Yes, Christ Alone

The Meanness of the Means of Grace

It was in 2010 when I started my coursework at Asbury Theological Seminary when I also had my formal introduction to the means of grace. I was immediately enthralled by the idea, captivated by the passion with which my professors and fellow seminarians spoke. When I was thrust into a sacramental theology course in the spring of 2011, I found myself both skeptical (as a good Baptist ought to be) and intrigued (as a good student ought to be).

Before getting too deep into this discussion, it will be helpful to establish a couple of working definitions in order to set the table with the fork on the correct side of the plate.

Sacrament (Methodist) - “Something consecrated or holy. Traditionally, a Christian ordinance manifesting an inward, spiritual grace by an outward, visible sign or symbol. United Methodists recognize two sacraments: baptism and Holy Communion.”¹

Sacrament (Catholic) - “A ‘sacred sign,’ something visibly manifesting the invisible glory and workings of God. But when we speak of the seven sacraments—sometimes called the ‘major sacraments’ or the ‘sacraments of the New Law’—we mean more than this. These sacraments are both signs and causes of grace.”²

Means of Grace - A sacrament, as indicated above. These are the acts in which one participates that “manifest” a “spiritual grace” or the “workings of God” in the individual. For the Methodist, the means of grace are broken down into two groups: works of piety and works of mercy (both individual and communal).³ For the Catholic, the means of grace are comprised of the sacraments (Baptism, Confirmation, the Eucharist, Confession/Penance, the Anointing of the Sick, Holy Orders and Matrimony) and sacramentals (Sign of the Cross, Rosary, Holy Water, etc.) which “aren’t the ordinary means of grace established by Christ…but they are related to sacraments.”⁴

Skeptically Intrigued

My skepticism and intrigue are deeply rooted in my personality, particularly in their pairing; that is to say, I’m often quite skeptical of ideas that intrigue me. As I dove into that sacramental theology class in the spring of 2011, I was greeted by a passionate and powerful proponent of Wesleyan theology and the Methodist Church—Dr. Robert Stamps. He was moved to tears regularly as he recounted the ways in which he had encountered the Spirit in his interactions with parishioners over the years.

One such story he recalled centered on a kid in the youth group with whom he was struggling—no one seemed to like this kid, and Dr. Stamps was no exception. One night he recalled going home and praying, “God, help me to love that young man like you love him.” He said that immediately he was filled with an unimaginable pain, causing him to writhe on the floor and beg God to take it away. His point in sharing that story was that the love of God was something that we can only handle in doses because it comes paired with all of the pain his love covers.

I love a good emotionally charged story, so I was fully bought in on Dr. Stamps and what he was bringing to the table.

One of the projects along the way was to write an explanation and defense of one of the practices of the United Methodist Church. There were several of us coming from non-Wesleyan backgrounds, but I was the only Baptist of the bunch. As luck would have it, the topic that fell to me was infant baptist. Great.

So, I set out on the task of uncovering the origins and reasons for infant baptism. I pieced together an explanation of its origin and I cobbled together a defense for its continued practice and, in the end, I was unmoved in my belief that baptism was to be reserved for those who could confess faith in Christ (a topic that will be addressed in another article soon). Dr. Stamps, however, was very moved. He came up at the conclusion of my presentation, put his arm around me and, with tears rolling down his face, said, “I never would have thought that the most beautiful defense for infant baptism I would ever hear would come from a Baptist?”

Here’s where I admit that I really liked Dr. Stamps. I liked his passion and I liked his approach. I liked the way that he connected with his students and connected his students with the material. But, mostly I just liked him. There was something about him I wanted to emulate. I wanted to have that emotional response to the beauty of the “sacraments” and the ways in which those things impacted us. I wanted this idea of “means of grace” to be viable for me as a Baptist.

For much of the decade following that class, I toyed with the theology and language around these ideas, looking for ways to incorporate some of the ideas into my personal theology and even into the way that I understood and preached the Scriptures. Again and again I came up against my skepticism in the midst of my intrigue, but I plugged away trusting Dr. Stamps’ passion as the evidence I needed to get to the conclusion I was looking for—a way to connect the straightforward nature of the ordinances I had grown up with and the mystical nature of the sacraments to which I’d been introduced.

Even as recently as this past fall I found myself using words during a communion service that were reflections more of Dr. Stamps than they were of what Scripture repeatedly showed me.

“When we come to the communion table, we encounter Christ. When we eat the bread and drink the wine, we encounter Christ. In our belief we are assured that we are filled with presence of God. At this table, we also encounter that presence.”

Now that’s not an exact quote, but those are the types of phrases that I had been developing for a number of years, seeking to combine ordinance with sacrament in a way that only I was really able to discern. Most folks—even veteran Christians—would probably hear those few sentences and not give it a second thought.

Oh, but I had given it so much thought, so much attention.

I recall saying to a friend in that same time frame, “I’m not talking transubstantiation or anything, just that I think there’s something more happening in communion than eating and drinking.”

Well there is something more, but it is not what I had spent a decade plus searching for.

What I’ve come to settle on is this: means of grace theology establishes an expectation for ordinances that is not Scriptural and ultimately sets people up for disappointment (at best) and harm (at worst).

The Meanness of the Means of Grace

What more is there in communion than just the eating a drinking? The “more” is what the eating and the drinking symbolize.

The bread represents the body of Christ that was broken for the forgiveness of sins. The wine represents the blood of Christ that was poured out for the forgiveness of sins. The bread and the wine, taken together, symbolize the sacrifice of Christ’s death and our participation in the Lord’s Supper is our way of remembering what Jesus did and proclaiming our belief in it and in him until he returns.

You may be thinking, “Well, that just sounds like a traditional Baptist framing of the Lord’s Supper.”

You’re right, because that’s essentially what it is.

There is no additional grace to be given or received through our participation in a symbolic meal that was established on the basis of looking forward to and remembering the fullness of the grace of God poured out for us in the sacrifice of Jesus.

In this, the meanness of the means of grace begins to come into view in two ways: the means of grace are, first, mean to Jesus and, second, mean to the Christian.

Mean to Jesus

The means of grace demand more of Christ than he’s already done while also demanding of him something that he never promised. The declaration of Jesus that it is finished (John 19:30) and his promises to always be with us (Matthew 28:20) are indications of a sufficient work and a sufficient presence. We don’t need more and Jesus didn’t promise more on this side of eternity. That which “manifests” grace within the believer is the work of Jesus and the believer’s participation in it through their belief. That’s it.

Consider this explanation of baptism from the United Methodist Church in light of the sufficient work of Jesus on the cross:

“Through the waters of baptism, we are cleansed of our sin and born into a new way of living. Whether an infant or adult, this is just the beginning” (⁵www.umc.org).

Again, this may be something that many folks—even veteran Christians—would hear and not give a second thought (perhaps even many Baptists), but think about what it is saying. Are we cleansed of our sin through baptism? Not in any way, not even a little bit. The cleansing that takes place—our reception of grace—takes place because God has ordained that those who believe in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ will be saved.

As a Baptist, let me be the first to tell you: if you have to choose between believing in Jesus and being baptized, believe in Jesus.

Even though this statement from the UMC hedges its cleansing claim by saying “this is just the beginning” they still miss the mark; both the beginning and the end with regards to cleansing of sin and salvation is belief, not the waters of baptism.

Again, the means of grace are mean to Jesus in that they demand more of Christ than he’s already done while also demanding of him something he never promised.

Mean to the Christian

As any Catholic reading this article will fully understand by now, I am not a Catholic theologian. I do not have deep knowledge of their teachings and practices (though I’ve studied enough to be confident in rejecting it). As a chaplain, however, I have had hundreds of encounters with Catholics and dozens with Catholics in end of life scenarios.

I received a call for a patient who was about to have an emergency surgery and he was demanding to see a priest for confession and absolution before he went under anesthesia. I reached out to the local Catholic Church and in the quick conversation with the priest it became clear that he wouldn’t be able to get to the hospital on time. I rushed to the bedside of the patient. He was barely able to speak. I explained that the priest was unable to make it on time and offered to pray for him. He said, “I’m so scared. I need to be forgiven. I need to be forgiven.”

I leaned in as close as I could and I said, “I believe that God forgives everyone who believes and trusts in Jesus, that Jesus forgives you when you believe.”

He said, “I’ll have to trust your belief.”

I prayed for him, “Holy God, you know the heart of this man. You know his repentance and his desire to walk away from sin. God, assure him of your grace, mercy, love, and forgiveness. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

I left and he went through his surgery.

I have had many similar encounters over the course of my years in chaplaincy.

Here’s where theology—whether rightly understood and applied or not—encounters reality. The reality is that the way this man understood the theology of absolution within the Catholic Church meant that he was in danger of going to hell if he was unable to confess and receive absolution in that moment. The alternative I presented in the absence of a priest left him to trust that what someone else believed was adequate.

He was scared and in the moment when he most needed his faith, his faith abandoned him to the unpredictability of the local priest’s schedule. This is not to say that Catholic doctrine teaches that absent absolution in that moment, should he have died in surgery, that he would have been sent to hell (maybe it does, I don’t know); rather, it is to say that this man’s understanding of his need for the grace available through penance and absolution, to his mind, left his soul vulnerable.

That is what the meanness of the means of grace looks like.

Yes, Christ Alone

I don’t begrudge Dr. Stamps his perspective or his experience nor do I assert that either are false; I simply don’t believe means of grace is a good reflection of Scripture and that it creates want where there should be satisfaction and doubt where there should be assuredness. In earnestly searching, I have found that for me there is no there there.

When Christ alone is insufficient, you can never have confidence about your eternal destiny. When there are hoops to jump through, hurdles to clear, booths to enter, bread to eat, wine to drink, and waters to traverse, each of those things only takes you further from grace, not closer to it.

For me, that was obscured for a decade as I was intrigued by means of grace. I wanted to discover in Scripture and in practice something that gave me the emotional experience and bearing of Dr. Stamps. I wanted to find in my Baptist ordinances of communion and baptism some kind of deeper meaning or connection to a well of grace that I hadn’t yet encountered. I felt like there had to be more—just something that I was missing.

I could be wrong (many will assert that I am), but what I discovered was there is a clear and important difference between something more and something else. A theology that undervalues the work and promises of Jesus is a theology that is something else, not something more. A theology that leaves its adherents unsure of their salvation at the moment of death is a theology that is something else, not something more.

The “more” I was in search of, it turns out, is not found in the something else I was searching through; rather, it is found in continuing to look to Jesus. I don’t need more means, I need to more fully understand the meaning of the life death and resurrection of Jesus. I don’t need more grace, I need to more deeply appreciate how much his grace has already accomplished; to know and trust that it is finished, that he is with me, and that he is sufficient.

Christ alone and nothing more.

¹https://www.umc.org/en/content/glossary-sacrament

²https://www.catholic.com/magazine/print-edition/sacrament

³https://www.umc.org/en/content/the-wesleyan-means-of-grace

⁴https://www.catholic.com/magazine/print-edition/smells-and-bells

⁵https://www.umc.org/en/content/renewing-waters-how-united-methodists-understand-baptism