Atonement theology is as dangerous to Christian belief as it is vital. The danger most familiar to many Christians is located in a soteriology, with its long tradition of platitudes about the blood of Jesus, that too easily masks as a party about death. Hymns like "There Is a Fountain" imagine sinners bathing in a fountain of blood from an eternally dying Christ. Disturbing images like this have led the harshest critics to call Christian worship "necrophilic."

Yet critique like this is necessary when Christian history has largely been an exercise in violence. To answer such critics responsibly and to change the course of Christian history, Christians must confront the theology that created such a legacy and risk the danger of being turned inside out as believers.

At the same time, Christians must stay grounded in biblical witnesses to the Cross in a world where humans still suffer the physical and spiritual pain of crucifixion and for whom the Cross symbolizes God’s solidarity with the suffering. To diminish or deny the embodied suffering of Jesus Christ because of Western discomfort with blood and sacrifice is a weak answer to the millions who endure systemic and personal violence, experience God-forsakenness yet hope for resurrection through the living Christ.

In light of these dangers, the difficulty in a study of a book like Hebrews lies not only in comprehending its complex rhetoric and imagery but also in evaluating and affirming its final conclusions about the atoning work of Jesus Christ.

For example, sacrifice language dominates Hebrews. The Greek word sacrifice (thusia) appears no less than fifteen times in Hebrews, over half in chapters 9 and 10. However, the word is not used once in the Gospels to describe Jesus’ death. Rather, when Jesus uses the word, he quotes Hosea: "Go and learn what this means: ’I desire mercy, not sacrifice’" (Matt. 9:13 NRSV). Where sacrificial language is marginally employed, as in Johannine references to the Lamb of God (John 1:29, 36), it is distinct from Hebrews, which is systematic in usage.

This distinction suggests that the writer of Hebrews argued a blood atonement theology that was not central to the Gospel writers’ own understanding of Jesus’ ministry. However, rather than elevate the textual discourse between other biblical texts and Hebrews, Christians have tended to superimpose the theology of the latter onto the former.

Is it true, after all, that "without the shedding of blood there is no forgiveness of sins"? (Heb. 9:22). Micah argued that offering sacrifices represented a futile attempt to procure God’s forgiveness when it is already available to those who simply do what the Lord has required of them: "to act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God" (Micah 6:8). The Psalmist sang to the Lord "You do not delight in sacrifice, or I would bring it. . . . The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit" (Ps. 51:14–17 NIV). In Luke, Jesus tells the story of a father who joyously welcomes home his prodigal son without condition or censure. For these writers, God’s forgiveness is not meted out through the work of blood sacrifice, but offered abundantly according to God’s "unfailing love" and "great compassion" (Ps. 51:1).

The writer of Hebrews was also concerned with the inner life of the believer, but concluded that the Old Covenant failed to affect inner change and hence was incomplete without the blood of Jesus to "to cleanse us from a guilty conscience" (10:22). This commitment to blood atonement is further reflected in the writer’s use of textual support; Christ is depicted as quoting a variant of the Septuagint in Hebrews 10:5 ("Sacrifices and offerings you have not desired, but a body you have prepared for me") rather than the standard Hebrew version of the same Psalm ("Sacrifice and offering you do not desire, but you have given me an open ear" [NRSV]).

The writer’s choice reflects his perspective that Christ was the perfect and ultimate sacrifice. However, the Hebrew version maintains that the only sacrifice God requires is for individuals to hear and do God’s will. Although the epistle elevates the New Covenant over the Old, the testimony of those living under the Old Covenant as demonstrated in the Prophets and Psalms challenges the superseding of covenants at least on this point: The Old Covenant is as much about the inner life and the power of God’s love to receive a repentant heart as is the New Covenant.

Nonetheless, what I find most meaningful in these chapters is taken from an image rooted in the sacrificial system—the role of Jesus Christ as high priest. Michael Hardin, in his work on Rene Girard and Hebrews, argues that Christ’s comparison to a high priest is in fact subversive rhetoric; Jesus is not the sacrificial victim, nor is he complicit with the mob’s violence.1 Anselmian atonement theories assume both are true, thus sanctifying victimage and brutality.

In Hebrews, Jesus as high priest acts autonomously on behalf of humanity; his self-sacrifice resonates with the authority of John 10:17–18 ("No one takes it [my life] from me, but I lay it down of my own accord. I have authority to lay it down and authority to take it up again") and sharply contrasts the following popular image of a passive Christ: "He was oppressed, and he was afflicted, yet he did not open his mouth; like a lamb that is led to the slaughter" (Isa. 53:7 NSRV).

Rather than restricting the value of Jesus’ death to his worth as a victim, his work as high priest emphasizes Jesus’ ongoing authority and mediation. The eschatological hope the writer of Hebrews places in the priestly work of the resurrected Jesus Christ suggests he understood that it was not Christ’s death that was salvific, but Christ’s power over death.

The passage into this new life was forged by Jesus Christ and included the shame and horror of public torture and execution at the Cross. Because of this, we have a high priest who sympathizes with our human struggles, suffers in solidarity with us, and works on our behalf that we might claim the hope and life that God has always intended. But as Jesus Christ is our high priest, we are his congregation.

Once we claim this hope and life in God for ourselves, we are called to claim it for all creation in the manner Christ did while on earth. We become vulnerable to a path that includes personal sacrifice but does not celebrate it, shares in the suffering of others without sanctifying it, and keeps in view the reality of crucifixion without losing sight of our true redemptive hope—the life-giving power of a loving God to resurrect and restore.

Notes and References

1. Michael Hardin, "Sacrificial Language in Hebrews: Reappraising Rene Girard," in Willard M. Swartley, ed., Violence Renounced: Rene Girard, Biblical Studies, and Peacemaking (Telford, Pa.: Pandora Press, 2000),

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