The Doctrine of Salvation

A Soteriological discussion of the Synoptic Gospels versus the Pauline Epistles.

In Sunday School, the answer, if you were caught unaware by the teacher’s pointedly direct question, was always “Jesus?”

I dare say that ninety-five percent of the time, you were correct, even if you had to deconstruct the question to arrive at the messianic projection. But alas, I digress…

If it starts and ends with Jesus, the Doctrine of Salvation would be pretty simple focused on the words of Jesus within the Synoptic Gospels (the eyewitness accounts). But, when is theology simple!?!

When looking at the entirety of the New Testament, not just the Gospels, it seems as though we could argue two avenues of salvation theology. And while both views are Christo-centric, one has Paul’s fingerprints and opinions slathered throughout the delivery system.

Here I am referring to the eyewitness accounts of Jesus in the Gospels and the Pauline interpretations found in the Letters of Paul, respectively.

Synoptic Gospels vs Pauline Epistles

The Gospels act as historical eyewitness accounts to the life and teachings of Jesus. And in these accounts, we find a doctrine of salvation that is embodied, particular, and often startlingly situational. It has no repeatable formula or standardized sacrament. Jesus was no Billy Graham, calling all sinners down to the front of the auditorium for repentance and acceptance, nor did he demand that everyone forsake all of their riches and follow him; he did that only once, always contextually to the person. For a stark contrast, look at the story of Nicodemus versus the story of the rich young ruler In, John 3:3, Jesus asked Nicodemus to forsake his power, standing, and religiosity (not his wealth), and he asked the young rich ruler to forsake his riches and follow him, Matthew 19:16–22; Mark 10:17–22; Luke 18:18–23.

Jesus was relational in his approach to salvationary atonement, calling each individual out of their specific idolatry and into belief.

Jesus’ utmost concern in each of the recorded “salvation” scenes was the recipient’s belief (or faith) in him as Savior and Lord and their subsequent turning away from their old self (repentance, death to their flesh). This belief was not theoretical assent but an embodied trust, a lived-out transformation. Think of the woman at the well (John 4:1–42), the paralytic let down through the roof (Mark 2:1–12; Matthew 9:1–8; Luke 5:17–26), or Zacchaeus in the tree (Luke 19:1–10). Each story is different, and yet each carries the same through-line of personal encounter leading to re-creation.

The salvation stories that have impacted me most didn’t begin with a fiery sermon or a shame-filled rebuke from a red-faced man yelling from the pulpit. They began in quiet places, like hospital rooms, recovery circles, and kitchen tables. They began with people who had hit rock bottom because of their own choices, who had burned bridges and buried their better selves. And yet, they found redemption not in a doctrinal formula, but in stepping, or often limping, toward Jesus. I think of my friend who became addicted to pain killers and, through a series of not-so-pleasant events, was arrested, and his steps towards redemption that brought the man who called the police to be the first to offer him a job upon release from recovery.

My friend may have stumbled and sunk into his doubt, like Peter, but he kept reaching toward better. It's the ones who persevere through failure, who dare to believe that “life to the full” is not a prize at the end but a practice in the present—these are the stories that matter.

Paul's Epistles: His letters to the growing church.

Pauline theology shares the same foundation, that salvation comes through Christ, but unlike Jesus’ parables and person-to-person encounters, Paul’s letters implement a more formulaic doctrine of salvation. It seems Paul was more stringently focused on “right belief” in the truth, what some have termed orthodoxy over orthopraxy or "right practice".

“Essential to saving faith,” write Demarest and Lewis, “are correct beliefs concerning the person and work of Christ.”1

So, with that in mind, New Testament salvation through the eyes of Paul begins with the total depravity of man, that is, the sinner’s inability to respond positively to the Gospel message without divine intervention. This has become the starting point for much of today’s Protestant theology, a blind focus on the utter sinfulness of man, of whom God has predestined some for relationship with him through the saving power of Christ’s death on the cross, relying on the Spirit’s indwelling nature to coax one out of their folly.

This theological framework has its roots in Augustine and was sharpened in the fire of the Reformation, where it was necessary to draw lines in the theological sand. Calvin’s TULIP acronym (with the “T” for total depravity)2 became shorthand for generations of believers who were taught to start their understanding of the Good News with the bad news.

In Justification Theology, as developed in the Pauline Epistles, I sense an overt reliance on systematic theological interpretation—a scaffolding built from Paul’s letters that often leans more heavily on guilt and shame for sins of the past, and the looming threat of judgment in the (near but not yet) future. This framework, especially in revivalist traditions, frequently employs fear-based tactics and emotional coercion to draw the “sinner” toward a decision. Salvation becomes a moment of transaction, not transformation. Some revivalists went so far as to sell an atonement theology that sounded more like fire insurance than a call to follow Christ's teachings. Say this prayer before you die, and you can live like the devil until then. Without wading too deeply into the doctrine of Hell, I believe the backwardness of this model speaks for itself.

As Karl Barth reminded us, “Jesus does not reveal a plan of salvation; he is himself the revelation of salvation.”3

Thank you, Karl! The Pauline Epistles, then, in my opinion, are in stark contrast to Jesus’ methods of redemptive storytelling.

The Eyewitness Accounts

Jesus didn’t talk about salvation the way many of us heard it preached. He didn’t reduce the "Kingdom of God" to a single moment of decision or an escape clause from Hell. Jesus spoke instead of redemption, of a new birth, of life—and life to the full (John 10:10). His language was earth-oriented, embodied in the moment, and relational to the person. He didn’t ask for sinners to repeat a prayer; he asked them to walk with him. He didn’t offer a systematic atonement theory; he offered himself. In the Gospel accounts, Luke uses the word, salvation (sōtēria) more than any of the other eyewitnesses. But the distinction is that to Luke, salvation was for the present moment, deliverance from their current political oppression, restoration to individual freedom. Salvation is a reference to restoration; people made whole, dignity restored, and lives reoriented by and toward love. When Jesus healed, he often said, “Your faith has made you well,” a phrase that blends physical healing with spiritual restoration (sozo in Greek: to save, restore, and heal). Redemption, for Jesus, was not something to be secured—it was something to be received, embodied, and lived.

It is in belief that we are made whole. The hinge of Jesus’ message is the word belief, which implies a complete, holistic change in the person, a physical, spiritual, and emotional reorientation (a verb, not a noun). Not just a theoretical understanding or intellectual assent, belief is not a position; it is an action.

To Jesus, belief in him was an active, incarnational movement away from the old self, which was full of deceit, lust, and selfishness… and toward the new altruistic self, that loves friends, neighbors, and enemies with a sacrificial love. This regeneration is beautifully modeled in the act of baptism—not only water immersion but also baptism of the Spirit. The moment of spiritual awakening, of being “born again,” was not marked by mere confession but by a new orientation.

Wendell Berry said, “The significance and ultimate justification of any act of faith lie in its practical consequences.”4 Jesus’ call to belief always carried consequences.

This illumination of the Spirit is what separates the Gospel message, Jesus’ living, relational invitation, from the kind of formulaic preaching of the Pauline theology that too often trades mystery for certainty and persuasion for presence.5

N.T. Wright reminds us that “salvation is not simply a matter of going to heaven when you die. It is about being raised to life in God’s new creation, beginning here and now.”6 Jesus was not issuing tickets for a destination in the afterlife—the thief on the cross being the sole narrative exception, and even then, what Jesus promises is not “heaven,” but paradise: a place of rest and communion, not final arrival. When Jesus tells the thief, “Today you will be with me in paradise” in Luke 23:43, he uses the word paradeisos, a term that originally referred to Eden and, by the time of Jesus, in the Jewish tradition, had come to mean a garden-like resting place for the righteous dead. It is not the final resurrected state, but an interim place of peace, or conscious presence with God. As Wright again so eloquently puts it, “Paradise is not the final destination. Resurrection is.” So, even here, at the edge of death, Jesus refrains from formula. He offers assurance, not explanation; relationship, not a system. Jesus was initiating a kingdom invasion into this world, into our world, into our flesh. And he did so not with coercion, but with presence. Not with shame, but with invitation.

Frederick Buechner captures this with his signature grace when he writes:

“It is not the objective proof of God's existence that we want but the experience of God's presence. That is the miracle we are really after, and that is also, I think, the miracle that we really get.”7

To initiate a salvation decision, with an emphasis on depravity and eternal torment, may have the merit of sobering us, but to what end? A sober decision is nothing if not followed by a righteous action.

Doesn't it make more sense to have an encounter with Jesus? He, who sees us in our idolatry, and still walks toward us. To me, this is a better beginning; this is the Good News.

  1. Demarest, Bruce A., and Gordon Russell Lewis. Integrative Theology. Grand Rapids, MI: Academie, 1987. Vol 3, Part 1, pg 92.
  2. TULIP, formally articulated at the Synod of Dort (1618–1619), a Dutch Reformed council.
  3. Barth, Karl. Church Dogmatics I.2. Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1956.
  4. Berry, Wendell. The Art of the Commonplace: The Agrarian Essays of Wendell Berry. Berkeley: Counterpoint, 2002.
  5. Bloesch, Donald G. A Theology of Word & Spirit. InterVarsity Press. Downers Grove, IL: 1992. pg 136.
  6. Wright, N.T. Surprised by Hope. New York: HarperOne, 2008.
  7. Buechner, Frederick. Wishful Thinking: A Theological ABC. HarperSanFrancisco, 1993.

_It should be noted that I do not believe TULIP to be a beneficial or correct theological framework; I hope that it is evident in the writing, but I wanted to reiterate before I cited the entire TULIP framework. _

T=Total Depravity

U=Unconditional Election

L=Limited Atonement

I=Irresistible Grace

P=Perseverance of the Saints