Baxter Kruger Quotes

Justification has so dominated the landscape of Christian thought that adoption has been marginalized. We don't hear much about our adoption at all. We hear a lot about forgiveness, but very little about the staggering reality of our inclusion in Jesus' relationship with his Father in the Spirit.

It was not the Fall of Adam, therefore, that set God’s agenda; it was the decision to share the great dance with us through Jesus. Adam’s plunge certainly threatened God’s dreams for us, but that threat had been anticipated and already strategically overcome in the predestination of the incarnation. Jesus Christ did not become human to fix the fall; he became human to accomplish the eternal purpose of our adoption, and in order to bring our adoption to pass, the Fall had to be called to a halt and undone….Jesus is not a footnote to Adam and his Fall; the Fall, and indeed creation itself, is a footnote to the purpose of God in Jesus Christ.

The doctrine of the Trinity means that relationship, that fellowship, that togetherness and sharing, that self-giving and other-centeredness are not afterthoughts with God, but the deepest truth about the being of God. The Father is not consumed with Himself; He loves the Son and the Spirit. And the Son is not riddled with narcissism; he loves his Father and the Spirit. And the Spirit is not preoccupied with himself and his own glory; the Spirit loves the Father and the Son. Giving, not taking; other-centeredness, not self-centeredness; sharing, not hoarding are what fire the rockets of God and lie at the very center of God’s existence as Father, Son and Spirit.

When you start with legal holiness, you have eyes only for the cross, and you never see that in Jesus Christ, nothing less than the eternal trinitarian life of Father, Son and Spirit is being lived out inside human existence. You never really get the staggering meaning of the incarnation.

That is the best picture of what the incarnation means when we look at in its true context. For that is what happened in Jesus Christ from his birth to his resurrection. The Son of God entered into our broken, Fallen, alienated human existence. He took upon himself our fallen flesh. He stood in Adam's shoes, in Israel's shoes, in our shoes, and he steadfastly refused to be Adam, He refused to be Israel. He refused to be what we are.

The Christian God is interested in relationship with us, and not just relationship, but union, and not just union, but such a union that everything He is and has—all glory and fullness, all joy and beauty and unbridled life—is to be shared with us and to become as much ours as it is His. The plan from the beginning, in the Christian vision, is that God would give Himself to us, and nothing less, so that we could be filled to overflowing with the divine life.

The ones who are lost are not the sinners who are listening to Jesus, but the religious people who have no problems, at least in their own minds.

The life that God lives as Father, Son and Spirit is not boring and sad and lonely. There is no emptiness in this circle, no depression or fear or angst. The Trinitarian life is a life of unchained fellowship and intimacy, fired by passionate, self-giving love and mutual delight. Such love, giving rise to such togetherness and fellowship, overflows in unbounded joy, in infinite creativity and unimaginable goodness. The gospel begins here with this God and with this divine life, for there is no other. Before time dawned and space was called to be, before the heavens were stretched out and filled with a sea of stars, before the earth was summoned and filled with people and life and endless beauty, before there was anything, there was the Father, Son and Spirit and the great dance of Trinitarian life. The amazing truth is that this Triune God, in staggering and lavish love, determined to open the circle and share the Trinitarian life with others. This is the one, eternal and abiding reason for the existence of the universe and human life within it. There is no other God, no other will of God, no second plan, no hidden agenda for human beings. From the beginning, God is Father, Son and Spirit, and from the beginning, this God has determined not to exist without us.

John slowed and took a deep breath. “Why do you think I started with the Word, instead of the Son?” “A moment ago I thought that perhaps you used Word because you wanted us to know that Jesus is God’s message to us.” “Yes, indeed. Think back to your professor’s favorite quote from Karli.” I could feel his joy in leading me. “I could never forget it; my teacher said it a hundred times. ‘Not God alone, but God and humanity together, constitute the meaning of the Word of God.’” “Now,” he said, his voice quivering in anticipation, “substitute ‘Jesus’ in place of ‘the Word of God,’ and say the quote again.” “Not God alone, but God and humanity together, constitute the meaning of Jesus.” I repeated it several times, my whole body shaking as I did. The apostle watched me with delight, which made me proud. I changed the order of the phrases several times in my mind, then cried out, “Jesus means that God and humanity are together.” The apostle covered his mouth with both hands, leaning back in joy. Then he cocked his head and raised his eyebrows, as if cheering me to continue. But he couldn’t wait, and all but shouted, “What is the opposite of together?” “Separated!” Then it hit me. “Jesus means that God and humanity are not separated but together in union! And this union,” I said, fully aware that I was saying way more than I could possibly understand, “is the Word of God!” “ThatistheGospelAccordingtoSaintJohn!

Yet I cried out, “But what about the Eloi? Didn’t the Father forsake Jesus on the cross as he encountered our sin? That is what I have always been taught.” “Forsake?” he growled, obviously appalled at the thought, anger flashing in his eyes. “Who could think that the Father would ever forsake Jesus? He was with him, in him, through it all.” “Sir, is that not what the psalm says? Matthew and Mark quote, ‘My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me.’ And even in your gospel you quote from the same psalm.” “Do your people not know how to read?” John frowned, almost dumbfounded yet not losing his joy. “Jesus could hardly breathe as he hung on that cross, but he was able to speak the first line of that psalm in victory. We all knew it by heart. Read the whole psalm, brother, and you will see. ‘For He has not despised nor abhorred the affliction of the afflicted; Nor has He hidden His face from him; But when he cried to Him for help, He heard.’” He

For the disciples, Jesus is not a mere prophet heralding the latest divine message. Jesus is a revolution. Note the very first verse of John’s Gospel: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” These three simple statements carry hitherto unknown and inconceivable ideas about God that are destined to change the world. As a good Jew, John certainly knows the first verse in the Hebrew Bible: “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.”2 But John has met Jesus, and “saw His glory, glory as of the only begotten from the Father.”3 While John certainly agrees that God created all things, he cannot leave it at that, for he has seen something that has changed his understanding of everything. Note the parallel

Not caught off guard by Adam’s sin, it was always His prior intent to redeem us from it. “He planned that we would be woven into the fabric of Jesus’ existence,” writes C. Baxter Kruger. We cannot work our way into that circle of the Trinity. This is why Christ attacked our side of the covenant. He invaded our side of the divine-human relationship. He violently cleansed us through His death. He never intended us to fulfill our side of any agreement. He never for a moment entrusted His plan to us or expected us to be in charge of our own spiritual destiny.

The eternal purpose of the Triune God is not to place us under law and turn us into religious legalists; it is to include us in their relationship, and give us a place in their shared life and fellowship and joy.

I love the scene in The Shack when Papa says to Mackenzie, “Just follow my voice” (91). It is no more complicated than that. But oh, Lord, there are so many voices. Jesus’ Papa loves us forever, and shouts our name with a smiling face, but we have weird ears. There are childhood wounds, the voices of our disappointed parents, the sermons on the angry god, the constant whisper: “I am not worthy, I am not important, not lovable, not good enough, not okay.

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Yet those who embrace Him, who believe in His name, find His Light, His I AM setting them free to become their true selves, free to live as children of God in the darkness, discovering their origin beyond their earthly parents in the Word in God. And so the Word became flesh and entered the darkness in person, and found His way within us. And we perceived His true identity, His glory as the only begotten out of the Father, an overflowing fountain of grace and truth. This

Jesus has given you his own eyes. Hold no secrets from Jesus, and you will see everything with his eyes.

The Lamb of God, slain by Adam’s race, lives now inside our abyss of shame, and is not swallowed by it: the light shines in our darkness, and our darkness cannot overcome it. This is our hope.” He

There was certainly a battle, but I get the sense that you are referring to something very specific.” “There is only one battle.” “One?” I asked, curious. His eyes flashed, and he looked straight at me. “Union or separation,” he said definitively. “Once again, sir, you have my undivided attention.” “Indeed,” John boomed, as if he had been given permission to hold forth. “The Greeks and the Pharisees make the same mistake, though in different ways—a large mistake,” he exclaimed, with a sigh of lament, “and apparently these Gnostics are their children.” I knew to the core of my soul that we had arrived at the heart of everything. I could see it in his face and in the way he held his head. I was not sure what he meant by union or separation, but it was clear that to him this was the crosshairs of the cosmos. “I think I could come up with some reasonable ideas about the connections between the Greeks and the Gnostics, but how could the Pharisees be connected?” “The truth of all truths: Jesus. Jesus in his Father and us in him. Without Jesus, what do you have?” “Not much, I reckon. Just ourselves.” “Ourselves and ideas of separation from God,” St. John declared in his most authoritative apostolic tone. “Listen, young Aidan.” And as I did, I felt that my world was about to be shattered. “The assumption of separation is the great darkness.” His words hit me like a blow to my gut, but before I could recover he continued on. “Then, you see, we have to find our way to God. The Greeks offer their way through their minds; the Pharisees offer theirs through external rules. This is Ophis’s chief trick—blind us to how close the Lord is, closer than breath: we’re in him, and he’s in us. Ophis deceives the nations by one lie—separation. Our joy”—his face lit up like the rising sun—“is to tell the truth, let the light shine—and persevere the tribulation of enlightenment.” “Wow,

Then a fortress of stone, impenetrable as hardened blue steel, appeared in my gaze. Helplessness seized my heart, and I cried, feeling the pitiful sorrow that comes when a prize is again and again just beyond your reach. As I shook my head in self-loathing, I heard the voice of Jesus, the Word, quiet as a clear whisper: “Take sides with me, against the way you see.” “Lord Jesus . . . this fortress is me, isn’t it? I have built it, piece by miserable piece, but I cannot tear it down.” “I Am,” I heard. I heard at last, and all that was within me declared, Amen! I let go, of what I did not know. The fortress burst and vanished in a blast of purest light. In the light I could see, see beyond my own seeing. Two great eyes appeared, wide open and warm, clear as crystal, deep as a mountain lake and unclouded by any hint of shadow, and trained with affection upon me. In the eyes I saw myself reflected. “This

This cannot be,” I murmured. I wept and shuddered, convulsing in joy yet still not daring to believe. In his Father’s eyes, my Father’s eyes, I heard the song of light singing over me; I still cannot begin to describe what I was experiencing, except that it was a seeing that was also hearing. In the song flowed Abba’s unsearchable care, all around me, in me, cradling me gently as a womb—all of me, every fearful, shame-riddled, guilt-ridden, war-torn fragment. All was known and accepted, embraced within and without—even, impossibly, delighted in. I felt a comfort and love more tender and beautiful than I ever dreamed could be possible. Moving quietly, St. John, ever in tune with the Holy Spirit, left the room. He was giving me space to know, or as he would say, time for my imagination to expand until it was worthy of its theme. I rolled onto my back with my eyes closed, marveling, when I felt Jesus’s presence. I could feel him—Jesus—in me. I groaned as I realized that it had been a thousand years since I felt—or allowed myself to feel. Then

He lay back unfazed, in a confidence unknown to me. “The Holy Spirit,” he whispered with the patience of a sage, “gives us time to make fools of ourselves, so we will long to see with Jesus’s eyes.” He imitated a blind person suddenly seeing. His words reminded me of George MacDonald’s. “This is how we learn. As we do, we see people, even the Romans, with new eyes.” “But

He sat beside me, then grabbed the bread in silence and tore it into shreds, almost violently, dropping each piece deliberately onto his rag. The drama caught me off guard, but before I could say anything, he raised his wineskin above his head and poured it out onto the broken pieces of bread. Like water hitting a flat rock, the splatter was unmistakable. My heart, already raw with emotion and hope, was spellbound by the sight and sound. I couldn’t see it at the moment, but his dramatic action was already preparing me for his final and greatest lesson. The apostle soared into prayer: Lord Jesus, only begotten, beloved, and faithful Son of Abba, the living Word of God, anointed of the Holy Spirit, Son of Miriam, humble brother of the human race, Lord of all creation. With our whole hearts we honor you and bless your great name, the arche of creation, the Amen, the faithful and true Witness, the Lamb slain and seated upon the Throne of thrones, Heaven’s Gate, the “I Am,” Savior of the world, Victor over death and darkness. Worthy are you of all honor and glory and life, in this age and in all ages to come. We rest in you. Bless you for finding us in the great darkness, for receiving me and my young son and the whole world into your life with your Father, for giving us your eyes. Worthy, Lord Jesus, are you of the summation of the ages; blessed be your great Name. Holding

What just happened in this room, with all this light and shaking and encountering, forever changes the definition of education for me.” “This word education, it is not Greek.” John lifted his hands, and I could see his thoughts racing ahead of mine. “What does it mean?” “It comes from the Latin educare or maybe educere.” “What does educare mean?” he asked, rising to his feet. I could see that detective look in his eyes. “It means ‘to draw out,’ to draw out that which is within,” I submitted, aware that out of my mouth had again come way more than I knew. “As I suspected, my son,” he said quietly, “as I suspected. In the great hour three times Peter was asked if he was a disciple of Jesus; twice he denied our Lord with the very words ‘I am not.’ I took note of that, such a sharp contrast with our Lord’s ‘I Am.’ In time I realized that Peter’s terrible ‘I am not’ was healed by Jesus’s ‘I Am.’ I saw it with my own eyes, but I could not understand what Jesus was doing. It is the way for us all.” I

my heart is overwhelmed, but I’m seeing it now; this is the opposite of everything we in the West have been taught about the cross . . . I am seeing not God’s wrath, but ours, the wrath of the human race, our anger, scorn, bitterness, hostility, and enmity toward God—O Lord Jesus! This is awful!” “All of Ophis’s madness,” John said, picking up where all thought failed me. “His madness, as it had poisoned the mind of Adam’s race, gathered into one act of terrible iniquity, the complete rejection of the Father’s Son. The deepest darkness, the last broken fragment. Isaiah saw it: ‘He was despised and forsaken by men, and the Lord caused the iniquity of us all to encounter him.’” “Sir!” I fell to the ground in tears. “We cursed and damned and crucified the Word of God!” “And

He leaned forward slowly and embraced me again. “Jesus entered our iniquity by submitting to our insanity. Our blessed Lord made his way inside Adam’s broken eyes; that is why he cried out, and as he did his Father held him in his arms, even as I do you now—yet from the inside. Union with his Father and with us in darkness. ‘It is finished,’” he whispered in triumph, holding me as if he wanted me to feel the truth. My mind swirled like one of Ezekiel’s wheels. I understood what the apostle was saying, but this was so foreign to all that I knew. Then the universe inside me slowed, and I could see a single neon sign flashing before my eyes. It was the title of Jonathan Edwards’s famous sermon “Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God.” My guts wrenched. But I heard the song of light and knew to watch carefully. As I looked the words Sinners and God changed places in the sign. I gasped as “God in the Hands of Angry Sinners” appeared, pulsating with the rhythm of the song. “Oh, God! What have we done?” At

At last I could see. “Jesus’s submission to our hostile rejection of him was his way into our . . .” “Flesh,” the apostle finished. “The great darkness. Sarx! Where Ophis had his hold,” he shouted, lifting his hands and jumping to his feet. “Oh! Lord Jesus, yes! Amen! Union with us in our sin!” I thought his heart would burst in joy, as he let out a mighty sigh of relief. I think he believed he had lost me at this critical moment. He drew in a deep breath, then stared dramatically into my heart. “Listen carefully. The Son in whom all things are, who dwells face-to-face with Abba in Ruach HaKodesh, now dwells face-to-face with Adam’s race inside Ophis’s madness. Heaven’s gate,” he called out, raising his hands in worship. “The great ‘I Am’ inside the violent world of ‘I am not.’ All will see! This I know. In that day you will know that I am in My Father, you in Me, and I in you.

The penny finally dropped for me. I could see that Jesus bowed before our hatred to enter into our darkness—and he did—but instead of his Father forsaking him at that moment, his Father was in him and in the Holy Spirit. That is what John had been trying to help me see. On the cross Jesus brought his union with his Father in the Holy Spirit into His union with me, with us, with the world in our sin. The divine embrace. Heaven’s gate! In that moment all my questions stopped, and I wept at the genius and the stunning humility and the love of Jesus for me, for us all. I in them—I, with my Father and the Holy Spirit—in them and they in me. Then

There are those who want us to believe that on the day Adam fell, God the Father was filled with a bloodthirsty anger that demanded punishment before He would even consider forgiveness...But that is to assume that the Father was changed by Adam's sin, and that His heart is now divided toward His creatures" (p. 68).

The Weight of Glory,

For a great song on this, see Dave Ligenfelter, “Free to Be Me,” available at songsfromtheshack.com. 2.

how we pretend to be right when we are not.

What hits this son between the eyes is the fact that he cannot change his father’s heart. His father does not love him for what he does. His father does not stop loving him because he has rebelled and miserably failed. His father is his father—no matter what. He is and remains the beloved son because his father is and remains his father.

Christian faith is not something we do that gets us connected to God or gets us into the circle of life shared by the Father, Son and Spirit. Jesus Christ has done that. Faith is not something that we do that moves us from the unforgiven column to the forgiven column. That was done in Jesus. Faith is not something we do that gets us reconciled, justified, included, adopted, redeemed, saved. Jesus Christ has already done all of that. The fundamental character of Christian faith is that of discovery. Faith, as Luther said somewhere, is like the eye. It does not create what it sees; it sees what is there.

The Holy Spirit discloses Jesus to us so that we can know and experience Jesus’ own relationship with his Father, and be free to live in the Father’s embrace with Jesus.