Why Did Jesus Die?
If the question is “How did Jesus die?” the answer is straightforward: he was crucified on a Roman cross, a very painful method of execution that the Romans generally reserved for revolutionaries and slaves. As well as publicly humiliating the victim, crucifixion was a powerful and visible deterrent to resistance in the Empire’s occupied territories.
Contrary to Christians’ common assumptions, Jesus was not crucified by the Jewish leaders. Local authorities retained some level of authority in occupied territories, within boundaries set by the Romans, but that did not extend to approving judicial executions. The most we should say is that there was some element of complicity—at a minimum, not standing in the way—by those whom the media would now probably refer to as “community leaders.”
The teaching point is NOT, therefore, “The Jews killed Jesus.” The teaching point is that whenever religious leaders (of any hue) get a thirst for power—whether that’s in their own religious movements or political circles—it never works out well. The kingdom is never advanced; kingdom values are always compromised. The prophets are the ones who speak truth against such people and suffer for it—it was true in Israel’s history (see, e.g., Luke 11:47-48) and it’s true in the present day. Power corrupts (it is not redemptive) and absolute power corrupts absolutely (which is why dictatorships are never godly—there is no benign, Christianized version that will lead to a more Christian country; the idea is a deception).
If, however, the question is “Why did Jesus die?” then things are not so straightforward. The historical answer is that he increasingly got under the skin of the great and the good: those in power—the Romans, their puppets, and the Jewish religious leaders who cosied up to them for what they delusionally thought of as influence but was in reality personal status (what we would today call “careerism”—being a good “company man”). The upshot of this unholy alliance was a consensus (or at least, a common interest) in being rid of this troublemaker for their own reasons. Although, for the most part, Jesus was very popular with the ordinary people, at the very end, for whatever reasons, when the Roman governor, Pilate, asked the crowd whom he should release, they chose Barabbas over Jesus (Matthew 27 and parallels).
If that’s the historical answer, more or less, what’s the theological answer? Interestingly, there has never been a creedal answer to that question; in other words, the classic belief statements set out by the ecumenical councils in the first few centuries that define ”correct” Christian beliefs—the early creeds (from the Latin, credo, “I believe”)—never once sought to answer that. The majority part of the Apostles’ Creed, for example, is devoted to the person and work of Jesus but is silent on precisely why he died and what, exactly, that death achieved for us (the part it plays in our salvation):
“I believe in Jesus Christ, his only Son, our Lord, who was conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried; he descended to the dead. On the third day, he rose again; he ascended into heaven, he is seated at the right hand of the Father, and he will come [again] to judge the living and the dead.”
If we’re looking for a formula here—“This is how Jesus’ death achieves our salvation”—we don’t find it. Or at least, it is but one element given equal billing alongside his incarnation (becoming human); his suffering; his descent into the place of the dead (not evangelical “hell”); his resurrection; and his ascension (to heaven). And we might also add, his second coming.
In short, it is not necessary to hold and promote one definitive belief in answer to the question of why Jesus died—why he had to die—and what role his death (in particular) plays in our salvation. We can be a “proper” Christian, classically defined, without subscribing to a particular reason amongst the many that the New Testament offers and alludes to. Those have been likened to the many facets (the multiple sides) of a gemstone—the more facets there are, the more valuable it is, and the more light shines through. And vice versa.
Now . . . here’s the thing. This might be all well and good for defining Christian beliefs, but it’s not necessarily accepted for defining evangelical Christian beliefs. Fundamentalist and Reformed conservative evangelicals frequently want to insist that one particular reason for Jesus’ death “must” take priority; it “has to be” seen as the non-negotiable principal reason, to which any others in Scripture are subsidiary. In other words, they say, “Yes, it’s true that you can be a Christian, classically defined, without subscribing to one particular understanding of how Jesus saves us, but if you want to be in our gang, you have to accept and promote our preferred one.” Which is, what’s known as penal substitution (“PSA” for short: “penal substitutionary atonement”).
PSA says that on the cross Jesus was taking upon himself the judicial punishment (the divine sentence) for our sins that we all deserve. PSA infers (it invariably comes as a package with) belief in eternal conscious torment in hell: that for those who “don’t know Jesus” his work on the cross of taking their physical punishment doesn’t apply, and hence is something they will suffer for eternity. This gives rise to another evangelical acronym: “ECT”.
This juxtaposition—this “pairing”—of PSA with ECT appears, to its proponents, to be mutually supportive: the “solution” and the “problem” are matched. They form a set. Thus, belief in the one fuels belief in the other, and vice versa.
Now, not all evangelicals subscribe to this most conservative reading of things. Many can see that PSA (and, for that matter, ECT) is by no means clearly evident in Scripture, which for all evangelicals is or should be the ultimate authority to which we look. Many realise that once we set aside the verses that speak of “sacrifice,” “ransom,” and “paying the price”—all of which are speaking of other things (none have any connection with punishment or judicial sentencing)—there are very few verses that support PSA (and still less, suggest its hegemony). And don’t be fooled into thinking that if we believe in a God of justice, that “must” validate PSA. Not least because Western society no longer sees the infliction of brutal physical punishment as "just” and “appropriate” judicial sentencing for crime, which was taken for granted in the ancient world (I never see evangelicals campaigning for it to be brought back, as “biblical”), so to argue that PSA is timelessly right in God’s heavenly law court is a tough sell.
The same is true for ECT. Scripture clearly speaks of our ultimate, personal accountability to stand before God and give an account of our lives—the way we have lived, the things we have done and not done, and the choices we have made—and the consequences flowing from that in terms of eternity, but there is almost nothing (just a few verses with potential allusions) to support the notion of hell as ECT that conservative evangelicals want to insist upon. In fact, by claiming these particular beliefs are not just potential ways of reading what the Bible says but required ways, they are ironically promoting tradition over Scripture—evangelical tradition, in this instance, rather than ecumenical Christian tradition. PSA and ECT are not “What all Christians, everywhere, have always believed.”
The reality is that how Jesus’ death on the cross “saves” us is broad and wide-ranging in Scripture. It’s also something of a mystery (perhaps intentionally so, from God’s perspective—conservative evangelicals who feel the need to pin everything down with exactitude might want to think about that). The Bible offers various pictures and explains Jesus’ saving work in many ways (of which his death on the cross is but one aspect). However, there are better ways and worse ways of understanding and explaining it—some that are particularly helpful, missionally, and others that are not; that do not resonate as readily today as they once did.
Anyone who wants to share the good news of Jesus with friends, family, and neighbours (especially if they do not come from a church background) must be able to explain why Jesus died in ways that make sense to their audience. This is all the more true for anyone preaching. We will not get a “yes” response to the gospel if the way we’re explaining it doesn’t resonate with people; if they “don’t get it”—if it “makes no sense” to them. And to state the obvious, we need to use non-religious vocabulary to convey the same truths (which for religious folks like us who are steeped in that language is far harder work than you might think).
For more on all of this, please see my small book Telling The Old, Old Story: In a Postmodern World (available from Amazon—click on the “Store” link on the top menu of the website, and then Amazon, to go straight there).