Chapter 8
Romans 3:21–26 — Propitiation, Righteousness, and Divine Justice

Introduction: The Theological Summit of the New Testament

If the Bible were a mountain range, Romans 3:21–26 would be its highest peak. That may sound like a bold claim, but I am far from alone in making it. Scholars across the centuries and across denominational lines have recognized these six verses as the single most concentrated and theologically rich passage on the atonement in all of Scripture. David Allen calls it "the heart of the letter and the apex of Paul's teaching on the atonement."¹ John Stott describes it as the passage where we see most clearly how God can be simultaneously just and the justifier of sinners.² Fleming Rutledge calls it "a high point" in Paul's argument, where the apostle brings together redemption, righteousness, and the sacrificial death of Christ into a single, breathtaking theological statement.³

Why does this passage matter so much? Because it answers the most important question in all of theology: How can a perfectly just and holy God forgive sinful human beings without compromising His own righteous character? That question is not merely academic. It cuts to the very heart of the gospel. If God simply overlooked sin—if He shrugged His shoulders and said, "Don't worry about it"—He would cease to be just. But if God rigidly enforced every penalty with no mercy, there would be no hope for any of us. Romans 3:21–26 reveals God's astonishing answer: through the sacrificial death of Jesus Christ, God can be both "just and the justifier" of the one who has faith in Jesus (v. 26). That is the theological summit we are climbing in this chapter.

My thesis is straightforward: Romans 3:21–26 is the single most important New Testament passage for understanding the theological mechanics of the atonement. It reveals that God set forth Christ as a hilastērion—a propitiation, a mercy seat—to demonstrate His righteousness, so that He might be both just and the justifier of the one who has faith in Jesus. This passage stands as the theological summit of substitutionary atonement.

In what follows, we will walk through the passage clause by clause. We will wrestle with the key Greek terms. We will engage the famous debate over whether hilastērion (ἱλαστήριον) means "propitiation" or "expiation." We will examine the "righteousness of God" and what Paul means by that loaded phrase. And we will listen carefully to scholars who challenge the traditional reading—including voices from the New Perspective on Paul, the Eastern Orthodox tradition, and critics of penal substitution—before offering our own synthesis. Along the way, I want to show you that this passage is not dry theology. It is the beating heart of the Christian gospel.

Setting the Stage: The Problem of Romans 1:18–3:20

You cannot understand Romans 3:21–26 without first understanding what comes before it. Paul has spent nearly three full chapters building an airtight legal case against the entire human race. His argument is devastating in its scope. In Romans 1:18–32, he shows that the Gentile world stands under God's wrath because it suppressed the truth about God, exchanged the glory of the Creator for created things, and plunged into every kind of moral corruption. In Romans 2:1–29, he turns the tables on the moralist and the Jew, showing that having the law of Moses is no guarantee of righteousness—"it is not the hearers of the law who are righteous before God, but the doers of the law who will be justified" (Rom. 2:13, ESV). And in Romans 3:1–20, he brings the hammer down with a devastating chain of Old Testament quotations: "None is righteous, no, not one; no one understands; no one seeks for God" (Rom. 3:10–11).

The result of this three-chapter argument is total. Every mouth is stopped. The whole world stands accountable before God (Rom. 3:19). "By works of the law no human being will be justified in his sight" (Rom. 3:20). As Allen observes, Paul has focused on proving that all people—Jews and Gentiles alike—are separated from God because of sin and are rightful recipients of His wrath and judgment.⁴

This is the darkness that makes the light of Romans 3:21 so blinding. After chapters of condemnation, Paul writes two of the most important words in the Bible: "But now." Those two small words mark a total reversal. Allen notes that the phrase "But now" in verse 21 (repeated again in verse 26) creates what scholars call an inclusio—a literary bracket that marks a new section and signals a dramatic contrast with what came before. The wrath of God, which has dominated since 1:18, is now counterbalanced by the righteousness of God.⁵

We need to feel the weight of this transition. Paul is not changing the subject. He is answering the impossible question his own argument has raised: If everyone stands guilty before God, and if the law cannot save anyone, then is there any hope at all? The answer, Paul declares, has arrived—and it has arrived not through human effort but through divine initiative.

The Text: Romans 3:21–26 (ESV)

These six verses are, in the Greek text, essentially two long sentences. The first sentence runs from verse 21 to verse 22a, and the second from verse 22b through verse 26.⁶ Together, they form one of the densest theological paragraphs ever written. Every phrase is loaded with meaning. Let us take them one at a time.

Clause-by-Clause Exegesis

"But now the righteousness of God has been manifested apart from the law" (v. 21a)

The phrase "the righteousness of God" (Greek: dikaiosynē theou, δικαιοσύνη θεοῦ) is one of the most debated expressions in all of Paul's writings. What exactly does it mean? Scholars have offered three main interpretations, and I believe the evidence supports a reading that incorporates elements of all three.

The first interpretation is that dikaiosynē theou refers to God's own attribute of justice—His inherent righteous character. God is just, and this passage reveals His justice. The second interpretation is that it refers to God's saving activity—His righteous action in history to rescue His people. This is the reading emphasized by many scholars within the so-called "New Perspective on Paul," including N. T. Wright and James Dunn, who argue that "the righteousness of God" is primarily about God's covenant faithfulness.⁷ The third interpretation is that it refers to a righteous status that God gives to believers—a right standing before Him that is received by faith.

I believe Paul has more than one of these meanings in view simultaneously. As Allen points out, Hultgren defines God's "righteousness" here as "God's saving activity by which he justifies, or sets relationships right, between humanity and himself."⁸ The term combines God's righteous character, His saving initiative, and the resulting right standing before Him when a person believes.⁹ This is not a case where we must pick only one meaning. Paul is making a theological statement that is deliberately rich and multi-layered. God's own righteous character has been displayed in His saving action, and the result is that believers receive a righteous status before Him.

Notice that this righteousness "has been manifested apart from the law." Paul is emphatic: the solution to the human predicament does not come through law-keeping. The law diagnosed the disease (Rom. 3:20), but it never offered the cure. God's saving righteousness operates on an entirely different basis. And yet—and this is crucial—it is not something totally new. The very next phrase tells us that "the Law and the Prophets bear witness to it." The Old Testament pointed forward to this. The promises God made through Moses and the prophets have come to fulfillment in Christ.¹⁰ There is both continuity and discontinuity here: the method is new, but the plan is ancient.

The New Perspective scholars are right to see covenant faithfulness as part of what Paul means. God is keeping His promises. But the traditional Protestant reading is also right that Paul is speaking of a righteous status that is granted to believers. As Thomas Schreiner has argued, God's righteousness in this passage has two dimensions: it refers to God's work in history through Christ's atoning death, and it is also a gift that is received by faith in the present.¹¹ We need not pit these readings against each other. Both are present in the text.

"The righteousness of God through faith in Jesus Christ for all who believe" (v. 22a)

Paul now specifies the means by which this righteousness is received: "through faith in Jesus Christ." The Greek phrase here (dia pisteōs Iēsou Christou, διὰ πίστεως Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ) has generated another scholarly debate. Does it mean "through faith in Jesus Christ" (the believer's faith directed toward Christ) or "through the faithfulness of Jesus Christ" (Christ's own faithful obedience to the Father)? This is the so-called pistis Christou debate.¹²

There are good arguments on both sides. Those who favor the "faithfulness of Christ" reading point out that it emphasizes what Christ has done rather than what we do, which fits Paul's emphasis on grace. Those who favor the traditional reading—"faith in Christ"—point out that Paul immediately adds "for all who believe," which would be redundant if he had just said "through Christ's faithfulness." Why say the same thing twice?

I find the traditional reading more convincing here, though I want to acknowledge the value in the alternative. Schreiner's reasoning is persuasive: the phrase "for all who believe" makes the best sense as a clarifying expansion of "through faith in Christ," emphasizing the universal availability of this righteousness to anyone who exercises faith.¹³ The atonement, as we will see, is objective—Christ accomplished it on the cross. But faith is the means by which it is appropriated. This is a distinction we must hold clearly: what Christ did is one thing; how we receive its benefits is another.

The phrase "for all who believe" is also significant for the scope of the atonement. Paul emphasizes that this righteousness is available to "all" without distinction. As he says next, "For there is no distinction." The old boundary markers—Jew and Gentile, circumcised and uncircumcised—have been swept away. God's saving righteousness is available to every human being who believes. This point has implications for the extent of the atonement that we will explore more fully in Chapter 30, but it is worth noting here: Paul's "all" is genuinely universal in its offer.

"For there is no distinction: for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God" (vv. 22b–23)

These words bring us back to the problem. The reason this universal offer of righteousness is needed is that sin is itself universal. "All have sinned"—Jews and Gentiles, moral and immoral, religious and irreligious. No one is exempt. And the result of this universal sinfulness is that all people "fall short of the glory of God." The Greek verb hysterountai (ὑστεροῦνται, to fall short, to lack) is in the present tense, indicating an ongoing condition. We are not merely people who sinned once in the past; we are people who continually fall short of the standard of God's glory.

What is the "glory of God" that we fall short of? I believe Paul is thinking of the image of God in which we were created. God made humanity to reflect His glory, to bear His image in the world. But sin has marred that image. We were made for glory, but we chose the gutter. We were designed to reflect the radiance of God's character, but instead we exchanged that glory for idols (Rom. 1:23). The universal scope of sin establishes the universal need for atonement. If only some people had sinned, only some would need a Savior. But since all have sinned, all need the rescue that God provides in Christ.

"And are justified by his grace as a gift, through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus" (v. 24)

Now we arrive at the heart of God's solution. The "all" who have sinned (v. 23) are "justified by his grace as a gift." The word "justified" (Greek: dikaioumenoi, δικαιούμενοι) is a legal or courtroom term. It means to be declared righteous, to be acquitted, to receive a favorable verdict. This is forensic language—the language of the law court. God, the Judge of all the earth, declares sinners righteous. But He does so not because they have earned it—not because they kept the law or lived moral lives—but "by his grace as a gift." The word translated "as a gift" (dōrean, δωρεάν) means "freely, without cost, gratis." There is nothing we contribute to our justification. It is pure grace from start to finish.

But grace is not random or groundless. It comes "through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus." The word "redemption" (apolytrōsis, ἀπολύτρωσις) is a marketplace term. In the ancient world, it referred to the purchase price paid to set a slave free or to release a prisoner of war. Allen notes that while the word sometimes carries a general sense of "deliverance," the notion of cost is invariably present—the main focus is on deliverance through the payment of a price.¹⁴ John Stott emphasizes that this is ransom language, and we should not dilute its meaning into a vague sense of rescue. Something was paid. A price was exacted. And that price was the blood of Christ.¹⁵

We see here a beautiful convergence of atonement images. Justification is courtroom language. Redemption is marketplace language. And as we are about to see, propitiation is temple language. Paul draws from multiple spheres of human experience to describe what happened at the cross—law court, slave market, and sanctuary. Each image captures a real dimension of what Christ accomplished. Together, they give us a richer picture than any one image could provide alone.

As Stott helpfully summarizes, the source of our justification is God and His grace; the ground for our justification is Christ and His cross; and the means of our justification is our faith in Christ.¹⁶

"Whom God put forward as a propitiation by his blood, to be received by faith" (v. 25a)

We have now arrived at what is arguably the single most important phrase in the entire passage—indeed, one of the most important phrases in the entire New Testament. God "put forward" (proetheto, προέθετο) Christ Jesus as a hilastērion (ἱλαστήριον) "by his blood." Every word here is theologically significant, and we need to take them carefully.

First, notice who takes the initiative: "God put forward." This is not a case of an angry deity being placated by a helpless victim. God Himself is the acting subject. He is the one who provides the sacrifice. He is the one who sets forth Christ. This echoes the pattern of the Old Testament sacrificial system, where God told Israel, "I have given it to you ... to make atonement for yourselves on the altar" (Lev. 17:11). The sacrifices were not human inventions designed to bribe a reluctant deity. They were divine gifts, provided by a gracious God. And the ultimate sacrifice—the death of Christ—was God's own initiative from first to last. As Rutledge rightly insists, the truly radical point about this passage is that God is the acting subject, not the passive object, of the atonement.¹⁷

Second, the phrase "by his blood" identifies the means: it is through Christ's sacrificial death. "Blood" in the biblical world is not merely a reference to a red liquid. It is shorthand for violent, sacrificial death. When Paul says Christ was set forth as a hilastērion "by his blood," he means that this saving event was accomplished through the sacrifice of Christ's life on the cross. The cross is not merely an example of love or a moral lesson. It is a blood sacrifice—the ultimate blood sacrifice to which the entire Old Testament sacrificial system pointed (as we explored in Chapters 4 and 5).

Third, and most debated of all, we face the question of what hilastērion means. This one Greek word has generated more scholarly controversy than perhaps any other in the Pauline corpus. The debate revolves around three possible meanings, and we need to examine each carefully.

The Hilastērion Debate: Propitiation, Expiation, or Mercy Seat?

The Greek word hilastērion (ἱλαστήριον) appears only twice in the New Testament—here in Romans 3:25 and in Hebrews 9:5, where it clearly refers to the "mercy seat" (the kapporet, כַּפֹּרֶת in Hebrew), the golden lid atop the Ark of the Covenant in the Holy of Holies. Outside the New Testament, the word and its cognates (hilasmos, ἱλασμός; hilaskomai, ἱλάσκομαι) appear in the Septuagint (the Greek Old Testament) and in wider Greek literature. Three primary meanings have been proposed for Paul's use in Romans 3:25:

Option 1: Propitiation — meaning "the satisfaction of God's wrath" or "the turning aside of God's just anger against sin." On this reading, Christ's death on the cross satisfied the demands of God's justice, so that God's righteous opposition to sin was addressed and sinners could be forgiven. This is the traditional translation found in the King James Version and defended vigorously by scholars such as Leon Morris, J. I. Packer, Thomas Schreiner, and John Stott.¹⁸

Option 2: Expiation — meaning "the removal or cleansing of sin." On this reading, the focus is not on God's wrath being satisfied but on sin being dealt with and removed. C. H. Dodd influentially argued for this translation in the mid-twentieth century, and his view shaped the New English Bible's rendering of the verse as "the means of expiating sin."¹⁹ The Revised Standard Version also uses "expiation."

Option 3: Mercy Seat — meaning that Paul is making a direct allusion to the Day of Atonement. On this reading, Christ Himself is the true mercy seat—the place where God's justice and mercy meet, the place where atonement is made. Since hilastērion clearly means "mercy seat" in Hebrews 9:5 and in numerous Septuagint passages, some scholars argue it carries the same meaning here, making Christ the antitype of the kapporet (as we discussed in Chapter 5 on Yom Kippur).

Which reading is correct? I believe that all three meanings contribute something genuine, but the context of Romans 3 demands that the propitiatory dimension be given priority. Let me explain why.

The Case for Propitiation: Why Context Demands It

The most influential argument against propitiation was made by C. H. Dodd, the distinguished British scholar who directed the translation of the New English Bible. Dodd's argument was primarily linguistic. He acknowledged that in ordinary pagan Greek—both classical and popular—the verb hilaskomai (ἱλάσκομαι) regularly meant "to propitiate" or "to placate an offended deity." But he denied that this pagan meaning carried over into the Septuagint or the New Testament. In the Septuagint, Dodd argued, the word-group had shifted in meaning to signify cleansing or removing defilement rather than appeasing an angry God. He concluded that when Paul used hilastērion in Romans 3:25, he meant "expiation"—the removal of sin—not "propitiation"—the satisfaction of divine wrath.²⁰

Dodd's argument was enormously influential. For a generation, many scholars accepted his conclusion and many modern Bible translations reflected it. But his case was subjected to devastating critique by several scholars, most notably Leon Morris and Roger Nicole. Their counter-arguments were careful, thorough, and, I believe, decisive.

Morris and Nicole showed that Dodd's conclusions rested on incomplete evidence and questionable deductions. Stott provides a helpful summary of their critique. First, Dodd's assessment of the meaning of the hilaskomai group in Hellenistic Judaism made no reference to the books of the Maccabees, even though they belong to the Septuagint and contain several passages that explicitly speak of "the wrath of the Almighty" being averted. Second, Dodd ignored the writings of Josephus and Philo, in which, as the German scholar Friedrich Büchsel demonstrated, the meaning "to placate" clearly prevails. Third, in early Christian literature—Clement's First Letter at the end of the first century and the Shepherd of Hermas at the beginning of the second—hilaskomai is plainly used of propitiating God.²¹

As Stott pointedly observes, for Dodd's theory to be correct, we would have to believe that the Septuagint and the New Testament "form a sort of linguistic island with little precedent in former times, little confirmation from the contemporaries, and no following in after years."²² That is a very difficult position to maintain.

But the linguistic evidence is only part of the case. Even more decisive is the argument from context. When we read Romans 3:25 in its setting within the larger argument of Romans 1–3, the propitiatory meaning becomes almost impossible to avoid. Paul has spent over two chapters establishing that the wrath of God is being revealed from heaven against all ungodliness (1:18), that all people are storing up wrath for the day of God's righteous judgment (2:5), and that the whole world stands accountable before God (3:19). Wrath, judgment, condemnation—these are the dominant themes of Romans 1:18–3:20. When Paul then says that God set forth Christ as a hilastērion "by his blood," the reader is expecting an answer to the problem of wrath. And that answer is propitiation. As Morris justly commented, "Wrath has occupied such an important place in the argument leading up to this section that we are justified in looking for some expression indicative of its cancellation in the process which brings about salvation."²³

Allen is likewise emphatic. He acknowledges that all three possible meanings—mercy seat, expiation, and propitiation—may inhere in Paul's usage, and that "we do not need to succumb to the false dichotomy of whether Paul intends 'propitiation' or 'expiation.'" But he concludes that "propitiation" is the best translation because the preceding context of Romans 1:18–3:20 makes this clear. God's wrath is the result of human sin (1:18), and the judgment of God against sin involves His wrath (2:5; 3:5–6).²⁴

The Mercy Seat Allusion: An Important Layer

While I believe propitiation is the primary meaning in context, the "mercy seat" (kapporet) allusion adds a rich and important layer of meaning that should not be dismissed. On the Day of Atonement (Yom Kippur), which we examined in Chapter 5, the high priest entered the Holy of Holies and sprinkled the blood of the sin offering on the mercy seat—the golden lid atop the Ark of the Covenant (Lev. 16:14–15). It was there, at the mercy seat, that God's presence dwelt between the cherubim. It was there that the blood was applied. It was there that atonement was made.

If Paul is alluding to the mercy seat in Romans 3:25—and many scholars believe he is—then his point is stunning: Christ Himself is the new mercy seat. He is the place where God and sinful humanity meet. He is the location where atonement is accomplished. He is, in His own person and in His blood, the meeting point of divine justice and divine mercy. As we discussed in Chapter 5, the mercy seat was the place where God's holiness and God's grace converged. Paul is saying that the cross of Christ is the ultimate mercy seat—the place where God's justice is satisfied and God's love is displayed, all at once.

This reading does not compete with propitiation; it enriches it. The mercy seat was itself the place where propitiation was made. The blood sprinkled on the kapporet was propitiatory blood—blood that dealt with the reality of sin and wrath. So whether we read hilastērion as "propitiation" or as "mercy seat," the theological result is the same: Christ's death addresses the problem of divine wrath against sin and provides the basis for forgiveness.

The Expiation Dimension: Genuine but Incomplete

What about expiation—the removal or cleansing of sin? Is that part of what Paul means? Yes, I believe it is. But it is insufficient by itself to capture the full meaning of hilastērion in this context.

Stott provides a wise balance here. While firmly defending the propitiatory meaning of hilastērion, he acknowledges that we should not deny the biblical doctrine of expiation. Propitiation and expiation belong together. The German scholar Büchsel wrote that "hilasmos ... is the action in which God is propitiated and sin expiated." David Wells elaborated this further: in Paul's thought, humanity is alienated from God by sin, and God is alienated from humanity by wrath. It is in the substitutionary death of Christ that sin is overcome and wrath averted. Sin is expiated, and God is propitiated.²⁵

The error, then, is not in affirming expiation. The error is in affirming expiation while denying propitiation. If sin is merely cleansed but God's wrath is never addressed, then Paul's argument in Romans 1–3 loses its coherence. Why spend over two chapters establishing that God's wrath is real and terrifying, only to offer a solution that ignores wrath entirely? The logic of Paul's argument demands that hilastērion include propitiation—the satisfaction of divine justice—alongside expiation—the removal of sin.

Responding to Hess: A Purgation-Only Reading?

William Hess, in his thoughtful book Crushing the Great Serpent, argues that the concept of propitiation in the New Testament has been distorted by the importation of pagan Greek ideas. He contends that the Hebraic understanding of hilasmos-type offerings focused on purgation (cleansing) rather than on appeasing divine wrath. Hess maintains that the pagan concept of propitiating an angry deity—exemplified by stories from Homer's Iliad in which sacrifices were offered to assuage the wrath of gods like Apollo—has been wrongly imported into Christian theology.²⁶

I appreciate Hess's concern here. He is right that crude, pagan notions of propitiation—bribing an angry god, placating a capricious deity—must be firmly rejected. Nobody should be defending that kind of propitiation. Stott himself is clear that crude concepts of anger, sacrifice, and propitiation "are indeed to be rejected. They do not belong to the religion of the Old Testament, let alone of the New."²⁷

But Hess goes too far when he removes propitiation from the equation entirely. The problem with a purgation-only reading is that it cannot account for the very thing Paul is trying to explain. Paul's argument in Romans 3:25–26 is that God set forth Christ as a hilastērion in order "to show God's righteousness" and to demonstrate that He is "just." The question Paul is answering is not merely "How can sin be cleansed?" but "How can God be just in forgiving sinners?" That is a question about divine justice, not just human purgation. And the answer must involve the satisfaction of justice—which is precisely what propitiation means.

Moreover, while Hess is correct that the Hebrew sacrificial system included a strong purgation element, the Old Testament itself contains numerous instances where kipper (כָּפַר, to atone) and its Greek equivalents are used in contexts that explicitly mention God's wrath being turned away. Morris demonstrated that even when the natural translation is "to make atonement for sin," the context often includes explicit mention of God's wrath, which implies that human sin can be atoned for only by the divine anger being turned away.²⁸ We explored this in detail in Chapters 4 and 5. The purgation and propitiation dimensions are not either/or; they are both/and.

The Trinity and Propitiation: God as Both Subject and Object

There is one more crucial point about propitiation that must be stated clearly, because it is often misunderstood. Biblical propitiation is radically different from pagan propitiation in this respect: in pagan religions, human beings offer sacrifices to placate an angry god. The action moves from below to above—from humans to the deity. But in the biblical gospel, God Himself provides the sacrifice. The action moves from above to below—from God to humanity. "God put forward" Christ. "God so loved the world that he gave his only Son" (John 3:16). The initiative is entirely God's.

Stott captures this beautifully. He identifies three crucial differences between biblical and pagan propitiation. First, the reason propitiation is necessary is not that God is capricious or arbitrary but that sin arouses the righteous, holy, predictable opposition of God's perfect nature. Second, the one who makes the propitiation is not a human being trying to bribe God but God Himself, who provides the sacrifice in His sheer mercy. Third, the sacrifice offered is not an animal or a thing but a Person—God's own Son, who is God Himself. In giving His Son, the Father was giving Himself.²⁹

This is what Stott famously called "the self-substitution of God." The cross is not the Father punishing an unwilling victim. It is the Triune God—Father, Son, and Holy Spirit—acting in unified love to bear the consequences of human sin. As Stott memorably put it: "God Himself gave Himself to save us from Himself."³⁰ The Father who sends, the Son who dies, and the Spirit who sustains are not in conflict. They are acting together, in love, for us. We will explore the Trinitarian dimensions of the atonement more fully in Chapter 20, but the point must be made here: any version of propitiation that pits the Father against the Son is not biblical propitiation. It is a distortion that both Scripture and sound theology reject.

Philippe de la Trinité, writing from within the Roman Catholic Thomistic tradition, makes a similar point with great force. He argues that Christ atoned for our faults through a Passion that possesses the value of a satisfaction of justice, but that this satisfaction was willed positively by God as the overflow of merciful love. In his view, retributive justice alone could not provide the motive for any part of the satisfaction made by Jesus; the reason must be sought in the superabundant mercy of both the Son and the Father.³¹ This emphasis on mercy as the driving force behind satisfaction is profoundly compatible with the position I am defending in this book: substitution grounded in love, not wrath-driven vengeance.

"This was to show God's righteousness, because in his divine forbearance he had passed over former sins" (v. 25b)

With this clause, Paul reveals the theological problem that the cross was designed to solve. It is a problem that we might not naturally think of, but once Paul raises it, we can see how important it is.

The problem is this: throughout the Old Testament era, God "passed over" sins. He did not fully and finally deal with them. The Old Testament sacrifices covered sin temporarily—they were, as the author of Hebrews says, "a reminder of sins every year" (Heb. 10:3)—but they did not remove sin permanently. God, in His divine patience (or "forbearance"), tolerated sin, so to speak. He stayed His hand of final judgment. He exercised restraint.

But this creates a theological problem. If God simply passed over sins without dealing with them, couldn't someone accuse Him of being unjust? A human judge who let criminals go free without penalty would be a corrupt judge. How is God any different if He simply overlooked the sins of Abraham, Moses, David, and all the Old Testament saints? Where is justice in that?

Paul's answer is that the cross was the demonstration of God's righteousness precisely because it showed that God was not merely overlooking sin. The "passing over" of former sins was not the end of the story—it was a stay of execution. God was holding back His final judgment until the time when He would deal with sin decisively and permanently through the death of Christ. Until the cross, as Allen notes, "sins committed from Adam and Eve onward were neither punished as they deserved nor atoned for as they were going to be."³² The cross, then, is God's retroactive vindication. It demonstrates that He was righteous all along—even when He appeared to be letting sin go unpunished.

Rutledge brings out an important nuance here. She notes that Paul is making a sharp contrast between "passing over sins" in the past and "the revelation of God's righteousness" at the present time. In the former times, sin was merely passed over. But now, in the cross, God has dealt with sin definitively. God "condemned sin" in Christ's flesh (Rom. 8:3), and this is quite different from passing over it. The cross is not simply forgiveness; it is God's definitive assault upon and defeat of sin.³³

"It was to show his righteousness at the present time, so that he might be just and the justifier of the one who has faith in Jesus" (v. 26)

Here we reach the theological climax—not just of this passage, but arguably of the entire book of Romans. This is the verse where everything Paul has been building toward comes together. God's purpose in setting forth Christ as a hilastērion was "to show his righteousness at the present time." But the purpose was not merely to demonstrate an abstract attribute. The purpose was eminently practical: "so that he might be just and the justifier of the one who has faith in Jesus."

Think about what Paul is saying. Without the cross, God faces (if we may speak reverently) an impossible dilemma. If He punishes sinners as they deserve, His justice is upheld—but His mercy is not displayed, and no one is saved. If He forgives sinners without any ground for that forgiveness, His mercy is displayed—but His justice is compromised, and He becomes a corrupt judge. The cross resolves this dilemma perfectly. At the cross, God's justice is fully satisfied because sin is dealt with—the penalty is borne. And at the cross, God's mercy is fully displayed because the penalty is borne not by the sinner but by God's own Son, acting as the sinner's Substitute.

As Schreiner insightfully observes, the fundamental question Paul is answering here is not "How can God justly punish people for their sins?" but "How can God justly forgive anyone?"³⁴ That is a much harder question. Punishment is straightforward: sinners deserve it. But forgiveness? Forgiveness seems to require the Judge to let the guilty party off the hook. And how can a righteous Judge do that? Paul's answer is propitiation. The penalty has already been paid by a Substitute. God can now be "just"—because sin has been punished—"and the justifier"—because the sinner who trusts in Christ is acquitted on the basis of what Christ has done.

Allen brings out the pastoral and homiletical beauty of this. He quotes the nineteenth-century theologian J. M. Pendleton, who expressed it well: the atonement exerts such influence on the throne of God as to make its occupant "just and the justifier of him which believeth in Jesus." Without the atonement we should have heard of God as just and the condemner—with it we hear of Him as "just and the justifier."³⁵ Do you feel the force of that contrast? Apart from Christ, God is just and the condemner. In Christ, God is just and the justifier. That is the difference the cross makes.

This is, I believe, the strongest single argument for the propitiatory and substitutionary dimension of the atonement. If there is no penal or satisfaction dimension to Christ's death—if Christ's death merely demonstrated God's love, or merely defeated the powers of evil, or merely cleansed sin—then how exactly does the cross enable God to be "just" in forgiving sinners? The Christus Victor model tells us Christ defeated evil. The moral influence model tells us Christ inspired love. The expiation model tells us sin was cleansed. But none of these, by themselves, explains how God's justice is vindicated when He forgives guilty sinners. Only the substitutionary-propitiatory model answers that question: God is just because the penalty for sin was borne by Christ; He is the justifier because those who trust in Christ are acquitted on the basis of His atoning work.

The Universality of the Atonement in Romans 3:21–26

Before we leave this passage, we need to highlight an important theme that runs throughout it: the universal scope of the atonement. Paul emphasizes this repeatedly. The righteousness of God is "for all who believe" (v. 22). "There is no distinction" (v. 22). "All have sinned" (v. 23). The atonement is available to "the one who has faith in Jesus"—any one, without restriction (v. 26).

Allen draws out this point extensively. He argues that in Romans 3:24–26, God's action with respect to human sin is universal in scope. The death of Jesus effects a complete change in the situation between sinful humanity and God. God's grace is available to all and offered to all on the grounds of an atonement for the sins of all—and this universality is essential to Paul's argument that with God there is no difference between Jews and Gentiles. Because there is no distinction in sin, there is no distinction in the provision of atonement.³⁶

Allen raises a penetrating question for those who hold to limited atonement (the view that Christ died only for the elect): How can God be said to be righteous if He arbitrarily selects some to save yet passes over others? If He chose to save all or none, His righteousness would not be called into question. But if He chooses some and reprobates others, His divine character is impugned on this very point.³⁷ I find this argument compelling. Paul's whole point in Romans 3:21–26 is that God's righteousness has been demonstrated—and it is demonstrated precisely in the fact that the offer of salvation is universally available. The "all" who sinned are the same "all" for whom justification is offered. We will return to this important theme in Chapters 30 and 31.

It is important, however, to distinguish between provision and application. Allen makes this distinction clearly. Christ does not become a propitiation only when people believe in Him. He is the propitiation for all sin and all sinners, whether believers or unbelievers (1 John 2:2). The only conditionality concerns the application of the atonement to an individual sinner, and that condition is clearly stated to be faith in Christ. Three times in this short passage, Paul mentions faith as the means of appropriation (vv. 22, 25, 26).³⁸ The provision is unlimited; the application is conditioned on faith.

The "Righteousness of God" and the New Perspective on Paul

We briefly touched on the "New Perspective on Paul" (NPP) in our discussion of verse 21, but the issue deserves more careful treatment because it has significant implications for how we read Romans 3:21–26.

The New Perspective, associated primarily with E. P. Sanders, James Dunn, and N. T. Wright, challenges the traditional Protestant reading of Paul in several ways. For our purposes, the most important challenge concerns the meaning of "the righteousness of God" (dikaiosynē theou). The traditional Protestant reading, going back to Luther, understood this phrase as referring (at least in part) to a righteous status that God imputes to the believer—what the Reformers called "alien righteousness" or "imputed righteousness." On this reading, justification is primarily forensic: God the Judge declares the sinner righteous on the basis of Christ's work.

Wright and other NPP scholars argue that dikaiosynē theou should be understood primarily as "God's covenant faithfulness"—God's fidelity to His covenant promises to Israel and, through Israel, to the whole world. On this reading, the passage is not so much about how individual sinners get right with God (though that is included) as about how God has been faithful to His plan to rescue the world through Israel's Messiah.³⁹

I believe the NPP scholars have made a genuine contribution by highlighting the covenant-faithfulness dimension of God's righteousness. They are right that Paul is thinking about God's fidelity to His promises. The phrase "although the Law and the Prophets bear witness to it" (v. 21) shows that Paul sees continuity between the Old Testament promises and the gospel. God is keeping His word.

But I also believe the NPP goes too far when it minimizes the forensic dimension of justification. Paul's language in this passage is undeniably legal. "Justified" (dikaioumenoi) is courtroom language. "Just" (dikaios) and "justifier" (dikaiōn) are courtroom terms. The entire argument of Romans 1–3 is structured like a legal prosecution, with God as Judge, humanity as the accused, and the verdict as "guilty" (3:19–20). When Paul then speaks of God justifying sinners, he is clearly using forensic categories. The courtroom metaphor is not window dressing; it is the load-bearing framework of the argument.

Moreover, the very problem Paul is solving in verse 26—how God can be "just and the justifier"—only makes sense if justification has a forensic dimension. If "justify" merely meant "to recognize as covenant members," the tension Paul describes would not exist. The tension exists precisely because God is declaring guilty sinners to be righteous, and that looks like a miscarriage of justice unless there is a sufficient ground for it. That ground is the hilastērion—the propitiatory, substitutionary death of Christ.

So I would affirm both dimensions: God's righteousness is His covenant faithfulness displayed in saving action, AND it results in a forensic verdict of "righteous" pronounced over those who trust in Christ. These are not competing readings; they are complementary truths.

How This Passage Supports Substitutionary Atonement

At this point, I want to step back and connect the exegetical details to the book's larger argument. Romans 3:21–26 is one of the most powerful pieces of evidence for substitutionary atonement in the entire Bible. Here is why.

First, the passage teaches that Christ's death was a sacrifice offered by God to deal with the problem of sin and wrath. "God put forward" Christ "as a propitiation by his blood." This is sacrificial language through and through. The blood, the propitiation, the divine initiative—all of this points to the cross as a genuine sacrifice, not merely a moral example or a display of solidarity with human suffering.

Second, the passage teaches that Christ's death accomplished something objective. It was not merely a subjective influence on human hearts (contra the moral influence theory) or simply a declaration of victory over evil powers (contra a Christus Victor-only model). It achieved a concrete result: it demonstrated God's righteousness, it dealt with the accumulated problem of unpunished sins from the Old Testament era, and it enabled God to declare sinners righteous. These are objective accomplishments that do not depend on whether anyone responds to them in faith. The provision exists whether or not anyone appropriates it.

Third, the passage teaches that Christ's death satisfies God's justice. The whole logic of verse 26 depends on this. God is "just" in forgiving sinners because the demands of justice have been met through Christ's propitiatory death. If justice had not been satisfied, God could not be called "just" in forgiving anyone. The satisfaction of divine justice is precisely what distinguishes substitutionary atonement from other models.

Fourth, the passage assumes that Christ died in the place of sinners. Although the word "substitution" does not appear in this particular text, the substitutionary logic is inescapable. Sinners deserve condemnation (1:18–3:20). Christ bears the hilastērion in His blood (3:25). As a result, sinners are declared righteous (3:24, 26). The only way to connect these dots is substitution: Christ bore what sinners deserved so that sinners might receive what Christ deserved. As Gathercole has argued in his rigorous study of substitution in Paul, the category of "Christ in our place" is a central Pauline category, not a peripheral one.⁴⁰

Fifth, Paul's summary statement in Romans 5:8–9 provides the interpretive lens for Romans 3:21–26. "God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us. Since, therefore, we have now been justified by his blood, much more shall we be saved by him from the wrath of God." Justified by His blood. Saved from the wrath of God. These are precisely the themes of Romans 3:25–26, and they are unmistakably substitutionary and penal: Christ's blood justifies us, and it saves us from the wrath that we deserved. We will examine Romans 5:6–11 in more detail in Chapter 9.

The Significance for the Multi-Faceted Atonement

Throughout this book, I have been arguing that the atonement is multi-faceted—it has many genuine dimensions—but that substitution stands at the center, with other models arranged around it as complementary truths. Romans 3:21–26 powerfully supports this integration.

Notice how many atonement images Paul weaves into these six verses. There is justification—courtroom language. There is redemption—marketplace language. There is propitiation—temple language. There is the satisfaction of divine justice—moral government language. And although Christus Victor themes are not explicit here, they are present in the broader context: Romans 8:3 speaks of God "condemning sin in the flesh," language that echoes a victory over the power of sin, and Colossians 2:13–15 (which we will examine in Chapter 9) explicitly combines forensic and victory language in a single paragraph.

What holds all of these images together? Substitution. The justification happens because Christ stood in the sinner's place before the Judge. The redemption happens because Christ paid the price the sinner owed. The propitiation happens because Christ bore the wrath the sinner deserved. The victory over sin happens because Christ took sin upon Himself and defeated it from within. Remove substitution, and the other images lose their anchor. Stott makes this point brilliantly: substitution is not a further "theory" or "image" to be set alongside the others, but rather the foundation of them all. "If God in Christ did not die in our place, there could be neither propitiation, nor redemption, nor justification, nor reconciliation."⁴¹

I find this insight profoundly compelling. We do not need to choose between substitution and other models. We need substitution at the center to make the other models work.

Engaging the Alternative: Hess and the New Covenant Reading

The master prompt for this chapter instructs us to engage with William Hess's treatment of the new covenant in chapter 12 of Crushing the Great Serpent. Hess offers an alternative reading of the atonement that emphasizes the inaugurating of the new covenant rather than the satisfaction of divine justice. His argument deserves a careful hearing.

Hess contends that the primary significance of Christ's death is that it inaugurated the new covenant promised in Jeremiah 31 and Ezekiel 36. On this view, Jesus is the mediator of the new covenant, and His death is what frees us from the old covenant order of law, sin, and death. The blood of Christ is "covenant blood"—the blood that seals and ratifies a new arrangement between God and humanity—rather than "penal blood" that satisfies divine justice.⁴⁴

There is genuine truth in this perspective, and I want to affirm what is right about it before explaining where I think it falls short. The new covenant framework is unquestionably important for understanding Christ's death. Jesus Himself said at the Last Supper, "This cup is the new covenant in my blood" (Luke 22:20; 1 Cor. 11:25). The author of Hebrews calls Jesus "the mediator of a new covenant" (Heb. 9:15; 12:24). The new covenant theme is a legitimate and vital dimension of atonement theology, and any account of the cross that ignores it is incomplete.

However, I do not believe the new covenant framework can replace the substitutionary-propitiatory framework. Here is why. When we look at what the new covenant actually promises, we find that it includes the forgiveness of sins. Jeremiah 31:34 says, "I will forgive their iniquity, and I will remember their sin no more." But this raises exactly the question Paul is wrestling with in Romans 3:25–26: On what basis does God forgive? How can He justly forgive? The new covenant tells us that forgiveness is promised. Romans 3:21–26 tells us how that forgiveness is possible. The mechanism is propitiation—the hilastērion of Christ's blood. The new covenant and the propitiatory sacrifice are not competing explanations; they are complementary. The propitiation is what makes the new covenant possible. Without the satisfaction of divine justice, the new covenant's promise of forgiveness would lack a basis.

Consider also the language of Hebrews 9:15, which explicitly connects the two: "He is the mediator of a new covenant, so that those who are called may receive the promised eternal inheritance, since a death has occurred that redeems them from the transgressions committed under the first covenant." Notice the logic: a death was necessary. Not just any death, but a death that "redeems" from transgressions. This is sacrificial, substitutionary language embedded within the new covenant framework itself. The new covenant does not eliminate the need for substitutionary sacrifice; it is established through it.

So while I agree with Hess that the new covenant is a vital dimension of what Christ accomplished, I respectfully disagree that it replaces or renders unnecessary the propitiatory dimension that Paul describes in Romans 3:25. The new covenant tells us the result; propitiation tells us the means. Both are needed for a complete picture.

Counterarguments and Responses

Before we draw our conclusions, intellectual honesty requires that we engage with the strongest objections that have been raised against the reading of Romans 3:21–26 that I have been defending. Let me consider three significant ones.

Objection 1: "Paul is not talking about individual salvation here but about covenant membership."

Some scholars within the New Perspective on Paul argue that Romans 3:21–26 is not primarily about how individual sinners are forgiven but about how Gentiles are included in the covenant people of God. On this reading, "justification" is not about getting right with God but about being recognized as part of God's covenant community. The passage is therefore more ecclesiological (about the church) than soteriological (about salvation).

I have already acknowledged the genuine insights of the New Perspective, and I agree that the inclusion of Gentiles is part of what Paul has in view. The emphasis on "no distinction" (v. 22) and "all who believe" (v. 22) does indeed carry implications for the composition of God's people. But the objection overreaches when it strips the passage of its soteriological content. Paul's argument in Romans 1:18–3:20 is not merely about covenant boundary markers; it is about universal human guilt before a holy God. "All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God" (v. 23) is a statement about the human condition before the divine Judge, not just about Jewish-Gentile relations. And the solution Paul offers—justification by grace through the redemption and propitiation in Christ—addresses that universal human condition. The ecclesiological dimension is real but secondary to the soteriological core.

Objection 2: "The passage does not use the language of punishment or penalty, so it does not teach penal substitution."

Some critics point out that Romans 3:21–26 never explicitly says that God "punished" Jesus or that Jesus bore the "penalty" of sin. The word "punishment" (Greek: kolasis or timōria) does not appear. Therefore, they argue, it is illegitimate to read penal substitution into this text.

This objection raises a fair point about terminology, but it does not succeed as an argument against the substance of penal substitution. Paul may not use the word "punishment," but the conceptual framework is unmistakably present. The passage speaks of God's wrath (implicit from 1:18–3:20), of propitiation (satisfaction of that wrath), of blood (violent, sacrificial death), and of the demonstration of God's justice (v. 25–26). The logic is clear: there was a problem of justice (God had passed over sins), and Christ's death resolved that problem by demonstrating that God is just. How does a death demonstrate justice unless that death bears some relation to the penalty that justice demands? The penal dimension may not be labeled with the technical vocabulary that later theologians would use, but the concept is woven into the very fabric of Paul's argument.

Moreover, we should be cautious about the argument from silence. Paul also does not use the word "Trinity" in this passage, but no one concludes that the passage is irrelevant to Trinitarian theology. Theological concepts can be present in a text even when the technical terminology is absent. What matters is the logical structure of the argument, and that structure is deeply compatible with—indeed, it requires—a penal or satisfaction dimension.

Objection 3: "Making God both the subject and object of propitiation is incoherent."

A more philosophical objection runs as follows: If God is both the one who provides the propitiation (subject) and the one whose wrath is propitiated (object), then God is essentially satisfying Himself. This seems circular or incoherent. Why would God need to do something to Himself in order to forgive?

This is a more serious objection, and it touches on deep questions about the nature of God's attributes that we will explore more fully in Part VI (Philosophical Analysis). But a brief response is in order here. The apparent incoherence arises only if we think of God as a simple, undifferentiated monad. But the Christian God is Triune—three Persons in one divine nature. The Father sends the Son; the Son willingly gives Himself; the Spirit sustains and applies the work. Within this Trinitarian framework, it is coherent to say that God (the Father, in concert with the Son and Spirit) provides the sacrifice, and that the sacrifice addresses the demands of God's own righteous character. The "self-satisfaction" is not circular but relational—it occurs within the dynamic, interpersonal life of the Trinity.

Furthermore, the alternative—that God simply forgives without any basis in justice—creates its own problems. If God can forgive by sheer fiat, with no cost and no ground, then His justice is merely nominal. He is not truly just; He merely plays at justice when it suits Him. But if God's justice is real—if it is an essential attribute of His being, not a costume He wears—then it must be satisfied. And the beauty of the gospel is that God satisfies His own justice, at His own expense, through His own initiative. That is not incoherence. That is grace.

The Role of Faith: Condition, Not Cause

One final exegetical point deserves attention. Three times in this short passage, Paul mentions faith as the means of receiving God's righteousness (vv. 22, 25, 26). This repetition is not accidental. Paul wants us to understand that while the atonement is objectively accomplished—Christ's death is a finished work, complete and sufficient—it is not automatically applied. Faith is the condition for its application to the individual.

This distinction between provision and application is crucial for avoiding two opposite errors. The first error is universalism—the idea that since Christ died for all, all are automatically saved regardless of whether they believe. Paul clearly does not teach this in Romans 3. Justification is "for all who believe" (v. 22) and for "the one who has faith in Jesus" (v. 26). Faith is a genuine condition, not a mere formality. The second error is limited atonement—the idea that since only believers are actually justified, Christ must have died only for believers. But Paul's language of universal provision ("all have sinned ... justified by his grace ... God put forward") combined with the condition of faith shows that the provision is universal while the application is conditional.

What kind of faith does Paul have in mind? Not a mere intellectual agreement with theological propositions. The faith Paul describes is trust—personal reliance on Christ and what He has done. It is the act of a sinner throwing himself on the mercy of God, trusting that the hilastērion of Christ's blood is sufficient. Faith does not earn justification; it receives it. Faith is not the cause of our salvation; it is the instrument through which salvation is appropriated. The cause is God's grace; the ground is Christ's blood; the instrument is faith.⁴⁵

Allen makes the helpful observation that in verse 24, the present tense participle "being justified" indicates that Paul is stating a principle—any and all sinners can be justified freely by God's grace. But in verse 26, Paul narrows from the universal principle to the specific individual: God is "the justifier of the one who has faith in Jesus." Paul moves from universal provision to individual application, and the bridge between the two is faith.⁴⁶

Engaging the Catholic Perspective: Vicarious Satisfaction and Mercy

One of the great strengths of the Catholic theological tradition, as represented by Thomas Aquinas and developed by writers like Philippe de la Trinité, is its insistence that the satisfaction Christ offered was rooted in love and mercy, not in vindictive punishment. Philippe de la Trinité argues strenuously against any view that would make the cross a matter of retributive justice inflicted by an angry Father upon His Son. Instead, he insists that Christ's satisfaction was "willed positively by God as good because making atonement for the sins of mankind," but that this divine will "does not explain itself, nor ultimately can it be explained save as the overflow of merciful love."⁴²

I believe this Catholic emphasis is exactly right and deeply compatible with what we find in Romans 3:21–26. Notice that Paul grounds the entire saving event in God's grace (v. 24) and God's initiative (v. 25, "God put forward"). The propitiation is not wrested from a reluctant deity by a human sacrifice. It flows from the heart of God Himself. Justice is served, yes—but justice is served by mercy, through mercy, and for the purpose of displaying mercy. Philippe de la Trinité's elegant formulation captures this beautifully: the mystery of redemption lies in the fact that it entails an act of divine justice wholly penetrated by divine mercy. We must "neither exclude justice nor include it under the aspect of revenge."⁴³

This is precisely the position I am defending in this book: substitutionary atonement grounded in the unified, self-giving love of the Trinity. The Father does not pour out wrath upon an unwilling Son. Rather, the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit together absorb the consequences of human sin in an act of unfathomable love. Justice is satisfied not despite love but through love.

Conclusion: The Cross Where Justice and Mercy Embrace

Romans 3:21–26 is the theological summit of the New Testament's witness to the atonement. In these six dense, magnificent verses, Paul gives us the fullest explanation of why the cross was necessary and what it accomplished. The passage reveals that God—acting in sovereign grace and love—set forth His own Son as a hilastērion, a propitiation and mercy seat, so that through Christ's sacrificial blood the problem of human sin and divine wrath could be resolved once and for all. The result is that God is demonstrated to be both "just"—His righteous character is vindicated, not compromised—"and the justifier"—He freely declares sinners righteous who come to Him by faith in Jesus.

We have seen that the hilastērion debate—propitiation or expiation?—is best resolved not by choosing one over the other but by recognizing that propitiation includes expiation while going beyond it. Sin is cleansed (expiation), and divine justice is satisfied (propitiation). The mercy seat allusion enriches both by showing that Christ Himself is the place where God's justice and mercy meet. The context of Romans 1–3, with its sustained emphasis on God's wrath against sin, demands that the propitiatory dimension be given priority.

We have also seen that the "righteousness of God" includes both God's covenant faithfulness (the New Perspective's contribution) and the forensic declaration of a righteous status for believers (the traditional Protestant emphasis). These are complementary truths, and Paul holds them together beautifully.

Most importantly, we have seen that Romans 3:21–26 powerfully supports substitutionary atonement. The logic of the passage is irreducibly substitutionary: sinners deserve condemnation; Christ bears the hilastērion in His blood; sinners are declared righteous. The only bridge between the problem and the solution is substitution—Christ in our place, bearing what we deserved, so that we might receive what He deserved. And this substitution is not an act of divine violence or cosmic child abuse; it is the self-substitution of the Triune God, acting in unified love to rescue a rebellious world.

The Psalmist wrote, "Steadfast love and faithfulness meet; righteousness and peace kiss each other" (Ps. 85:10). That ancient poetic vision finds its fullest realization at the cross. At Calvary, love and justice do not compete. They embrace. Mercy and righteousness do not cancel each other out. They are both fulfilled—together, simultaneously, perfectly—in the blood of Jesus Christ, whom God put forward as the hilastērion for the sins of the world.

And for that, we can only respond with worship.

Bibliography

Allen, David L. The Atonement: A Biblical, Theological, and Historical Study of the Cross of Christ. Nashville: B&H Academic, 2019.

Bird, Michael F., and Preston M. Sprinkle, eds. The Faith of Jesus Christ: Exegetical, Biblical, and Theological Studies. Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 2009.

Dodd, C. H. The Bible and the Greeks. London: Hodder & Stoughton, 1935.

———. The Epistle of Paul to the Romans. London: Collins, 1959.

Dunn, James D. G. The Theology of Paul the Apostle. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998.

Gathercole, Simon. Defending Substitution: An Essay on Atonement in Paul. Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2015.

Hess, William L. Crushing the Great Serpent: Did God Punish Jesus? 2024.

Morris, Leon. The Apostolic Preaching of the Cross. 3rd ed. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1965.

Packer, J. I. "What Did the Cross Achieve? The Logic of Penal Substitution." Tyndale Bulletin 25 (1974): 3–45.

Philippe de la Trinité. What Is Redemption? How Christ's Suffering Saves Us. Steubenville, OH: Emmaus Road, 2021.

Rutledge, Fleming. The Crucifixion: Understanding the Death of Jesus Christ. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2015.

Schreiner, Thomas R. Romans. 2nd ed. Baker Exegetical Commentary on the New Testament. Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2018.

Stott, John R. W. The Cross of Christ. Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 2006.

Wright, N. T. Justification: God's Plan and Paul's Vision. Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic, 2009.

———. Paul and the Faithfulness of God. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2013.