Chapter 6         

Soteriology in Full Context and Process
and
The Qualitative Shape of the Kingdom

 

            We must always be aware of unintentionally placing Jesus in a vacuum, as if to sanitize his life of its humanity and his function in the social world. This would not define his sanctified identity. In addition, we need to be circumspect in the formulation of doctrine related to Jesus, so as neither to disembody the doctrine from the whole of Jesus nor to reduce the doctrine from the whole of God’s thematic relational action. This absence would define doctrine in fragments without coherence, as if doctrines do not need to fully cohere to the whole of God’s thematic relational work of grace; this characterizes many systematic theologies.

            This has been the case for soteriology (the doctrine of salvation) down through church history, despite its major shift to grace established by the Reformation. This has been also true for ecclesiology (the doctrine of the church), which, in much of its history since Constantine, consistently has not fully grasped the whole, whether involving Jesus or the Trinity. Thus, there has been a need for ecclesiology’s reformation also, which the magisterial Reformers never really attended to. This chapter will initially address soteriology and the emergence of the kingdom of God, while ecclesiology more specifically will be discussed in chapter eight.

Establishing the Context and Process of Soteriology

             The incarnation positioned Jesus, theologically and functionally, in a specific context, apart from which is only an assumed Jesus, not the embodied Jesus. This specific context was the surrounding context of the world, in which his minority identity emerged. The ontology of this embodied Jesus, the Word in the flesh, constituted the whole of Jesus in a quantitatively further and deeper qualitative context: the relational context of the Trinity.

            In this trinitarian relational context, Jesus’ whole person is defined, belongs and functions, thus signifying his full identity. This relational context conjointly involves a relational process, the trinitarian relational process, by which the embodied Jesus was vulnerably involved relationally in the surrounding context specific to the world, signifying his minority identity.  This is the functional significance of God’s relational work of grace. Therefore, this relational context and process of Jesus are inseparable as well as irreducible—in other words, nothing less and no substitutes. They involve the ongoing relational dynamic of interaction between his full identity and his minority identity that constitutes his sanctified identity, as discussed in the last chapter.

            Moreover, Jesus’ relational context and process are also inseparable and irreducible from the Trinity’s thematic action since creation in response to the human condition “to be apart” from the whole of God. As the Word (Logos) who became flesh (Jn 1:1-2,14) and the Creator who lived in our context (Jn 1:3,10,14), Jesus vulnerably disclosed, extended and fulfilled the Trinity’s thematic relational action of grace (Jn 1:10-13,16-18). The course of salvation history is a relational course of the Trinity’s thematic action, the ongoing context and process of which Jesus intimately functioned in as “the One and Only” (monogenes). Whatever was previously understood and experienced of deliverance/salvation is made definitive by the whole of Jesus, whose context and process are nonnegotiable. John’s Gospel provides this view of the big picture of God’s eschatological plan.

            From his trinitarian relational context and by his trinitarian relational process, Jesus vulnerably engaged the surrounding context to make functional not only the significance of God’s grace but also of agape involvement (cf. “the covenant of love,” Dt 7:9,12). His ongoing relational involvement of grace and agape functioned in what can be defined as intrusive action, even invasive action. Contrary to a static doctrine of grace and a politically correct posture of agape, such relational intrusion is the nature of Jesus’ minority identity; this is the kind of action most Christians tend to deflect to certain situations or special circumstances—consequently, not really pay attention to or merely ignore. Yet, intrusive action is definitive for the dynamic nature of God’s grace and agape involvement, which we often functionally redefine with diminished vulnerability and relational involvement—for example, with servant models and sacrifice modes. Nevertheless, this is “where” (from Jn 12:26) we find Jesus’ whole person in the biblical narratives; and this is where his followers, by the nature of discipleship, must be involved to be with him.

            This involvement with Jesus, however, is less about what he did and more about how his whole person functioned ongoingly as who and what he was. How he lived in the world has been the focus of Christian/biblical ethics and missions (discussed in the next chapter). Yet, I suggest, this has been essentially a limited discussion because these fields have focused primarily on what Jesus did, not how his person functioned. This framework has reduced the context and process of the whole of Jesus’ sanctified life and practice, and thus has fragmented Christian life and practice without the coherence of the whole of God—that is, in the incarnation and/or the Trinity’s thematic action in salvation history. This reduction certainly has consequences for soteriology, the most notable of which is the relational consequence not only for the future but also for the present.

            We need to extend the significance of this discussion by taking Jesus’ context and process in the world further and deeper, not only beyond reductionism but also beyond ethics and missions as conventionally perceived. This necessitates examining soteriology and our working doctrine of salvation. No Christology is complete without a full soteriology. And a full soteriology involves the vulnerable relational context and process of Jesus, who conjointly saved us from and saved us to.

Getting to the Heart of Soteriology

             A full soteriology is the relational outcome of the relational progression in the Trinity’s thematic action, notably in “the covenant of love” (Dt 7:9,12, 1 Ki 8:23, Ne 1:5, Da 9:4), which was fulfilled in Jesus’ relational work of grace. Salvific expectations prevailing at the time of Jesus appeared to have stalled in this progression to become fixated on the kingship of God and on the current situations and circumstances of God’s people (or kingdom), namely the nation of Israel. They diverged from the primacy of the relationship in the covenant and reduced its significance, thus not affirming the following relational reality: In the relational progression of God’s thematic action and the covenant relationship, the whole of God is the only portion for the people (Ps 119:57, Jer 10:16; 51:19, La 3:24), and, in relational reciprocity, God’s people are the whole of God’s portion in the relationship (Dt 32:9, cf. Ex 34:9, Dt 9:29).

            Their divergence suggests a renegotiation of the covenant relationship, plus a reinterpretation of God’s words (promises and desires defining the terms of relationship). These alternative terms represented the quantitative shift of reductionism, which either did not pay attention to or just ignored the qualitative relational significance of the covenant and God’s salvation. The consequence is totally relational, and understanding this relational consequence helps us grasp the heart of soteriology.

            There is an ongoing dynamic that is the lowest common denominator in God’s story:

At the heart of the whole of God’s ontology is relationship, inter-person relationship, as constituted in the Trinity and by the relational involvement of the trinitarian persons within the Godhead. At the heart of creation is this relationship, and God made human ontology in the Trinity’s image. Thus, at the heart of human ontology is inter-person relationship, the function of which constitutes human persons in the relationships necessary to be whole in likeness of the Trinity. In response to human dysfunction (initially due to volition, not imperfection) “to be apart” from the whole, the ongoing heart underlying all of God’s thematic action is restored relationship together. Thus, the heart of the incarnation is the convergence of the divine and human ontology of relationship; and God’s self-revelation and truth are only for this relationship. The heart of the gospel, therefore, is clearly the good news of relationship together, the relational outcome of which is salvation effected by the embodied heart of the ontology of God.

This makes evident that at the heart of soteriology is relationship together, the relationship of the whole of God, the Trinity, the full context and process of which Jesus saves us to.

            This ongoing dynamic of relationship must by nature also become the function of our perceptual-interpretive framework, or we can quite easily be found diverging in our own practice—namely by reinterpreting the intention of God’s words and renegotiating the terms for our relationship with God. As we continue to pursue God’s self-disclosure in Jesus, our deeper understanding of God and God’s action emerges only from a distinct interpretive process. This process (1) engages God in self-disclosure as an act of communication, and (2) engages God’s communication in its full context, both in the social context of the world and in the relational context of the Trinity, as narrated in the biblical texts. This relational dynamic involves us in the relational epistemic process with the Spirit. This is a crucial relational involvement because only the Spirit transforms our perceptual-interpretive framework to have the eyes to “see” the whole of God “face-to-face” (in the distinction of qualitative relational involvement), and to have the ears to “hear” and “Listen to my Son” in his whole person (in the relational process of intimate involvement, Jn 14:26; 16:13-15, cf. Mt 13:15-17).

            In God’s communicative action, Jesus embodied the Word as God’s thematic relational action, and thus he disclosed the vulnerable relational work of God’s grace in response to the human relational condition “to be apart” from God’s whole. The language Jesus used (both verbal content and nonverbal relational messages) in self-disclosure of God and God’s action needs to be understood in the whole of God’s relational context and, in that relational nature, must be engaged (both received and responded to) as relational language for its full meaning.

            That is to say, the person Jesus presented in the incarnation and the intent of his communication were only to engage relationship—nothing less. It is this relational process, initiated by God’s grace, which necessitates a reciprocal depth of relational involvement (with no substitutes) to know and to experience the whole of Jesus (cf. Lk 10:21). Otherwise, any attempt at relational connection would be incompatible, which would create a relational barrier to understanding (cf. Mt 13:17). In this incompatible relational position, Jesus’ discourses can seem unreasonable or can lack coherence, thus be disjointed into essentially unrelated words without the functional significance of the whole—namely the whole of God’s thematic action in salvation history. For example, how the Sermon on the Mount tends to be perceived and interpreted is a prime illustration of this relational position; this discourse will be addressed further in the next chapter.

            Two other discourses of Jesus in particular evidence this difficulty of engaging his relational language. They appear consecutively toward the beginning of the Gospel of John for the evangelist’s purpose to identify Jesus with the Jews and the nation of Israel, yet to also distinguish him from them for God’s eschatological big picture.

            The first discourse occurred at the Temple of Jerusalem (Jn 2:13-22). The temple was central to Jewish religious life in all its variations; more importantly, the temple was the heart of their faith, where God’s presence dwelled to signify ongoing involvement (2 Ch 5:14, cf. Ex 40:34). Jesus observed their faith-practice by involvement in the temple, but he neither accepted their aspect of religious life reducing their practice to a purification code nor tolerated the inequitable system this code generated for its adherence. Thus, he drove out those who exploited the less resourceful for profit and who created barriers to access “my Father’s house” (oikos, dwelling, v.16). That is, the temple was no mere center of religious activity (cf. church today) but only the context where his Father dwelled for communion together for all peoples (cf. Mk11:17). Jesus’ words and action communicated relational language making definitive the relational context of God.

            Moreover, when his honor was challenged to demonstrate the basis for his action, Jesus only responded with the words: “Destroy this temple, and I will raise it again in three days” (v.19). His challengers were only focused on the quantitative aspect of the temple, thus could not understand his relational language. Yet, Jesus was not playing word-games with them. He was disclosing the strategic shift in God’s thematic action. In this strategic shift, he was constituting the transition of the contextual location of the temple from a place of God’s dwelling directly to the persons of the Trinity (cf. Jn4:21,23), who will now be present in direct relationship and be ongoingly involved intimately together in the full relational context of family and relational process of family love.

            The transition of the temple to the full relational context and process of the Trinity progresses to its eschatological conclusion:

As Jesus disclosed, “The Spirit of truth…you know him, for he lives with you and will be in you” (Jn 14:17); “My Father will love [you]; and we will come to [you] and make our home with [you]” (Jn 14:23a); this is, by nature of the ontology of the Trinity, the relational outcome for both individual persons and those persons by necessity together in likeness of the Trinity, “that all of them may be one, Father, just as you are in me and I am in you. May they also be in us…. I have given them the glory that you gave me, that they may be one as we are one, I in  them and you in me…and have loved them even as you have loved me…that the love you have for me may be in them and that I myself may be in them” (Jn 17:21-23,26); in Pauline accounts of the church, “Don’t you know that you yourselves are God’s temple and that God’s Spirit lives in you?” (1 Cor 3:16); “in him you too are being built together to become a dwelling in which God lives by his Spirit” (Eph 2:21-22); to the Johannine account of the eschatological conclusion in the New Jerusalem, “I did not see a temple in the city, because the Lord God Almighty and the Lamb are its temple” (Rev 21:22).

And Jesus was constituting this relational progression throughout the incarnation, not only on the cross.

            Jesus’ disclosure of God’s strategic shift vulnerably evidences that the heart of the ontology of the whole of God is relationship, the full context and process of which continues to develop in John’s Gospel. Jesus took this transition further and deeper in his next discourse, a communication which essentially jolted the status quo of the prevailing perception, interpretation and expectation of salvation.

Salvation Comes with a Jolt in the Night

             Jesus’ next critical disclosure occurred vulnerably with Nicodemus (Jn 3:1-21, whether or not it was supplemented by the evangelist’s reflections after v.15). In order to establish this interaction’s larger context, it seems reasonable to assume some matters about Nicodemus. He came to Jesus that night for answers to questions which were framed by his Jewish identity, by his involvement as a ruling member (Sanhedrin) in Israel (v.1) and as one of her teachers (v.10); thus he came with the expectations associated with their Scripture, which were shaped likely by an interpretive framework from Second Temple Judaism and no doubt by a perceptual framework sociopolitically sensitized to Roman rule. While Nicodemus came to Jesus as an individual person, his query was as the collective identity of Israel and the corporate life and practice of a Pharisee’s (of whatever variation) Judaism.

            Apparently stimulated by Jesus’ actions and perhaps stirred by the presence of “a teacher who has come from God” (v.2), he engaged Jesus. Yet, he likely engaged Jesus while in the category that Jesus described elsewhere as “the wise and learned” (Lk 10:21, discussed previously in the Introduction). This would be crucial for Nicodemus. Though his position represented the educated elite of Israel, his own posture was about to be changed.

            Jesus understood Nicodemus’ query and anticipated his questions certainly related to God’s promises for Israel’s deliverance (salvation), the Messiah and God’s kingship in the Mediterranean world. Therefore, Jesus immediately focused on “the kingdom of God” (v.3), the OT eschatological hope, about which Nicodemus was probably more concerned in the present than the future. Yet, the whole of God’s kingship and sovereign rule is integral to the OT, and thus a primary focus of Nicodemus’ query, however provincial. And he was concerned about it strongly enough (and maybe inwardly conflicted) to make himself vulnerable to initiate this interaction with Jesus; his query appeared genuine and for more than information or didactic reasons.

            The discourse that followed evidences a purpose in John’s Gospel to clearly distinguish and make definitive the whole of God’s thematic relational action of grace in response to the human condition—first, in continuation to Israel and, then, to the nations—that is, the history of God’s salvation. Yet, the language communicated in this discourse became an issue, and this proved to be revealing not only for Nicodemus but for all he represented—as well as for all who would follow, even through this postmodern period.

            The notion of membership and participation in the kingdom of God being contingent on a concept “born again” was taken incredulously by this “wise and learned” leader, whose sophisticated reason was unable to process and explain (v.4); and then to be told “you [pl] must by its nature” (dei, v.7), not out of obligation or compulsion, as if to address all Jews, was beyond the grasp of his reason. Even after Jesus made definitive (“I tell you the truth”) gennao anothen as “born from above,” that is  “born of the Spirit” (ek, indicating the primary, direct source, vv.5,8), Nicodemus was still unable to process it (v.9). Why? This brings us back to the position of “the wise and the learned.” He was unable to grasp Jesus’ language because the words were heard from an insufficient perceptual-interpretive framework.

            Jesus exposed this as the discourse continues: “You are Israel’s teacher and do you not understand these things?” (v.10). How are these connected since “born again” (or from above) is not in the OT? With this rhetorical question, Jesus implied that from a valid OT perspective (namely “the covenant of love,” Dt 7:7-9) the thematic action of God’s covenant relationship would be understood. Jesus was vulnerably extending this covenant relationship of love directly to Nicodemus (and, by implication, to all Jews) by communicating openly what he, himself, knew intimately by witnessing as a participant (martyreo, not merely by observation, v.11) in the life of God (v.13, cf. Jn 1:18). His communication was not with ethereal (epouranios) language but discourse (lego) in the human context (epigeios, v.12), yet with relational language. It was the qualitative nature of relational language that Nicodemus was unable to grasp with his perceptual-interpretive framework. Something was incompatible for connection.

            The movement of God’s thematic action in the covenant relationship of love had been consistently reduced to quantitative situations and circumstances throughout Israel’s history—despite the fact that “the Lord did not set his affection on you and choose you” on a quantitative basis (Dt 7:7). In functional similarity, Nicodemus paid attention to the quantitative limits of human biology while ignoring the qualitative issue of human ontology, thus he demonstrated the framework focused on the quantitative situations and circumstances of the covenant. Jesus focused on the ontology of the whole person and the qualitative relationship signifying the covenant of love. The establishment of nation and national identity formation were the prevailing quantitative expectations of any messianic hope in the kingdom, with which, most certainly, Nicodemus came to Jesus in that night. Jesus focused on the whole persons necessary in covenant relationship to constitute the kingdom—nothing less and no substitutes.

            Their perceptual-interpretive framework made some critical assumptions about the kingdom besides the quantitative situations and circumstances. The two most critical assumptions were:

1. Membership in the kingdom was based on generational descent and natural birth; to grasp the qualitative functional significance of Jesus’ relational language, his discourse (v.7) must be conjoined with the incarnation's fulfillment of God’s thematic action in the covenant relationship of love (as summarized by the evangelist in Jn 1:10-13, cf. his discourse on those redeemed in Jn 8:31-36,41);
2. Moreover, participation in the kingdom was based on what one did, thus adherence to a purification code of behavior was imperative, especially for national identity maintenance; to grasp the full relational context and process of Jesus’ relational language, his discourse (v.6) needs to be embodied in the vulnerable relational context and process of his whole person intimately disclosing the whole of God (made evident in his further discourse in Jn 6:54,63).

In this latter discourse, would-be followers came to a similar conclusion as Nicodemus: “How can this man give us his flesh to eat?” (Jn 6:52) and “This is a hard teaching. Who can accept it?” (Jn 6:60), compared with Nicodemus’ “How can this be?” (v.9)—all of which reflected these assumptions.

            What Nicodemus and the others were predisposed to by their perceptual-interpretive framework, and also were embedded in as their practice and expectation, was essentially a salvation of the old—a quantitative outcome of reductionism. What Jesus vulnerably engaged them in and with was salvation of the new—the qualitative relational outcome of the whole of God. God’s thematic relational work of grace embodied in Jesus for covenant relationship of love was constituting deeply the new covenant, the relationship of which was now directly and intimately involved together with the Trinity to be the whole of God’s family (kingdom of those born of the Spirit, of the Father, of the Son). This is the gospel vulnerably disclosed by Jesus in relational language which jolted the status quo of the old represented in Nicodemus that night.

            Nicodemus came to Jesus as “the wise and learned” in the old. He was now humbled by Jesus’ interjection of “born again or from above” and by the necessary transition from old to new Jesus made definitive in its relational language. Though the term itself is not in the OT, it is clearly evident that “a new heart” and the Spirit’s work for “a new covenant” and Israel’s kingdom (Eze 36:26-27, Jer 31:31-34) would not be unfamiliar to Nicodemus as Israel’s teacher. The meaning of Jesus’ relational message to Nicodemus (and the status quo) defined the needed transformation of human ontology for the covenant relationship of love, which for Nicodemus functionally involved the transition from “the wise and learned of the old” to the qualitative framework and function of “the little children of the new” (cf. Mt 18:3-4)—undoubtedly a jolt to Nicodemus and the status quo. Yet, apparently, Nicodemus humbly transitioned to “a little child of the new”: first, to receive the whole of God’s self-revelation embodied in Jesus with a new perceptual-interpretive framework (Lk 10:21, cf. his vulnerability in Jn 7:50-52), then to relationally respond to God in qualitative involvement (Lk 18:17, cf. his involvement in Jn 19:39-42).

            John’s Gospel evidences the relational process of salvation from old to new in Nicodemus. In this relational context, the evangelist almost seems to give a metaphorical sense to Nicodemus. Certainly, for all who follow, it is the relational context and process, necessary by the nature of salvation, to which to respond and by which to be involved in order to belong to the whole of God’s family. Unfortunately, we never hear if Nicodemus became one of the teachers of the old covenant and new, who relationally experienced following Jesus in the relational progression to the family (kingdom) of God, as Jesus defined in Mt 13:52. Nevertheless, the transition of God’s thematic relational work of grace emerges further and deeper in this discourse. The strategic shift to the qualitative relational significance of the new was present and vulnerably disclosed; this would be

disclosed further and deeper not only as present but also as vulnerably involved, as he did in his discourse with the Samaritan woman (Jn 4:1-30, discussed previously).

 The Trinitarian Shape of Soteriology

             Salvation in the OT always involved deliverance by God, which involved situations and circumstances but was always about the covenant relationship together (Ex 15:2, Is 12:2; 43:3,11, Hos 2:19,20,23) in the covenant of love (Dt 7:9). God’s liberation (redeeming the chosen people) from Egypt epitomized the covenant of love enacted by the whole of God (not just by his strength) for this reciprocal relationship of love, even though land was involved (Dt 4:35-38; 7:7-9). In the covenant relationship, God always intended to be the people’s portion (Jer 51:19, La 3:24, Ps 119:57) and, conversely, God’s people were expected to be God’s portion in reciprocal relationship (Dt 32:9); “portion” (heleq) was always about persons and building covenant relationship, not about land and building nation-state. Salvation of the old might have included the covenant relationship but was always foremost about the situations and circumstances. “To save” (yasa) in the OT connoted initially the aspects of physical deliverance (cf. Nu 10:9, Jdg 2:18) and later denoted its broader and deeper theological significance (cf. Is 45:20-22)—which the Psalmist failed to find (Ps 119:123), that is, in situations and circumstances but pursued in relationship, as this Psalm seems to describe.

            In his discourse with Nicodemus, Jesus evidenced the primacy of the relationship over situations and circumstances by referencing Moses making a bronze snake to save the people for complaining against God about their situation and circumstance (Jn 3:14, Nu 21:4-9). Their complaint was taken by God as only relational, the consequence of which was sin, just as they eventually understood and confessed (Nu 21:7) In addition, Jesus used the snake as an analogy (kathos) to his pending death on the cross to save persons from the relational consequences of sin. Equally important, however, was that Jesus also pointed to what he saved persons to (v.15). “Born again or from above” involves the relational process of the new covenant constituting the new creation—born of the Father (Jn 1:13), born of the Spirit (Jn 3:5,8), born of the Son (Jn 1:12; 3:15), that is, by the relational work of grace  “of” (ek, indicating source) the Trinity, whose relational involvement together constitute the whole of God and the whole of God’s family (kingdom).

            “To save” (sozo) in the NT denotes also to make whole, which necessitates not only being saved from but also saved to what is necessary to be whole. “To be apart” from this whole is the human condition, to which God’s thematic relational action has been responding since the original creation (Gen 2:18). This is the dynamic relational nature of salvation history and the ongoing relational involvement of the Trinity’s creative activity (ultimately disclosed in Jesus’ resurrection) for covenant relationship together. After the original creation, this notably emerged with the faithful of Israel as “the people of God” chosen by the triune God’s grace. Then it extends to all the nations as “the kingdom of God,” and thus born from above by the Trinity’s relational work of grace as “the children of God”: those redeemed by the Son and transformed by the Spirit from old to new, and adopted by the Father as “the family of God”—in the new covenant relationship together necessary to be whole in the ontological image and the functional likeness of the whole of God.

            In Jesus’ discourse, sozo was directly conjoined to eternal life (Jn 3:14-17). Just as with “born again,” eternal life must be understood also as relational language, or else it gets reduced to quantitative aspects about the future—as pervades much Christian practice today. That is, the relational outcome of “born again or from above” is eternal life, thus eternal life must remain in the same relational context and process to grasp its significance. More importantly, both born again and eternal life must by nature function in this relational context and process in order to have significance—relational significance to God and experiential significance for God’s family.

            The notion of eternal life points to a Jewish view of the life of the age or world to come. John’s Gospel seems to give “eternal life” the prominence that the Synoptic Gospels hold for “the kingdom of God.” This would be understandable since John’s Gospel narrates further and deeper God’s thematic action in the big picture. Yet, this narrative is integrated by relational language, which communicates the integrating motif of relationship together in the new covenant. For the evangelist, eternal life points to more than the life to come (and overcoming death), and it involves going deeper than the traditional parameters of the kingdom of God.

            As the relational outcome of being born of God in a new creation, eternal life is not about the quantitative aspects of life signified in a Greek term for life, bios (from which biography is derived). Nor is eternal life about the longevity of life denoted by a Greek term for time, chronos. Chronos and bios cannot constitute eternal life but are prevailing notions of it signifying its reduction. This is the consequence of removing eternal life from, or ignoring, its relational context and process.

            Rather than aspects of bios, eternal life is only about the qualitative whole of life, the element of life in the spirit denoted by another term for life, zoe. The element of zoe is the very life that God has. Thus, eternal life constitutes engaging this zoe life, that is to say, participating in the very zoe of God. Engage how, participate how? This is not about metaphysics but about relationship and the primacy of intimate relationship constituting the relational ontology of the Trinity. This involves, therefore, the irreducible and nonnegotiable response necessary by its nature (dei), to engage the relational context and to participate in the relational process vulnerably disclosed by Jesus, who embodied the relational ontology of the whole of God only for this relationship together. So, for example, when the rich young ruler approached Jesus for information to inherit eternal life, Jesus made it imperative to him to “follow me” (Mk 10:17-21)—thus, pointing him to the involvement in relationship together in the relational context and process of Jesus’ whole person.

            Jesus made eternal life definitive in his formative family prayer (insufficiently called his high priestly prayer). “This is eternal life: that they may know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom you have sent” (Jn 17:3). “To know” (ginosko) seems to point to a cognitive dimension of salvation (cf. Jer 31:34). Yet, this should not be reduced to gaining information and knowing things about God (cf. Jn 5:39). Ginosko in this context points to a deeper epistemology (Jn 17:6,25-26, cf. 1:18). Eternal life is a function of relationship and thus involves the relational epistemic process (cf. Jn 5:39-40). God’s self-disclosure embodied in Jesus vulnerably engaged persons only for this relationship (Jn 17:7-8). Ginosko also means “to experience,” which necessitates reciprocal intimate involvement (both sharing and receiving) to have this relational outcome (cf. Jesus’ frustration and its previous discussion, Jn 14:9). This reciprocal intimate involvement signifies the zoe of the Trinity, which all his followers participate in not only to relationally know the Trinity but also to intimately experience together in the relationships necessary to be whole in likeness of the Trinity, just as Jesus continued to pray (Jn 17:20-26). His prayer was formative of the new covenant family that he saved his followers to—the family of the new creation (born anew) constituted by the Trinity, for both “now” and “not yet.”

            Thus, salvation can be characterized as the relational response to the revelation that one receives (cf. Jer 31:33, Jn 1:10-12) with the relational trust exercised (as “little children”) in the reciprocity of covenant relationship together—covenant signifying only on God’s terms and together signifying only intimate involvement. This relational process of salvation involves the “adoption” of “little children” into the whole and holy God’s very own family—that is to say, those with the functional posture of “little children” (see the progression in Lk 10:21, Mt 18:3, Lk 18:17, Jn 1:12-13). “The right [exousia, authority] to become children of God” (Jn 1:12) points to the adoption process (which Paul later defined, Gal 4:4-7, Ro 8:15-17) initiated by the Trinity’s relational work of grace. As a theological construct, adoption is the formative relational process of God’s family which signifies two necessary actions in the relational process to family: first, redemption from the old, for example, from any enslavement (cf. Levi, prostitute), or release from previous family liability (cf. Samaritan woman, Zacchaeus), and, secondly, transformation to the new, that is, reconstituting the person’s ontology, redefining their identity and transferring membership/establishing belonging in the whole of God’s family. Redemption is never merely about liberating the person for Christian freedom but only for this relational process necessary to constitute relationship together as family.

            Adoption, as the formative relational process of God’s family, makes evident therefore the trinitarian shape of soteriology, constituted by the Trinity in the trinitarian relational context of family by the trinitarian relational process of family love. The whole of this relational work of grace constitutes Jesus’ followers in the relational progression to the whole of God, functionally restoring them: in the image of the relational ontology of the Trinity; in the relationships necessary to signify the ecclesiology of the whole in likeness of the Trinity; and in the congruent relational dynamic to signify their function in compatible missiology to extend family love to the world to build the whole of God’s family as the new creation—the eschatological plan of God’s thematic relational action of grace.

            The eschaton will bring the new creation family to its relational conclusion, yet its relational outcome is in the present to experience, however incomplete. When Jesus was harassed for healing (hygies, well, whole, i.e., to make whole) on the Sabbath (Jn 5:6,14,16), he responded by distinguishing his ongoing trinitarian relational work of grace (v.17ff). The implication is: The qualitative distinction of his work for relationship with those apart from the whole cannot be constrained by the quantitative religious practices, which effectively keep persons in the condition “to be apart” from the whole of God (v.21). For those who relationally respond to his trinitarian work of grace, Jesus made definitive that person “has eternal life” (in Gk present tense, v.24). That is, this person “has crossed over from death to life” (metabeino, denotes to go from one state to another, v.24). Metabeino is also in the Greek perfect tense, which accentuates the fact of an existing condition and stresses the prevailing effects of an action. In other words, the future brings the relational conclusion of complete overcoming of death (separation from God) to life (endless communion with God); through the same ongoing trinitarian relational work of grace, the present also brings relational outcomes in the intimate involvement of relationship together. These relational outcomes in the present are ongoing experiences of transformation (metabeino) from the relational condition “to be apart” from the whole to further participation and deeper involvement in the zoe of the Trinity (the fact of a new existing condition); and the Trinity’s past and present relational work is already and ongoingly constituting in those of reciprocal relationship the new creation family of the whole of God (the prevailing effects of the Trinity’s salvific action).

            Any notions which relegate salvation and eternal life merely to the future emerge from reductionism and not fully receiving God’s communicative action disclosed in the biblical texts, namely embodied in the whole of the Word. The theological and functional implication is not listening to the Son in his trinitarian relational context and process, thus essentially ignoring the ongoing relational presence and intimate involvement of the Trinity. Whatever future experience salvation and eternal life ultimately bring, their present reality is only a function of relationship together, the nature of which has to be theologically congruent and functionally compatible with the relational ontology of the Trinity. The Trinity not only gives shape to soteriology but makes definitive the relational nature of salvific life and practice in the new creation. This necessitates by its nature, not out of obligation or compulsion, our ongoing reciprocal relational work for further and deeper intimate communion together. Moreover, this involves our life and practice in relationship with others in the daily ethics congruent with the relational work of Jesus’ whole person, who embodied the relational ontology of the Trinity for all relationships to be restored to the qualitative whole of God—both for the distant future and also for the immediate present.

            Before our discussion focuses on salvific life and practice in the new creation, we need to grasp the experiential truth of this relationship which historically converged in Jesus’ ultimate discourse.

The Ultimate Salvific Discourse

           The whole of soteriology’s relational context and process cohered in Jesus’ ultimate discourse on the cross, which intimately communicated and vulnerably consummated God’s thematic relational action of grace. This discourse is understood as his seven statements conjoined with his actions on the cross, though each of the Gospel narratives provides a different part of the discourse, with Mark and Matthew including only the most important fourth statement to formulate a structure somewhat analogous to an OT chiasm (two halves framing the key point placed between them). Taken together they evidence the thematic relational message of God, and this composite message’s theological interpretation constitutes it as the ultimate salvific discourse consummating the whole of God’s thematic action for the new covenant relationship together as family. Thus, no aspect of this discourse can be fully understood separated from the context of the whole, nor can any aspect be reduced and still constitute its relational significance in the whole of God’s thematic action.

            This was Jesus’ discourse on the cross, in which the language of his words and actions communicated with the ultimate relational clarity and significance.

 First Statement: “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing” (Lk 23:34).[1]

In his initial words, Jesus clearly established his full relational context with the Father, thus pointing to the source of salvation. His initial action also disclosed the full relational process of grace necessary for salvation: forgiveness (aphiemi, to remit sin, dismiss indebtedness toward God, cf. Mt 26:28, also its function in Lk’s emphasis on salvation, Lk 5:20-26; 7:47-50; 24:46-47). How Jesus engaged aphiemi was less about the situation and full of relational significance, which was constituted only by God’s grace.

            As they killed Jesus, this destruction was the paradoxical relational process necessary for new relationship with the whole of God (cf. Lk 22:20). That is, it is ironic that aphiemi denotes, on the one hand, the forgiveness for their sin and broken relationship with the triune God, which in this moment led to the necessary cost for redemption fulfilled by his death on the cross (cf. Mk 10:45). On the other hand, aphiemi signifies the transformation to the new covenant relationship together constituted by the Spirit, who is Jesus’ relational replacement so he would “not leave [aphiemi] you as orphans” (Jn 14:18). In other words, Jesus enacted aphiemi for relationship together and completely fulfilled the whole of its relational significance by his relational work of grace.

 

            Jesus’ discourse was interjected with challenges to his salvific claim (Mt 27:40, Mk 15:29-30), as well as with mocking of his salvific authority and power as the Messiah King (Mt 27:42, Mk 15:31-32, Lk 23:35). Another detractor was one of the criminals executed with Jesus, who demonstrated a prevailing messianic expectation of salvation in existing quantitative situations and circumstances (Lk 23:39). His derision was about deliverance from his circumstances, not about relationship together; thus, he represented a majority position of those with a reductionist reaction to Jesus.

            The other criminal looked beyond their own circumstances and made a qualitative shift to see Jesus’ person (though also as King) and to pursue him in his relational context, despite Jesus’ situation (Lk 23:40-42). Thus, he represented those with the qualitative relational response necessary to receive the vulnerable self-disclosure of God in Jesus for salvation. He received the following relational response from Jesus.

 Second Statement: “I tell you the truth, today you will be with me in paradise” (Lk 23:43).

In the relational clarity of his family love, Jesus clearly made definitive the relational outcome and conclusion for anyone and all who relationally respond to his vulnerable relational work of grace for new covenant relationship together. This relational response necessitates reciprocal vulnerability in engaging Jesus in his relational context and by intimate involvement with him in his relational process, as signified by the second criminal’s relational response of trust in Jesus.

            The relational conclusion of being “with me in paradise” should not be reduced. Paradise, despite images and notions, is not about a place, that is, about aspects of bios; Jesus’ statement here should be compared to his statements with the churches in Ephesus and Laodicea (Rev 2:7; 3:21). Rather, paradise is about sharing together intimately in the ultimate relational context of God, and thus complete involvement in the ultimate relational process of participating in the zoe of the Trinity. “With me” is only about relationship together at its ultimate (“paradise”)—to which Jesus could have added “nothing less and no substitutes,” yet was absolutely definitive in prefacing his statement with “I tell you the truth.”

 

            In the next part of his discourse, Jesus points to what he saves us to, which the first criminal was predisposed to ignore by reducing salvation merely to being saved from bad situations and circumstances.

 Third Statement: To his mother, “Dear woman, here is your son,” and to the disciple,                                        “Here is your mother” (Jn 19:26-27).

With the relational significance of his family love communicated in this statement, Jesus gives us a partial entrance into what he saved us to by opening the functional door to salvific life and practice.

            There are many aspects for us to reflect on here: circumstances, culture, family, Jesus’ promise to his disciples (viz. Mk 10:29-30). All of these factor into this extraordinary interaction, the outcome of which suggests the experiential roots of what he saved us to and the functional roots for the development of his church as family. Building with the persons who truly constituted his family (see Mt 12:47-50), Jesus demonstrated the functional significance of being his family in what should be understood as a defining interaction, yet is often underemphasized or overlooked.

            Apparently, Mary had been a widow for a while. In the Mediterranean world of biblical times, a widow was in a precarious position (like orphans), and so it was for Mary, particularly when her eldest and thus primary son (culturally speaking) was about to die. Their culture called for the eldest son to make provision for parents when they could no longer provide for themselves. The kinship family (by blood and law) had this responsibility. Though a widow, in Mary’s case she still had other sons and daughters to care for her (Mk 6:3). Why, then, did Jesus delegate this responsibility to someone outside their immediate family?

            Though circumstances, culture and family converge on this scene, they do not each exert the same amount of influence. We cannot let contextual considerations limit our understanding of this defining point in the relational progression of his followers. I suggest that Jesus wasn’t fulfilling his duty as the eldest son, nor bound by the circumstances. As he had consistently demonstrated throughout the incarnation, Jesus was taking his followers beyond culture and circumstances, even beyond family as we commonly view it. As the embodied whole of God, his sanctified life and practice constituted function beyond reductionism, which he expected also of his followers in order to participate in his new covenant family (Mt 5:20).

            Jesus’ full trinitarian relational context of family and relational process of family love was made evident in his painful condition yet sensitive relational involvement with Mary and John, which should not be reduced by the drama of the moment or the obligation of the situation. Though Jesus was in anguish and those closest to him were deeply distressed, this unimaginable interaction took place because Jesus functionally embodied the family love of the whole of God. In the most touching moment on the cross, Jesus teaches us what being his family means: how to see each other, how to be involved with each other and how the individual is affirmed in submitting to him for it.

            For Jesus, family involvement was based on agape involvement, so being his family cannot be understood from our conventional perceptions of family involvement or by our conditioned feelings of obligation. Despite his circumstances, Jesus focused on Mary and John with the deepest agape involvement and affection (phileo, cf. Jn 5:20, Dt 7:7): “Here is your son,” “Here is your mother.” How was he telling them to see each other? How was he saying to be involved with each other? How was the individual affirmed in submitting to him?

            Jesus gave his followers new eyes with which to see other—beyond circumstances, culture, blood and legal ties, social status. He redefined his family to be relationship-specific to his Father (Mt 12:47-50). This is how he wants us to see each other, and how he saw Mary. It seems certain that Mary was not merely Jesus’ earthly mother but increasingly his follower. She was not at odds with Jesus (though she certainly must have had mixed feelings) during his earthly ministry, as were his brothers. She was always there for him in her role as mother but more importantly she was now there with him as one who did the Father’s will—thus, as follower, daughter, sister. This was the Mary at the crucifixion.

            Just as Jesus didn’t merely see Mary as his earthly mother, a widow, a female, he didn’t merely see John as a disciple, a special friend. They were his Father’s daughter and son, his sister and brother (cf. Heb 2:11), his family together in the relational progression. And that is how he wants us to be involved with each other, not stopping short at any point on this progression—no matter how well we have been servants together, nor how much we have shared as friends. This deeply touching interaction was Jesus’ involvement with and response to his family. It was the beautiful outworking of family love in the reciprocal relational process together of being family and building it. Nothing less and no substitutes, just as Jesus lived and went to the cross. This is the function of salvific life and practice in the present.

            For this definite reason and unequivocal purpose, Jesus’ action was just as much for John’s benefit as it was for Mary—both in provision and opportunity. In response to Jesus, John acted beyond being merely a disciple, even a friend, and took Mary into “his own” (idios, one’s own, denotes special relationship, v.27). He didn’t just take her into his house; he embraced Mary as his own mother (or kinship sister). She must have embraced him also as her son (or kinship brother). In response to what each of them let go of in order to follow Jesus, he promised them an even greater family (Mk 10:29-30). True to his words as ever, he partially fulfilled his promise to them. This is the relational outcome in the present for each individual who submits to him to participate in his family. No greater satisfaction of being accepted, no fulfillment of the individual’s self-worth, no certainty of one’s place and belonging can be experienced by the individual person without the relational significance of the whole of his new covenant family.

            As the functional key, Jesus’ action here demonstrated the relationships of love necessary to be the whole of God’s new covenant family with family love (both agape and phileo), and this initial experience constituted the roots of his church as family. Moreover, this experiential reality signified the ongoing fulfillment of his covenant promise to his followers (i.e., Mk 10:29-30, which becomes functional in the present as his church family), and thus established the experiential truth of the gospel for all to experience (cf. Jn 17:21-23).

            And as the hermeneutical key, Jesus not only used relational language but also his family language to constitute his words as the whole of  the Word of God embodied vulnerably for this new covenant relationship together. This scenario statement, therefore, must be understood in the whole of his salvific discourse and made definitive for the function of his church in its ongoing life and practice.

 

            Keep in mind that his first three statements happened while he was dying a physically painful death. Thus, having clearly and vulnerably communicated God’s thematic relational action of grace in the first half of his discourse, Jesus continued in the second half to intimately consummate his salvific work for the new covenant relationship together of God’s family. The cost for redemption to complete this salvation to the new creation was immeasurable. In unsettling contrast to his previous statement as the most touching moment on the cross, his next statement is the most heartbreaking—while also the most important statement disclosing the relational significance on which the whole of God’s salvific action hinged.

 Fourth Statement: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Mt 27:46, Mk 15:34).

Familiarity with these words must not predispose us to minimalize Jesus’ relational language, and thus to diminish the depth of relational significance involved here. Such reductionism can only have a relational consequence of promoting relational distance (however unintentional) from God or of reinforcing the relational condition “to be apart” (however inadvertent) from the whole of God. Moreover, I suggest, nothing will help us understand the distinction between the qualitative (e.g., element of zoe) and the quantitative (e.g., aspects of bios) than this pivotal relational statement by Jesus.

            Beyond the prolonged physical pain (nearly in its sixth hour), Jesus’ words vulnerably exposed his relational pain—which was initially experienced in the garden of Gethsemane (Mt 26:37-38) in anticipation of this ultimate relational pain. The Son’s relationally painful scream not only further expressed his honesty and vulnerableness with his Father, but now even more significantly demonstrated the relational wholeness by which their life together is constituted (Jn 10:38; 14:10,11,20; 17:21). Therefore, we are exposed intimately to what is most fundamental to the zoe of God: the whole of the relationship of God.

            Since God is the Trinity, the whole of the triune God is constitutive of the Trinity’s relationships, while the Trinity’s relationships together constitute the whole of God—apart from which the zoe of God does not function. It was the zoe of the Trinity, the whole of the relationship of God, which was the issue in Jesus’ statement (relational scream).

            While Jesus’ physical death was necessary for salvation, that quantitative death of bios was not his ultimate sacrifice. The ultimate was his loss of the qualitative relationship of the whole of God. As a consequence of absorbing our sin, in that inexplicable moment the Son was no longer in the Father nor the Father in him. In this nothing-less-and-no-substitutes action of grace by the whole and holy God, the mystery of the “brokenness” of the relational ontology of the Trinity in effect happened. We can have only some sense of understanding this condition by focusing on the relational reality in distress, not the ontological. With this qualitative focus on Jesus’ pain, we become vulnerable participants both (1) in the painful relational consequence involving any degree of the relational condition “to be apart” from the whole of God, and (2) in the fullness of God’s ultimate response to redeem us from this condition as well as to reconcile us to the whole of the relationship of God, the zoe of the Trinity.

            For this wholeness with God to be experienced, however, the relational barriers “to be apart” have to be removed. When the Son screamed out in relational pain, all those barriers had converged on him to evoke the Father’s separation. I suggest, it was also the moment the Father cried, and the Spirit grieved. This was their relational work of grace; and nothing less and no substitutes could have consummated this relational consequence, which was necessary by its nature to overcome the relational consequence of sin. Furthermore, nothing less and no substitutes can constitute the family love involved in the relational process and relational conclusion of salvation. Therefore, though in a figurative sense the whole of God was broken, nevertheless the relational significance of this paradoxical moment was functionally specific to wholeness, that is, in order that we (necessarily both individually and corporately) will be whole in new relationship together.

            This is how the whole of God indeed “so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son.” Nicodemus apparently would grasp this more deeply from this ultimate salvific discourse than he understood from Jesus’ first discourse with him about salvation (see him after Jesus’ death, Jn 19:38-39).

            If we grasp the relational significance of the Son’s relational pain from being forsaken by the Father, this goes beyond relational rejection to the deeper relational condition of being apart from the whole of God. In this sense, what is taken away from the wholeness of the Trinity affects the wholeness of each trinitarian person. Not only are they no longer in each other but they are not one—whole. To be forsaken or to forsake is to be separated from this fundamental whole. Certainly the mystery of this pivotal moment has no ontological understanding; God never stopped being God. And there is also the paradoxical aspect of the Son declaring he will not forsake us as orphans apart from the whole of God’s family (Jn 14:18), who is now himself separated from this whole. Yet, the relational significance of this both signifies the fundamental whole of the Trinity as well as establishes the means for relationship necessary to be whole in likeness of the Trinity. This is the whole of the relationship of God that Jesus not only prayed for his followers to have (Jn 17:20-23), but also paid the cost for the redemptive change necessary to truly have it, and further provided his Spirit to help us authentically experience it and ongoingly function in it together.

 

            As the whole of God’s salvific action nears fulfillment, Jesus’ qualitative relational involvement remained fully embodied in the historical context of the cross. What transpired necessarily involved his whole person, just as indicated in Hebrew Scripture (Jn 19:24,28,36,37). After the heartbreaking interaction, Jesus made this evident in his next statement.

 Fifth Statement: “I am thirsty” (Jn 19:28).

John’s Gospel began with the eternal state of Jesus the Christ as the Word who was always God (Jn 1:1-2, contrary to Arianism). When the whole of the Word became flesh also, Jesus the Christ became fully human while still fully divine to constitute his whole person (Jn 1:14, contrary to Apollinarianism). In this expanded Christology (beyond the Synoptic Gospels) the evangelist’s narrative included this part of Jesus’ salvific discourse. With the words in this statement, we are reminded that Jesus’ person was also human. Yet, this brings us face to face with his full humanity and the human toll involved in his action necessary for salvation. This “I am” is the counterpart to the other “I am” statements the evangelist developed in this Gospel for a more complete Christology (see Jn 6:35,51; 8:12; 9:5; 10:7,11; 11:25; 14:6; 15:1). In conjoint function, these “I am” statements are his relational work of grace fulfilling God’s thematic action for new relationship together.

            Jesus’ thirst was not merely the dehydration from physical exertion and trauma, but more importantly points to the depletion of his full humanity completely extended in intense vulnerable involvement. This thirst signified that his relational work of grace was both the divine action of his deity disclosing the whole of God and also the relational involvement of his full humanity; and this conjoint function cannot be diminished in either function without reducing Jesus’ whole person for an incomplete Christology. Any reduction of Jesus’ whole person has theological and functional implications for soteriology, resulting in reductionism of what Jesus saved us from or saved us to, or both, thus a truncated soteriology. Such reductionism is always consequential for relationships, whether it is relationship together with God or within Christ’s church as family, or both.

 

            In these fourth and fifth statements of his discourse, we are openly exposed to (even confronted by) this functional picture of Jesus’ whole divine-human person: He who was vulnerably present, intimately involved and completely fulfilling the whole of God’s thematic relational action of grace only for new covenant relationship together.

            Thus, “when he had received the drink, Jesus said….”

 Sixth Statement: “It is finished” (Jn 19:30).

“Finished” (teleo, complete, not merely ending it but fulfilling it to its intended conclusion), that is, his relational work for redemption to free us from the old and its relational significance “to be apart” from the whole of God (ultimate death). With these words, his ultimate salvation discourse was being brought to a close. Essentially all had been said and done, except for the concluding chapter in the history of salvation by the whole of God’s thematic relational action responding to the human relation condition.

            As Jesus completed his redemptive work for the original covenant (cf. Ex 24:8 and Mk 14:24), the transition to the new conjointly begins. In Luke’s Gospel, the evangelist is concerned about a gospel accessible to all, thus he narrated the temple being redefined for the new covenant (Lk 23:44-45). Mark’s Gospel and Matthew’s also included the temple curtain event (Mk 15:38, Mt 27:51), yet they appeared to include this only as part of the narrative detail of events during the crucifixion without pointing to its relational significance (cf. Ex 26:31-33, Heb 10:19-20). Luke apparently changed the order of this event to precede and thus directly connect with this last statement in Jesus’ salvific discourse—no doubt in further emphasis of Luke’s concern for an accessible gospel for all, which the relational significance of the torn temple curtain constitutes and Jesus’ next and last words both point to and will consummate.

 Seventh Statement: “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit” (Lk 23:46).

With his final words in this ultimate salvific discourse, Jesus engaged the furthest and deepest in the trinitarian relational context and process. This relational cry to his Father contrasted with his earlier scream from relational pain (fourth statement), yet these cries for relationship were also conjoined in the mystery of the relational dynamic enacting the Trinity’s salvific work of grace.

            Jesus said, “I commit” (paratithemi, to entrust, i.e., to relationally entrust) “my spirit” (pneuma, signifying the very core of his person), yet his relational language did not constitute a dualism here implying he did not entrust his body; rather, he entrusted his whole person. His last words evidenced the submission of his whole person for relationship together in the transitional journey to complete the redemptive work of the old and to raise up the new. By his intimate involvement in this vulnerably present and ongoingly involved relational context and process of the Trinity, Jesus was fully constituted in the final salvific action necessary for this ultimate relational conclusion: the resurrection and the birth of the new creation in the new covenant relationship together as family constituted in and by the Trinity, which the Spirit ongoingly transforms from the old to the new and brings to eschatological completion.

 

            Immediately after Jesus’ discourse, various responses from those who witnessed his death were recorded (Mk 15:39-40, Mt 27:54-55, Lk 23:47-49). By the nature of his ultimate salvific discourse, however, compatible relational response back to the whole of Jesus is necessary (dei) for the experiential truth and relational reality of this new covenant relationship together. This nothing-less-and-no-substitutes relational response is thus irreducible and nonnegotiable, just as Jesus vulnerably embodied and intimately involved his whole person only for this relationship together.

            These were the words and actions Jesus communicated on the cross with the ultimate relational clarity and relational significance—which the Father makes imperative not only to “listen to my Son,” but also to relationally respond to the whole of the Word embodied for relationship together as family.

The Enhanced Shape of Soteriology

            When Simeon, who was guided by the Spirit, saw the child Jesus in the temple, he praised God for seeing the Christ before he died (Lk 2:25-32). His praise expressed the deep satisfaction of having “seen your salvation which you have prepared in the sight [prosopon, face] of all peoples, a light for revelation” (vv.30-32), stressing Luke’s concern for a gospel accessible to all. Though Jesus embodied vulnerably the gospel relationally accessible to any and all persons, Simeon’s praise also points to an ongoing issue with Jesus’ self-disclosure in general, and salvation in particular, which Simeon alluded to later (vv.34-35). This ongoing issue, even to this day, involves what we pay attention to (or ignore) in “face-to-face” examination of Jesus and his salvific work.

            What Simeon saw: was not merely a baby but a person, was not merely a person but the whole person, was not merely the whole person but the whole person in his relational context and process, which involved the conjoint function of his full identity as the whole of God with his minority identity in the surrounding context of the world. Simeon grasped essentially the whole of God’s relational work of salvation, which he received in relational reciprocity with the Spirit. Yet, Simeon’s  part in this process was also crucial because what he saw directly involved his perceptual-interpretive framework. That is, Simeon was not predisposed to see the Christ in the baby Jesus (especially in prevailing messianic expectations), but rather Simeon’s person (“my eyes” indicate a link to his heart signifying his person, cf. Mt 6:22) was open to the person presented to him, thus who and what Jesus’ person was. And who and what Simeon saw was critical to constitute a compatible relational response to the whole of God’s self-disclosure in Jesus for salvation and relationship together.

            As we come “face to face” with the incarnation of Jesus’ person in the narrative texts, we are accountable for what we see, just as Simeon was. Who and what we see in Jesus’ person is critical to how we see Jesus function, and, conversely, how we see Jesus function is critical to the whole of who and what we see of Jesus’ person. This view certainly involves the lens of our perceptual-interpretive framework and its importance in this epistemic process and theological task. Yet, there is a deeper issue underlying our framework which antecedes its importance: the influence of reductionism. This may appear somewhat like a chicken-and-egg issue due to the reflexive dynamic between them, in which, at one point, what we pay attention to (due to our perceptual-interpretive framework) results in reductionist conclusions, while, at another point, the influence of reductionism determines what we pay attention to or ignore. (For example, did a Jewish perceptual-interpretive framework result in the prevailing messianic expectations in Jesus’ time, or did those prevailing messianic expectations determine their framework?)

            Nevertheless, we need to keep in focus that reductionism is always positioned against the whole, countering its presence, and thus engaged in counter-relational work. Our perceptual-interpretive framework, for which we are responsible, emerges from either the whole or reductionism, never from a combination of both; yet, it can function at different times on the basis of one or the other.

            With this in mind, I suggest that the major issue we face about Jesus, and thus soteriology, is: The whole of the Word became flesh and dwelled vulnerably among us, but we have disembodied the Word, fragmented the whole of the Word and selectively received the Word on our terms. There are two implications or consequences from this which are of major importance:

1. By disembodying the Word (at least functionally, if not also theologically), we separate Jesus’ whole person from his teachings (words) and example (actions); by fragmenting the whole of the Word, we fail to grasp the principle of the incarnation of nothing less and no substitutes than the whole of God and God’s thematic relational action of grace; and thus by selectively receiving (or interpreting) the Word on our terms, in the epistemic process we cannot fully receive (or interpret) the relational significance of God’s vulnerably present and intimately involved self-disclosure in Jesus only for covenant relationship together.
2. By disembodying Jesus’ teachings and action, fragmenting the whole of Jesus and selectively defining Jesus and our relationship on our terms, in the theological task we formulate doctrines in general, and soteriology in particular, apart from the relational context and process of Jesus (necessary for a complete Christology) and the whole of God’s thematic relational action of grace (necessary for a full soteriology). This results in artificial and false distinctions for soteriology between the future and the present, between what Jesus saved us from and save us to, leading to, I suggest, a false distinction in ecclesiology between the church and the kingdom, involving the function of an incompatible missiology with a false distinction between the call to discipleship and the Great Commission, which further leads to a false distinction in eschatology between present (realized) and future (only at the end times).

And what gets lost in this epistemic process and theological task is pneumatology, that is, neglecting the presence and relational work of the Spirit, which would disconcert Simeon but more importantly relationally grieves the Spirit (discussed further in chapter nine).

            This is illustrated in various narrative accounts of Jesus’ salvific work, in which he made these consequences evident. When his salvific work (part of which involved healing to make whole, sozo, cf. Lk 17:19) was condemned for being engaged on the Sabbath, Jesus responded with a discourse on who, what and how he was, thus why he was engaged, in his salvific work (Jn 5:16-47, Jn’s Gospel emphasizes the big picture of the whole of God). Rather than redefine the importance of the Sabbath, in this discourse Jesus challenged those who identified with the Jewish Scriptures but in effect “disembodied” them of their relational significance (vv.37-38,46-47). How so? After disclosing his relational ontology with the Father, he defined their position: “nor does [the Father’s] word dwell in you” because you don’t receive the embodied whole of the Word vulnerably disclosing the Father’s communicative action for salvation (v.38), whose word was partially communicated to you earlier (v.46). In other words, they had the written (or oral) words of Scripture apart from the One who communicated those words, thus words without their relational context and process. How, then, did they relate to the Scriptures?

            When the Word of God is disembodied apart from its relational context and process, it becomes a near entity by itself shaped by the reader-user without the author’s intention. Jesus described their approach: “You imperatively study [eraunao, search, look into, Gk imperative mood] the (disembodied) Scriptures because you think that in [en, remain in place, viz. as an end in itself] them you possess eternal life” (v.39); to paraphrase, “even though the embodied Scriptures communicate (‘testify,’ martyreo, to be a relational witness) concerning the whole of the Word vulnerably accessible in his salvific work, you willfully choose (thelo, not only willing but pressing on to action) not to relationally respond to me but essentially continue to shape your own salvation” (v.40). Shaping their own salvation is implied in Jesus’ description “you think that” (dokeo, to seem to oneself, to have an opinion), evidencing their approach to the scriptural text as reader-user “in front of the text” (emphasizing the reader’s opinion) over the approach “within the text” (with the primacy of the author’s intention).

            This process is demonstrated further in another interaction about salvation. A lawyer asked Jesus what he had to do to inherit eternal life (Lk 10:25-27, previously discussed in chapter four). Jesus pointed him to the words of the Law and asked him how (or in what way, pos) he read them (v.26). The lawyer responded with the two summary commandments of love (Dt 6:5, Lev 19:18), which Jesus also defined as those giving the basic Scriptures their relational significance (Mt 22:40, cf. Dt 7:9,12). Yet, though the lawyer repeated the same words, they did not have the same significance to him as they did for Jesus. Jesus focused on the relational involvement of love, not a code to follow; and if he involved himself in those relationships, it signified the life made whole (Lk 10:28).

            In many Jewish practices, the law had been reduced to become a mere code of behavior—whether for national identity, self-justification or simply tradition—without any deeper significance. This is what the lawyer’s approach to those vital words appeared to be, since he asked for more specific details for its practice “to justify himself” (v.29). Jesus responded with the story of the compassionate Samaritan, which was not about what to do with “my neighbor”; rather this was about how to be agape involved in relationship with others in congruence with God’s agape involvement for relationship with him.

            The first (and greatest) commandment to love (agape) the whole of God with our whole person embodied the Law as God’s personal desires and establishes its relational context and process only for the purpose to be relationally involved with God. The second (of importance) commandment embodies the Law as God’s personal desires for this relationship together to be extended in relationship with others. These are not the main parts of a code to follow for correct behavior. These are the Author’s intention for these words, which, as relational language, were communicated only for the purpose of covenant relationship together (covenant signifying on God’s terms). Moreover, these are the words which the embodied Word ultimately communicated for new covenant relationship together (together now signifying new direct intimate involvement). By disembodying the whole of the Word and the words of God from their relational context and process, the lawyer effectively was shaping his own salvation—as were those earlier who studied the Scriptures. Their approach to the Scriptures is like the reader (listener) of any story who changes what the author intended in order to meet one’s own desires, agenda or needs. Yet, they must be contrasted with the approach of a scribe in a similar interaction, who, Jesus said, was “not far from the kingdom of God” (Mk 12:32-34).

            Somewhat analogous to “enhanced reality” created by the effects of modern electronic technology for a virtual sense, human shaping of salvation has the effect of creating “enhanced soteriology.” The “enhanced” shape of soteriology, unlike in Jesus’ discourse at the temple, with Nicodemus and others during his salvific work, is not basically about misunderstanding Jesus’ language about raising the temple, or about born again and eternal life. Rather the issue is about reducing his language apart from this full context and process, thus diminishing or eliminating its relational significance and, therefore, losing its relational function for the experience of relationship together. This process further involves reducing Jesus’ words with the consequence of disregarding, discounting or negating God’s communicative action in Jesus, thus rendering the biblical text voiceless of God’s self-disclosure. Apart from the full relational context and process of God, the door is open to rely on one’s own reasoning independent of the text (or “in front of the text” or “behind the text”) to presume about God and God’s action. With the latitude to substitute one’s own independent interpretation and terms for God’s authorial intentions, salvation essentially becomes an “enhanced” version, constructed by one’s own effort—whether emerging from one’s reason directly, or through the assumptions (notably from the Enlightenment) of natural theology, historical criticism or scientific theories.

            The enhanced shape of soteriology (whatever its variation) is a human construct from reductionism, which by its nature cannot be whole or involve the process to make whole; moreover, this construct can neither engage nor constitute the relationships necessary to be whole. More specifically, to construct God’s kingdom or family on the basis of human means is incompatible, and at best it can only produce an ontological  simulation and epistemological illusion (cf. the tower of Babel, Gen 11:1-9). Human effort is contrary to the kingdom’s nature, and thus such construction would be functionally divided against itself and will fail. This was clearly made evident by Jesus in another discourse involving his salvific work (see Lk 11:14-32).

            When Jesus was challenged about the nature of his power to drive out demons (to make whole) and labeled to the contrary (“by Beelzebub,” vv.15-16), he disclosed the whole that is of God and God’s thematic action for the human condition to be whole. He made definitive that his power was the function of and congruent with the ontology of God’s action (v.20). By framing the issue in a kingdom and household (oikos, v.17), he equated his actions of making persons whole with God’s thematic relational action responding to the human condition apart from the whole. Thus, his power and action to make whole were salvific power and salvific action (cf. his healing and sozo, Lk 17:15-19). Anything less than this power and action would not be able to make whole; likewise, any substitute for this power and action would not be whole, and thus could never make whole. Anything less and any substitute would be reductionism, which by its nature can never be whole. Anything less and any substitute for kingdom or family building will fail because reductionism’s counter-relational work always prevents the involvement in relationships necessary to be whole. This is the intent of Satan’s work, who generates reductionism and subsidizes counter-relational work.

            Jesus made this explicit about his salvific work with the analogy for a kingdom and family to be whole. Reductionism and the whole are functionally incongruent and relationally incompatible. He clearly made this further evident in a key statement in this discourse: “He who is not with me is against me, and he who does not gather with me, scatters” (v.23). The prepositions are important in Jesus’ words. Meta (“with me,” in the genitive) denotes in the midst of a close association, relationship, implying companionship, fellowship together (i.e. on his terms), though not as intimate as the preposition syn. Kata (“against me,” also in the genitive) indicates a motion downward and against, which suggests to reduce an object (in this case a person). Jesus’ person embodied the whole of the Word and disclosed the whole of God for relationship together. The alternative to relationship together meta the whole of Jesus is the opposing relational dynamic reducing (kata) the whole of Jesus, which is the definitive counter-relational work of reductionism. Jesus clearly made the alternatives either-or, the whole or reductionism, with no neutral position. And this opposing relational dynamic can function in effect even with those who have a relationship with Jesus, yet function in the relationship on their terms, thus reducing Jesus’ person and terms for relationship.

            The tension between the whole and reductionism (considering its source) is ongoing, and it will continue until the eschaton. The whole is necessary both to expose and to negate reductionism. Yet, the individual person alone is not sufficient to constitute the whole. His statement goes deeper with the words “gather with me” (synago meta). Syn implies a closer relational connection than meta and also means “including”; combined with ago (to lead, bring), synago means to lead, bring together, gather together, assemble together inclusively. Synago is the root for synagoge (synagogue), which is the counterpart to ekklesia (church). Yet, to lead, bring, gather and assemble together is neither about collective activity together nor about collectively occupying the same space together. Synago meta Jesus is a function of relationship—the relationships necessary to be whole together. This involves the trinitarian relational process of family love to reach out, lead, bring and gather together to include all in the whole of God’s family—making definitive the function of the church as whole family in likeness of the Trinity. Thus, synago is salvific work to make whole those in the human condition apart from the whole of God (cf. its salvific process of family love in Mt 25:35c).

            The alternative, and thus the opposing relational dynamic, to synago is from persons who “scatter,” which Jesus further made clearly an either-or alternative. Skorpizo (to scatter, disperse) juxtaposed and in tension with synago points to the tension between reductionism and the whole. That is to say, therefore, skorpizo further involves reducing the whole by fragmenting both the whole of persons and relationships together. Any reduction of the person and relationships reinforces the human condition “to be apart” from the whole; and this can be accomplished (1) when the ontology is diminished, for example, by defining the person based on what one does or has, and (2) when relationships are minimalized, for example, by functioning without intimacy. This reduction, then, can and does operate even within a church (cf. churches in Rev 2 & 3). The operation of reductionism in churches today suggests a crisis because the whole is necessary to expose it and then to negate it.

            The plenary either-or language Jesus used for these alternatives should not be considered hyperbole. There is no state or condition between that which is whole and less than whole, thus no functional alternative in-between them. This makes the two metaphors he used in this discourse to frame his key statement, as well as extend the issue of his household family (oikos), vital for the salvific work to make whole the church as family. The first metaphor is about a strong man fully capable of guarding his house and possession, who is later overpowered and stripped of his security and possession (vv.21-22). This points to the salvific work of the whole of  God prevailing over Satan. At the same time, this metaphor was first introduced in a Markan intercalation (so-called “Markan sandwich”),[2] in which the definitive whole of the kingdom, household family of God, was framed (sandwiched) between an issue with his biological family and what Jesus made definitive as his family (Mk 3:20-35). Mark’s narrative style not only further distinguishes God’s family (kingdom) but also makes evident the ongoing tension with the whole that Jesus’ biological family represented—that is, reducing the whole of Jesus and his salvific work, and thus his kingdom-family. While his biological family and the scribes were certainly acting with different intentions, they both still had the effect of reductionism.

            Neither Luke nor Matthew followed Mark’s narrative style for this discourse, though Matthew included the portion of Jesus with his family (Mt 12:46-50). In Luke’s narrative, the first metaphor still points to the prevailing salvific work of God over Satan. Yet, with Luke’s concern for salvation for all nations (God’s kingdom for all peoples), it seems reasonable to consider a further purpose for Luke’s narrative structure for this discourse and the placement of these two metaphors. With this in mind, and given this discourse’s theme of the tension between reductionism and the whole, I suggest that this metaphor also conversely represents a call from Jesus for his church family not to make assumptions about its life and to be focused: on being whole and what reductionism will do to the whole if allowed to operate—an assumption many from Israel made about its life with such consequences.

            The second metaphor is of an evil spirit which comes out of a house only to return to it later to find it cleaned and freed (from its previous condition), and thus more inviting to occupy again, making the condition of the house even worse than the first time (vv.24-26). This points to a relational consequence for a current generation of Jews (see Mt’s context for this metaphor, Mt 12:39-45). Yet, this metaphor in Luke’s narrative, while extending the emphasis of the first metaphor, also suggests an even deeper call from Jesus to his church family for the experiential truth of salvation: That it is not sufficient merely to be saved from (cleaned and redeemed from sin) for the whole, but also necessary to be saved to in order to be whole—the whole both necessary and sufficient to negate reductionism. This relational outcome is necessary to preclude the relational consequence pointed to.

            Both of these metaphors functionally pivot on Jesus’ key statement (v.23) in this discourse. This is crucial to grasp for church function. The church as the household (oikos) of God “will fall” (pipto, to fall down, v.17), that is, essentially be reduced in its qualitative significance by operating with means and practices incongruent with family—for example, as an institutional system, by business organization models, or simply as a voluntary association. The church as family is only a function of relationships, intimate interdependent relationships together, and thus is incompatible with practices operating without the primacy of these relationships together. If church gatherings, activities and programs are allowed to operate with such incompatible practices, it “will fall”—be reduced in its relational significance both to God and to each other, even while operating very productively (cf. church at Ephesus, Rev 2:2-4) or very successfully (cf. church at Sardis, Rev 3:1-2).

            The whole of this discourse in Luke’s Gospel speaks to the wholeness of God’s salvific action (partially overviewed in vv.29-32), which Jesus embodied as “the finger of God” in the relational work of grace necessary to constitute the experiential truth that “the kingdom of God has come to you” (v.20). His functional juxtaposition of kingdom and household supports their congruence. That is, the whole of God’s salvific action fulfilled in the incarnation of Jesus was solely for the new covenant relationship together as God’s very own family. Therefore, his above statement constitutes the ultimate of God’s thematic action and can be rendered: “Since I embody the whole of the relational ontology of God, the whole of the family of God has come to you in the whole of who, what and how I am”—the nature of which is irreducible and nonnegotiable. Apart from his trinitarian relational context of family and trinitarian relational process of family love, there is no salvation; and any human effort to shape its own will fall—no matter how enhanced.

            In a parenthetical statement in this discourse, Jesus responded to a reductionist comment praising a human shaping of his ontology and identity (discussed previously). Instead, he blessed those who listen to the embodied whole of the Word of God and relationally respond on his terms (vv.27-28). This is the only conclusion of relational significance for this discourse, indeed for any and all of Jesus’ discourses.

  

The Qualitative Shape of the Kingdom

             What emerges from salvation and being born again (from above), and is synonymous with eternal life and the eschatological hope, is the kingdom of God (or heaven, used by Mt to be indirect in reverence for God for Jewish readers). The primary questions involved in the issue of the kingdom are: (1) what is the kingdom that has come? and (2) when does the kingdom emerge? As much as the imminence of the kingdom has been debated, I suggest this cannot be adequately answered until the kingdom itself is sufficiently defined and understood. When this is grasped, I further suggest the question of its imminence becomes secondary—not unimportant, only less significant in the eschatological plan of God’s thematic action. The following brief initial discussion hopefully will make this clear and be the basis for related discussion in following chapters.

 Its Questions and Approach

             In his hermeneutical discourse defending his salvific work, Jesus exposed a false eschatological hope of those Jews incorrectly embedded in the Scriptures (Jn 5:39-40, discussed earlier). This eschatological hope was the life to come, or the kingdom of God’s kingship and sovereign rule, which John’s Gospel correctly embodied in the full relational context and process of the whole of God. Keeping this hermeneutic in mind, we shift to Luke’s Gospel, who was concerned f