Eternal Life: Who Gets It? How Do They Get It?
The rather blunt title I’ve given this article doesn’t do justice to the sincerity of the question that inspired it. Someone asked a church friend of mine whether they would see a recently deceased friend in heaven—a person with no apparent Christian faith, who was not a churchgoer. I was asked for my thoughts.
We might expect that the standard liturgy for a funeral service would be a first port of call for an answer, since some mourners would no doubt be wondering about it. And yet, if we take the standard Anglican script as an example, its approach is not definitive.
The set parts of the liturgy—we’ll come on to the sermon element and non-Anglican contexts in a moment—are framed around several “positive” Bible verses that appear to be speaking of the believer, either directly or indirectly. For example, John 11:25–26: “I am the resurrection and the life,” says Jesus. “Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.” And Psalm 23, which ends with (verse 6): “Surely goodness and loving mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.”
These verses are largely left to stand alone in the service, in what they’re saying.
Other Bible verses quoted—and the remaining elements of the standard liturgy—appear to be rooted in hope (the hope of the resurrection of the dead to eternal life) and comfort (for those mourning the deceased).
However, when it comes to (a) the sermon element, which will be free format, and (b) other denominations’ liturgies, especially so-called “new churches,” which may not have a set script at all, there is considerable potential for divergence from those objectives.
The potential for divergence is most evident in the approach taken by evangelical churches.
Because evangelicals are highly focused on the need for individuals to have made an express personal commitment to Jesus as the precondition for eternal life—and hence, on the necessity of sharing the gospel as often as possible (to give people that opportunity)—there is a strong desire to use a funeral event as an occasion for evangelism. Sometimes this reflects (or assumes) what the deceased person would have wished, but not always.
This is sincere and well-intended traditional evangelical thinking—often against a backdrop of teaching that the Christian calling is always to “get the gospel in” whenever an opportunity presents itself.
Concurrent with that is the looming concern, which some might say borders on a threat, “What if the person you’re speaking to dies tonight and you haven’t given them the opportunity to accept Jesus first?” Bluntly translated as, “It will be your fault they’re in hell, thanks to your timidity.” That threat is, of course, especially intimidating if one’s understanding of hell is eternal, conscious torment.
There are several problems with this way of thinking, however well-intentioned it may be. They include: (a) making “the gospel” transactional and ticket-to-heaven in nature (street evangelism has the same risk), (b) undermining the important pastoral objectives for the funeral service (namely, offering hope and comfort, and celebrating the deceased’s life), and (c) rather than moving unchurched attendees towards faith, potentially pushing them further away, through clumsiness and insensitivity in pursuing an agenda that feels less focused on the deceased and the mourners than on the preacher’s evangelistic priorities.
And yet—from the perspective of a traditional evangelical way of thinking—one can easily see how all of those risks are justified as “worth it,” given that it’s people’s eternal destinies we’re talking about.
Evangelicals are understandably concerned not to be wishy-washy or give false comfort. But (a) through (c) above are equally important concerns. They can be addressed in parallel through subtlety, sensitivity, and greater confidence in the Holy Spirit speaking to attendees in a personalised way, appropriate to wherever they are “at” in their faith journey.
But of course, our sense of freedom to be subtle and sensitive will be qualified by any overarching compulsion that we feel to “get the gospel in” come hell or high water, under that looming threat of “What if they died tonight?”
One of the strengths of evangelicalism is its focus on “the main and the plain” (as it’s been called)—namely, what Christianity is mainly about and plainly about; which is a super soundbite. But what that constitutes in practice isn’t so plain; it rather depends on what we think the main and plain actually is.
For example, if it’s all about—or mostly all about—getting a ticket to heaven when we die, that will direct our thinking and priorities one way. If, however, it’s equally as much this life-focused—with the afterlife as a bonus—then our thinking will be directed slightly differently (towards “both/and”). Naturally, a final breath conversation with a dying person will tip that balance, but most of us won’t be in that situation very often.
On one level, it’s not for us—evangelicals or otherwise—to pontificate on who will experience eternal life and who will not. What we can confidently say, though, based on the sheer number of Scriptures which support it, as plainly as one could wish for, is that those who are “in Christ” will receive eternal life through him. What we should be more circumspect about (less cast-iron definitive) is who will not.
I say that because, insofar as sin leading to death is “the problem” and the forgiveness available through Christ is “the solution” leading to eternal life—and further, that Christ died for the sins of the whole world, not just the minority who have made an express personal evangelical commitment—the question is not whether Christ’s work is sufficient for all. It clearly is. The question is only how (and by whom) that forgiveness leading to eternal life will be accessed—how widespread its ultimate application will be.
The first step for considering that is to move beyond a mindset which focuses only on Bible verses that we perceive to demand an express personal commitment. Not because we don’t believe in personal commitment, but because it can lead to overly strident assertions about who is “in” (and especially, who is “out”) that neither the wider biblical account nor the nature and character of God warrants.
For example, 1 Timothy 2:4 speaks of the God “who wants all people to be saved and to come to a knowledge of the truth.” And John 3:17, “God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but so that the world might be saved through him.” Strident assertions of who is “out” must take account of these kinds of texts as well. They point to a breadth of God’s mercy that goes far beyond a narrow construal.
This is the direction that evangelical universalism is coming from, reinforced by verses such as 2 Corinthians 5:19, “God was in Christ reconciling the world to Himself, not counting their trespasses against them,” and Colossians 1:19–20.
Evangelical universalists are not saying that all sinners “get away with it” scot-free, without consequences for the life they have lived, as if God is some Cosmic Grandpa character who couldn’t possibly ever be cross with anyone for anything (which universalism in general is perceived to be saying). They still believe in personal accountability before God, but also that he will ultimately bring about reconciliation for all, rather than dispatching a small minority to eternity in heaven and the vast majority to eternity in hell (which is the standard evangelical take on things).
The attractions of evangelical universalism include its strong alignment with a capacious view of a loving and gracious God; its weaknesses include potentially obviating personal choice (whether in this life or in a “second chance” thereafter). And some would say it is incompatible with a God of justice (though perhaps what they really mean is a God of punishment).
A further complication for those who insist that it’s essential to have expressly “prayed the sinner’s prayer” in this life is that not every verse supports this kind of thinking.
For example, John 5:28–29: “A time is coming when all who are in their graves will hear his voice and come out—those who have done what is good will rise to live, and those who have done what is evil will rise to be condemned.”
The idea that someone’s “good works” has anything to do with it sits rather uncomfortably with classic Reformed “by faith alone” thinking.
Similarly, James, the brother of Jesus, said: “A person is considered righteous by what they do and not by faith alone” (James 2:24). No wonder the Reformers had a problem with James!
Not to mention, Jesus’ intriguing “See you in heaven, later” promise to the thief on the cross beside him (though I have now just mentioned it).
At a minimum, these “complicating verses,” taken together, tell us two things.
One is that things may not be as mechanistically straightforward as evangelical simplifications tend to suggest.
The other is that God’s sovereignty (if it means anything) must place him above any Bible verse we quote to him as a proof text and especially above every interpretation and application of any Bible verse (which is usually what we’re talking about in practice).
In short, through Christ, God may save whomever he wishes, based on whatever criteria he wishes. To suggest otherwise is surely to constrain his omniscience, omnipotence, and especially, omnibenevolence.
It’s true that God does not deny himself (meaning, he does not act antithetically to Scripture), but he may well deny some of the doctrinal constraints we place upon him. Not least against a scriptural backdrop of 1 Timothy 2:4—a God “who wants all people to be saved and to come to a knowledge of the truth.”
We can be confident in God’s ultimate salvation extending to as many people as possible because of the astonishing capaciousness of his love and grace—the kind of God that he is. Assuming, of course, we believe that he is, indeed, that kind of God.
By “as many people as possible,” I mean that I can envisage God breaking as many “rules” as necessary—especially those that are, in reality, more our rules than his rules—to enable that to happen. Isn’t that what grace does?
Given that Christ’s work is sufficient for the salvation of the whole world ab initio, God is allowed to save people who have not expressly heard or believed the gospel in this life. He is entitled to set his own criteria. He doesn’t require our permission. How he exercises that freedom is entirely up to him.
The reason we should be passionate about introducing people to a relationship with Jesus in this life (via that “express personal commitment”) is so that they may experience both the benefits of knowing him in this life, and the assurances for the life to come that flow from that present relationship—from being “in Christ” now.
Before the idea of a God of justice ever speaks of a God who sentences people for their sins, it speaks of a God who would not unjustly condemn anyone in the first place, simply because they have not expressly responded to a gospel message.* There are any number of reasons why that may not have happened, including, but not limited to, never having even heard of Jesus, or being turned off organised religion and its apologists for a variety of understandable reasons.
*I exclude from a “gospel message” the kind of hell-and-damnation-centred soapbox street preaching that many of us have witnessed (as I did in my local town, just this past week). I can’t see how God would condemn anyone for failing to be attracted, let alone persuaded, by that kind of caricature of the gospel.