The Cross and Atonement in Anglican Theology

By: Rev. Pamela Dolan
St. Louis Post-Dispatch
April 2, 2010

Lord Jesus Christ, you stretched out your arms of love on the hard wood of the Cross that everyone might come within the reach of your saving embrace: So clothe us in your Spirit that we, reaching forth our hands in love, may bring those who do not know you to the knowledge and love of you; for the honor of your Name. Amen. (Book of Common Prayer)

On Good Friday Christians all over the world spend a lot of time contemplating the Cross. What does it mean that Jesus died on a cross? Why did he do it? What did it accomplish? How does it matter in our lives today that it happened?

Anglicans are known for being incarnational, which means they often focus more on the beginning of Jesus’ life (how wonderful it is that God became flesh and dwelt among us) or on his ministry and the ways we can continue to seek and serve Christ in the people around us, than we do on his Passion. I have heard people say, “Anglicans are an Easter people, not a Good Friday people.” Anglican churches are more likely to have simple crosses than crucifixes.

That is all well and good, but celebrating the goodness of creation and the joyous mystery of the Incarnation does not let us off the hook from also confronting the suffering and death of Christ. You can’t get to Easter by avoiding Good Friday–the Empty Tomb doesn’t make any sense if you haven’t stood at the foot of the Cross. And, as it turns out, the Prayer Book is actually filled with references to the Cross and to Christ’s death (and, of course, resurrection), such as the prayer for mission quoted at the beginning of this post.

Having such a variety of theologies included in, and therefore in some sense authorized by, the Book of Common Prayer tells us much about the Anglican ethos of striving for unity within diversity. Such an acceptance and even celebration of theological diversity is really the key to the Anglican heritage. There is something both profound and humble inherent in the tradition. At least since the time of Elizabeth I, Anglicans have sought ways to navigate between exclusive, either-or modes of thinking by embracing not a wishy-washy middle ground but an inclusive vision in which what unites Anglicans is more valued than what separates them. As that is true in large categories, like seeing the church as both Catholic and Reformed, so it is true in more specific theological controversies, like the nature of atonement. One does not have to choose the one, official “Anglican theology of atonement” in order to be an Episcopalian. More than that, the church as such does not have to choose one narrow theology of atonement around which to define itself as a church.

When it comes to the different understandings of atonement embraced by the church, we can journey with each of them in prayer and worship without feeling ourselves torn asunder or compromised by their different emphases. It is possible to see in them all the same basic premise: that “earth and heaven are joined and man is reconciled to God” (as the Exsultet puts it!). Bickering over and then deciding finally exactly how that happens is less important than standing firm in the awed confession that in fact it has happened and is continuing to happen. The Anglican tradition rejoices in the great mysteries of the faith, not using “mystery” as an excuse for ignorance or indecision, but recognizing that all of our attempts to explain how God does what God does are going to be partial and incomplete.

At one point in our lives, for example, we might find the inspiration we need to look more closely at the life of Christ and to consider how we are being called to lives of discipleship and service for the life of the world. At another time, stumbling across the Rite I Eucharist Prayer and the phrase “by his one oblation of himself once offered, a full, perfect, and sufficient sacrifice, oblation, and satisfaction, for the sins of the whole world,” we might find ourselves able to rest in the assurance that our sins have been forgiven and to find comfort in the idea that the sacrifice of Christ was complete and sufficient and needs no further work or effort on our part. In the collect for Palm Sunday (which focuses on “the example of his great humility” and asks that “we may walk in the way of his suffering, and also share in his resurrection”), we might find ourselves rejoicing in the glory of the Incarnation, and humbly seeking to follow Christ’s example more closely. It might even help us in times of suffering to hold fast to the hope of the resurrection, and to give thanks for the companionship that Christ offers.

Our prayer life (and thus our whole life) is immeasurably enriched by this variety. Anglican Christians can be grateful for all of these prayers, for they affirm that the totality of our experience belongs in Christ and is being transformed through Christ and sanctified by Christ; no facet of our lives need be left out, and no limit to our understanding need hinder us from full participation in his ongoing activity in the world.