Salvation By Information?

Sometimes in a theology course or small group context I will ask people, “What’s the minimum you need to know, to get into heaven?” In other words, when we approach St. Peter—standing at the Pearly Gates, clipboard in hand with a few questions for us (starting with email address, date of birth, mother’s maiden name . . . you know the drill)—what then will be the minimum we need to know, theologically-speaking, for the gates to swing open and admit us? (I’m using “heaven” here in the customarily understood sense).

The object of the exercise is, of course, for folks to pretty soon realize that rather than trying to answer the question they should be questioning the very premise of the question. Lawyers and academics alike will tell you never to assume that the basis of a question is well-founded: first “question the question.” In this instance, the problem is an embedded assumption that some level of information about Christian faith grants heavenly access. I always hope that somebody will say, “Surely it isn’t about what you know . . .” To which someone else will then likely respond, “Yes, I suppose so, but still . . .” And then the debate ensues.

Perhaps if I posed the question slightly differently it would seem easier to answer—at least at first blush. Perhaps if I’d said, “What’s the minimum you need to believe, to get into heaven?” Any good evangelical steeped in a tradition of “needing to believe the right things” (usually the right evangelical things as opposed to just the right Christian orthodoxy things—the list is not identical) will tell you that believing the right facts and truth statements, based on the right Bible verses, is  critically important. After all, the world’s most famous text tells us that: “God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life” (John 3:16).  

We could get sidetracked here and go off on a tangent as to what “believe” means (usually, it’s taken to be “not doubting”), but what level of mental certitude is required, do you think? “Faith” is in a similar category—what level of faith is “enough” faith, and does it depend what it is that we’re asked to have faith in, or for? To use the old-fashioned expression, what constitutes “saving faith”? Yes, I know these are awkward questions! I can hear someone at the back muttering, “Stop asking difficult questions and just believe.” But that, of course, simply brings us back to where we started!  

Let’s assume that we need some level of “belief” in some things to do with Christianity. That doesn’t seem too difficult to countenance, does it? We’ll do a swerve around the “some level” bit and just focus on the “some things” bit.  

A traditional evangelical answer that many were brought up with in conservative Reformed church contexts, is that you need to believe “The Romans Road to Salvation.” This is a series of selected texts from Paul’s letter to the church in Rome, daisy-chained together, that supposedly represents his theological route map to salvation. Sounds good so far, until we see the tortuous journey that Paul’s supposedly clear teaching follows: Romans 3:9-12 & 23 → Romans 6:23 → Romans 5:8 → Romans 10:9-10 & 13 → Romans 5:1 → Romans 8:1 → Romans 8:38-39. How unhelpful of Paul not to put all these texts adjacent to each other in the same chapter. I’m looking forward to asking Paul whether he ever envisaged that twentieth-century conservative evangelicals would dissect his letter like that (assuming I can get an appointment—there will be lots of Calvinists ahead of me in the queue asking him to explain why he misled them). Those verses in their original contexts are fine, of course—I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with them. I’m simply questioning whether Paul could really have imagined (more importantly, would the divine co-author of Scripture ever have imagined) that they would end up cut and pasted into what looks like a biblicist ransom note.        

So where did The Romans Road come from? It wasn’t the Reformers as one might assume. It was developed by Jack Hyles, an (in)famous and controversial independent Baptist pastor (1926–2001), per a 1970 sermon. I’d imagine Paul may want a word with him (assuming Hyles made it, of course—take a look at his Wikipedia entry). Given this provenance, it’s astonishing that so many conservative evangelicals have uncritically imbibed it and passed it on. That kind of “proof texting” breaks all the rules of in-context reading.  

Unfortunately, Jesus himself never gave us a systematic presentation of the good news to copy and paste into our evangelistic sermons (or if he did, then the Gospel writers failed to include it). Maybe that’s why people like Hyles think they need to fill in what Jesus left out, using Paul.

If only someone in the Gospels had asked Jesus, “How do I get to heaven when I die?” things would be so much easier. Before anyone says, “But what about the rich young ruler?” (Mark 10; Matthew 19) that’s not actually what the man was asking (if we take notice of the context). However, since evangelicals commonly assume that he was, let’s work with that for a moment. Jesus’ systematic presentation of the gospel to him did not include such modern add-ons as “inviting Jesus into your heart,” “saying sorry” for your sins, or “making him Lord of your life.” Rather, it had three simple ingredients: (1) obey six Old Testament commandments (which Jesus lists); (2) give all your money away; and (3) “come follow me.” If we were to systematize this for contemporary application, we’d first have to figure out which commandments—the same ones? the Great Commandment? additional ones of our denomination’s current choosing?—to fulfil criteria no.1. Then we’d have to “soften” or “interpret away” criteria no.2, or churches would be mostly empty. And finally, we’d have to prescribe exactly what “follow me” means today (when the earthly Jesus said it, he no doubt would have meant it literally). Maybe the rich young ruler story isn’t so paradigmatic for a gospel invitation after all.      

Perhaps the nearest we get to that is a conversation at the cross. It’s in Luke chapter 23. The penultimate thing Jesus says before his death is to one of the criminals crucified beside him: “Today, you will be with me in paradise” (aka, heaven). Perfect! Whatever it was that led up to Jesus saying that is exactly what we’re looking for. What beliefs did the man affirm? What statement of faith passed his lips? To go back to our initial question, what was it that he needed to know, to be assured of salvation? The answer comes in verse 42, when he says, “‘Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” That was it . . . 

Now, in fairness, the man made a couple of other faith statements immediately before that, to another criminal who was also being crucified. The first was, “Don’t you fear God?” (we can assume that our man did—fear in the sense of awed respect) and the second was, “We are punished justly . . . but this man has done nothing wrong.” Hmmm. Try contemporizing that for a modern audience.

No wonder Hyles and his friends feel that the ways Jesus envisaged a “gospel invitation” and required response in the Gospels are not enough to work with, evangelistically.

So let’s go back to the original question. It cannot be “what you know.” It can’t even be “what you believe,” if by that we mean having complete mental certainty about everything we’re told, without ever wondering about anything, even one teeny-tiny little bit. If there is one thing that these two stories in the Gospels illustrate, it has to be that “It’s not what you know, it’s who you know.” Salvation is not by information it’s by relation.

Let’s give the final word to James, rather than Paul. Ever one to say it like it is, in James 2:18-20 he poo-poos the idea that “faith” versus “works” is what it’s all about (no wonder Luther thought James shouldn’t have made it into the New Testament, since it rather undermined the standard Reformed reading of what Paul had in mind in Romans and Galatians—see https://www.steveburnhope.com/blog/reading-galatians): “Someone will say, ‘You have faith; I have deeds.’ Show me your faith without deeds, and I will show you my faith by my deeds. You believe that there is one God. Good! Even the demons believe that – and shudder.” 

The irony in our question is that, as James points out, the devil and his demons have all the correct beliefs about everything. What’s missing is not information but relation. That’s the one to go away and ponder (Matthew 9:13).