas occupies a canonical position
No reviewer to my knowledge has suggested that Mel Gibson read the “Summa Theologiae” before setting about to direct “The Passion of the Christ.” But he must have read Question 48 of the third part of Aquinas’ “Summa.” There, Aquinas examines how the passion of Christ produced its effect — its efficiency, if you will.
My real concern as a man of faith and as a theologian, it’s really about the linking of vengeance to God, the linking of violence to God, that God is a vengeful person whose vengeance needs satisfying in some way. And of course I think that that does have catastrophic results, enabling a whole lot of our behaviour to be somehow canonised by God rather than us undergoing the process of having our images of God pruned from our own violence so as to be able to appreciate someone who is entirely without violence, entirely unambiguous and entirely loving of us. My concern is not to go back into letting God be a function of our violent social life, rather trying to understand the way in which God, who is in no way violent at all, is trying to enable us to undo from within our own violence and come and live in a way that is peaceful.