Is the Work of Christ Finished?

When Jesus had finished his work on the cross, and salvation had been won for the whole world, he spoke his final, hard-won words (John 19:30):

“When Jesus had received the sour wine, he said, 'It is finished,' and he bowed his head and gave up his spirit.”

We rightly take great courage from Jesus’ declaration – we are reconciled to God and that can never be taken away from us. We are ‘in Christ’ and ‘co-heirs with Christ’ because of his saving work. All that we will receive in the age to come has already been eternally established, and our core identity has been stunningly, permanently restored to its divinely inspired beauty.

This is all wonderful news, forming the foundation of the Christian faith, but depending on how we approach this idea of a finished work, we can either be empowered or neutered by it.

What does it mean to be ‘in Christ’?

The advantage of belonging to different church traditions over time is that you are exposed to significantly different understandings of apparently shared theology and get to weigh it all up in the company of God. In the church of my youth, being in Christ was little more than a promise of what’s to come. Those who were in Christ were going to Heaven, where their flawed bodies and ‘wretched’ souls would be perfected. In the meantime, ‘the Christian life’ was largely a battle against sin. There was no talk of victory or breakthroughs, and the idea of a close walk with an involved God, growing in faith and spiritual intimacy, was never even whispered from the pulpit. To put it simply, the promises of God were all for the by and by, and little was claimed for today.

For the avoidance of dishonour, these were decent folk who were faithful to God and who loved me well. They only had what they’d been given and were doing their best.

In a later phase of my life, I joined the Word of Faith Movement, which operated on the other extreme, exhorting us to walk in total victory right here and now. I found this brand of teaching particularly harmful, as it suppressed honesty, vulnerability, and an organic journey of faith. I once attended a Bible School in that tradition, and when my peers were going through extreme personal difficulties, they would never talk about them in real terms or seek comfort. If you asked how people were, the answer from every individual was ‘I’m blessed!’, because it was important to give a confession of faith. Honestly, it was a sad environment and I left after only a few months, unable to live with all the suppressed suffering and fakery.

To be clear, these too were sincere believers who were passionate about seeing the Kingdom of God manifest in the Earth. They were doing their best with what they had, just as the Christians I knew in childhood were.

Fear of legalism

To some degree, I see a related imbalance emerging in the Progressive Christian Movement – everything is done, so just nestle in and enjoy. Being in Christ is a comfort blanket, drawn ever closer, and any talk of effort or discipline is treated with suspicion.

I can understand it. I was legalistic for years in my youth, believing that sin (which I had no sensible understanding of at the time) created a block between God and I, resulting in frantic begging for forgiveness. In terms of spiritual discipline, I followed a punishing routine of prayer and Bible study over the course of several years, desperately trying to please God. If I’d known he was already pleased with me, that pressure would have dissipated like smoke on the wind, but I was yet to know the unconditional love of God.

I get it – the person who’s been burned by legalism will associate any talk of discipline or growth with past pain. For many, it has become a trigger point. Those who live for years under a burden of obligation, and who then discover they have been doing so needlessly, tend to embrace the message of grace with open arms. Understanding that ‘it is finished’ sets them free forever. It liberates them in a way that provides the ultimate relief from heaviness and drudgery. This is a wonderful thing, but the scale of that relief can make it hard to see personal discipline in a new light.

The end of growth

In my view, we only have a mature understanding of a matter when we feel the tension of what seem like conflicting truths, pulling at us from opposite directions. The Bible gives us some beautifully mysterious examples of this, including the paradox of our salvation – that it is simultaneously complete and incomplete at the same time (Hebrews 10,14):

‘For by one sacrifice he has made perfect forever those who are being made holy.’

We have been made perfect (our eternal state is established) and yet we are being made holy (the process of salvation is unfolding in real time). There’s a tension there, and from personal experience, holding to only one side of the paradox is a mistake. An overemphasis on being made holy leads to striving, and an overemphasis on being complete already in Christ is the end of growth.

A commitment to discipline, which may once have stemmed from a lack of confidence in God’s unconditional love, is entirely different once we’ve embraced our identity in Christ. We’re no longer doing something because we have to or out of fear; we’re doing it because we want to grow. We’re doing it because love calls us forward. There’s no compulsion; only empowerment.

Unfortunately, a person who has negative associations with spiritual vigour may well be traumatised by what has gone before and will have a knee-jerk reaction whenever they hear talk of routine or effort. They might even see discipline as works-righteousness, and hope that personal growth comes from knowing who you are in Christ alone. I understand such a reaction, and in fact felt that way for several years, but it was not ultimately helpful. If we want to lead full, satisfying lives in the service of love, we need to embark on journeys of healing and restoration.

Finding the point of healthy tension

There are two key truths to hold in tension – we are made perfect through the sacrifice of Jesus, but that perfection is something that unfolds in our lives. It is not an automatic process but one that requires focus, taking deliberate steps as we yield to the leading of the Spirit. Step by step we claim the ground, knowing it was ours all along. It is not guilt-ridden work, and we do not do it in our own strength. We walk joyfully and with determination in the Lord’s company, seeking to grow because it improves our lives, along with the lives of those we love, and makes us better examples of what it means to know God.

Let’s take a simple example of a believer who struggles with an area of bitterness. Despite their eternal status, they will continue to communicate angrily until they are healed. The process of salvation (known as sanctification) in such a case would be to walk closely with the Spirit as he helps us come to terms with the reasons behind our bitterness, practicing forgiveness and embracing grace until we feel differently on the inside – healing isn’t healing until it has affected our emotions. Telling ourselves we are in Christ won’t get us very far on this kind of spiritual journey, other than to serve as a springboard. It is grace, prayer, forgiveness, and the power of choice that lead to freedom – the moving parts of being in Christ.

Or let’s say a person feels far from God. The only way to restore the experience of tangible intimacy with the divine is to spend time in his presence, saturating ourselves in the life-giving flow of his love. In other words, we need to take the tools he’s given us and put them to use. I can guarantee you that reminding ourselves we are in Christ but taking no further action will achieve little to nothing. The need will not be met.

Make every effort to enter rest

The writer of Hebrews talks of a rest from our labours – a place where we are living effortlessly in God’s strength – but he also encourages the reader to do something surprising (Hebrews 4, 11):

‘Let us, therefore, make every effort to enter that rest…’

This is another paradox – effort is required to enter rest. The key to getting the balance right is the extraction of guilt or compulsion, which make growth an obligation rather than a joy. We start on the foundation of love and righteousness, which are ours forever in Christ, and then continue to build as the Lord leads. Being in Christ is a strong foundation but it is not the house. The house is our practice of faith, our walk of love, our life in the Spirit.

The effort the writer of Hebrews exhorts us to make is not burdensome. The Holy Spirit is not a hard taskmaster. He is a wonderful companion who knows exactly what growth looks like for each of us. He extracts the guesswork and wasted effort of legalism, showing us only a single step at a time, each of which will help us grow. As we respond to his leading, we progress in the assurance of love rather than in an attempt to earn it. He won’t exhaust us. He never asks too much (Matthew 11, 28-30):

‘“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”’

Start to walk again!

I know what it’s like to be imprisoned by legalism but, like many others, I’ve also been to the other extreme, triggered by talk of deliberate discipleship and hiding under a comfort blanket. There’s a time to comfort ourselves and avoid trigger points, but for each of us, there comes a time to heal. It is only when we walk with God in organic, Spirit-led journeys of faith that we see his goodness truly manifest in our lives. Only by yielding to him can we see his love flow through us into those we love; only by soaking in divine love do we have that agape outflow to give. An ever-deepening relationship with the Holy Spirit is the walk all of us are ultimately called to – he is the source of all life, and the architect of our lives.

Dear reader, if this is you – if you’ve set up a permanent dwelling on the plateau of being in Christ and fear to take any kind of determined action in your spiritual walk, I encourage you to spend some time talking with the Lord about how you can begin to grow again. What exciting journeys could you go on with Him? How wonderful can your life become, if you finally cast off old associations and start to walk again?

For readers ready to emerge from their chrysalis and take flight at last, for those who’ve been harmed by spiritual discipline in the past, for any burdened by obligation who want to embrace grace instead, and for those ready to serve in a pressure-free way, I’ve written a book called How to Know God (under a pen name, James Bewley). For UK readers, How to Know God can be found here.