Salvation. Now there’s a mouthful of a Biblical word. Because we don’t use it much in other contexts these days, it tends to take on a kind of mystical weight. And it does and should have that dimension, when we use it in church. But it’s worth remembering that it—in Biblical times—it had some rather more ordinary meanings. Safety. Restoration of health, both physical and spiritual. Protection from danger. Freedom from oppression. Those are some of the many ways in which the Hebrew people of Jesus’ time would have thought of salvation. Including, but certainly not limited to, believing in the Son in order that the world might be saved through him.
A few weeks ago, I was at Grace Cathedral in San Francisco for the ordination and consecration of the new bishop of the Episcopal Diocese of California. There’s a particular vow that all Episcopal ordinands make. It’s on page 526 of the Book of Common Prayer, and it goes like this—
“I solemnly declare that I do believe the Holy Scriptures of the Old and new Testaments to be the Word of God, and to contain all things necessary to salvation…”
Austin Rios, on his way to becoming Bishop Austin Rios, reiterated this vow. I made the same one when I was ordained priest—just about ten years ago now—but I guess John forgot because he asked me on the way home “what’s the deal with that vow? It seems kind of literalist for the Episcopal Church.” Since he’s a critical thinker and was already concerned, I didn’t even bother to tell John that this vow is called The Oath of Conformity. I suspect that conformity is probably not what John or most Episcopalians look for in church! But there’s a reason for this vow and its name. It dates back to the earliest days of the English Reformation, and has stayed in all subsequent Anglican and Episcopal ordination rites as a witness to the fact that we are a Biblical-and-little-c catholic church. We may do catholic-seeming things in worship, but we have a Protestant respect for authority of Holy Scripture. It contains all things necessary to salvation. I can say that with integrity, and with gratitude.
Of course what the Oath of Conformity doesn’t say is also important. It doesn’t say that our Holy Scriptures are the only religious texts that contains things necessary to salvation. I am cognizant that Jesus himself said that he had other sheep not of this fold. So in that light I’d like to look again at John 3:16, that singular verse made famous by many a sports arena jumbotron and bottom of an In-in-Out soda cup. We might notice also what John 3:16 doesn’t say. It doesn’t say that anyone who doesn’t believe in the Son will necessarily perish. And since it clearly says that Jesus came not to condemn, it’s certainly not our job to condemn anyone who believes someone or something else. But if Jesus came to save, what manner of salvation might he have been talking about?
The diverse and nuanced meanings of salvation in Jesus’ time—safety, health, liberty, freedom—have become much more specific in 2000 years of subsequent Christian theological reflection. Many of us who go to church probably think of salvation as freedom from the scandalous bondage of our human sin, and that’s not wrong. We need that kind of salvation, all of us. But how exactly does it work? The theological discipline of soteriology, which describes religious doctrines of salvation, encompasses several Christian understandings of salvation from sin, through the work of Jesus Christ. You may know of some or all of them—perhaps Jim has talked about then in his class—Satisfaction, Substitution, Cristus Victor, Moral Influence and others. Any one of them merits a semester’s worth of graduate study, so I’m not going to attempt to explain them now. Except to say that what they have in common: they all describe the process of what’s called atonement, or getting ourselves right with God.
And regardless of how we think that getting ourselves right with God works, I’m going to venture to say that it matters to us—critically matters to us—or we wouldn’t bother coming to church. So keep coming to church! Say your prayers! Take the theology classes! Read your Bibles… the ones that contain all things necessary to salvation. Talk to your clergy if you have questions, and I honestly hope that I’ve left you with a few today. But most of all, trust in the abiding love and saving work of Jesus Christ. It all works together for good, for those who love the Lord. I assure you.
But I also believe that there is more salvation needed—and more to be had—than what is necessary for each of our individual souls, precious though they are to God. So this Trinity Sunday, I’d like to reach back to those older Hebrew understandings of salvation, as we consider the health, safety, and freedom to serve God in our own time. In our own Trinity Cathedral, our own Episcopal Church, and our place on God’s good earth. Do you hear the cry of the earth for salvation—for safety and flourishing—of all of creation? I know that I do.
Every few months, John and I have been gathering with a small group of Bay Area Christians to pray for God’s creation. And for strength and perseverance in our own creation care ministries, which range from choosing the right heating and cooling systems for our homes to advocating for climate protecting legislation. John works really hard to make our public infrastructure investments greener, including through the Episcopal Church Pension Fund. So the prayers of the community are profoundly meaningful to him. As are the faithful commitments of each of us to compost and recycle at Trinity, which we are beginning to do this very week. Through efforts large and small—according to our capacity—we practice the holy work of saving our fragile environment.
Do you hear the cry of saints long past—and of young people and children yet unborn—for sacred space in our harried cities? I know that I do. Which is why we support the efforts of our parents, and invest in the health of our historic building and grounds. Maybe our congregations look small and our campus a bit weary right now, but because of the generosity of Trinity forebears we are able to continue ministry in leaner times. And following their example, we have every intention of being here for the generations to come when they return to church seeking solace and—yes—salvation.
Our “Keep the Faith Alive” legacy giving campaign, which launches this Sunday, allows us to participate in the long term health of Trinity Cathedral. Please join Pat Hubbard just after church when she shows us some easy and painless ways to save Trinity for our children’s children, and for our heirs in faith. Is this what Jesus had in mind when he promised that God sent him “in order that the world might be saved through him”? No, I would say… and yes. It may not have been what Paul had in mind when he wrote about salvation by faith, but it isn’t far from his meaning when he wrote that we are “heirs of God and joint heirs with Christ.” Which may be what God had in mind from the beginning when he created humankind and called us—time and again—to steward the gifts entrusted into our care. We are heirs to a sacred legacy.
You are not called to save everyone or everything—that’s Jesus’ job—but you are called to follow his example by saving what you can. Maybe that’s the gifts of creation, in which case I hope you’ll champion our recycling efforts here at Trinity. Maybe that’s our historic landmark of a church, in which case I hope you’ll support our legacy giving program. Hopefully both, because we are called to save the faith for the future. But who will keep the faith alive? If you’ve been wondering about that, and about what you can do, then know that God is already calling you. And here’s an answer for you to try on: “Here am I; send me!”
