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Salvation is not a choice humanity makes for Christ; it is the fixed and immovable reality of our union in Christ. Salvation is not an attribute God dispenses, nor a benefit He bestows; salvation is the Savior Himself— the person of Christ. It is not brought about by our strenuous resolve, but wrought in the Incarnation, carried through death, and flung open in the Resurrection of Christ. What we anxiously idolize and call a “decision” is, in truth, the after-tremor of a far greater event— the good will of God overrunning the bankrupt will of man, like dawn breaking into the night whether the night consents or not.
“He works in us both to will and to do,” not because we have made ourselves agreeable, but because it pleases Him to do so. Grace is not God waiting politely at the edge of our freedom, hat in hand, hoping we might invite Him in. It is God rescuing our freedom from within the wreckage of itself— liberating us from the illusion that we were ever self-created, self-sustaining, or self-saving.
The Gospel, therefore, does not conclude with a nervous question— Will you accept Jesus?— as though the universe were holding its breath for our reply. It ends with an exclamation point: Jesus has already assumed us into His own life. He has taken our nature into Himself and carried it through death into indestructible reality.
For there is no other life in which we could subsist. All things hold together in Him. To be “saved” is not to be given a second chance, but to awaken— gracefully and with astonishment— to the truth that there never was another place we stood, other than in the One for whom, in whom, and by whom we were made.
By Benjamin DunnSalvation is not a choice humanity makes for Christ; it is the fixed and immovable reality of our union in Christ. Salvation is not an attribute God dispenses, nor a benefit He bestows; salvation is the Savior Himself— the person of Christ. It is not brought about by our strenuous resolve, but wrought in the Incarnation, carried through death, and flung open in the Resurrection of Christ. What we anxiously idolize and call a “decision” is, in truth, the after-tremor of a far greater event— the good will of God overrunning the bankrupt will of man, like dawn breaking into the night whether the night consents or not.
“He works in us both to will and to do,” not because we have made ourselves agreeable, but because it pleases Him to do so. Grace is not God waiting politely at the edge of our freedom, hat in hand, hoping we might invite Him in. It is God rescuing our freedom from within the wreckage of itself— liberating us from the illusion that we were ever self-created, self-sustaining, or self-saving.
The Gospel, therefore, does not conclude with a nervous question— Will you accept Jesus?— as though the universe were holding its breath for our reply. It ends with an exclamation point: Jesus has already assumed us into His own life. He has taken our nature into Himself and carried it through death into indestructible reality.
For there is no other life in which we could subsist. All things hold together in Him. To be “saved” is not to be given a second chance, but to awaken— gracefully and with astonishment— to the truth that there never was another place we stood, other than in the One for whom, in whom, and by whom we were made.