Chapter 32
Exegetical Objections to Substitutionary Atonement

Introduction: Can the Bible Really Bear the Weight?

We have spent many chapters building the biblical, historical, and theological case for substitutionary atonement. We have examined the Old Testament sacrificial system, traced the Suffering Servant through Isaiah 53, studied Jesus' own words about His death, and walked carefully through the key New Testament texts. But not everyone finds this evidence convincing. In fact, some scholars argue that the case for substitutionary atonement rests on a fundamental misreading of the biblical evidence. They claim that when we examine the texts more carefully — in their original languages, literary contexts, and historical settings — the substitutionary interpretation falls apart.

These are serious objections, and they deserve serious answers. In this chapter, I want to lay out the major exegetical objections to substitutionary atonement fairly and carefully, giving each one the strongest possible formulation. Then I want to show why I believe these objections, while often illuminating in what they highlight, ultimately fail to overturn the substitutionary reading of Scripture. My thesis is straightforward: the major exegetical objections to substitutionary atonement — that the Old Testament sacrificial system does not support it, that the New Testament atonement texts have been misread, and that the key terms do not carry penal or substitutionary meaning — can be answered through careful, contextual exegesis.

Before we dive in, a word about approach. I have no interest in winning arguments for the sake of winning. These are real questions raised by real scholars who often care deeply about Scripture and about getting the gospel right. Some of the critics have done us a genuine service by forcing defenders of substitutionary atonement to sharpen their arguments, avoid sloppy formulations, and attend more closely to the actual biblical data. My goal here is not to dismiss their concerns but to engage them honestly and show that the substitutionary reading of Scripture remains the most compelling account of the evidence.¹

A second word of orientation. Throughout this chapter, I will be cross-referencing earlier chapters where particular passages have already been exegeted in depth. This is deliberate. Each major biblical text has been treated thoroughly in its proper home chapter — the Old Testament sacrificial system in Chapters 4 and 5, Isaiah 53 in Chapter 6, Jesus' self-understanding of His death in Chapter 7, Romans 3:21–26 in Chapter 8, the broader Pauline witness in Chapter 9, and so forth. Rather than re-exegeting these passages here, I will summarize the conclusions and direct the reader to the fuller treatments. What this chapter adds is something different: a systematic engagement with the objections themselves, showing that the critics' alternative readings, however sophisticated, do not overturn what the texts actually say.

I want to organize our discussion around eight major exegetical objections, moving from the Old Testament to the New. Along the way, we will engage with the specific arguments of William Hess (Crushing the Great Serpent), Simon Gathercole (Defending Substitution), Joel Green and Mark Baker (Recovering the Scandal of the Cross), and scholars associated with the New Perspective on Paul and the apocalyptic school of Pauline interpretation. Let us begin where the story begins — with the Old Testament sacrificial system.

Objection 1: The Old Testament Sacrifices Were Not Penal

The Objection Stated

One of the most common exegetical objections goes right to the heart of the Old Testament background. Critics argue that the Levitical sacrificial system was fundamentally about purification and cleansing — what scholars call "expiation" (dealing with the effects of sin by removing or covering them) — rather than about bearing penalty or satisfying divine justice, which is what "propitiation" means (turning away God's wrath). On this reading, the sacrifices were ritual acts of purification. They cleansed the sanctuary and the worshiper from the defilement of sin. They did not involve an animal suffering a penalty in the sinner's place.

William Hess, for example, argues that the Levitical sin offering — what he calls the "purification offering" — was not about an innocent victim absorbing punishment. Rather, it was about cleansing sacred space from the contamination of sin. Hess contends that the blood in these rituals functioned as a cleansing agent, purifying the sanctuary, not as a payment for guilt. The animal did not die "in the place of" the worshiper as a substitute bearing a legal penalty; it died so that its blood could be used to purify what had been defiled.²

A closely related argument concerns the laying on of hands. In the Levitical rituals, the worshiper would lay hands on the head of the animal before it was slaughtered (Leviticus 1:4; 3:2; 4:4). Defenders of substitutionary atonement have traditionally understood this as a symbolic transfer of sin from the worshiper to the animal. But critics argue that the gesture was actually about identification or dedication — the worshiper was identifying the animal as his own offering, not magically transferring guilt to it. As Hess puts it, the laying on of hands designated ownership and consecration, not sin-transfer.³

If these arguments are correct, the entire Old Testament foundation for substitutionary atonement crumbles. If the sacrificial system was merely about ritual purification, then it provides no precedent for the idea that Christ died bearing the penalty for our sins in our place.

Response: The Evidence Points in a More Complex Direction

I appreciate the genuine insights in this objection. The critics are right that purification and cleansing are real dimensions of the Old Testament sacrificial system that have sometimes been overlooked. But I believe they are wrong to claim that purification is the only dimension. The evidence points to a more complex picture — one that includes both expiation (cleansing) and propitiation (dealing with God's judicial response to sin), as well as a genuine substitutionary dynamic.

Let me walk through the key pieces of evidence.

First, Leviticus 17:11. This is arguably the single most important verse in the entire Old Testament for understanding the theology of sacrifice. God declares: "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 several things here. The blood "makes atonement" — the Hebrew is kipper (כָּפַר), the central term for atonement in the Old Testament. And the atonement is grounded in "the life" — the blood represents the life of the animal given up in death. The logic here is not merely ritual cleansing. It is life-for-life: the animal's life is given in place of the worshiper's life. As David Allen observes, this verse grounds atonement in the giving of life through blood, which implies a substitutionary death — the animal dies so the worshiper does not.⁴ If blood were merely a "cleansing agent" with no substitutionary significance, this verse would be inexplicable. Why would God emphasize that "it is the blood that makes atonement by the life"? The emphasis on life given up in death points directly to substitution.

Second, the scapegoat ritual on the Day of Atonement (Leviticus 16). As we explored in detail in Chapter 5, the Day of Atonement involved two goats. The first goat was slaughtered as a sin offering. The second — the scapegoat — was the subject of a remarkable ritual: Aaron was to "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" (Leviticus 16:21–22, ESV). The language here is unmistakable. The sins of the people are symbolically placed upon the goat, and the goat "bears" them away. The Hebrew verb nasa (נָשָׂא) means "to bear" or "to carry," and when it is used with "iniquity" (avon, עָוֹן), it regularly carries the sense of bearing the consequences or guilt of sin.⁵ This is not mere purification. It is the explicit transfer of sins to a substitute that carries them away. As Allen rightly notes, the scapegoat bore not only the guilt of the people but also the punishment associated with that guilt — a genuine substitutionary dynamic.⁶

Third, the guilt offering (asham, אָשָׁם). The guilt offering, described in Leviticus 5:14–6:7, involved reparation for specific offenses — trespasses against God's holy things or against other people. This offering required not only a sacrifice but also restitution plus a twenty percent penalty. The very structure of the guilt offering implies a penal dimension: wrongdoing incurs a debt that must be paid, and the sacrifice is part of how that debt is resolved. This is directly relevant because Isaiah 53:10 describes the Suffering Servant's life as an asham — a guilt offering. If the guilt offering had no penal connotations whatsoever, it would be a strange category for Isaiah to choose.⁷

Fourth, regarding the laying on of hands: critics are correct that the gesture involves identification and ownership — the worshiper is designating the animal as his own. But identification and substitution are not mutually exclusive. In fact, identification is the precondition for substitution. The animal can stand in for the worshiper precisely because it has been identified as belonging to the worshiper and representing the worshiper. The scapegoat ritual, where the laying on of hands is combined with the verbal confession of sins, makes this connection explicit: identification leads to sin-transfer, which leads to the animal bearing the consequences on behalf of the worshiper.⁸

Now, do I think the Old Testament sacrifices were only about penal substitution and nothing else? Not at all. The critics are right that purification, cleansing, and restoration of relationship are genuine dimensions of the sacrificial system. But the evidence demonstrates that substitution and sin-bearing are also genuinely present — woven into the very fabric of the rituals. We do not have to choose between purification and substitution; the Old Testament holds them together. As we argued in Chapters 4 and 5, the sacrificial system is multidimensional, and the substitutionary element is one of its most prominent threads.

It is worth pausing to notice something about the logic of the critics' argument here. Even if we were to grant — and I do not grant it — that the Levitical sacrifices were purely about purification, this would not eliminate the substitutionary dimension of the atonement. It would only show that one particular piece of the Old Testament background emphasizes purification. But the broader Old Testament witness includes many other texts that speak in clearly substitutionary terms — most obviously Isaiah 53, which we will address below. The substitutionary interpretation of Christ's death does not rest on the Levitical sacrifices alone; it rests on the entire sweep of the biblical narrative. Still, I believe the Levitical evidence does include substitutionary elements, as the analysis above demonstrates.

One final observation on this point. Hess and other critics sometimes speak as though "purification" and "substitution" are competing explanations that cannot coexist. But why not? Consider what happens in the sacrificial ritual: the animal's blood is shed (the animal dies), and the blood is then applied to the altar or the mercy seat for purification. The blood cleanses because a life has been given. Purification is the result; substitutionary death is the means. The animal's death is the basis on which purification happens. Far from being incompatible, these two dimensions are organically linked. Allen captures this well when he notes that the sacrificial system pictures both the cost of atonement (a life given in death) and its effect (cleansing and restoration).⁸

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

The Objection Stated

This objection focuses on a single Greek word that carries enormous theological weight. In Romans 3:25, Paul writes that God put forward Christ Jesus "as a propitiation by his blood, to be received by faith" (ESV). The Greek word translated "propitiation" is hilastērion (ἱλαστήριον). But does it really mean "propitiation"?

In 1935, the influential British scholar C. H. Dodd argued that it does not. Dodd contended that in the Septuagint (the Greek translation of the Old Testament, abbreviated LXX), the hilaskomai word group had lost its classical Greek meaning of "to propitiate" (to appease an angry deity) and had instead taken on the meaning of "to expiate" (to cleanse or remove sin). In pagan Greek, you propitiated an angry god. But in biblical Greek, Dodd argued, you expiated sins — you dealt with the pollution of wrongdoing, not with divine anger. Since the New Testament writers were steeped in the Septuagint, they would have used hilastērion in the expiatory sense. Paul was saying that Christ is the means by which sin is cleansed, not the means by which God's wrath is satisfied.⁹

Dodd's argument was enormously influential. It shaped the translation of the New English Bible (1961), which rendered Romans 3:25 as God designing Christ "to be the means of expiating sin by his sacrificial death." If Dodd is right, then one of the key New Testament texts supporting penal substitution has been fundamentally misread.

Response: Morris, Nicole, and the Evidence for Propitiation

Dodd's argument was a landmark in twentieth-century biblical scholarship, and it raised important questions about how we read Greek words against their Septuagintal background. But it was subjected to a devastating critique by Leon Morris and Roger Nicole, among others, and I believe their response stands firm.¹⁰

As John Stott carefully documents, Morris and Nicole showed that Dodd's case rested on incomplete evidence and questionable deductions. Several problems undermined the argument. First, Dodd's survey of the Septuagint evidence was selective. He made no reference to the books of the Maccabees, which are part of the LXX and contain several passages where the hilaskomai word group is used in the clear sense of averting divine wrath. Nor did Dodd engage with Josephus and Philo, first-century Jewish authors who use the same vocabulary with propitiatory connotations.¹¹

Second, even within the Old Testament canon itself, there are numerous instances where kipper (the Hebrew atonement verb) and its Greek equivalents are used in contexts where God's anger is explicitly mentioned. When Aaron "made atonement for the people" and "the plague was stopped" (Numbers 16:47–48), or when Phinehas's zeal "turned back my wrath from the people of Israel" (Numbers 25:11), the atonement is clearly linked to the turning away of divine anger. As Roger Nicole pointed out, these instances are consistent with the predominant usage in classical and Koine Greek, in Josephus and Philo, in the Maccabees, and in the patristic writers.¹²

Third — and this is the most important point — the context of Romans 3:21–26 itself demands a propitiatory reading. As we discussed at length in Chapter 8, Paul has spent Romans 1:18–3:20 building a massive case that all humanity stands under the wrath of God. "The wrath of God is revealed from heaven against all ungodliness and unrighteousness of men" (Romans 1:18, ESV). Jews and Gentiles alike are "under sin" (3:9) and without excuse before God's judgment. Into this context, Paul introduces the hilastērion. Whatever the word means in the abstract, in this context it must address the problem Paul has just spent two and a half chapters establishing — namely, that humanity stands under God's righteous judgment. As Leon Morris observed, wrath occupies such an important place in the argument leading up to Romans 3:25 that we are justified in looking for a propitiatory meaning here.¹³

Stott's summary of the debate is incisive. He notes that for Dodd's thesis about the Septuagint and New Testament usage to be correct, one would have to maintain that these texts "form a sort of linguistic island with little precedent in former times, little confirmation from the contemporaries, and no following in after years" — a claim that strains credulity.¹⁴

This does not mean that the expiatory dimension is absent. Christ's atoning work does deal with sin — it cleanses, covers, and removes it. But it does so precisely by also addressing the divine justice that sin has violated. Expiation and propitiation are not alternatives; they are complementary aspects of the same atoning reality. When Christ deals with our sin (expiation), He thereby satisfies the just requirements of God's holy character (propitiation). The attempt to reduce hilastērion to mere expiation, stripping away the propitiatory dimension, does not do justice to the lexical evidence, the Septuagintal usage, or — most critically — the context of Romans 3.

We might put it this way. Imagine a judge who both pardons a criminal and reforms the criminal's character. The pardon addresses the legal problem (the penalty owed); the reformation addresses the moral problem (the criminal's character). You would not say, "The judge only pardoned, he did not reform," or "The judge only reformed, he did not pardon." Both happened simultaneously. In a similar way, the cross both expiates (deals with the pollution and defilement of sin) and propitiates (deals with the judicial consequences of sin before a holy God). Dodd's attempt to eliminate propitiation in favor of expiation is like saying the judge reformed but did not pardon. It captures only half the picture.

I should add that this is not merely an obscure debate among specialists. The question of whether hilastērion includes a propitiatory dimension strikes at the very heart of the atonement. If Christ's death only cleanses sin (expiation) but does not address God's righteous judgment (propitiation), then the judicial and legal dimensions of the atonement — which are central to Paul's argument in Romans — evaporate. We are left with a cross that deals with the subjective effects of sin on us but not with the objective problem of sin before God. And that, I believe, falls far short of what the New Testament actually teaches.

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

The Objection Stated

A third major objection comes from scholars associated with the "New Perspective on Paul" and related movements. The argument, advanced in various forms by scholars such as N. T. Wright, James Dunn, and more recently by those in the "apocalyptic" school of Pauline interpretation (J. Louis Martyn, Martinus de Boer, Douglas Campbell), is that Paul's soteriology is not fundamentally about forensic categories like guilt, penalty, and imputation. Instead, they argue, Paul's vision of salvation is about participation in Christ, covenant membership, liberation from enslaving powers, or some combination of these.

The specific forms of this objection vary. Wright, for instance, argues that justification language in Paul is primarily about covenant membership — who belongs to God's covenant people — rather than about how an individual gets right with God through the imputation of Christ's righteousness. Dunn similarly argues that "works of the law" in Paul refers to identity markers (circumcision, food laws, Sabbath) rather than moral effort, which reshapes how we understand the problem that the atonement addresses.¹⁵

The apocalyptic school takes a different but related approach. Martyn argues that for Paul, the fundamental human plight is not guilt before God's law but enslavement to hostile cosmic powers — Sin, Death, and the elemental forces of the world. The solution, therefore, is not a forensic transaction (someone paying a penalty) but a cosmic rescue operation. Christ invaded the world controlled by these powers and liberated humanity through His death and resurrection. In this framework, there is simply no room for substitutionary categories. As Simon Gathercole summarizes this position, the apocalyptic interpreters argue that placing liberation at the center of Pauline soteriology leaves little place for substitution.¹⁶

Gathercole notes that Martinus de Boer, commenting on Galatians 3:13 ("Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us"), explicitly rejects a substitutionary understanding. De Boer argues that a substitutionary reading "would imply that Christ took upon himself a penalty that ought to be imposed on human beings," but that Paul's point is rather that human beings are already under a curse and need deliverance from a present situation, not protection from a future penalty. Martyn maintains that "central to the action in this apocalyptic struggle is, therefore, not forgiveness" — which would have been accomplished by substitution — "but rather victory."¹⁷

If these readings are correct, then the whole forensic-substitutionary framework has been imposed on Paul from the outside rather than arising from his actual letters.

Response: Paul Holds Forensic and Participatory Language Together

There is genuine insight in both the New Perspective and the apocalyptic readings of Paul. Wright has helpfully reminded us that justification has a corporate and covenantal dimension that individualistic Protestant readings have sometimes neglected. The apocalyptic school has rightly emphasized that Paul takes cosmic powers seriously — he really does see Christ's work as a victory over Sin, Death, and the enslaving spiritual forces. These are not fabricated themes; they are genuinely present in Paul's letters.

But here is the crucial point: recognizing these dimensions does not require eliminating the forensic and substitutionary ones. Paul's letters contain both participatory ("in Christ") and forensic (justification, imputation, penalty) language. These are not mutually exclusive frameworks competing for dominance; they are complementary aspects of Paul's rich, multidimensional soteriology. The attempt to reduce Paul to just one of these categories inevitably distorts the evidence.¹⁸

Consider the evidence. In the same letter where Paul develops the most robust participatory language — Romans, with its "in Christ" and "baptized into his death" motifs in chapters 6–8 — he also provides the most detailed forensic argument in the entire New Testament. Romans 1:18–3:20 is a courtroom scene: all humanity stands accused before the bar of God's justice, and the verdict is "guilty." Into that courtroom context, Paul introduces the hilastērion (3:25), justification by faith (3:28), and the imputation of righteousness (4:1–8). The very same Paul who writes "you have died with Christ" (participatory — Colossians 2:20) also writes "there is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus" (forensic — Romans 8:1). He moves seamlessly between these categories because, for Paul, they are not competing paradigms. They are different facets of the same diamond.

Wright himself, despite his emphasis on the covenantal dimensions of justification, has acknowledged that the penal and substitutionary dimensions are genuinely present in Paul. In his commentary on Romans, Wright accepts that Romans 8:3 — "God, sending his own Son in the likeness of sinful flesh and for sin, condemned sin in the flesh" — involves a real condemnation of sin that falls on Christ rather than on believers. Wright's nuanced position is not the flat rejection of substitution that some of his followers have assumed it to be. What Wright resists is a certain version of penal substitution that he considers too individualistic and too detached from the covenant narrative. But the substitutionary core — Christ bearing what was ours — Wright does not actually deny.^18b

Gathercole's critique of the apocalyptic paradigm is especially telling on this point. He observes that the apocalyptic reading works well when applied to Galatians, but it has "much less explanatory power when applied to Romans — to say nothing of the other letters." The forensic language in Romans 1–4, where Paul builds his case about universal human guilt before God's judgment, simply cannot be explained away as the voice of a rhetorical opponent or a pre-Pauline formula that Paul is subtly correcting.¹⁹

Gathercole also identifies a fundamental problem with making liberation the all-encompassing paradigm: it characterizes humans exclusively as victims in need of rescue from oppressive hostile powers, giving "only a one-sided account of plight and solution in Paul." But human guilt is a major concern in Romans 1–3, where oppressive hostile forces are scarcely to be seen. Conversely, in 1 Thessalonians 1:10, the rescue effected by Jesus is not from diabolical powers but from God's own wrath.²⁰

Perhaps the most devastating response to this entire objection comes from a single passage: Colossians 2:13–15. Here Paul writes: "And you, who were dead in your trespasses and the uncircumcision of your flesh, God made alive together with him, having forgiven us all our trespasses, by canceling the record of debt that stood against us with its legal demands. This he set aside, nailing it to the cross. He disarmed the rulers and authorities and put them to open shame, by triumphing over them in him" (ESV). As Gathercole observes, this passage "seamlessly combines" the forensic and the liberative: God forgives our transgressions and cancels the legal debt (forensic/substitutionary), and He triumphs over the cosmic powers (Christus Victor/liberative) — all through the same cross.²¹ If Paul himself holds these together, why should we insist on pulling them apart?

Furthermore, the apocalyptic interpreters face a serious difficulty in explaining how the death of Christ actually accomplishes the liberation they describe. As Gathercole points out, apocalyptic accounts state repeatedly that Christ's death effects liberation, but they struggle to explain the mechanism — how does dying on a cross defeat cosmic powers? The substitutionary framework actually provides the answer: by dealing with the legal basis of Sin's claim on humanity (the guilt of human transgression), Christ's death removes the ground on which the enslaving powers hold humanity captive. Forgiveness and liberation are not alternatives; forgiveness is the means of liberation.²²

Finally, Gathercole demonstrates convincingly that the marginalization of "sins" (plural — individual transgressions) in favor of "Sin" (singular — a cosmic power) does not reflect Paul's actual usage. While the personification of Sin is prominent in Romans 5–8, references to plural sins and transgressions appear throughout Paul's letters, including in passages that are clearly central to his theology. The formula "Christ died for our sins" (1 Corinthians 15:3) — which Paul identifies as the tradition he himself received and passed on as of "first importance" — puts plural sins at the very heart of the gospel message.²³ Any account of Paul's soteriology that marginalizes individual sins has marginalized something Paul himself treated as foundational.

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

The Objection Stated

Some scholars argue that the Gospels do not portray Jesus' death in substitutionary or atoning categories at all. Instead, they say, the Gospels present Jesus as a prophetic martyr — a righteous man killed by unjust rulers, whose death is noble and exemplary but not a penal sacrifice for the sins of others. On this reading, the substitutionary interpretation of Jesus' death was a later development, introduced by Paul and the early church, that was then read back into the Gospel accounts.

Joel Green and Mark Baker, in their influential Recovering the Scandal of the Cross, argue that the New Testament offers multiple metaphors for understanding the cross, and that privileging penal substitution distorts the diversity of the biblical witness. They contend that the Gospels emphasize themes of faithfulness, obedience, the kingdom of God, and the defeat of evil — not forensic penalty-bearing.²⁴

Hess advances a version of this argument as well. He frames Christ's death primarily in terms of Christus Victor — a conquering representative from the human race who defeated death and the powers of evil — rather than as a punitive substitute bearing a judicial penalty. For Hess, the Father sent Christ "not as a punitive substitute, but as a conquering representative."²⁵

Response: Jesus Interprets His Own Death in Substitutionary Categories

This objection underestimates the evidence from the Gospels themselves. While it is true that the Gospels present Jesus' death within a rich narrative framework that includes prophetic themes, kingdom themes, and the theme of conflict with evil powers, they also present Jesus interpreting His own death in explicitly substitutionary and atoning categories. This is not a later Pauline imposition; it comes from Jesus Himself.

The key texts here were examined in depth in Chapter 7, and I will only summarize them here with cross-references rather than re-exegeting them in full. But the evidence is powerful and deserves to be recalled.

Mark 10:45 (Matthew 20:28): "For even the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many." This is a saying of Jesus Himself, and it goes far beyond the categories of martyrdom. A martyr dies for a cause or as a witness to truth. But Jesus says He came to give His life as a lytron (λύτρον) — a ransom — "for" (anti, ἀντί) many. The preposition anti is significant: it means "in the place of" or "instead of," carrying clear substitutionary force. Jesus is not merely dying as a noble example; He is giving His life in the place of those who would otherwise face the consequences of their own sin. As we argued in Chapter 7, this saying echoes the Suffering Servant of Isaiah 53, connecting Jesus' self-understanding directly to the substitutionary sacrifice of the Servant.²⁶

The Last Supper words: At the Last Supper, Jesus took the cup and said, "This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins" (Matthew 26:28, ESV). Again, the language exceeds anything a mere martyrdom interpretation can accommodate. Blood poured out "for the forgiveness of sins" is sacrificial and atoning language. It echoes the covenant-inauguration ceremony of Exodus 24 and the promise of a new covenant in Jeremiah 31. Jesus is interpreting His own imminent death as a sacrificial offering that deals with sin and inaugurates a new covenant relationship between God and His people. This is not language imposed by the later church; it is language Jesus Himself uses at the climactic moment before His death.²⁷

The claim that Jesus' death is merely a martyrdom also fails to account for several other Gospel features. Why does Jesus agonize in Gethsemane, asking for "this cup" to be taken from Him (Mark 14:36), if His death is simply the noble death of a prophetic figure? Righteous martyrs in Jewish tradition go to their deaths with confidence, even joy. Jesus' anguish suggests that something far more than martyrdom is at stake — He is facing something uniquely dreadful that even He recoils from. As we explored in Chapter 11, the "cup" in the Old Testament frequently symbolizes God's judgment (Isaiah 51:17; Jeremiah 25:15–16). Jesus' dread in Gethsemane points to His awareness that He is about to bear the judicial consequences of human sin — a substitutionary burden, not merely a martyr's death.

Additionally, the cry of dereliction — "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" (Mark 15:34) — is incomprehensible on a pure martyrdom reading. Martyrs typically die affirming God's presence and faithfulness. Jesus experiences an agonizing sense of separation from the Father that goes beyond anything a noble death could explain. This cry, as argued in Chapter 11, points to the reality that Jesus was bearing on the cross the consequences of sin — which includes separation from the holy God — on behalf of those He came to save.²⁸

In short, the Gospels present Jesus not as a mere martyr but as One who understood His death as a substitutionary, sin-bearing sacrifice. The evidence from Jesus' own words is clear and cannot be dismissed as a later theological overlay.

We should also note the broader pattern of Jesus' ministry. Throughout the Gospels, Jesus repeatedly connects His mission with the language of Isaiah's Suffering Servant. He quotes from or alludes to Isaiah 53 at multiple points. He speaks of Himself as the one who has come "to give his life as a ransom for many" (Mark 10:45), using language that echoes Isaiah 53:10–12. He institutes the Lord's Supper with language that explicitly interprets His death as a covenant sacrifice for the forgiveness of sins. And He accepts the title "Lamb of God" (John 1:29), which only makes sense within a sacrificial and substitutionary framework. The Gospel writers are not imposing a foreign category onto Jesus' death; they are recording what Jesus Himself understood and taught about the meaning of His own death.

The martyrdom interpretation also fails to explain why Jesus' death is presented as unique and unrepeatable. Many Jewish prophets and righteous figures were martyred — think of Zechariah (2 Chronicles 24:20–21), the prophets of Israel whom Stephen recounts (Acts 7:52), or the Maccabean martyrs. But the New Testament never treats their deaths as having the atoning significance that it consistently ascribes to Jesus' death alone. If Jesus' death is merely another martyrdom — even the supreme one — why does the entire New Testament single it out as the unique, once-for-all event that accomplishes salvation? The answer is that Jesus' death is not merely a martyrdom. It is something qualitatively different: a substitutionary sacrifice in which the Son of God bears the sins of the world. That is why it stands alone.

Objection 5: Isaiah 53 Does Not Teach Penal Substitution

The Objection Stated

Isaiah 53 — the fourth Servant Song — is perhaps the most important Old Testament text for the theology of the atonement. As we explored in depth in Chapter 6, the Suffering Servant is described as one who "has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows" (53:4), who "was pierced for our transgressions" and "crushed for our iniquities" (53:5), upon whom "the LORD has laid the iniquity of us all" (53:6), and whose soul is made "an offering for guilt" (asham) (53:10).

Critics, however, argue that this passage does not actually teach penal substitution. Several lines of argument are advanced:

(a) Consequential suffering, not penalty-bearing. Some argue that the Servant suffers as a result of others' sins — He is the victim of their violence and injustice — rather than as a substitute bearing the penalty of their sins. On this view, the Servant's suffering is consequential (He suffers because of what sinful people do to Him) rather than penal (He suffers a divinely imposed penalty in the sinners' place).

(b) "We esteemed Him stricken by God" — a mistaken perception. Hess makes a clever argument from Isaiah 53:4b: "yet we esteemed him stricken, smitten by God, and afflicted." Hess emphasizes the word "esteemed" — the Hebrew chashab (חָשַׁב), meaning to reckon, think, or assume. The text says we assumed He was being punished by God. But Hess argues that this is precisely the mistaken human perspective that the passage is correcting. The onlookers assumed God was punishing Him, but they were wrong. Hess writes that this verse appears to speak against penal substitution, because the passage is saying that we wrongly considered Him to be stricken by God when He actually was not.²⁹

(c) The LXX translation differs from the Hebrew. Hess also points to the Septuagint rendering of Isaiah 53:5, which reads "he was wounded on account of our sins" and "bruised because of our iniquities" rather than "for our transgressions" and "for our iniquities." The preposition difference — "because of" versus "for" — could suggest that the Servant suffered as a consequence of their sins (they sinned, and He suffered the fallout) rather than as a substitute bearing the penalty of their sins.³⁰

Response: The Full Weight of the Evidence

I want to engage these arguments carefully, because they raise real exegetical questions. But I believe that when we look at the full scope of the evidence in Isaiah 53, the substitutionary and penal dimensions remain firmly in place.

On the "we esteemed" argument: Hess is right that the word chashab refers to what the onlookers thought or assumed. And he is right that the passage contains a dramatic reversal — the onlookers initially misunderstood the Servant's suffering and are now, in the Servant Song, coming to a new understanding. But what is the new understanding they arrive at? It is not "He was not actually suffering for our sins after all." It is precisely the opposite: "He was pierced for our transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace" (53:5). The correction is not that the Servant was not suffering because of their sins, but that His suffering was for their benefit rather than as punishment for His own wrongdoing. The onlookers initially thought He was being punished by God for His own sins. The revelation is that He was innocent and suffering on behalf of others — a substitutionary insight, not a denial of it.³¹

On consequential versus penal suffering: The distinction between "consequential" and "penal" suffering, while logically possible, does not hold up when we look at the full range of language in Isaiah 53. The text does not merely say the Servant was caught up in the fallout of other people's wrongdoing, like a bystander injured in a riot. It uses highly specific language that implies deliberate divine purpose and genuine sin-bearing:

"The LORD has laid on him the iniquity of us all" (53:6b) — it is the LORD, not merely the sinful humans, who places the sins on the Servant.

"Yet it was the will of the LORD to crush him" (53:10a) — the Servant's suffering is not merely the accidental result of human sin but part of God's deliberate redemptive purpose.

"His soul makes an offering for guilt [asham]" (53:10b) — the Servant's life is described using the technical term for the guilt offering, which, as we noted above, carries inherently penal connotations (reparation for offenses committed).

"He shall bear their iniquities" (53:11b) — the Hebrew sabal (סָבַל), meaning to bear as a heavy load, combined with "iniquities," denotes bearing the weight and consequences of others' sin.

"He bore the sin of many" (53:12) — the verb nasa (נָשָׂא) with "sin" as its object, meaning to bear the guilt and its consequences.

The cumulative force of this language is overwhelming. We are not dealing with a bystander caught in the crossfire. We are dealing with someone upon whom the LORD deliberately places the sins of others, whose life is described as a guilt offering, and who bears the iniquities of many as an act of divine purpose. This is substitutionary language through and through.³²

On the word "chastisement" (musar, מוּסָר): Isaiah 53:5 says "upon him was the chastisement (musar) that brought us peace." The Hebrew word musar has a range of meaning that includes discipline, correction, and punishment. While it can refer to educational discipline (as a parent corrects a child), it also carries connotations of punitive consequences imposed because of wrongdoing. In this context — combined with "pierced for our transgressions" and "crushed for our iniquities" — the word carries genuine penal overtones. The Servant endured the corrective consequences that our sins deserved, and the result was our peace (shalom).³³

On the LXX rendering "because of" versus "for": Hess is correct that the LXX uses a different preposition. But even the rendering "because of our sins" does not eliminate the substitutionary dimension. If the Servant was wounded "because of our sins" — meaning that our sins were the reason for His suffering — this still places our sins as the cause and His suffering as the consequence borne on our behalf. The text does not say He was wounded because of His own sins; it says He was wounded because of ours. The substitutionary dynamic remains: He suffered what we caused, and His suffering brought us healing. Moreover, the Hebrew text itself uses the preposition min (מִן), which can mean "from" or "because of" — supporting a causal reading — but the overall context, with its language of sin-bearing, guilt offering, and the LORD laying iniquity upon the Servant, overwhelmingly favors a substitutionary interpretation of that causal relationship.³⁴

Finally, we should note how the New Testament itself interprets Isaiah 53. The earliest Christian preaching drew on Isaiah 53 in unmistakably substitutionary terms. Philip explains the Suffering Servant passage to the Ethiopian eunuch and proclaims Jesus as its fulfillment (Acts 8:30–35). First Peter 2:24 directly echoes Isaiah 53: "He himself bore our sins in his body on the tree, that we might die to sin and live to righteousness. By his wounds you have been healed." The New Testament authors understood Isaiah 53 as teaching that the Servant bore our sins substitutionally — and they were closer to the Hebrew text and its theological world than we are.

It is also worth noting the sheer density of substitutionary vocabulary packed into this single chapter. Within the space of just twelve verses (Isaiah 53:4–12), we find: the Servant bearing (nasa) our griefs and carrying (sabal) our sorrows (v. 4); being pierced and crushed "for" our transgressions and iniquities (v. 5); enduring chastisement (musar) that brings our peace (v. 5); having the LORD lay on Him the iniquity of us all (v. 6); being led like a lamb to the slaughter (v. 7); being cut off from the land of the living, stricken "for the transgression of my people" (v. 8); having His soul made a guilt offering (asham) (v. 10); bearing (sabal) their iniquities (v. 11); pouring out His soul to death (v. 12); being numbered with transgressors (v. 12); bearing (nasa) the sin of many (v. 12); and making intercession for the transgressors (v. 12). This is not a passage where substitutionary language appears in one or two ambiguous phrases. It is saturated with it. Every verse reinforces the same basic picture: an innocent Servant who willingly takes upon Himself what properly belongs to the guilty. The cumulative weight of this evidence is, I believe, decisive.^34b

Hess's reading of Isaiah 53, despite its creativity, requires him to systematically reinterpret every one of these phrases in a non-substitutionary direction. He must read "bore our griefs" as empathetic companionship rather than substitutionary bearing. He must read "pierced for our transgressions" as consequential suffering rather than penal bearing. He must read "the LORD has laid on him the iniquity of us all" as something other than what it appears to say. And he must read the asham (guilt offering) as something other than a sacrificial category with penal connotations. At some point, one must ask: how many reinterpretations can a passage bear before the simplest reading becomes the most credible? I believe the simplest and most natural reading of Isaiah 53 is also the correct one: the Servant suffered and died in the place of His people, bearing their sins and their consequences, so that they might be healed and made whole. That is substitutionary atonement.^34c

Additional Exegetical Objections

Objection 6: "Christ Died for Our Sins" Is a Pre-Pauline Formula, Not Paul's Own Theology

Some scholars argue that the phrase "Christ died for our sins" in 1 Corinthians 15:3 is a pre-Pauline creedal formula that Paul inherited from the early church. While Paul passes it on, they argue, it does not necessarily represent his own mature theological reflection. Paul's own thinking, they contend, moves in more participatory and liberative directions.

This objection is remarkably weak. Gathercole addresses it directly and decisively. Yes, Paul identifies the formula as received tradition: "For I delivered to you as of first importance what I also received" (1 Corinthians 15:3, ESV). But Paul does not distance himself from it. Quite the opposite — he designates it as being "of first importance" (en prōtois, ἐν πρώτοις). He received this tradition and made it the absolute centerpiece of his proclamation. To suggest that Paul passed along as "of first importance" a formula he did not actually agree with would be a bizarre reading of the text.³⁵

Moreover, as Gathercole demonstrates, the content of 1 Corinthians 15:3 — "Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures" — is not an isolated formula quarantined from Paul's own theology. The same themes appear throughout Paul's letters in language that is clearly his own composition: "while we were still sinners, Christ died for us" (Romans 5:8); "God made him who knew no sin to be sin for us" (2 Corinthians 5:21); "Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us" (Galatians 3:13). Paul's own theological vocabulary is saturated with the same substitutionary logic found in the early creedal formula.³⁶

Objection 7: "Sins" (Plural) Are Marginal to Paul's Thought

Related to the apocalyptic objection discussed above is the more specific claim that Paul is primarily interested in "Sin" (singular, personified as a cosmic power) rather than "sins" (plural, individual transgressions). If Paul's concern is with liberation from the power of Sin rather than forgiveness of individual sins, then the forensic-substitutionary framework — where Christ bears the penalty for specific acts of disobedience — becomes secondary at best.

Gathercole subjects this claim to rigorous scrutiny and finds it wanting. While the personification of Sin as a cosmic power is prominent in Romans 5–8, Gathercole shows that references to plural sins and transgressions appear far more frequently in Paul's letters than critics acknowledge. James Dunn himself has noted that the personification of sin is rare outside of Romans, and that plural forms of "sin" and "transgression" vocabulary appear throughout the Pauline corpus.³⁷

Gathercole provides a detailed tabulation of the evidence, showing that Paul uses vocabulary for individual acts of disobedience extensively: hamartiai (ἁμαρτίαι, sins — plural), paraptōmata (παραπτώματα, transgressions), parabasis (παράβασις, transgression/violation), anomia (ἀνομία, lawlessness), and related terms appear across the undisputed letters. Even some instances of the singular "sin" in Paul refer to individual acts rather than to a personified cosmic force. The claim that sins-plural are marginal to Paul's thought simply cannot survive a careful survey of the data.³⁸

This matters enormously for our topic. If Christ died "for our sins" (1 Corinthians 15:3) — that is, for our individual transgressions against God's will — then the substitutionary framework in which an innocent party bears the consequences of specific acts of disobedience is exactly the right framework for understanding what happened at the cross.

Objection 8: Hyper Means "On Behalf Of," Not "In Place Of"

A final exegetical objection concerns the Greek preposition hyper (ὑπέρ), which is the most common preposition used in the New Testament to describe Christ's death "for" us (Romans 5:8; 2 Corinthians 5:14, 21; Galatians 2:20; 3:13; 1 Timothy 2:6; and many others). Critics argue that hyper means "on behalf of" or "for the benefit of" — it expresses the beneficiary of Christ's action. It does not mean "in the place of" or "instead of" — that would be anti (ἀντί). If Paul wanted to say that Christ died "in our place," he would have used anti, not hyper. Since Paul predominantly uses hyper, his primary concern is that Christ died for our benefit, not that Christ died as our substitute.

This objection has a surface plausibility, but it does not withstand close examination. As we discussed in Chapter 2 (the chapter on atonement terminology, which treats the anti/hyper distinction in depth), the neat division between hyper ("on behalf of") and anti ("in place of") breaks down under the weight of the actual evidence.³⁹

First, hyper can and does carry substitutionary force in Greek, both biblical and extra-biblical. The clearest example is Galatians 3:13: "Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us [hyper hēmōn]." Here hyper cannot mean merely "on behalf of" in the sense of "for our benefit" without also meaning "in our place." Christ became a curse instead of us — He took the curse that was ours. The substitutionary meaning is demanded by the logic of the sentence.⁴⁰

Second, in extra-biblical Greek, hyper is well attested with substitutionary meaning. Gathercole documents classical examples where someone dies hyper another — meaning not just "for the benefit of" the other person but "in the place of" the other person — so that the other person might live. The noble death tradition in Greco-Roman literature provides numerous instances where hyper means "instead of" in the context of one person dying so that another does not have to.⁴¹

Third, the pairing of hyper with anti in key texts confirms the substitutionary reading. In Mark 10:45, Jesus gives His life as a ransom anti ("in the place of") many. In 1 Timothy 2:6, Paul describes Christ as having given Himself as a ransom antilytron hyper ("a substitute-ransom for") all. Here anti and hyper are combined, and the substitutionary meaning is unmistakable. As Stott observes, the two prepositions work together throughout the New Testament to express the consistent apostolic conviction that Christ died in our place and for our benefit — the two ideas are inseparable.⁴²

Engaging with Green and Baker: Recovering the Scandal of the Cross

Before concluding, I want to interact briefly with one more important voice in this conversation. Joel Green and Mark Baker, in Recovering the Scandal of the Cross, argue that the New Testament uses a rich variety of metaphors to explain the atonement, and that privileging penal substitution over other metaphors distorts the biblical witness. They advocate for a more diverse and contextually sensitive approach to atonement theology.⁴³

I agree with Green and Baker that the New Testament uses multiple metaphors and images to describe the atonement. This has been one of the central arguments of this entire book. The cross is multifaceted, and we should not flatten it into a single model. Christus Victor, moral influence, recapitulation, reconciliation — these are all genuine dimensions of what Christ accomplished (see Chapters 21–24).

But I disagree with the implication that recognizing multiple metaphors means we cannot identify a central or organizing theme. Green and Baker sometimes write as though all metaphors are equally weighted and none should take priority. But the New Testament itself does not treat them that way. Paul identifies "Christ died for our sins" as being "of first importance" (1 Corinthians 15:3). The substitutionary logic — Christ in our place, bearing what we deserved — is not one metaphor among equals; it is the core reality that the other metaphors illuminate from different angles. Christ's victory over the powers (Christus Victor) is accomplished through His substitutionary bearing of sin. His demonstration of love (moral influence) is moving precisely because He bore the cost of our sin in our place. His reconciliation of God and humanity has a basis — and that basis is His substitutionary death. Substitution is not just another metaphor; it is the heart of what happened at the cross.⁴⁴

Green and Baker also express concern that penal substitution, especially when formulated in crude or culturally insensitive ways, can present the gospel in terms that are alienating or offensive to people in certain cultural contexts. This is a pastoral concern I take seriously. But the solution is not to abandon substitutionary atonement; it is to present it well, in its full Trinitarian richness, without the distortions and caricatures that have sometimes accompanied it. A properly Trinitarian account of substitution — where the Triune God acts in unified love, and the Son goes willingly to the cross in loving concert with the Father (see Chapter 20) — is not alienating but profoundly compelling. It reveals the depths of God's love in a way that no other atonement model can match.

There is also a deeper question lurking beneath Green and Baker's argument. They sometimes seem to suggest that because atonement language is metaphorical, no single metaphor can claim priority. But this does not follow. Even in everyday life, some metaphors are more apt than others — they illuminate more of the reality in question, or they get closer to the heart of what is being described. When the New Testament says that Christ "bore our sins in his body on the tree" (1 Peter 2:24), or that God "made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God" (2 Corinthians 5:21), these are more than colorful metaphors among equals. They are penetrating descriptions of a reality — Christ in our place, bearing what was ours — that lies at the very center of the apostolic proclamation. To treat substitution as merely one metaphor among many, no more central than any other, is to flatten the contours of the New Testament witness.^44b

I want to be clear: I am not arguing that Green and Baker are entirely wrong. They are right that the church needs to present the atonement with cultural sensitivity, drawing on the full range of biblical images. They are right that penal substitution has sometimes been taught in crude and unhelpful ways. And they are right that the New Testament gives us a gloriously rich tapestry of atonement imagery. What I am arguing is that within that tapestry, substitution is not one thread among equals. It is the golden thread that holds the whole pattern together. Remove it, and the other motifs — victory, reconciliation, moral transformation — lose their foundation and coherence.

Conclusion: The Exegetical Case Stands

We have now examined the major exegetical objections to substitutionary atonement: that the Old Testament sacrifices were not penal, that hilastērion means expiation rather than propitiation, that Paul's soteriology is participatory rather than forensic, that the Gospels present Jesus' death as martyrdom rather than substitution, that Isaiah 53 does not teach penal substitution, that "Christ died for our sins" is not genuinely Pauline, that individual sins are marginal to Paul's thought, and that the Greek preposition hyper does not carry substitutionary force.

In each case, I have tried to present the objection fairly and at its strongest before responding. And in each case, I believe the response is compelling. The Old Testament sacrificial system includes genuine substitutionary elements alongside its purificatory ones. The hilastērion debate, when examined against the full lexical and contextual evidence, supports a propitiatory dimension. Paul's soteriology holds forensic and participatory categories together rather than pitting them against each other. Jesus Himself interprets His death in substitutionary terms. Isaiah 53 uses a dense web of sin-bearing, guilt-offering, and penalty language that cannot be reduced to mere consequential suffering. And the Greek prepositions used for Christ's death carry genuine substitutionary force.

I want to emphasize something about the cumulative nature of this evidence. Any individual piece of evidence might, considered in isolation, be susceptible to an alternative reading. Perhaps Leviticus 17:11 could, in theory, be read non-substitutionally. Perhaps hilastērion could, with some effort, be limited to expiation. Perhaps hyper could, in some instances, mean only "on behalf of" without substitutionary overtones. But the question is not whether each individual text, taken alone, must be read substitutionally. The question is what reading best accounts for the whole of the evidence — the sacrificial system, the Day of Atonement, the Suffering Servant, Jesus' self-interpretation of His death, the Pauline corpus, the Petrine witness, the Johannine witness, and the broader New Testament proclamation. When we stand back and look at the full mosaic, the substitutionary pattern is unmistakable. It is not one tiny thread that might be explained away; it is a massive, pervasive, cross-shaped pattern that runs through the entire biblical narrative.^45b

I also want to acknowledge what we can learn from the critics. Their objections have sharpened our thinking in important ways. The emphasis on purification reminds us that the atonement is not merely a legal transaction; it restores and cleanses. The emphasis on participation reminds us that salvation is not merely a courtroom verdict; it involves union with Christ. The emphasis on liberation reminds us that the cross is not merely about the forgiveness of individual sins; it is a cosmic victory over the powers of evil. All of these are genuine dimensions of the cross, and we should be grateful to the scholars who have highlighted them.

But gratitude for these insights does not require surrendering the substitutionary core. We can hold all of these dimensions together — purification and substitution, participation and forensic justification, liberation and sin-bearing — because the New Testament holds them together. The cross is big enough for all of them. And at the center, holding everything together, is the breathtaking reality that the Son of God loved us and gave Himself for us — in our place, bearing our sins, absorbing the consequences we deserved — so that we might be forgiven, freed, cleansed, and made new.

None of this means that substitutionary atonement is the only thing Scripture says about the cross. We have emphasized throughout this book that the atonement is multifaceted. Victory, liberation, reconciliation, moral transformation, recapitulation — these are all real and important dimensions of what Christ accomplished (see Chapters 21–24 for the full integration of these models). But the exegetical evidence shows that substitution stands at the center. Christ died in our place, bearing our sins and their consequences, so that we might be forgiven and reconciled to God. This is what the Old Testament anticipated, what Jesus Himself taught, and what the apostles proclaimed. The exegetical objections, while often raising valuable questions, do not overturn this central biblical conviction.

As we turn in the next chapter to the theological and moral objections to substitutionary atonement, we carry with us the confidence that the exegetical foundation is secure. The case for substitutionary atonement is not built on a few proof-texts wrenched from their contexts; it is woven into the entire fabric of the biblical narrative, from the first animal sacrifice in Genesis to the slain Lamb on the throne in Revelation. The cross is at the center, and substitution is at the heart of the cross.⁴⁵

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