Chapter 32
Exegetical Objections to Penal Substitutionary Atonement

Introduction: Do the Biblical Texts Actually Teach Penal Substitution?

We have spent a great deal of this book building a positive case for penal substitutionary atonement from Scripture, theology, history, and philosophy. But now we turn to face the opposition directly. In this chapter and the three that follow, we will engage the most important objections critics have raised against penal substitution—beginning with the objections that strike at the very foundation of the doctrine: the biblical text itself.

The exegetical objections are arguably the most serious ones. If penal substitution cannot be found in the Bible, then nothing else matters. We can build the most beautiful philosophical framework in the world, but if it does not rest on what God has actually revealed, it is a castle in the air. As evangelicals committed to the authority of Scripture, we must take these challenges head-on. If the critics are right—if the Old Testament sacrifices do not teach penal substitution, if the key Greek terms have been mistranslated, if Paul's atonement language is about something else entirely—then our case crumbles.

But I do not believe the critics are right. In fact, I believe that careful, contextual exegesis actually strengthens the case for penal substitution rather than weakening it. The five major exegetical objections we will examine in this chapter can all be answered—not by twisting the text, but by reading it more carefully. What I hope to show is that when we pay close attention to the Hebrew and Greek, to the literary and theological context of the passages in question, and to the way the New Testament writers themselves interpreted the Old Testament, penal substitutionary themes emerge with remarkable clarity.

Here is our plan. We will examine five major exegetical objections to penal substitution:

First, the claim that the Old Testament sacrificial system was not about punishment at all, but about purification. Second, the argument that the key Greek word hilastērion (ἱλαστήριον) means "expiation" (the removal or cleansing of sin) rather than "propitiation" (the satisfaction of God's justice). Third, the contention—associated with the New Perspective on Paul and other recent movements—that Paul's atonement language is participatory, not forensic, and therefore does not teach penal substitution. Fourth, the proposal that the Gospels present Jesus' death as a martyrdom, not as a penal substitutionary sacrifice. And fifth, the claim that Isaiah 53, the great Suffering Servant passage, does not actually describe the Servant bearing a penalty in place of others.

For each objection, I will present the argument as fairly and as forcefully as I can—because we honor our critics best when we take their best arguments seriously. Then I will respond, drawing on the exegetical work done throughout this book and on the best available scholarship. My thesis is straightforward: each of these objections, while raising legitimate questions that sharpen our thinking, ultimately fails to overturn the penal substitutionary reading of the relevant texts. The biblical evidence for penal substitution is broader, deeper, and more resilient than its critics acknowledge.

Objection 1: "The Old Testament Sacrifices Were Not Penal"

The Objection Stated

One of the most common exegetical objections to penal substitution targets the Old Testament sacrificial system. The argument goes like this: defenders of penal substitution claim that the Levitical sacrifices foreshadow and lay the groundwork for Christ's penal substitutionary death. But when we actually look at the sacrificial system carefully, the critics say, we find something very different from what penal substitution requires. The sacrifices were about purification and cleansing—what scholars call "expiation"—not about bearing a penalty or satisfying divine wrath.

William Hess, writing from an Eastern-influenced, Christus Victor perspective, puts the argument forcefully. He contends that "sacrifices in Torah were never meant to appease a wrathful God, but rather were to maintain a sacred space (which represented God's presence among His people where He 'tabernacled' among them) and enable a personable relationship with the Almighty."¹ Hess argues that many of the sacrifices—like the grain offering—had nothing to do with sin at all. They were acts of dedication, gifts of thankfulness, expressions of devotion. The Hebrew word for offering, qorban (קָרְבָּן), means "to be brought near." The very concept of offering, Hess insists, is about drawing near to God, not about absorbing punishment.²

The objection takes several specific forms. First, critics argue that the laying on of hands on the sacrificial animal was a ritual of identification, not of sin-transfer. The offerer was not loading his sins onto the animal so the animal could be punished in his place. He was identifying with the animal, symbolically saying, "This is my offering." The German Tübingen school of Old Testament scholarship, represented by Hartmut Gese, has been particularly influential here. As Simon Gathercole explains, Gese argues that the laying on of hands creates a "delegated succession" or identification—not a substitution.³ The animal does not switch places with the offerer. Rather, by identifying with the animal, the offerer symbolically passes through death and is brought into the presence of God through the blood ritual.

Second, critics point out that the Hebrew word kipper (כָּפַר), the main word for "to atone" or "to make atonement," has a range of meaning that centers on purification and cleansing rather than on penalty-bearing. The sacrificial blood purifies the sacred space—the tabernacle and its furnishings—from the contamination of sin. It does not satisfy the wrath of an angry God. As Hess puts it, many people "mistakenly read this concept of 'atonement' or 'pardoning' as an indication of wrath being satiated and God receiving some form of retribution, but that is not what it means. It simply means that two parties were brought back together again in fellowship."⁴

Third, and perhaps most strikingly, Hess makes an argument from the scapegoat ritual on the Day of Atonement (Yom Kippur) described in Leviticus 16. The scapegoat—the live goat that has Israel's sins confessed over it and is then sent away into the wilderness—is not killed. Hess argues this is deeply significant: "The Azazel goat is left alive, and is merely sent out from among the people and back to the land of evil."⁵ If this goat, the one that "bears" Israel's sins, is not even slaughtered, how can defenders of penal substitution claim that the Levitical system teaches that sin must be punished through the death of a substitute? The goat does not die in Israel's place; it simply carries sin away. This looks more like expiation—the removal of sin—than propitiation or penal substitution.

Taken together, these arguments form a powerful challenge. If the Old Testament sacrificial system is fundamentally about purification, maintenance of sacred space, and drawing near to God—rather than about penalty, punishment, and wrath—then one of the key pillars of penal substitutionary atonement is removed.

Response: The Sacrificial System Contains Genuine Penal Elements

This is a serious objection, and it raises important questions about how we read the Levitical texts. I want to be honest: not everything about the Old Testament sacrificial system maps neatly onto penal substitution. The sacrifices were rich, multi-layered rituals with many dimensions—including purification, consecration, and communion with God. Hess is right that some offerings, like the grain offering, had no direct connection to sin or penalty. He is right that we should not flatten the sacrificial system into a single penal framework. But the conclusion that there is no penal or substitutionary dimension to the sacrifices goes too far. Several lines of evidence point strongly in the other direction.

First, consider Leviticus 17:11. This is one of the most important verses in the entire sacrificial system, and it deserves careful attention. Here is the text:

"For the life of the flesh is in the blood, and I have given it for you on the altar to make atonement for your souls, for it is the blood that makes atonement by the life." (Leviticus 17:11, ESV)

Notice what this verse says. God has given the blood "on the altar to make atonement for your souls." The blood atones—and it does so "by the life" (or "at the cost of the life," as some translations render it). As David Allen observes, this is a foundational text linking atonement to the giving of life, which implies substitutionary death. The animal's life is given in place of the worshiper's life.⁶ The blood represents the life poured out in death, and that life is given for the worshiper. This is not merely a purification ritual. Something is happening here that involves the substitution of one life for another.

Allen's treatment of the sacrificial system notes that the shed blood "became the medium of sin's expiation and propitiation," and that the substitutionary nature of the animal "for the worshiper indicates that the life of the animal, signified by the shed blood, became the medium" of atonement.⁷ In other words, the blood is not merely a detergent that cleanses the sanctuary. It is the life of the substitute, given in place of the offerer's life.

Second, the scapegoat ritual in Leviticus 16 explicitly involves the transfer of sins to the animal. Hess is right that the scapegoat is not killed—and this is an important observation. But the fact that there are two goats in the ritual is precisely the point. As Allen notes, two animals were needed because the Day of Atonement ritual pictures two distinct aspects of atonement: "The sacrificial offering (the shedding of blood) propitiates the wrath of God, making atonement (propitiation/expiation). The scapegoat ritual pictured the removal of sin from the people."⁸ The slaughtered goat and the live goat together picture the full reality of atonement—both the satisfaction of divine justice through the shedding of blood and the removal of sin from the people.

Now, let us look at what happens with the scapegoat more carefully:

"And Aaron shall lay both his hands on the head of the live goat, and confess over it all the iniquities of the people of Israel, and all their transgressions, all their sins. And he shall put them on the head of the goat and send it away into the wilderness by the hand of a man who is in readiness. The goat shall bear all their iniquities on itself to a remote area, and he shall let the goat go free in the wilderness." (Leviticus 16:21–22, ESV)

Gathercole points out that this is a decisive text for the question of substitution. Whatever one says about the laying on of hands in other sacrificial contexts, "it is hard to avoid the conclusion that the scapegoat ('the live goat') is a substitutionary offering." The text says explicitly that Aaron "shall put [the sins] on the goat's head" and that "the goat will carry on itself all their sins." Even Gese himself, the architect of the non-substitutionary reading, acknowledges that the meaning of the laying of hands on the scapegoat is "unequivocal."⁹ The sins of the people are transferred to the goat, and the goat bears them away. This is substitution.

Hess argues that the goat does not inherit Israel's "guilt" and is not punished—it is merely sent away. But this actually supports the substitutionary reading rather than undermining it. The goat bears Israel's iniquities. The Hebrew word here is nasa (נָשָׂא), which means "to carry" or "to bear." This is the same word used in Isaiah 53:12, where the Suffering Servant "bore the sin of many." The goat takes upon itself what belonged to the people. Whether or not the goat is killed, the transfer of sin is explicit in the text. And when we combine the scapegoat (which bears the sins away) with the slaughtered goat (whose blood makes atonement), the complete Day of Atonement ritual presents a picture that includes both substitution and the shedding of blood for sin—both of which are essential to penal substitution (as argued in detail in Chapter 5).¹⁰

Third, the asham (אָשָׁם), or guilt offering, involves reparation for specific offenses, which implies a penal dimension. The guilt offering is described in Leviticus 5:14–6:7 and 7:1–6. What makes this offering distinct is that it is connected to specific acts of wrongdoing and requires restitution. The offender must pay back what he owes, plus an additional twenty percent, and then bring the guilt offering. This is not merely purification; it is reparation for wrongdoing. The very name—"guilt offering"—indicates that objective guilt before God is being addressed. And when Isaiah 53:10 describes the Suffering Servant's life as an asham, a guilt offering, it draws on this entire framework of guilt, reparation, and atoning sacrifice (see the full discussion in Chapter 6).¹¹

Fourth, we should not create a false dichotomy between purification and penalty. Critics often frame the debate as if the sacrifices were either about purification (expiation) or about penalty (propitiation), but not both. This is a false choice. Allen is helpful here. He observes that the word kipper "includes the notions of propitiation, expiation, purification, and the cancellation of sin," and that the context determines which nuance is most prominent in any given passage.¹² The sacrificial system is too rich and multi-layered to be reduced to a single dimension. Some sacrifices emphasize purification; others emphasize substitutionary death; still others emphasize communion and dedication. But the penal and substitutionary dimensions are genuinely present, particularly in the sin offering, the guilt offering, and the Day of Atonement ritual.

William Lane Craig makes a similar point in his examination of Old Testament sacrifice. The Levitical system is not a monolithic institution that can be captured by a single category. Different offerings served different purposes. But within this rich system, substitutionary death for sin is a genuine and important element—not the only element, but an element that cannot be eliminated without distorting the picture.¹³

In sum, while Hess and other critics raise legitimate points about the complexity of the sacrificial system, the claim that the Old Testament sacrifices contain no penal or substitutionary dimension simply does not hold up under careful examination. Leviticus 17:11 grounds atonement in the giving of life. The scapegoat ritual explicitly involves the transfer of sins. The guilt offering addresses objective guilt and requires reparation. And the Day of Atonement as a whole combines blood atonement with sin-bearing in a way that anticipates—and is fulfilled by—the substitutionary death of Christ.

Objection 2: "Hilastērion Means 'Expiation,' Not 'Propitiation'"

The Objection Stated

This is one of the most famous exegetical debates in atonement theology, and it centers on a single Greek word: hilastērion (ἱλαστήριον). The word appears in Romans 3:25, one of the most important atonement texts in the entire New Testament:

"[Christ Jesus] whom God put forward as a propitiation [hilastērion] by his blood, to be received by faith. This was to show God's righteousness, because in his divine forbearance he had passed over former sins." (Romans 3:25, ESV)

The debate concerns how to translate hilastērion. Does it mean "propitiation"—the turning away of God's wrath through the satisfaction of His justice? Or does it mean "expiation"—the cleansing or removal of sin? The difference matters enormously. If the word means propitiation, then Romans 3:25 teaches that Christ's death satisfied divine justice—a core component of penal substitution. If the word means merely expiation, then the text says only that Christ's death dealt with sin's defilement, without any reference to God's wrath or justice being satisfied.

The most influential argument for the "expiation" reading came from the British scholar C. H. Dodd in 1935. Dodd argued that in the Septuagint (the Greek translation of the Old Testament, abbreviated LXX), the hilask- word group had lost its classical Greek meaning of "propitiating" an angry deity. In the LXX, Dodd claimed, the word simply means "to cleanse" or "to expiate" sin. It is about removing the stain of sin, not about appeasing God's anger. Dodd argued that the biblical authors avoided the pagan connotation of propitiation—the idea of a mere human offering something to placate an angry god—and instead used the word in a purified sense to describe God's action in dealing with sin.¹⁴

This reading was enormously influential. The Revised Standard Version (1952) translated hilastērion in Romans 3:25 as "expiation" rather than "propitiation," and many scholars followed Dodd's lead. If Dodd is right, then the most important Pauline atonement text does not actually teach that Christ's death satisfied divine justice. It only teaches that Christ's death dealt with the problem of sin.

Response: Propitiation Fits the Context, and Expiation Alone Is Insufficient

Dodd's argument was powerful, and it raised important questions. But it was also subjected to devastating critique, most famously by Leon Morris in his landmark 1951 work The Apostolic Preaching of the Cross. Morris demonstrated, through exhaustive analysis of the LXX and extra-biblical Greek, that the hilask- word group consistently carries propitiatory connotations—that is, it involves the turning away of wrath or anger—even in the Septuagint. Morris showed that Dodd had been selective in his evidence and had overlooked or minimized passages where the propitiatory meaning was clear.¹⁵

But the strongest argument for translating hilastērion as "propitiation" in Romans 3:25 comes not from word studies alone but from the context of the passage. And this is crucial. Paul's argument in Romans 1:18–3:20 has been building toward a climax. What has Paul been talking about? God's wrath. "The wrath of God is revealed from heaven against all ungodliness and unrighteousness of men" (Romans 1:18). For nearly three chapters, Paul has hammered home the point that all human beings—both Jews and Gentiles—stand under the just wrath of God because of their sin. Everyone is "without excuse" (Romans 2:1). "All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God" (Romans 3:23).

Then comes the glorious "But now" of Romans 3:21: "But now the righteousness of God has been manifested apart from the law." And the solution God provides is Christ Jesus, whom God put forward as a hilastērion—and the purpose is "to show God's righteousness" (Romans 3:25–26). Paul says this twice: God did this to demonstrate His righteousness. Why did God need to demonstrate His righteousness? Because "in his divine forbearance he had passed over former sins" (3:25). In other words, God's justice was in question—He had been letting sins go unpunished, and this needed to be resolved. The hilastērion resolves it.

As Jeffery, Ovey, and Sach point out in their discussion of this passage, reducing hilastērion to mere expiation fails to account for Paul's argument. If Christ's death only dealt with sin's defilement (expiation) and did not address God's just response to sin (propitiation), then we are left with no explanation for why Paul says God needed to "show his righteousness." The whole thrust of the passage is that God's justice required satisfaction, and Christ's death provided it.¹⁶

John Stott is especially clear on this point. He writes that the problem Paul is addressing in Romans 3:25–26 is the problem of divine forbearance: God had been passing over sins without punishing them, and this created an apparent tension with His justice. The hilastērion resolves the tension by demonstrating that God is both just—He does not simply ignore sin—and the justifier of those who have faith in Jesus.¹⁷ Stott insists that propitiation is not a crude or pagan concept when properly understood within the Christian framework: it is God Himself who provides the sacrifice, God Himself who bears the cost, God Himself who satisfies His own justice.¹⁸

Now, I want to be fair to the complexity of the issue. As argued more fully in Chapter 8 (where Romans 3:21–26 is exegeted in depth) and in Chapter 2 (where the atonement vocabulary is surveyed), the term hilastērion likely includes both dimensions—expiation (the removal of sin) and propitiation (the satisfaction of divine justice). These are not mutually exclusive. Allen is right to say that "atonement conveys the notion of both propitiation and expiation" and that we should not be forced to choose between them.¹⁹ The cross does cleanse us from sin—that is expiation, and it is real. But the cross also addresses the demands of divine justice—that is propitiation, and it too is real. Dodd's error was not in recognizing the expiatory dimension but in denying the propitiatory one. Both are present. But propitiation—the satisfaction of God's justice—should not be reduced to mere expiation. The context of Romans 3:21–26 demands it, and the broader biblical framework of God's justice and wrath confirms it.

Objection 3: "Paul's Atonement Language Is Participatory, Not Forensic"

The Objection Stated

A third exegetical objection comes from several directions in contemporary Pauline scholarship, all converging on a similar conclusion: Paul's way of talking about what Christ accomplished on the cross is fundamentally about participation and incorporation, not about forensic categories like guilt, penalty, and punishment. If this is true, then the attempt to ground penal substitution in Paul's letters is misguided from the start.

This objection takes at least three distinct forms, which Gathercole helpfully identifies and engages in his important study Defending Substitution.²⁰

First, there is the Tübingen approach. As we noted above, the German scholars Hartmut Gese and Otfried Hofius have argued that the Old Testament sacrificial system—and, by extension, Paul's use of sacrificial imagery—is about representative "place-taking" rather than substitution. Hofius explicitly contrasts "inclusive place-taking" (where Christ takes the sinner with him through death into new life) with "exclusive place-taking" (where Christ dies instead of the sinner as a substitute). For Hofius, Paul teaches the former, not the latter.²¹ The key text is 2 Corinthians 5:14: "one died for all, therefore all died." Hofius reads this as saying that when Christ died, He took all humanity with Him into death—not that He died in their place so they would not have to die.

Second, there is the "interchange" model associated with the British scholar Morna Hooker. Hooker argues that Paul's understanding of atonement is best captured by the phrase from Irenaeus: "Christ became what we are, in order that we might become what he is." In texts like 2 Corinthians 5:21 ("God made him who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God") and 2 Corinthians 8:9 ("though he was rich, yet for your sake he became poor, so that you through his poverty might become rich"), Hooker sees not substitution but interchange—Christ entering our condition so we might share in His.²²

Third, there is the "apocalyptic deliverance" reading associated primarily with J. Louis Martyn and others. On this view, Paul's gospel is fundamentally about God's invasion of the world to liberate humanity from the enslaving powers of Sin, Death, and the Law. The cross is a cosmic rescue operation—Christus Victor in apocalyptic key—not a courtroom transaction. Forensic categories like guilt, imputation, and penal substitution are foreign to Paul's actual thought world.²³

In addition to these scholarly movements, the broader "New Perspective on Paul" associated with N. T. Wright and James Dunn has also raised questions about forensic readings of Paul. Wright and Dunn argue that Paul's language about "justification" is not primarily about how an individual sinner gets right with God through the imputation of Christ's righteousness. It is about covenant membership—who belongs to the people of God. If justification is about covenant membership rather than forensic verdict, then the forensic framework that penal substitution depends on is weakened.

Response: Paul's Language Includes Both Participatory and Forensic Dimensions

These are sophisticated scholarly arguments, and they raise genuine questions about how we read Paul. I want to acknowledge upfront what is right about these proposals before explaining where they go wrong.

The participatory dimension of Paul's soteriology is real. Paul does talk about believers being "in Christ" (a phrase he uses over 150 times). He does describe a kind of union with Christ in which believers share in His death and resurrection (Romans 6:3–11; Galatians 2:20). The "interchange" pattern—Christ becoming what we are so we might become what He is—is genuinely present in texts like 2 Corinthians 5:21 and 2 Corinthians 8:9. And the Christus Victor theme of liberation from hostile powers is unquestionably part of Paul's message (Colossians 2:13–15; Galatians 1:4). None of these insights should be rejected.

But here is the critical point: participation and substitution are not mutually exclusive. The fact that Paul uses participatory language does not mean he does not also use forensic and substitutionary language. And he clearly does. Gathercole is incisive on this point. After examining each of the three major non-substitutionary approaches, he identifies a common weakness: all three tend to downplay or ignore the significance of sins (plural)—specific transgressions that create guilt before God. The Tübingen model focuses on the human condition of mortality. The interchange model focuses on the general plight of being "in Adam." The apocalyptic model focuses on enslaving cosmic powers. But Paul himself continually speaks of Christ dying "for our sins"—and this language of specific transgressions requiring forgiveness is at home in a forensic, substitutionary framework, not merely a participatory one.²⁴

Gathercole's most important argument centers on 1 Corinthians 15:3, which he calls "the most important verse in the New Testament for understanding atonement."²⁵ Paul writes:

"For I delivered to you as of first importance what I also received: that Christ died for our sins in accordance with the Scriptures." (1 Corinthians 15:3, ESV)

This is not Paul's own formulation—he explicitly says he "received" it and "delivered" it. This is pre-Pauline tradition, the earliest Christian confession we possess, dating to within just a few years of the crucifixion. And what does it say? Christ died for our sins. Gathercole argues persuasively that this "for" (hyper, ὑπέρ) involves substitution—Christ dying in our place to deal with our sins—and that this confession is the bedrock on which Paul's entire atonement theology is built.²⁶

Let me address each of the three approaches more specifically.

Regarding the Tübingen view, Gathercole points out a significant weakness: Gese places enormous weight on the laying on of hands as the mechanism of identification, yet the laying on of hands is not even mentioned in Leviticus 16 for the sacrificed bull and goat. It only appears for the scapegoat. And as we saw above, the scapegoat ritual is precisely the one that most clearly involves the transfer of sins—which is substitution, not merely identification.²⁷ The Tübingen approach cannot have it both ways: it cannot insist on the centrality of the laying on of hands while ignoring that the one ritual where the significance of the laying on of hands is explicit is the one that most clearly involves sin-transfer.

Regarding the interchange model, Gathercole observes that Hooker's reading of 2 Corinthians 5:21 does not do justice to the specificity of the text. Paul does not say merely that Christ "entered our condition." He says God made Him to be sin. This is extraordinary language that goes beyond mere identification. And the purpose is stated with forensic precision: "so that in him we might become the righteousness of God." The language of "righteousness" (dikaiosynē, δικαιοσύνη) is forensic—it belongs to the courtroom, not merely to the sphere of mystical participation. The interchange is not merely experiential; it involves a forensic exchange of status.²⁸

Regarding the apocalyptic deliverance reading, I have great sympathy for the emphasis on Christ's victory over hostile powers—this is the Christus Victor theme explored in Chapter 21, and it is a genuine and important dimension of the atonement. But the apocalyptic reading goes wrong when it sets cosmic deliverance against forensic categories. Paul himself holds these together. Colossians 2:13–15 is a perfect example: in the very same passage, Paul speaks of God "having forgiven us all our trespasses, by canceling the record of debt that stood against us with its legal demands" (v. 13–14)—clearly forensic language—and then immediately says God "disarmed the rulers and authorities and put them to open shame" (v. 15)—clearly Christus Victor language. Paul sees no tension between forensic and cosmic categories because the cross accomplishes both simultaneously (as argued in Chapter 9).²⁹

As for the New Perspective on Paul, many responses have been offered by scholars like Thomas Schreiner, Seyoon Kim, and John Piper. The most important point for our purposes is this: even if justification has a covenant-membership dimension (and I think it does, to some degree), this does not eliminate its forensic dimension. Paul's language of "reckoning" (logizomai, λογίζομαι), "declaring righteous" (dikaioō, δικαιόω), and "condemnation" (katakrima, κατάκριμα) is irreducibly forensic. You cannot strip the courtroom out of Paul's gospel without doing violence to his actual language.³⁰

It is worth adding one more observation. The very structure of Paul's most sustained discussion of the atonement in Romans supports the integration of forensic and participatory categories. In Romans 3:21–26, the framework is thoroughly forensic: justification, righteousness, propitiation, and the demonstration of God's justice. In Romans 5:12–21, the framework is representational: Adam and Christ as federal heads whose actions determine the status of those they represent. In Romans 6:1–11, the framework is participatory: believers are united with Christ in His death and resurrection. Paul moves seamlessly from one framework to another—not because he is confused or inconsistent, but because the atonement is genuinely multi-dimensional. The forensic and the participatory are two sides of the same coin. We are justified (forensic) because Christ died for our sins (substitutionary), and we are united with Him (participatory) in the power of that saving death. Pull out either dimension, and the whole fabric unravels.

In short, Paul's atonement theology includes both participatory and forensic dimensions. "In Christ" and "for our sins" are not competing categories—they are complementary. Christ died as our substitute, bearing the penalty of our sins (forensic); and we are united with Him in His death and resurrection (participatory). Both are genuinely Pauline. The error is not in recognizing the participatory dimension, but in using it to exclude the forensic one.

Objection 4: "The Gospels Present Jesus' Death as Martyrdom, Not Penal Substitution"

The Objection Stated

Some scholars argue that the Gospels present Jesus' death as the death of a righteous martyr—a faithful prophet killed by wicked people—rather than as a penal substitutionary sacrifice. On this reading, Jesus' death is tragic and unjust. He is the innocent victim of religious and political violence. God vindicates Him through resurrection, and His death serves as a moral example and an inspiration to faithfulness. But the Gospels, critics contend, do not present Jesus' death as a sacrifice in which He bears the penalty for the sins of humanity.

This objection points to the fact that the Gospels narrate Jesus' death primarily as a story of injustice—false trials, false accusations, political cowardice, and mob violence. The emphasis, critics say, is on the wickedness of those who killed Jesus, not on any transaction between God the Father and God the Son. The Gospels, on this view, are closer to Christus Victor (Jesus' death exposes and defeats the powers of evil) or moral influence (Jesus' death inspires us to costly faithfulness) than to penal substitution.

Joel Green and Mark Baker represent this perspective when they argue that Paul uses many metaphors for the significance of Jesus' death and that "penal substitution (at least as popularly defined) is not one of them."³¹ And while their comment is directed at Paul, the argument applies with even greater force to the Gospels, where the narrative framework of Jesus' death is more prominent than theological abstraction.

Response: Jesus Interpreted His Own Death as Substitutionary Sacrifice

This objection contains a valid observation: the Gospels do narrate Jesus' death as an act of injustice. The false trial, the mob, Pilate's cowardice, the cruelty of the soldiers—all of this is part of the story. And this narrative does contain genuine Christus Victor elements: the powers of evil do their worst, and God triumphs through the resurrection. But the objection misses something crucial: Jesus Himself interprets His own death in substitutionary and atoning categories. And since the Gospels record Jesus' own words about the meaning of His death, we cannot separate the narrative of what happened from the theology of why it happened.

Two texts are especially important here (both treated in full detail in Chapter 7, which is the primary home for this discussion).³²

First, Mark 10:45:

"For even the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many." (Mark 10:45, ESV)

This is Jesus' own statement about the purpose of His death. He says He came "to give his life as a ransom [lytron, λύτρον] for [anti, ἀντί] many." The word anti means "in the place of" or "instead of." It is one of the clearest substitutionary prepositions in Greek. And the concept of a "ransom" involves the payment of a price to set someone free—which goes far beyond martyrdom. A martyr's death is imposed by persecutors; a ransom is a deliberate, purposeful payment. Jesus did not merely suffer at the hands of wicked men. He gave His life—voluntarily, purposefully—as a ransom to set others free. That is substitutionary language.³³

Second, the Last Supper words:

"And he took bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and gave it to them, saying, 'This is my body, which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of me.' And likewise the cup after they had eaten, saying, 'This cup that is poured out for you is the new covenant in my blood.'" (Luke 22:19–20, ESV)

"For this is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins." (Matthew 26:28, ESV)

Here, Jesus explicitly connects His death to the forgiveness of sins. His blood is "poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins." The language of blood being poured out echoes the Levitical sacrificial system. The language of "for many" echoes Isaiah 53:12 ("he bore the sin of many"). And the phrase "for the forgiveness of sins" places Jesus' death squarely in the category of atoning sacrifice, not mere martyrdom. A martyr dies because of faithfulness; Jesus dies for the forgiveness of sins. These are different categories entirely.

Furthermore, the Gospel passion narratives contain details that only make sense if Jesus' death is more than a martyrdom. The darkness that falls over the land for three hours (Mark 15:33) recalls the plagues of Egypt and prophetic judgment imagery—this is not the kind of detail you find in a martyrdom story. The tearing of the temple curtain (Mark 15:38) signifies that access to God has been opened through Jesus' death—a sacrificial, not merely martyrological, theme. The curtain separated the Holy of Holies from the rest of the temple, and its tearing at the moment of Jesus' death signals that the barrier between God and humanity has been removed through this sacrifice. And the cry of dereliction—"My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" (Mark 15:34)—suggests an experience of God-forsakenness that goes beyond what any ordinary martyr would experience. Martyrs typically die with a sense of God's presence and approval, as Stephen does in Acts 7:55–56, seeing heaven opened and the Son of Man at the right hand of God. Jesus' experience is the opposite: He experiences abandonment and desolation. This suggests that something more than martyrdom is happening on the cross—something that involves bearing the weight of sin and its consequences in a way that separates the Servant from the fellowship of His Father (see the full discussion in Chapter 11).³⁴

Jeffery, Ovey, and Sach are right to point out that when critics try to explain the cross without penal substitution, they often end up with vague, non-biblical language. Henri Blocher noticed this tendency in the essays of Atonement Today, where critics replaced Paul's precise language of "death" and "imputation" with the vague metaphor of Christ "absorbing" sin—a concept, Blocher wryly noted, that "is not even biblical."³⁵ This is an important pattern: the rejection of penal substitution often leads not to a richer or more biblical alternative, but to a thinner and vaguer one.

In summary, the Gospels do not present Jesus' death as mere martyrdom. They present it as a purposeful, substitutionary, atoning sacrifice—interpreted as such by Jesus Himself. The narrative of injustice (what wicked men did to Jesus) and the theology of atonement (what God accomplished through Jesus' death) are both present in the Gospels, and both are essential to the full picture.

Objection 5: "Isaiah 53 Does Not Teach Penal Substitution"

The Objection Stated

Isaiah 53 is perhaps the single most important Old Testament text for the doctrine of penal substitution. It describes a Suffering Servant who "was pierced for our transgressions," who "was crushed for our iniquities," upon whom "the chastisement that brought us peace" fell, and "with his wounds we are healed" (Isaiah 53:5). For centuries, Christians have read this passage as a prophetic description of Christ's penal substitutionary death.

But some scholars argue that this reading is mistaken. The objection takes several forms:

First, some argue that the Servant's suffering is consequential, not penal. That is, the Servant suffers as a result of others' sins—He is caught up in the consequences of their wrongdoing—but He is not bearing the penalty for their sins as a substitute. On this reading, the Servant is a victim of injustice, not a sacrificial substitute. He suffers because the sins of others cause Him to suffer, just as an innocent bystander might be harmed by the consequences of someone else's reckless behavior. This is tragic, even salvific in some sense—but it is not penal substitution.³⁶

Second, some argue that the "bearing" language does not imply penalty. The Hebrew verb nasa (נָשָׂא) in Isaiah 53:4 and 53:12 ("he bore our griefs," "he bore the sin of many") can mean simply "to carry" or "to endure," without any necessary penal connotation. The Servant carries the burden of others' suffering—but that does not mean He is being punished for their sin.

Third, some question whether "chastisement" (musar, מוּסָר) in Isaiah 53:5 really means "punishment." The word can mean "discipline" or "correction" in a broader sense—as when a parent disciplines a child—without necessarily implying penal punishment in a judicial sense.

Fourth, Hess argues that the connection between Isaiah 53 and penal substitution is overstated. He points out that the Servant's suffering should be read in connection with the broader Suffering Servant passages in Isaiah (chapters 42, 49, 50, and 52–53) and in the context of Israel's experience of exile and restoration. The Servant is a figure of solidarity and representation, not a penal substitute.³⁷

Response: The Language of Isaiah 53 Is Irreducibly Penal and Substitutionary

I want to take these objections seriously, because they force us to look carefully at the Hebrew text. And when we do, I believe the case for a penal and substitutionary reading of Isaiah 53 is actually strengthened.

The full exegesis of Isaiah 52:13–53:12 is provided in Chapter 6, which is the primary home for this passage. Here I will summarize the key responses to each objection.³⁸

First, the Servant's suffering is not merely consequential—it is described as divinely imposed. Isaiah 53:6 says, "And the LORD has laid on him the iniquity of us all." This is not a description of incidental or consequential suffering. The subject of the verb is the LORD—God Himself places the sins on the Servant. Isaiah 53:10 intensifies this: "Yet it was the will of the LORD to crush him; he has put him to grief." Again, God is the active agent. The Servant does not merely get caught in the crossfire of others' sins. God lays the iniquity on Him. God wills to crush Him. This is the action of God dealing with sin through the Servant, not the Servant accidentally suffering the consequences of others' behavior.

Second, the "bearing" language carries penal significance in its Old Testament context. The Hebrew nasa (נָשָׂא) is used throughout the Old Testament for "bearing iniquity" in a way that implies liability and punishment. When Cain says "My punishment is greater than I can bear" (Genesis 4:13), the word is nasa. When Leviticus 5:1 says that a person who withholds testimony "shall bear his iniquity," the language implies that he will suffer the consequences of guilt. And in the scapegoat ritual of Leviticus 16:22, the goat "shall bear all their iniquities on itself." The expression nasa avon ("to bear iniquity") in the Old Testament consistently carries the connotation of bearing the liability and consequences of sin—not merely carrying a burden in a general sense. Craig's analysis of the Suffering Servant passage demonstrates this with thoroughness and precision.³⁹

Third, the word musar (מוּסָר) in Isaiah 53:5 does carry penal connotation in context. While the word can mean "discipline" in a broad sense, the context of Isaiah 53 demands a stronger meaning. The Servant is "pierced," "crushed," "wounded," and "oppressed." The musar that was upon Him "brought us peace" (shalom)—implying that the chastisement absorbed by the Servant produced a result (peace/wholeness) for others. This is not gentle parental correction. The entire passage describes severe suffering that produces atonement. Allen observes that the accumulation of terms in this passage—pierced, crushed, chastised, wounded—creates a picture of suffering that is both substitutionary (for our transgressions, for our iniquities) and penal (imposed as a consequence of sin).⁴⁰

Fourth, and perhaps most decisively, Isaiah 53:10 describes the Servant's life as an asham (אָשָׁם)—a guilt offering.

"Yet it was the will of the LORD to crush him; he has put him to grief; when his soul makes an offering for guilt [asham], he shall see his offspring; he shall prolong his days; the will of the LORD shall prosper in his hand." (Isaiah 53:10, ESV)

This is a category designation that comes straight from the Levitical sacrificial system. As we noted in our discussion of Objection 1, the asham is the guilt offering—the offering that addresses specific trespasses and requires reparation. By describing the Servant's death as an asham, Isaiah places it squarely within the penal and reparative framework of the sacrificial system. This is not accidental or incidental language. It is a deliberate theological claim: the Servant's suffering functions as a guilt offering for the sins of the people.⁴¹

Craig's treatment of Isaiah 53 in Atonement and the Death of Christ is particularly helpful. He notes that the prepositions in Isaiah 53:5 are significant: the Servant was pierced for (Hb. min, מִן) our transgressions—that is, because of or on account of our transgressions. The cause of the Servant's suffering is the sins of the people. And the result of the Servant's suffering is their healing and peace. This is the structure of penal substitution: the innocent suffers the penalty due to the guilty, and the guilty receive the benefits.⁴²

The Servant suffers what we deserved. We receive what the Servant earned. Our iniquity was laid on Him by God. His wounds bring us healing. His asham deals with our guilt. The language is irreducibly penal and substitutionary.

Common Threads and Broader Reflections

Having now examined all five major exegetical objections, I want to step back and make some broader observations about the pattern we have seen.

First, notice that the objections often work by isolating individual elements and ignoring the cumulative weight of the evidence. A critic may argue that the laying on of hands does not prove substitution. Fair enough—perhaps that single ritual element is ambiguous. But the laying on of hands does not stand alone. It stands alongside the blood atonement of Leviticus 17:11, the sin-transfer of the scapegoat, the guilt offering, the Passover lamb, the entire sacrificial vocabulary of the Old Testament, and the New Testament's interpretation of all of this in light of Christ. When you put all the pieces together, the cumulative case for penal substitution is overwhelming. Isolating a single element and declaring it inconclusive does not overturn the cumulative argument.

Second, notice that the objections often set up false dichotomies. Expiation or propitiation. Participatory or forensic. Christus Victor or penal substitution. Martyrdom or sacrifice. But the biblical text itself refuses these dichotomies. Romans 3:25 teaches both expiation and propitiation. Paul uses both "in Christ" (participatory) and "for our sins" (forensic) language. Colossians 2:13–15 combines forensic cancellation of debt with Christus Victor triumph over the powers. The Gospels present Jesus' death as both unjust human violence and divinely purposed sacrifice. The Bible is wonderfully multi-dimensional, and our theology should be too.

As Jeffery, Ovey, and Sach argue in their chapter responding to the claim that penal substitution is not taught in the Bible, the doctrine is not built on a single proof-text that might be disputed. It is built on the entire fabric of the biblical narrative—from the sacrificial system to the Suffering Servant, from Jesus' ransom saying to Paul's "Christ died for our sins," from the propitiation of Romans 3:25 to the sin-bearing of 1 Peter 2:24. The doctrine emerges from the convergence of multiple streams of biblical evidence, and no single objection to any one stream is sufficient to overturn the whole.⁴³

Third, the alternatives to penal substitution often end up being less biblical, not more. We saw Blocher's trenchant observation that critics of penal substitution often replace the Bible's precise sacrificial and forensic language with vague metaphors—like "absorbing" sin—that have no scriptural basis at all.⁴⁴ Hess replaces the biblical language of propitiation with the language of purification and sacred-space maintenance. The Tübingen school replaces substitution with "inclusive place-taking." The apocalyptic reading replaces forensic categories with cosmic drama. In each case, the alternative is not drawn from the text but imposed on it—and in each case, something essential is lost. The precision of Paul's forensic vocabulary, the explicitness of Isaiah 53's substitutionary language, the clarity of Jesus' ransom saying—all of this is softened, blurred, or set aside. That should give us pause. A reading that requires us to explain away the plain sense of so many texts is unlikely to be the right one.

Fourth, the earliest Christian confession supports penal substitution. Gathercole's emphasis on 1 Corinthians 15:3 deserves to be highlighted again. This is not Paul's personal theological opinion. It is the tradition he "received" and "delivered"—the shared confession of the earliest Christian community. And what does it say? "Christ died for our sins in accordance with the Scriptures." This is substitutionary language ("for our sins") grounded in the Old Testament ("in accordance with the Scriptures"). Within just a few years of the crucifixion, the earliest Christians were confessing that Christ's death dealt with their sins. The penal substitutionary reading is not a late Protestant invention. It is rooted in the very earliest Christian proclamation.⁴⁵

A Word About Fairness and Humility

Before we close, I want to say something about how we should engage these debates. I believe the exegetical case for penal substitution is strong—very strong. But I also believe that some of the critics have raised genuine questions that have sharpened and improved our understanding. The Tübingen school's work on the blood ritual, for instance, has deepened our appreciation for the complexity of the Levitical system. The New Perspective on Paul has rightly drawn attention to the corporate and covenantal dimensions of Paul's thought. The Christus Victor emphasis has reminded us that the cross accomplishes more than forensic justification—it defeats the powers of evil and restores creation.

These are not enemies to be defeated but insights to be integrated. As I have argued throughout this book (see especially Chapter 24), the atonement is multi-faceted. Penal substitution is the center, but it is not the circumference. The cross achieves propitiation, expiation, reconciliation, redemption, victory, recapitulation, and moral transformation—all at once. We do not honor penal substitution by pretending the other dimensions do not exist. We honor it by showing that it is the hub from which all the other spokes radiate.

At the same time, I must be direct: the attempt to remove penal substitution from the biblical picture—to claim that the sacrifices were not penal, that hilastērion is not propitiatory, that Paul's theology is not forensic, that Jesus' death was merely a martyrdom, that Isaiah 53 does not teach substitutionary atonement—this attempt fails. The exegetical evidence is simply too strong. The texts say what they say. The Servant was pierced for our transgressions. Christ died for our sins. God put Him forward as a propitiation. He gave His life as a ransom in the place of many. "He himself bore our sins in his body on the tree" (1 Peter 2:24). We can add to penal substitution—we should add to it—but we cannot subtract it without subtracting from the gospel itself.

Conclusion

We have now examined the five major exegetical objections to penal substitutionary atonement, and in each case we have found that the objection, while raising legitimate questions, does not overturn the biblical evidence.

The Old Testament sacrificial system, while rich and multi-dimensional, contains genuine penal and substitutionary elements—grounded in Leviticus 17:11, the scapegoat ritual, and the guilt offering. The Greek word hilastērion in Romans 3:25, read in its context, demands a propitiatory meaning—not merely an expiatory one—because Paul is explaining how God's justice is satisfied. Paul's atonement language includes both participatory and forensic dimensions, and the attempt to exclude substitutionary categories fails to account for his emphasis on "sins" (plural) and the earliest Christian confession of 1 Corinthians 15:3. The Gospels present Jesus' death not as mere martyrdom but as a purposeful, substitutionary sacrifice—interpreted as such by Jesus Himself in Mark 10:45 and the Last Supper words. And Isaiah 53, with its language of sin-bearing, divine chastisement, guilt offering, and iniquity laid upon the Servant by the LORD, is irreducibly penal and substitutionary in its theology.

The cumulative weight of this evidence is formidable. Penal substitution is not built on a single ambiguous text that might be read differently. It is built on a web of interconnected texts spanning both Testaments, all pointing in the same direction: Christ died as our substitute, bearing the penalty of our sins, satisfying the justice of God, so that we might be forgiven and reconciled to Him. The exegetical objections have sharpened our understanding and forced us to read the texts more carefully. For that, I am grateful. But they have not overturned the doctrine. Instead, careful exegesis confirms what the church has confessed for two millennia: "He was pierced for our transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace, and with his wounds we are healed" (Isaiah 53:5).

In the next chapter, we will turn to the theological and moral objections to penal substitution—the charges that it is unjust, that it divides the Trinity, and that it glorifies violence. These are different kinds of objections, requiring different kinds of responses. But they rest on the same foundation: if the exegetical case for penal substitution holds—and I believe it does—then we have strong reason to believe that the theological and moral objections, too, can be answered.