I suppose that if I were a physician, I would field
questions about unusual symptoms. From strangers, I
mean, on airplanes. Instead, I get…
Oh, so you’re a pastor. I have a question. Do you believe
in predestination?
Now there is a simple, if entirely unsatisfying,
answer to that question. It is this: I do not believe in
predestination—I believe in God. And this, I believe,
must be the starting place for any Christian doctrine
conversation on an airplane or otherwise. God’s
agency. God’s freedom. God’s power.
So, let us begin by naming what makes the doctrine
of predestination, which I will call the doctrine
of election, a source of controversy or, worse,
embarrassment among us. It is the assumption that
predestination means this: There is a special group
of people—call them the elect or the chosen—whom
God has decided, before the foundation of the world,
to save, to favor, to reward, to prefer. This conviction
creates either smug arrogance (we are the saved) or
draining anxiety (Am I? Am I among the elect? How
about those I love? The ones who don’t believe?).
The doctrine, it is assumed, carves the world up into
two distinct, inseparable groups. The redeemed and
the reprobate. (By the way, those were the names of
the intramural football teams at my seminary.) The
redeemed and the reprobate. The saved and the lost.
The chosen and the rejected. God’s favorites and
those God has left behind. And, perhaps worst of all
in this conceiving of the doctrine, there is nothing that
any of us can do about the group we’ve already been
selected for. Human freedom utterly evaporates. We
become puppets on a divine string.
And if this were the picture of predestination that I
found in the pages of the Bible, I would join those
who oppose, reject, or simply ignore it. But when
I read scripture, when I seek to understand its
meaning, what I find is something else entirely.
I wish Wayne Boulton was here to describe it.
Wayne was a dear friend, a beloved pastor, a gifted
scholar, professor of Christian ethics at Hope
College, president of the Presbyterian School of
Christian Education in Richmond, Virginia, and in
retirement, came to Indianapolis where he was an
active participant in the life of this congregation.
I met Wayne when I arrived in Indianapolis in 2018,
and for several months, I had the opportunity to sit
in his presence and absorb his wisdom. I quickly
learned from Wayne that he was in the final stages
of writing a book on predestination. I quickly learned
not from Wayne that he was also in the final chapter
of a journey with pancreatic cancer. I remember
one conversation when Wayne described a tussle
he was having with his then publisher and, with a
big smile and a laugh, said, “Chris, I can’t switch
publishers—I’m dying!” Wayne died on February 1,
2019. His book, God Saves: Rethinking Christianity’s
Most Controversial Doctrine—and Why it Matters, was
published in January of 2022.
His title is his message. God saves. This must be
the starting place for any discussion of the doctrine
of predestination. Wayne writes, “The doctrine of
election, in brief, is the doctrine that doctrine will not
save us. Religion will not save us. Good behavior will
not save us. Why? Because God does all the saving…
and because God saves, we can rightly and assuredly
place our hope not in ourselves but in God.”
There is then a kind of tragic irony in the way that
this core belief in God’s power, which should elicit
comfort and humility has instead been used to
divide, cast judgement, and create feelings of selfimportance and pride. In my experience, these
misuses of scripture say far more about our cultural
moment and our human sinfulness than they do
about scripture or theology.
In fact, when we turn to the stories and images,
the words, and concepts of scripture, a different
understanding emerges. At its heart is the conviction
that God is both sovereign (all powerful) and
gracious (all loving). The wonderful story of Joseph
in the Book of Genesis provides a case in point.
The dramatic account of Joseph’s rise to power
in Egypt and the jealous and vindictive designs
of his brothers—it reads like the script of a Netflix
miniseries. There is conflict. Betrayal. Hatred.
Attempted murder. His brothers always at his heels.
And yet, throughout the story, there is this deeper,
subtle power at work. Joseph summarizes it when he
is finally reunited with his brothers, and he chooses
grace over punishment. Joseph says to his brothers,
“Even though you intended to do me harm, God
intended it for good.” Here God’s sovereignty and
power and God’s grace and love are joined together
in an incredible moment of reconciliation and even
salvation. As Wayne writes, “If grace is forgiving love,
then salvation is grace in action.”
Throughout the letters of Paul, which make up nearly
half of the New Testament, we find a similar pattern
emerge. Paul struggles with the reality of human
sinfulness, even evil, our rejection of God’s freely
offered grace. In Romans 7, he makes it personal.
“I do not do the good I want to do. Instead, the evil
that I do not want is what I do I keep doing.” Paul
then moves, as we do every Sunday morning, from
confession of sin to the assurance of God’s grace.
“Fear not! God’s Spirit dwells within you.” Paul
begins the eighth chapter of Romans, “There is no
condemnation for those in Christ.” That’s the context
for this morning’s scripture, meant by Paul to be filled
with the reassurance of God’s unconditional love
and the freedom that brings. God, who is full of grace
and mercy beyond human imagining, has chosen
you to be a child of God. This comes as a gift. This
is why, even as Paul continues to struggle with the
contradictions of human life, he ends his reflection
not with language of doctrine but with doxology—”O
the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge
of God! How unsearchable are his judgments, how
inscrutable his ways!” Indeed, Paul! Indeed.
What might it look like to recover the doctrine of
predestination as a word of assurance and grace?
Against the temptation to pride, we would affirm
God’s grace. We would acknowledge the limits of our
human understanding. We would affirm God saves.
We do not. That truth alone should inspire humility
among us.
Wayne’s son Matthew, theologian and former
president of Christian Theological Seminary here in
Indianapolis, authored a reflective piece last summer
on his father’s project. In it he suggests that we, who
are fallible and finite, must acknowledge that every
single person we encounter is potentially one of God’s
elect. Matt writes, “After all, in each and every case,
salvation is the graceful, undeserved embrace of a
sinner, not a saint. In this way, rightly grasped, the
doctrine of predestination has the effect of sabotaging
any attempt to build a wall between ‘us’ and ‘them.’ If
we take the doctrine seriously, we dare not draw the
circle of salvation…It’s not our circle to draw.”
That particular phrase reminded me of a moment in my
ministry that was a parable of God’s grace in action.
It happened in Austin, Texas, where our son Samuel
and I had traveled to surprise the youth choir of the
congregation I was serving in Atlanta who were on
tour there. Sitting next to my three-year-old son, I
heard the voices of that choir sing words that struck
me to the core. Mark Miller wrote the lyrics.
No matter what people say, say or think about you, you
are a child of God.
No matter what the world says, says or thinks about
you, you are a child of God.
And, finally…
No matter what the church says, decisions,
pronouncements on you, you are a child of God.
And then channeling the Apostle Paul…
There is no thing, and no one, who can separate you
from this truth. You are someone, you are family, you
are meant to be a child of God.
The words are powerful, but it was hearing them sung
with conviction by this particular group of teenagers
that made the difference for me. You see, I knew these
students—their struggles and their celebrations, their
pain and their promise. I knew that some of those
singers had been rejected by congregations because
of who they were. And when they sang “I am a child
of God,” they proclaimed the truth. No matter what.
And as that melody enveloped the room and tears
streamed from the faces of the singers, it was a
moment I’ll never forget. Please hear this, my friends:
the boundaries of God’s love are not ours to draw.
And neither should we be immobilized by fear and
anxiety over our ultimate fate. For this, I believe, is the
final gift of God’s power and grace. Far from limiting
us, God’s grace frees us to live in love. God’s saving
power opens the way to lives of purpose.
In our home, we reached a watershed moment this
summer, at least for me. I had the joy of watching the
Lord of the Rings movies with Samuel, now nearly
ten years old. I knew he would love them, but what
I didn’t anticipate are the theological conversations
the movies would evoke. Several times in recent
weeks, we’ve returned to the lines of the great wizard
Gandalf, offered to the young hobbit Frodo after he
has expressed a wish that the ring of power would
never have come to him. Gandalf says, “So do I, and
so do all who live to see such times. But that is not
for them to decide. All we have to decide is what
to do with the time that is given to us.” Author and
Christian believer JRR Tolkien shines a light on the
gift and responsibility of faithful living. Friends, only
God decides the times we are given—how much and
when. Ours to decide is what we will do with what is
given to us. I want to choose love. I want to choose
compassion. I want to choose grace.
My final visit with Wayne Boulton came just before
Christmas. Physically he was feeling lousy, and
I could tell. But he seemed glad to see me. Our
conversation that morning was brief, every word
carefully chosen. Two days later, I was surprised to
receive an email. Wayne wrote, “I send this to you
with renewed uncertainty given the latest news here
and with a deep sense of life’s brevity now closing
in around me.” It was Wayne’s final thought that has
stayed with me. He wrote, “This Christmas time, we
are so grateful you are around…that you simply exist.
For why did God’s Son come? In His turning toward
us, to turn us toward others.”
That’s it. That’s the answer I wish I’d given on the
airplane. That’s the truth of the Gospel. That’s the
essence of our hope. God saves. Amen.