I find almost nothing as useless when thinking about God or the human condition as legal imagery. Indeed, it is worse than useless – it leads only to wrong conclusions and even produces the wrong questions. That some language within the Scriptures lends itself to legal imagery is undeniable – although modern legal thought bears almost no resemblance to the thoughts surrounding the Law (Torah) in the Old Testament. Legal language is a modern fiction that generally describes only the social contract that governs our societies. It is arbitrary, filled with qualifications, sometimes rendered moot by its own entanglements and bycenturies of relentless legislation by lawyers. There is little content remaining in modern law other than the violence guaranteed by the courts and prison system. That America houses the largest prison population in the world is not a comment on a lawless society – it is an illustration of a society where law has gone insane. To apply the modern sense of “legal” to God, His commandments or our salvation is, again, useless.

The modern concept of law is entirely external. It is an arbitrary rule, established by a legitimate authority (which is considered “legitimate” only according to another set of arbitrary rules), and enforced with various measures, up to and including a lifetime of confinement or even execution. The rules have no independent existence. Guilt and innocence before “the law” imply only the outcomes of a legal proceeding. Americans proudly declare, “He is innocent until proven guilty,” in affirmation of a purely rules-based understanding of the law.

Now this establishment of the law has various things to recommend it. If it is not too encumbered with exceptions and complications and is impartially enforced, it creates a certain order and predictability within a culture. I am utterly opposed to anarchy. But the Law of God has never been an arbitrary set of rules, created by God in a manner similar to an earthly legislature. Nothing in the Old Testament even remotely thinks of the Law in such a manner:

The law of the LORD is perfect, converting the soul; The testimony of the LORD is sure, making wise the simple;

The statutes of the LORD are right, rejoicing the heart; The commandment of the LORD is pure, enlightening the eyes;

The fear of the LORD is clean, enduring forever; The judgments of the LORD are true and righteous altogether.

More to be desired are they than gold, Yea, than much fine gold; Sweeter also than honey and the honeycomb. (Psa 19:7-10)

This is a love poem about something far more profound than a set of rules.

There is a deep distinction which I make at almost every opportunity between things that can be described as ontological, and things that are merely forensic. Ontological means having to do with being. It refers to things that really, truly have existence. A bird is an ontological creature. The office of the President is a legal fiction, a forensic construction.

In modern legal imagery, if a rule is said to be “broken,” nothing is actually “broken.” The rule is the same before and after the break. What has changed is that the person “breaking” the rule is now in danger of being prosecuted, fined, imprisoned or executed. In the Old Testament, to sin against the Law of God was viewed as quite different. Something happened. An individual became unclean, was stained, had become an abomination, etc. In some cases an entire community was somehow stained. Atonement in such a world involved removing an ontological problem, not satisfying a legal concept. Forgiveness was thus the same thing as healing and cleansing.

Imagine standing in a modern court while the Judge says, “You have been charged with driving 60 mph in a 20 mph zone. How do you plead?”

“Your honor! Have mercy on me. I cannot bear the stain of this sin! I am unclean! Have mercy on me and cleanse me from this abomination!”

The result of such an exchange would doubtless be unpleasant. Of course, it is ridiculous, as is the use of modern legal imagery with regard to God.

Theories of atonement that use modern legal imagery remove any ontological content from our situation. We are guilty because God says we are guilty and we deserve punishment much like we deserve punishment within our human legal system. But the Law of God is not a legal instrument; it is more of a diagnostic tool. The Commandments describe the character and details of those things that plunge us into ontological chaos. The most justified executioner in a modern legal system is nevertheless plunged into the morass of human trauma by his act of execution. It does not matter how deserving a prisoner was of death, nor how kind and painless the form of execution. To take the life of another human being severs the communion for which we were all created. We experience that severance (which is ontological in the extreme) in various forms of trauma.

As a child the man who lived next door to my family was a WWII vet (like all of the men of my childhood). He was in the infantry during the Italian campaign. In a village one day, he turned a corner and came face to face with a young German soldier. Both men froze. But my neighbor acted first and killed his adversary. It was a war. Had he not killed he would have been killed. Over a decade later he still awoke in the night tormented with the memory, reliving it every night in his dreams.

Today we would say he was suffering from PTSD. But trauma is more than just an extreme experience, it is the universal experience of soldiers. Some are crippled by it, others find ways to move on. But it is real. It is more than psychological. It is the trauma of broken communion, as substantial and real as any Biblical stain or abomination.

And [the Lord said to Cain], “What have you done? The voice of your brother’s blood cries out to Me from the ground. So now you are cursed from the earth, which has opened its mouth to receive your brother’s blood from your hand. When you till the ground, it shall no longer yield its strength to you.” (Gen 4:10-12)

In one of the most moving passages in modern literature (Crime and Punishment), Dostoevsky describes the confession of the murderer, Raskolnikov, to his love, Sonya:

“Well, what to do now, tell me!” he said, suddenly raising his head and looking at her, his face hideously distorted by despair. “What to do!” she exclaimed, suddenly jumping up from her place, and her eyes, still full of tears, suddenly flashed. “Stand up!” (She seized him by the shoulder; he rose, looking at her almost in amazement.) “Go now, this minute, stand in the crossroads, bow down, and first kiss the earth you’ve defiled, then bow to the whole world , on all four sides, and say aloud to everyone: ‘I have killed!’ Then God will send you life again. Will you go? Will you go?” she kept asking him, all trembling as if in a fit, seizing both his hands, squeezing them tightly in her own, and looking at him with fiery eyes. He was amazed and even struck by her sudden ecstasy. “So it’s hard labor, is it, Sonya? I must go and denounce myself?” he asked gloomily. “Accept suffering and redeem yourself by it, that’s what you must do.”

Sonya’s instinct is utterly Biblical and Orthodox. The nature of his crime deeply transcends the legal problems of the police and courts. Raskolnikov has “defiled the earth,” and must begin to heal his trauma with the liturgy of confession. Only with the profound liturgical act of repentance can God begin to heal him. His soul would be impervious without it.

Some years back I had the privilege of being part of a Victim Offenders Reconciliation Program. There the victims of crimes (non-violent in most cases) met face-to-face with those who had injured them. The conversation that took place was aided by a mediator. The exact nature of the injury and the trauma that ensued were shared. The trauma of the criminal that led to the action was sometimes shared as well. Terms for restitution and reparation were agreed. The agreement was monitored by the organization. The result was fewer young people in prison and a healing that was utterly beyond the scope of the judicial system.

Our lives, on the very level of our true being and existence, are entwined with those of all others. We cannot be well and live well when those relationships are damaged and traumatized. Our lives may have suffered no legal damage, and yet be malignant in the extreme.

A man injured a young girl in an automobile accident. He was not to blame. And yet, he began losing sleep, was irritable and lost his appetite. He went to see his doctor.

The doctor said, “Have you gone to the young girl and asked her to forgive you?”

“But I didn’t do anything wrong! The police said it wasn’t my fault! My lawyer said that I wasn’t to blame!”

The doctor smiled, “Then legally you should be able to sleep at night.”

The Divine Liturgy is the great enactment of reconciliation. In it, Christ takes into Himself the trauma of our injuries as well as the trauma of our crimes. In the Divine Liturgy, the action of the Cross of Christ and His Descent into Hades, His Resurrection and Ascension, even His glorious Second Coming are all made fully present. The liturgy that is His life becomes the liturgy that is our life. The self-emptying of Christ on our behalf becomes our self-emptying as we offer “our selves, our souls and bodies,” in the sweet words of Thomas Cranmer.

Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; old things have passed away; behold, all things have become new. Now all things are of God, who has reconciled us to Himself through Jesus Christ, and has given us the ministry of reconciliation, that is, that God was in Christ reconciling the world to Himself, not imputing their trespasses to them, and has committed to us the word of reconciliation. Now then, we are ambassadors for Christ, as though God were pleading through us: we implore you on Christ’s behalf, be reconciled to God. For He made Him who knew no sin to be sin for us, that we might become the righteousness of God in Him. (2Co 5:17-21)