faith is the wick

Are we saved by faith alone?

Salvation, that is, a life eternally transformed by relationship with the Holy Trinity, is like the burning of a candle.

Faith is the wick, hope is the wax, love is the flame. 

The candle burns by the wick alone. Faith is the faith(fulness) of Jesus Christ, which we join by loyally trusting in him and depending on him. (Faith as both trust and loyalty, and the faith of Jesus Christ in his Father and his faithfulness to us as the ground of our own faith response is a big topic in NT studies right now.) Our relationship with God was reconciled by his death on our behalf, and our access to continuing benefits come through this continuing relationship of trust.

The candle burns by wax alone. Hope is the strength that comes from our identity as the community who are somehow seated at God's right hand in the enthroned Messiah, waiting for him to come reclaim his world and, meanwhile, to bring us daily sustenance by his Spirit.

The candle burns by the flame alone. Love is the transformation of potential energy into heat and light, by doing good for others' benefit because we have received God's love, giving vision to other eyes and lighting other candles, and fulfilling the purpose for which we were made. 

Are we saved by faith alone?

Now, if this question is really asking, "Can I know for sure in the moment that I raise my hand in an evangelistic meeting that I am going to heaven?", our answer will be different. Because here we are asking not about the burning but about the lighting of the candle. But the lighting includes the burning, and all three elements (wick, wax, and flame) are involved, even if in nascent form. And if the lighting is done by God, then we don't know for sure if the lighting began when we raised our hand or long before, or even not yet -- but we can know that if we truly turn to him, God promises to save us. 

Now, you ask, what about repentance? To be honest, I wasn't thinking of repentance when I thought of this analogy, and would really need another analogy to incorporate it well. But I see repentance in the candle in three ways: a change from coldness to warmth, a change from reliance on other power sources than the wax through the wick, and a change from hiddenness to transparency. (Actually, this last one is more properly termed confession, but it is a part of the change.) And ultimately, there is a change of life direction from self-preservation to empowered self-giving. 

This brings me to a point I have been thinking about a lot recently. Every aspect of salvation that we "perfect" or essentialize is in a way a metonymy or synecdoche. What I mean is that we speak of one part when we mean it to stand for the whole. 

Baptism saves us, not the removal of filth from the body, but a pledge of a good conscience toward God. So baptism is a concertina word, as Jimmy Dunn puts it, including sometimes the sign only, and sometimes both the sign and the thing it signifies, and sometimes being a shorthand for the whole conversion process. 

Repentance is the same. It indicates a change of heart and mind that includes sorrow for sin, a change from unbelief to faith, a change from trusting in other things to trusting in Jesus, and specific actions that we take to repair damage and restore others whom we have wronged. A concertina that expands and contracts from a change of heart to an act to an entire process that includes both.

Faith in a way stands for all the other elements of our response to God when we hear the gospel, and yet is more than just the most prominent part of our response, because it invades and motivates every other action. And because it draws from Christ everything it needs, it truly is like a wick (or like a straw in a milkshake, to change the metaphor). 

Now back to the candle. I think I hear someone saying now, "Your definition of salvation as a life eternally transformed by relationship with the Holy Trinity is mixing justification with sanctification." Well, yeah. Because sanctification (or as I prefer to call it, transformation) is not optional. Justification through the cross (another metonymy) reconciled our relationship with God. It's a different metaphor, but let's call this restored relationship the oxygen in the room. Transformation started at the moment of ignition. Our relationship with God was reconciled in a potential way at the cross, and in an actual way when we started to believe, that is, when the wick was ignited and the flame burst forth, burning the wax stored up in the candle through the wick as it combined with the oxygen in the room.

And the burning continues. 

No analogy is perfect, and this got more and more complex as we kept talking about it. But I would rather parse out these folds of ambiguity and see more and more of the whole picture.

Inspiring this three-fold analogy is a faint echo in my memory of Deacon Braxton at the end of almost every sermon, repeating the prayer of St. Ionnikios of Olympus (762-846)...

Our hope is the Father

Our refuge is the Son

Our shelter is the Holy Spirit

O Holy Trinity, glory to You. 

Imagined gospel backgrounds

Zane Hodges says the Gospel According to Saint John was written as an evangelistic book to help people start to believe in Jesus, and yet mentions faith but not repentance, and thus repentance is not required for eternal life. John MacArthur counters that John the Evangelist was writing after the Synoptic Gospels were written, so John assumed that readers had already learned about repentance from them, and so he decided to focus his gospel on the importance of faith.

While we are conjuring hidden backgrounds and motives to the gospel writers, a much more fun story is told by Dom Gregory Dix in his book The Shape of the Liturgy. Suddenly we see the practice of the eucharist in house-churches popping up behind the text everywhere in the New Testament, and it's lovely:

One remarkable feature of the N.T. allusions to the eucharist is the rich variety of meanings they already find within the single rite of the broken Bread and the blessed Cup. It is the solemn proclamation of the Lord’s death (1 Cor. 11:26); but it is also the familiar intercourse of Jesus abiding in the soul, as a friend who enters in and sups with a friend (Rev. 3:20). It fulfils all the past, as the ‘true’ (Jn. 6:52) and the ‘secret’ (Rev. 2:17) manna, the meaning of all sacrifice (Heb. 13:10), the truth of all Passovers (1 Cor. 5:7; Lk. 22:18). But it also looks forward to the future beyond the end of time, as a mysterious anticipation of the final judgement of God (1 Cor. 11:30-32), a foretaste of the eternal Messianic banquet of heaven (Lk. 22:30), a ‘tasting of the powers of the world to come.’ (Heb. 6:5) It foreshadowed the exultant welcome of His own at that Second Coming (1 Cor. 11:26), for which those who had first lost their hearts to Him in Galilee looked so wistfully all their years after, that the echoes of their longing murmured on in the eucharistic prayers of the church for centuries. By the time the New Testament came to be written the eucharist already illuminated everything concerning Jesus for His disciples—His Person, His Messianic office (Jn. 6:33, 35, 48), His miracles (the accounts of the feeding of the multitude are obviously 'coloured' by the eucharist), His death and the redemption that He brought (Jn. 6:51). It was the vehicle of the gift of His Spirit (1 Cor. 12:13b), the means of eternal life (Jn. 6:53-54), the cause of the unity of His church (1 Cor. 10:17). This is not an exhaustive analysis of New Testament teaching about the eucharist. Nor do I suggest that all these passages are intended to be directly about the eucharist (they are not) but that in all of them the experience of the eucharist is at least colouring and affecting the author’s presentation in some cases even of other matters, which is what is significant for our purpose. They shew that the church had found in the eucharist an entire epitome of ‘the Gospel’ before our four gospels had been written.

Later in his book, Dix goes on to suggest that the image in Revelation of God on his throne surrounded by the elders reflects how a bishop and presbyters would sit in the living room of a Roman villa where the house church would typically meet, taking the seats like the father and his family members. Again, I don't know how true it is, but it's fun to think about.

It's definitely more imaginative than the Hodges-MacArthur debate.