The following bull of Pope Eugenius IV was solemnly read aloud by both Cardinal Julian Cesarini (in Latin) and Bishop Bessarion (in Greek), followed by the celebration of Holy Mass. It is entitled Laetentur Caeli: Bulla Unionis Graecorum (Let the Heavens Rejoice: The Bull of Union with the Greeks). It highlights the agreements reached between Catholics …

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The Venerable Fulton Sheen expressed the death of Jesus in accordance with the model of penal substitution in his masterpiece, The Life of Christ. Below are two excerpts that demonstrate this. Feel free to jump in and read more by accessing the book here.

“Sinners can show a love for one another by taking the punishment which another deserves. But Our Blessed Lord was not only taking the punishment but also taking the guilt as if it were His own.” (p. 314)

Now, does Blessed Sheen intend to say here that Christ took on, formally, the guilt of another? I think it’s safe to say no. But at the very least, he means something more than simply the “punishment” that humanity deserves. He likely refers here to the identification of Jesus with fallen humanity and taking their place under the law with the necessity to make satisfaction. Christ took on the burden to remedy man’s guilt.

On the cry of dereliction, “My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?”, Sheen wrote:

“The signal feature in the sufferings of Our Lord revealed in this Psalm was His desolation and solitude. The Divine Son called His Father ‘My God’—in contrast to the prayer which taught men to say ‘Our Father Who art in heaven.’ It was not that His human nature was separated from His Divine nature; that was impossible. It was rather that just as the sun’s light and heat can be hidden at the base of a mountain by intervening clouds, though the peak is bathed in sunlight, so too, in taking upon Himself the sins of the world He willed a kind of withdrawal of His Father’s face and all Divine consolation. Sin has physical effects, and these He bore by having His hands and feet pierced; sin has mental effects which He poured forth in the Garden of Gethsemane; sin also has spiritual effects such as a sense of abandonment, separation from God, loneliness. This particular moment He willed to take upon Himself that principal effect of sin which was abandonment. Man rejected God; so now He willed to feel that rejection. Man turned away from God; now He, Who was God united personally with a human nature, willed to feel in that human nature that awful wrench as if He Himself were guilty. ... In that cry were all the sentiments in human hearts expressive of a Divine nostalgia: the loneliness of the atheist, the skeptic, the pessimist, the sinners who hate themselves for hating virtue, and of all those who have no love above the flesh; for to be without love is hell. It was, therefore, the moment when leaning on nails He stood at the brink of hell in the name of all sinners. As He entered upon the extreme penalty of sin, which is separation from God, it was fitting that His eyes be filled with darkness and His soul with loneliness… Christ’s cry was of abandonment which He felt standing in a sinner’s place, but it was not of despair.” (p. 399-400)

Due to the Norman Invasion of southern Italy, many Byzantine clergy who occupied worship spaces in this area were replaced by Latin clerics. In response to this, Michael Kerularius shut down the Latin churches in Constantinople together with supporting a letter of Leo of Ohrid that had criticized Latin customs (especially the use of unleavened bread in holy Mass). In response, Pope Leo IX sent a delegation of men, including most famously Cardinal Humbert of Silva Candida, to inquire into the matters possibly dividing Eastern and Western Christianity. The legates were met with opposition in Constantinople, and it was a tragic failure of communication. Below are the texts of mutual excommunication between Michael and Humbert. Humbert’s decree was laid down atop the high altar of Hagia Sophia. Michael Kerularius (written in the 3rd person) gave a response and this is below Humbert’s decree. One should take note that Kerularius’s own excommunication of Humbert (and the other legates) emphatically avoids targeting the Roman See. As one will see, the Greeks thought that the legates led by Humbert were impostors, not truly sent by the Pope.

Below is the text produced from Constantinople by the Patriarch Michael:

Patrons and Substack subscribers are seeing the academic support for many of the things I’ve said about PSA. Admittedly, I am easy to discard, but I’m also just giving you what some of the best specialists are saying (and have said for some time!).

Above is a statement from Dr. Hans Boersma, an Anglican priest and Patristic scholar.

As we continue to hear the baseless retorts of "That's not Penal Substitution," it would be helpful to see what Protestant academics who specialize in the theology of the Atonement (and its historical transmission) are themselves saying.

Dr. Adam Johnson is a Reformed Evangelical and Associate Professor of Theology at Torre…

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Dr. Joshua McNall is a Wesleyan academic (take note) who earned his M.A. in Theology from Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary, a PhD. in Theology at the University of Manchester, UK, and did his dissertation on Augustine’s influence throughout Church history.

He has contributed an invaluable work on the atonement entitled The Mosaic of Atonement: An Integrated Approach to Christ’s Work (Zondervan Academic). In this book, he analyzed Augustine’s famous “Against Faustus” wherein Augustine makes some striking remarks on the atoning work of Christ on behalf of humanity.

When he came across the below quotation, he followed up by saying:

“It takes some fairly impressive interpretive maneuvers to read this as anything other than penal substitution.” (p. 122)

I agree 100%. If one focuses upon the “our” or “His”, one cannot avoid the clear sense of substitution (a word Augustine himself uses) and that Christ takes our place under the force of the condemnatory law of God.

I included St. Bernard of Clairvaux in my book, "He Bore Our Punishment." It was very clear to me that he held to the basic framework of Penal Substitutionary Atonement. Pope Alexander III (+1181) canonized Bernard, and Pope Pius VIII declared him a doctor of the universal Church. Though this shouldn't be news to my readers since St. Alphonsus de Liguori is also a doctor of the Church, and his leaning toward PSA was made abundantly clear in my postings throughout 2020-2024. Even so, Bernard precedes Alphonsus by many centuries.

Nevertheless, pushback from Catholics and Orthodox is ongoing. And that was expected. I would recommend everyone "test all things." It is actually a good thing for the misunderstandings to get more exposure.

Here, Anthony S. Lane (Tony Lane), professor of historical theology at the London School of Theology, UK, states quite clearly the conclusion I came to from reading Bernard.

How?

We must first see the Episcopate as an extension of Christ’s earthly ministry.

Christ was baptized in the Jordan River by the Forerunner, and from thence, He created a sacred space for a school in which He transmitted the doctrine of God the Father and engineered outward/physical rituals by which to incorporate the student into eternal life (Baptism/Eucharist/Absolution). This program was inaugurated by Jesus, but the plan was for it to continue until He comes again.

It would have been unthinkable for Jesus Himself to have had a divided school and sacramental-dispensory. His ministry depended upon its unity, coherence, and a singular society into which the outward rites incorporated the masses. There is, indeed, one sheepfold, because there is one Shepherd.

The Episcopal order, likewise, was made to create a sacred space on the earth for the school of Jesus Christ to continue and permeate, as well as to incorporate human beings through sacraments (assuming that only designated hands can administer), and thus its very life depends on its power of unification.

Just as it would have been unthinkable for Jesus’s mission to be a fragmented society, so likewise it is unthinkable for such to be the case for the Episcopal order.

Therefore, the ecclesiological fundamentals of Anglicanism cannot be true because these fundamentals include the idea that division within the Episcopate (on creed, code, and cult) does not abrogate the very purpose of the Episcopate. In other words, while an Anglican can lament these divisions (RCs, EOs, OOs, CoE, Episcopals, the Continuum, and for Presbyterial-Anglicans-- Lutherans, Presbyterians, etc., etc.), he or she believes that the Episcopate itself can still function and fulfill its mission while in this fragmented condition. Anglicans also believe that the Episcopates of the world can all err in faith.

I would argue that if one gives us the outward unity of the Episcopate and its infallible character, both as essential, then one loses their justifying support of believing in the very principle of Episcopalism. At that point, one might as well just come full circle with Luther and Calvin on ecclesiology, if not further with the Baptist/Evangelical. The latter ecclesiologies don’t need to have any post-Apostolic institution that continues the school and ritual-dispensatory of Christ (that depend on special hands).

To put it short, Anglican ecclesiology has no justifying support to allow the Episcopate to thrive and fulfill its very own purpose.

Now, for my Anglican friends... I anticipate an instant rush to Lumen Gentium. I would advise any and all who feel this instinct to read the entire document.

I’ve asked Grok to explain my article, and this might prove helpful to those who might remain confused:

This is a sophisticated theological critique of Anglican ecclesiology (the doctrine of what the Church is and how it’s structured) from what appears to be a Catholic (likely traditionalist or high-church) perspective.Core ThesisThe author argues that Anglican Episcopalism is self-undermining. If you believe the Church is governed by bishops who succeed the Apostles (the “Episcopal College”), then that system only makes sense if the bishops remain united and protected from error in essential matters. Anglicanism, by accepting visible division and the possibility of error among bishops, destroys the very reason for having an episcopate in the first place. It becomes pointless.The Step-by-Step Argument

1. Christ’s Ministry as the Model
   Jesus created one unified sacred community (”one sheepfold” with “one Shepherd” — John 10:16). He taught a coherent doctrine, established unified sacraments (Baptism, Eucharist, etc.), and incorporated people into a single visible society. A divided or erring “school of Jesus” during His earthly life would have been unthinkable.

2. The Episcopate as Continuation
   Bishops (and the college of bishops) exist to extend that same ministry after the Ascension. They create the sacred space, guard the doctrine, and validly administer the sacraments (only “designated hands” can do this properly). Their whole purpose is unification and continuity with Christ’s work.

3. Therefore, Division and Error Are Fatal

   • If the Episcopate can be visibly divided (Roman Catholics vs. Eastern Orthodox vs. Oriental Orthodox vs. Anglicans vs. Continuing Anglicans, etc.) on creed (beliefs), code (morality), and cult (worship/sacraments), then it fails at its core job.

   • If bishops worldwide can err in faith, the system no longer reliably transmits Christ’s teaching.

   • Anglicanism accepts exactly this fragmented, fallible reality and still claims the episcopate works. The author says this is incoherent.

4. The Logical Conclusion
   Once you drop the requirements of visible unity and infallibility (or at least protection from definitive error) for the episcopate, you’ve removed what makes Episcopal governance special or necessary. At that point, you might as well adopt a more Protestant view:

   • Lutheran or Calvinist ecclesiology (the Church is more invisible/spiritual; no need for unbroken apostolic succession).

   • Or even Baptist/Evangelical views (local congregation + personal faith; no need for a post-Apostolic priestly hierarchy at all).

In short: Anglicanism wants the benefits of historic episcopacy and apostolic succession without the costs (unity and doctrinal reliability). That tension, the author claims, makes it untenable.The Closing Jab

“I anticipate an instant rush to Lumen Gentium.”

Lumen Gentium is the key Vatican II document on the Church (1964). Many ecumenically-minded Anglicans cite it because it has warmer language about other Christians, speaks of “elements of sanctification and truth” outside the Catholic Church, and has a nuanced view of the “subsistit in” (the Church of Christ “subsists in” the Catholic Church — implying it’s fully there but elements exist elsewhere). The author warns: Read the whole thing. It still teaches that the Catholic Church is the one true Church in the fullest sense, with the Pope and bishops in communion with him as the visible head and college. It doesn’t actually endorse the Anglican “branch theory” (the idea that Anglican, Catholic, and Orthodox are all valid “branches” of the one Church despite division). The author implies it won’t save the Anglican position.Overall Tone and ContextThis is a classic “high-church” vs. “via media” debate. The writer respects the idea of episcopacy but says Anglicanism (and similar “continuing” or independent Catholic/Orthodox groups) can’t coherently live it out. It’s aimed at thoughtful Anglican friends — not a hostile rant, but a pointed challenge to their ecclesiology.

In his Sermon to the Catechumens on the Creed, St. Augustine mentions the manner in which Christians receive the absolution of their sins and a clean slate before the eyes of Almighty God. What this demonstrates is that in the early Church, it was the common belief that more debts still needed to be satisfied even after baptismal regeneration (i.e., jus…

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That is something to deeply consider.

Why do we make keys?

Keys are necessarily indicative of privacy.

Keys lock and unlock passageways to places that are otherwise not open to all.

Not only that, but keys indicate a designated keeper. When we make keys, we don’t openly hand out copies to anyone who will take them. Nor do we advertise the design scheme so that anyone else can make the same key. That would be like designing a front door lock to your house, making a very special key for you alone to have it, and then sending copies to everyone in the city. That would be what we call “defeating the purpose”, for why make a door with a lock if, at the end of the day, it will be reduced to an openable door for anyone?

And so, privacy and a keeper. They are necessarily implied in our Lord’s teaching on the Church.

This also hits upon the notion of exclusivity. It is far more fashionable nowadays to think of Christianity as a broad road for everyone to travel. A smorgasbord from which to choose what is and what is not valid, true, and authentically in conformity to the teaching of Christ’s school. A self-made worldview from which one can choose what the dimensions are of the sources of divine revelation.

At the end of the day, the plain teaching of Jesus on the Church, in concert with any reasonable employment of the image and function of “keys”, is that there is only one Church which is locked, but opened through the keeper of the keys.

<Orthodox and Protestants rise up and load up their magazines with all the general, diffuse, and multifaceted ways in which keys and their keepers are understood in the New Testament>

In Catholic ecclesiology, the local bishop opens the doors to the kingdom of God. You can settle down, my Eastern friends. However, in order that each of the sacred spaces of each local realm is not divorced from the unity Christ intended, a universal singularity above all the local bishops exists in a hierarchy from bishop to Metropolitan, from Metropolitan to Patriarch, and from Patriarch to Pope.

For my Protestant friends... well, I’m afraid the basic Protestant concept of ecclesiology defies the very logic of keys. Why? Because a true Church, in Protestant thinking, is free for the making of anyone so long as they feel they are secure in the recipe they are finding from the text of Scripture. That is akin to Christ establishing an enclosed society with key-keepers to oversee the entrance and exit, while at the same time sending the key-schematic to the entire world so that they can make their own keys, their own societies, and their own privately discerned rules.

Can you imagine if we applied the Protestant scheme to local government? The police force?

The other day, I was with my gym buddy and we were talking about how I could use the Protestant ecclesial philosophy to make myself a police officer and start collecting some fines. If I just pick up the book of codes, laws, and penalties... learn them more than any local judges in the proximate county courts, and then put a light/siren on my car and start scanning the streets.

When I’m asked for my badge number, the sheriff under which I’m deputized, or by which authority I claim to possess the authority to enforce the law, I will just say that the text of the code of ordinances, federal and state laws, and all the details corroborative supply me with what I need.

Anyway, I can think of some Protestant rejoinders/rebuttals, but I’m out of time.

Human beings have long sought to answer life’s deepest questions: What is the meaning of life? Where is everything headed? Is there an ultimate goal? The very act of posing these questions reveals something profoundly significant about the human condition—namely, that there is immense power in knowing the purpose and end of any object or endeavor. If creation itself, with all that it contains, is the object of our inquiry, then its telos—its ultimate goal—holds the defining capacity to illumine the purpose of all things. Once this purpose and goal are rightly comprehended, they provide the proper measure by which to evaluate the worth of everything within the created order. This means that this comprehension is vital to understanding what life is all about, and therefore to understanding what everything we do is all about.

Devoid of divine revelation, humanity is compelled to grope for answers from the ground up, relying solely on what can be observed through the senses. Yet when the Creator graciously unveils His own mysteries, answers descend from above. This revelation from on high is the singular privilege of the Christian faith. From Genesis to the Apocalypse, the biblical narrative reveals that creation was fashioned for the glory of God the Father through the inheritance of His eternally begotten Son, brought forth in the living power and fruitfulness of the Holy Spirit. More particularly, the eternal Son assumes the nature of mankind and opens the way for humanity to be united with Him as joint heirs of all things. In short, the divine goal is to conform human beings to the likeness of His own Sonship, that the Eternal Son might be the firstborn among many brothers. The Apostle Paul articulates this truth with profound brevity (Rom. 8:28-30):

“And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose. For whom he did foreknow, he also did predestinate to be conformed to the image of his Son, that he might be the firstborn among many brethren. Moreover whom he did predestinate, them he also called: and whom he called, them he also justified: and whom he justified, them he also glorified.”

In the infinite wisdom of Almighty God, this eternal plan embraces the freely chosen fall of man and the dramatic unfolding of redemption through the saving work of His Son, Jesus Christ. The Lord Jesus—Himself the eternally blessed God—becomes Man, taking into His own person the full plight of humanity. By His death and resurrection, He rectifies our fall and, in His rising, draws humanity back to its intended destiny.

The central burden of this reflection, however, is to show how the resurrection of Christ transvaluates all things in this present world—reordering and redefining their value. In Christ’s resurrection, we behold our own future. Scripture declares Him the “firstfruits” of the resurrection (1 Cor. 15:23). This means that no investment we make in the fleeting span of our earthly life can compare to the surpassing value of what awaits when the page of this temporal existence is turned and we step into the eternal chapter that follows. There we shall either inherit the Kingdom of God (Matt. 25:34), which knows no end, or be cast into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels (Matt. 25:41). Objectively considered, there is therefore no rational ground for investing more in the present age than in the life to come, for the latter endures while this world is passing away. This is the plain logic of our Lord’s solemn question:

“For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?” (Mark 8:36)

Consequently, even the attachments that have most deeply captured our hearts must undergo a thorough transvaluation in light of creation’s ultimate goal and humanity’s appointed destiny. The first and most urgent priority is to sever every tie that would imperil our eternal salvation:

“And if thy hand offend thee, cut it off: it is better for thee to enter into life maimed, than having two hands to go into hell, into the fire that never shall be quenched: Where their worm dieth not, and the fire is not quenched. And if thy foot offend thee, cut it off: it is better for thee to enter halt into life, than having two feet to be cast into hell, into the fire that never shall be quenched: Where their worm dieth not, and the fire is not quenched. And if thine eye offend thee, pluck it out: it is better for thee to enter into the kingdom of God with one eye, than having two eyes to be cast into hell fire: Where their worm dieth not, and the fire is not quenched.” (Mark 9:43-48)

We must resolutely turn away from sin and all its near occasions. This much is clear to every Christian. Yet the path to glory is not merely a matter of renouncing what is wrong. Christ does not call us simply to abandon our ordinary faults. Rather, He summons us to surrender everything for His sake—both our wrongs and our rights. The Christian life cannot be reduced to the avoidance of wrongdoing, an ideal that even many non-Christians readily affirm. We have all heard people across every spectrum describe others with phrases such as “Oh, he is a great guy,” “That dude is a good man,” or “That woman is such a great person.” Indeed, the world is filled with individuals we would readily call good.

Christians are called to something far higher: to imitate Jesus Christ. More specifically, “If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow me.” (Luke 9:23) We cannot reduce the life of our Lord to that of a man who merely avoided wrongdoing. Instead, He declares, “I came down from heaven, not to do mine own will, but the will of him that sent me.” (John 6:38) What was the will of the Father? It was not just living a nice life. It was something very specific, gruesome, gut-wrenching, violating, and most of all, a submission to the worst pain. It was the cross. Christ emptied Himself and became obedient to God unto death, for which God highly exalted Him.

Herein lies the Christian mystery: we too are called to empty ourselves as living sacrifices to God and to seek the reward granted to those who suffer with Christ in this life (Rom. 8:17). We are not merely asked to relinquish our wrongs, but to surrender our rights—indeed, everything that might hinder our heavenly destiny—and to embrace the life that leads to final glorification.

Everything.

This includes even those attachments we rightly regard as good, noble, and precious. They, too, must be subjected to the transvaluation wrought by the Kingship of Jesus Christ. That means your spouse, your children, your parents, your siblings, your closest friends, your occupation, your nation, your leaders—and every other claim we might consider a rightful part of our lives. Jesus Christ Himself foretold this radical reordering when He taught:

“If any man come to me, and hate not his father, and mother, and wife, and children, and brethren, and sisters, yea, and his own life also, he cannot be my disciple” (Luke 14:26)

This absolute demand has never failed to send a shock through those who hear it. Even for those who have accepted it, its piercing truth can stir fresh difficulty whenever new relationships, attachments, or tender bonds enter our lives. And yet the condition remains unchanging.

One Christian writer and musician, Keith Green (d. 1982), a bold “John the Baptist”–style voice in the 1970s, captured this reality with striking vividness:

“The heart of the gospel is that we must die with Christ in order to live with Him. But what exactly does it mean to die with Christ? To begin, it means that we are dead to our rights. And that means signing over to God our desires, our dreams, our hurts. All that we are or will be. What do you think Paul meant when he said, ‘For you have died and your life is hidden with Christ in God’ (Col. 3:3)? He wasn’t talking about a theory, or a nice metaphor. He meant that at the point of real salvation we are nailed to the cross with Jesus. We go down to the grave. And a new life— God’s life— is born in us. What we’re talking about, at the deepest level, is an exchange of our will. I give my will over to God, and begin to pursue His will for me. A lot of people get stuck on certain behaviors— old habits, for instance. They want to clear up their flesh without becoming pure in heart first. You become pure in heart by wanting what God wants. It’s easy to give up your wrongs— but much harder to give up your rights. Have you ever heard of a dead person calling a lawyer from the grave to sue someone for violating his rights? The dead have no rights… True, God’s love is not conditional— but there is a condition on experiencing the true life of Christ. It is giving over my will. That means I have stopped manipulating God’s Word for my own gain. Have you died with Christ? Or are you trying to live with Him at the same time you’re doing everything to accommodate your own fleshly desires? […] You cannot have your life and the life of Christ residing in you at the same time. The Holy Spirit doesn’t want the flesh for a roommate… We endure by casting everything—hopes and cares alike— upon Him. That’s our work of faith: to identify every fleshly goal or care that draws us away from God, and cast it all over to Him. Dying to it. Faith is not just a hope—faith is a deed. It’s active, not passive. Faith is God and me in partnership. First, His will replaces mine, then His power enables me to do all that He says.” A Cry in the Wilderness: Twelve Bold Messages About Uncompromising Faith (Nashville, TN: Sparrow Press, 1993), 6-7

Therefore, on this Easter Sunday, April 5, 2026, let us allow the resurrection of Christ to transvaluate every earthly care, so that we might invest wholeheartedly in what will endure forever. This does not entail the neglect or rejection of our temporal responsibilities. Rather, it calls us to evaluate every action, every investment, and every commitment in the light of eternity—measuring their true significance by the standard of the age to come.

In his De septem verbis Christi in cruce (Seven Words from the Cross), St. Robert Bellarmine gives an extensive commentary on the words of our Savior that He uttered while He hung from the cross for the sins of the world. Some portions below exemplify Bellarmine's keen awareness of the cross as a means of satisfying divine justice, with the penalty of sin borne by Christ. The full English versions can be accessed here.

Bellarmine was quite clear that Christ, the Innocent One, bore our penalty in His death, so as to merit reconciliation with God:

“The world is the enemy of God… God therefore in loving this world cherishes His enemy with the intention of making it His friend. For this purpose has He sent His Son, "the Prince of Peace," (Is 2,6) that by His means the world might be reconciled to God… Thus God has loved the world, His enemy, and has taken the first step towards peace, by giving to it His Son, Who might bring about the reconciliation by suffering the penalty due to His enemy.”

When inquiring into why the Father abandoned His Only-Begotten Son, Bellarmine answers with the following. Note the clear indication that the punishment of Hell is being, in some way, quenched in the sufferings of Christ:

Why, then, did God abandon His Son in the midst of His trials and bitter anguish? Five reasons occur to me, and these I will mention in order that those who are wiser than I may have the opportunity of investigating better and more useful ones.

The first reason that occurs to me is the greatness and the multitude of the sins which mankind have committed against their God, and which the Son of God undertook to expiate in His own Flesh: ‘Who His own self,’ writes St. Peter, ‘bore our sins in His Body upon the tree; that we being dead to sins, should live to justice; by Whose stripes you were healed." (1 Peter 2:24) Indeed, the enormity of the offences which Christ undertook to atone for in His Passion is in a certain sense infinite, by reason of the Person of infinite majesty and excellence which has been offended; but, on the other hand, the Person of Him Who atones, which Person is the Son of God, is also of infinite majesty and excellence, and consequently every suffering willingly undertaken by the Son of God, even if He spilt but one drop of His Blood, would be a sufficient atonement. Still it was pleasing to God that His Son should suffer innumerable torments, and sorrows most severe, because we had committed not one but manifold offences, and the Lamb of God, ‘Who taketh away the sins of the world,’ took upon Himself not the sin of Adam only, but all the sins of all mankind. This is shown in that abandonment of which the Son complains to the Father: ‘Why hast Thou forsaken Me?’

The second reason is the greatness and the multitude of the pains of hell, and the Son of God shows how great they are by wishing to quench them in the torrents of His Blood. The prophet Isaias teaches us how terrible they are, that they are clearly intolerable, for he asks: ‘Which of you can dwell with devouring fire? Which of you shall dwell with everlasting burnings?’ (Isaiah 33:14) Let us therefore return thanks to God with our whole heart, Who was willing to abandon His Only-Begotten Son to the greatest torments for a time, to free us from flames which would be eternal. Let us return thanks, too, from the bottom of our heart to the Lamb of God, Who preferred to be abandoned by God under His chastising sword than abandon us to the teeth of that beast, who would ever gnaw and would never be satisfied with gnawing us.

The third reason is the high value of the grace of God, which is that most precious pearl which Christ, the wise merchant, purchased by the sale of everything He had, and restored to us. The grace of God, which had been given to us in Adam, and which we lost through Adam's sin, is so precious a stone that whilst it adorns our souls, and renders them pleasing to God, it is also a pledge of eternal felicity. No one could restore to us that precious stone, which was the gem of our riches, and of which the cunning of the serpent had deprived us, except the Son of God, Who overcame by His wisdom the wickedness of the devil, and Who gave it back to us at His own great cost, since He endured so many labours and sorrows. The dutifulness of that Son prevailed, Who took on Himself a most laborious pilgrimage to recover for us that precious gem.

The fourth cause was the exceeding greatness of the kingdom of heaven, which the Son of God opened for us by His immense toil and suffering, and to Whom the Church gratefully sings, ‘When Thou hadst overcome the sting of death, Thou didst open the kingdom of heaven to believers.’ But in order to conquer the sting of death it was necessary to sustain a hard contest with death, and that the Son might triumph the more gloriously in this contest, He was abandoned by His Father.

The fifth cause was the immense love which the Son had for His Father. For in the redemption of the world and in the wiping away of sin, He proposed to make an abundant and a superabundant satisfaction to the honour of His Father. And this could not have been done if the Father had not abandoned the Son, that is, had not allowed Him to suffer all the torments which could be devised by the malice of the devil, or could be endured by a man.

If, therefore, any one asks why God abandoned His Son on the Cross when He was suffering such an extremity of torments, we can answer that He was abandoned in order to teach us the greatness of sin, the greatness of hell, the greatness of Divine grace, the greatness of eternal life, and the greatness of the love which the Son of God had for His Father. From these reasons there arises another question: Why, forsooth, has God mixed the martyrs' chalice of suffering with such spiritual consolation as that they preferred to drain their chalice sweetened with these consolations, than be without the suffering and the consolation, and allowed His dearly beloved Son to drain to the dregs the bitter chalice of His suffering without any consolation? The answer is, that in the case of the martyrs none of the reasons which we have given above in reference to our Lord have any place.

As for how we are to understand the Father forsaking the Son, Bellarmine says it was the Father forsaking His Fatherly protection of His Son and permitting Him to the torture of the crucifixion and the feeling of being deprived of all consolation:

“Let us now come to the interpretation of the words of our Lord: “Eli, Eli, lamma sabacthani.” These words are taken from the twenty-first Psalm: “O God, my God, look upon me; why hast Thou forsaken me?”[4] The words “look upon me,” which occur in the middle of the verse, were added by the Septuagint interpreters: but in the Hebrew text those words only are found which our Lord pronounced. We must remark that the Psalms were written in Hebrew, and the words spoken by Christ were partly Syriac, which was the language then in use amongst the Jews. These words: “Tabitha cumi--”Damsel, I say to thee, Arise,” and Ephphetha--”Be thou opened,” and some other words in the Gospel are Syriac and not Hebrew. Our Lord then complains that He has been abandoned by God, and He complains crying out with a loud voice. Both these circumstances must be briefly explained. The abandonment of Christ by His Father might be interpreted in five ways, but there is only one true interpretation. There were indeed five unions between the Father and the Son: one the natural and eternal union of the Person of the Son in essence: the second, a new bond of union of the Divine nature with the human nature in the Person of the Son, or what is the same thing, the union of the Divine Person of the Son with the human nature: the third was the union of grace and will, for Christ as man was “full of grace and truth,”[5] as He testifies in St. John: “I do always the things that please Him:”[6] and of Him the Father spoke: “This is My beloved Son in Whom I am well pleased.”[7] The fourth was the union of glory, since the soul of Christ from the moment of conception enjoyed the beatific vision: the fifth was the union of protection to which He refers when He says: “And He that sent Me is with Me, and He hath not left Me alone.”[8] The first kind of union is inseparable and eternal, because it is founded in the Divine Essence, so our Lord says: “I and the Father are One:”[9] and therefore Christ did not say: My Father, why hast Thou forsaken Me? but “My God, why hast Thou forsaken Me?” For the Father is called the God of the Son only after the Incarnation and by reason of the Incarnation. The second kind of union never has nor can be dissolved, because what God has once assumed He can never lay aside and so the Apostle says: “He that spared not His own Son, but delivered Him up for us all;[10] and, St. Peter, “Christ suffered for us,” and “Christ therefore having suffered in the flesh:”[11] all which proves that it was not a mere man, but the true Son of God, and Christ the Lord Who was crucified. The third kind of union also still exists and ever will exist: “Because Christ also died once for our sins, the just for the unjust,”[12] as St. Peter expresses it; for the death of Christ would have profited us nothing had this union of grace been dissolved. The fourth union could not be disturbed, because the beatitude of the soul cannot be lost, since it embraces the enjoyment of every good, and the superior part of the soul of Christ was truly happy.[13]

There remains then the union of protection only, which was broken for a short period, in order to allow time for the oblation of the bloody sacrifice for the redemption of mankind. God the Father indeed could in many ways have protected Christ, and have hindered the Passion, and for this reason in His Prayer in the Garden Christ says: “Father, all things are possible to Thee: remove this chalice from Me, but not what I will, but what Thou wilt:”[14] and again to St. Peter: “Thinkest Thou that I cannot ask My Father, and He will give Me presently more than twelve legions of angels?”[15] Christ also as God could have saved His Body from suffering, for He says “No man taketh” My life “away from Me, but I lay it down of Myself[16] and this is what Isaias had foretold: “He was offered because it was His own will.”[17] Finally, the blessed Soul of Christ could have transmitted to the Body the gift of impassibility and incorruption; but it was pleasing to the Father, and to the Word, and to the Holy Spirit, for the accomplishment of the decree of the Blessed Trinity, to allow the power of man to prevail for a time against Christ. For this was that hour to which Christ referred when He said to those who had come to apprehend Him: “This is your hour and the power of darkness.”[18] Thus then God abandoned His Son when He allowed His Human flesh to suffer such cruel torments without any consolation, and Christ crying out with a loud voice manifested this abandonment so that all might know the greatness of the price of our redemption, for up to that hour He had borne all His torments with such patience and equanimity as to appear almost bereft of the power of feeling. He did not complain of the Jews who accused Him, nor of Pilate who condemned Him, nor of the soldiers who crucified Him. He did not groan: He did not cry out: He did not give any outward sign of His suffering; and now at the point of death, in order that mankind might understand, and that we, His servants, might remember so great a grace, and value the price of our redemption, He wished publicly to declare the great suffering of His Passion. Wherefore these words: “My God, why hast Thou abandoned Me?” are not words of one who accuses, or who reproaches, or who complains, but, as I have said, they are the words of One who declares the greatness of His suffering for the best of reasons, and at the most opportune of moments.”

As I have mentioned to many listeners and viewers in the past, I was raised in a Catholic household. However, my formation lacked any substantial spiritual depth or serious catechesis. Consequently, while I was familiar with the crucifixion of Christ from an early age, it carried no profound personal significance beyond the tragic narrative of a divine figure suffering at the hands of unjust men. During my adolescence, I embraced atheism, accompanied by a deep sense of existential despair. In this worldview, suffering, death, and unrelenting absurdity constituted the entirety of existence.

Upon entering college, I encountered the works of prominent Christian apologists, which quickly drew me into serious engagement with the intellectual contest between theism and naturalism, materialism, and nihilism. Through the influence of a Protestant roommate (to whom I am indebted), I underwent a significant intellectual and spiritual shift: I came to recognize the existence of God, the reality of my own sin and alienation from Him, and the sobering truth that I would one day have to render an account to my Creator for how I had lived the gift of life He gave me. It was at this juncture that I began to study the life of Jesus Christ. In particular, what it meant for Him to be “the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world.”

The presentation I received was, as can be imagined:

(1) I'm a sinner
(2) God will judge sinners in justice
(3) Christ bore my sin and died in my place
(4) I have to repent/believe to be set free and saved

Many years later, as my journey led me through Anglicanism and I found myself standing at the crossroads between Rome and Byzantium, I became increasingly aware of Catholic and Orthodox voices sharply criticizing what they termed the “Protestant Gospel,” particularly its reliance on the framework of penal substitutionary atonement (PSA) as a sort of base upon which to exclude all works from being necessary in the plan of salvation. They would claim that PSA and sola fide are two sides of the same coin, defining it as a form of cheap grace or legalistic transactionalism in which God, having exhausted His wrath against sin upon His Son, is effectively obligated to forgive, with no further claim upon the sinner.

This critique unsettled me. It was especially troubling when articulated by Eastern Orthodox clergy and apologists, who often portrayed PSA not merely as erroneous but as repugnant, blasphemous, and rooted in a fundamentally distorted—and even malevolent—theology of God.

What troubled me about this characterization was that my own extensive reading of John Calvin, Martin Luther, and other Reformed theologians had never yielded such conclusions, nor did I find that the internal logic of their systems necessitated them. Indeed, while still a Protestant and while deepening my engagement with Reformed scholarship, I became increasingly attentive to the transformative and ontological dimensions of salvation. Authors such as Geerhardus Vos, Herman Ridderbos, George Eldon Ladd, and John Murray, among others, helped me appreciate the eschatological character of redemption as it unfolds in the present age.

In particular, the New Testament motif of being “in Christ” (en Christō) emerged as the overarching structure of salvation, within which justification constitutes only one important subset. Equally essential within classic Reformed soteriology are the doctrines of sanctification and new creation, which embody the genuinely transformative element of salvation—an aspect that Catholic and Orthodox critiques of Protestantism frequently overlook or underemphasize.

One particularly influential work in this regard was Robert Tannehill’s monograph Dying and Rising with Christ (a Methodist scholar), which further reinforced my conviction that Christ’s work was not limited to a legal transaction securing the forgiveness of sins, but involved the profound remaking of human nature from within by the process of a shutting down of the old "age" (aeon) and the birth of a new one out of the tomb of St. Joseph of Arimathea. In this respect, the Catholic and especially the Orthodox understanding of New Covenant redemption—emphasizing salvation as the healing of a profound spiritual sickness and the genuine restoration of the human person through the “medicine” of the Gospel, the Church, the sacraments, asceticism, and participation in the divine life—captures an essential truth that is too often neglected in much of Evangelical theology.

Nevertheless, I have never regarded these richer, more participatory and ontological emphases as inherently incompatible with the doctrine of penal substitution. My longstanding interest, therefore, has been to demonstrate the comprehensive harmony between these seemingly divergent perspectives—particularly between Christus Victor and recapitulation models on the one hand, and vicarious satisfaction or penal substitution on the other.

Beresford J. Kidd (1846–1948), an Anglican priest and respected church historian, was a meticulous scholar whose works on the Patristic period are characterized by extensive quotation from and careful reference to the original sources. In his classic study, The Roman Primacy to A.D. 461, Kidd examines how Pope St. Leo the Great understood the origin, nature, scope, and authority of the papal office. Although Kidd himself thought this was crazy, it is noteworthy that even a scholar unsympathetic to the papacy was compelled, by the clarity and explicitness of Leo’s own statements, to acknowledge that the essential claims later defined by the First Vatican Council had already been articulated in full by the mid-fifth century.

Early Release!

For scholars and students interested in tracing the doctrine of Penal Substitutionary Atonement (PSA) within early Christian theology, a dedicated volume is now available that examines its foundational presence in Patristic thought and its subsequent development. The work opens with an overview of the core theological concepts, followed by an analysis of their reception and elaboration across the Latin, Byzantine, and Reformed traditions—from the medieval period through the Reformation and into post-Reformation theology.

The central section of the volume provides a comprehensive and systematic analysis of more than thirty Church Fathers, drawing directly from primary sources to identify and elucidate the presence, as well as the subtleties and variations, of substitutionary and penal motifs within their respective soteriological frameworks. This examination deliberately transcends a mere florilegium of isolated Patristic quotations. Particular emphasis is placed on situating each Father’s statements within their exegetical context, attending closely to the author’s explicit rationale and conceptual development. In so doing, the study consciously avoids the word-concept fallacy—the exegetical error of equating the presence or absence of specific terminology with the presence or absence of the underlying theological concept itself—thereby ensuring a more nuanced and defensible interpretation of the sources for those readers who are more conscious of such mistakes.

It is available in Hardback, Paperback, and Kindle versions.

God bless!