I suppose that if I were a physician, I would field

questions about unusual symptoms. From strangers, I

mean, on airplanes. Instead, I get…

Oh, so you’re a pastor. I have a question. Do you believe

in predestination?

Now there is a simple, if entirely unsatisfying,

answer to that question. It is this: I do not believe in

predestination—I believe in God. And this, I believe,

must be the starting place for any Christian doctrine

conversation on an airplane or otherwise. God’s

agency. God’s freedom. God’s power.

So, let us begin by naming what makes the doctrine

of predestination, which I will call the doctrine

of election, a source of controversy or, worse,

embarrassment among us. It is the assumption that

predestination means this: There is a special group

of people—call them the elect or the chosen—whom

God has decided, before the foundation of the world,

to save, to favor, to reward, to prefer. This conviction

creates either smug arrogance (we are the saved) or

draining anxiety (Am I? Am I among the elect? How

about those I love? The ones who don’t believe?).

The doctrine, it is assumed, carves the world up into

two distinct, inseparable groups. The redeemed and

the reprobate. (By the way, those were the names of

the intramural football teams at my seminary.) The

redeemed and the reprobate. The saved and the lost.

The chosen and the rejected. God’s favorites and

those God has left behind. And, perhaps worst of all

in this conceiving of the doctrine, there is nothing that

any of us can do about the group we’ve already been

selected for. Human freedom utterly evaporates. We

become puppets on a divine string.

And if this were the picture of predestination that I

found in the pages of the Bible, I would join those

who oppose, reject, or simply ignore it. But when

I read scripture, when I seek to understand its

meaning, what I find is something else entirely.

I wish Wayne Boulton was here to describe it.

Wayne was a dear friend, a beloved pastor, a gifted

scholar, professor of Christian ethics at Hope

College, president of the Presbyterian School of

Christian Education in Richmond, Virginia, and in

retirement, came to Indianapolis where he was an

active participant in the life of this congregation.

I met Wayne when I arrived in Indianapolis in 2018,

and for several months, I had the opportunity to sit

in his presence and absorb his wisdom. I quickly

learned from Wayne that he was in the final stages

of writing a book on predestination. I quickly learned

not from Wayne that he was also in the final chapter

of a journey with pancreatic cancer. I remember

one conversation when Wayne described a tussle

he was having with his then publisher and, with a

big smile and a laugh, said, “Chris, I can’t switch

publishers—I’m dying!” Wayne died on February 1,

2019. His book, God Saves: Rethinking Christianity’s

Most Controversial Doctrine—and Why it Matters, was

published in January of 2022.

His title is his message. God saves. This must be

the starting place for any discussion of the doctrine

of predestination. Wayne writes, “The doctrine of

election, in brief, is the doctrine that doctrine will not

save us. Religion will not save us. Good behavior will

not save us. Why? Because God does all the saving…

and because God saves, we can rightly and assuredly

place our hope not in ourselves but in God.”

There is then a kind of tragic irony in the way that

this core belief in God’s power, which should elicit

comfort and humility has instead been used to

divide, cast judgement, and create feelings of selfimportance and pride. In my experience, these

misuses of scripture say far more about our cultural

moment and our human sinfulness than they do

about scripture or theology.

In fact, when we turn to the stories and images,

the words, and concepts of scripture, a different

understanding emerges. At its heart is the conviction

that God is both sovereign (all powerful) and

gracious (all loving). The wonderful story of Joseph

in the Book of Genesis provides a case in point.

The dramatic account of Joseph’s rise to power

in Egypt and the jealous and vindictive designs

of his brothers—it reads like the script of a Netflix

miniseries. There is conflict. Betrayal. Hatred.

Attempted murder. His brothers always at his heels.

And yet, throughout the story, there is this deeper,

subtle power at work. Joseph summarizes it when he

is finally reunited with his brothers, and he chooses

grace over punishment. Joseph says to his brothers,

“Even though you intended to do me harm, God

intended it for good.” Here God’s sovereignty and

power and God’s grace and love are joined together

in an incredible moment of reconciliation and even

salvation. As Wayne writes, “If grace is forgiving love,

then salvation is grace in action.”

Throughout the letters of Paul, which make up nearly

half of the New Testament, we find a similar pattern

emerge. Paul struggles with the reality of human

sinfulness, even evil, our rejection of God’s freely

offered grace. In Romans 7, he makes it personal.

“I do not do the good I want to do. Instead, the evil

that I do not want is what I do I keep doing.” Paul

then moves, as we do every Sunday morning, from

confession of sin to the assurance of God’s grace.

“Fear not! God’s Spirit dwells within you.” Paul

begins the eighth chapter of Romans, “There is no

condemnation for those in Christ.” That’s the context

for this morning’s scripture, meant by Paul to be filled

with the reassurance of God’s unconditional love

and the freedom that brings. God, who is full of grace

and mercy beyond human imagining, has chosen

you to be a child of God. This comes as a gift. This

is why, even as Paul continues to struggle with the

contradictions of human life, he ends his reflection

not with language of doctrine but with doxology—”O

the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge

of God! How unsearchable are his judgments, how

inscrutable his ways!” Indeed, Paul! Indeed.

What might it look like to recover the doctrine of

predestination as a word of assurance and grace?

Against the temptation to pride, we would affirm

God’s grace. We would acknowledge the limits of our

human understanding. We would affirm God saves.

We do not. That truth alone should inspire humility

among us.

Wayne’s son Matthew, theologian and former

president of Christian Theological Seminary here in

Indianapolis, authored a reflective piece last summer

on his father’s project. In it he suggests that we, who

are fallible and finite, must acknowledge that every

single person we encounter is potentially one of God’s

elect. Matt writes, “After all, in each and every case,

salvation is the graceful, undeserved embrace of a

sinner, not a saint. In this way, rightly grasped, the

doctrine of predestination has the effect of sabotaging

any attempt to build a wall between ‘us’ and ‘them.’ If

we take the doctrine seriously, we dare not draw the

circle of salvation…It’s not our circle to draw.”

That particular phrase reminded me of a moment in my

ministry that was a parable of God’s grace in action.

It happened in Austin, Texas, where our son Samuel

and I had traveled to surprise the youth choir of the

congregation I was serving in Atlanta who were on

tour there. Sitting next to my three-year-old son, I

heard the voices of that choir sing words that struck

me to the core. Mark Miller wrote the lyrics.

No matter what people say, say or think about you, you

are a child of God.

No matter what the world says, says or thinks about

you, you are a child of God.

And, finally…

No matter what the church says, decisions,

pronouncements on you, you are a child of God.

And then channeling the Apostle Paul…

There is no thing, and no one, who can separate you

from this truth. You are someone, you are family, you

are meant to be a child of God.

The words are powerful, but it was hearing them sung

with conviction by this particular group of teenagers

that made the difference for me. You see, I knew these

students—their struggles and their celebrations, their

pain and their promise. I knew that some of those

singers had been rejected by congregations because

of who they were. And when they sang “I am a child

of God,” they proclaimed the truth. No matter what.

And as that melody enveloped the room and tears

streamed from the faces of the singers, it was a

moment I’ll never forget. Please hear this, my friends:

the boundaries of God’s love are not ours to draw.

And neither should we be immobilized by fear and

anxiety over our ultimate fate. For this, I believe, is the

final gift of God’s power and grace. Far from limiting

us, God’s grace frees us to live in love. God’s saving

power opens the way to lives of purpose.

In our home, we reached a watershed moment this

summer, at least for me. I had the joy of watching the

Lord of the Rings movies with Samuel, now nearly

ten years old. I knew he would love them, but what

I didn’t anticipate are the theological conversations

the movies would evoke. Several times in recent

weeks, we’ve returned to the lines of the great wizard

Gandalf, offered to the young hobbit Frodo after he

has expressed a wish that the ring of power would

never have come to him. Gandalf says, “So do I, and

so do all who live to see such times. But that is not

for them to decide. All we have to decide is what

to do with the time that is given to us.” Author and

Christian believer JRR Tolkien shines a light on the

gift and responsibility of faithful living. Friends, only

God decides the times we are given—how much and

when. Ours to decide is what we will do with what is

given to us. I want to choose love. I want to choose

compassion. I want to choose grace.

My final visit with Wayne Boulton came just before

Christmas. Physically he was feeling lousy, and

I could tell. But he seemed glad to see me. Our

conversation that morning was brief, every word

carefully chosen. Two days later, I was surprised to

receive an email. Wayne wrote, “I send this to you

with renewed uncertainty given the latest news here

and with a deep sense of life’s brevity now closing

in around me.” It was Wayne’s final thought that has

stayed with me. He wrote, “This Christmas time, we

are so grateful you are around…that you simply exist.

For why did God’s Son come? In His turning toward

us, to turn us toward others.”

That’s it. That’s the answer I wish I’d given on the

airplane. That’s the truth of the Gospel. That’s the

essence of our hope. God saves. Amen.