I have a sobering admission, which may be a disturbing surprise coming from a Seventh-day Adventist pastor: a few years back I started to implicitly question the usefulness of the Adventist teaching on the investigative judgment.
It’s not that I denied that it was true or biblical. It’s just that I became ambivalent about the idea, struggling to see how it had any pragmatic value—especially as someone who’s become increasingly convinced that our theology must address practical, real-life needs.
And then, suddenly, everything changed—in an entirely unexpected way.
It wasn’t that I was attempting to figure out a way to solve my cognitive dissonance regarding a key teaching—perhaps the key teaching—of Adventism, trying to convince myself that a strange doctrine of the denomination that pays my salary was really true. I just happened to be looking for something else in the Bible, but found myself caught up in the glory of this astounding concept, unable to resist its amazing, beautiful, and relevant logic.
Truly, I didn’t go looking for it. It came looking for me.
And now I see its glorious utility and usefulness as never before. Belief in the investigative judgment illuminates God’s character of love and speaks powerfully to so many relevant concerns of our age. But it takes a certain gospel-centered framing of the teaching to appreciate these things—which is a framing I’ve never encountered before. So let me try my hand at doing that.
Belief in the investigative judgment illuminates God’s character of love and speaks powerfully to so many relevant concerns of our age.
The “Good News” of The Judgment
A few months back I decided to do a systematic review of every time the New Testament uses the word “gospel.” It was a wonderful exercise, inspiring me afresh of God’s wonderful work on our behalf.
There was one passage, however, that threw me for a bit of a loop. And it came from Paul—of all people—near the beginning of the book that has probably been more responsible than any other biblical book for grounding people in God’s love.
There, in Romans 2, while explaining that everyone, Jew and non-Jew alike, is alienated from God and His ways, Paul drops this bombshell. He declares that there will come a “day” when “God will judge the secrets of men by Jesus Christ.” And then, almost anticipating our shock and mortification, he has the audacity to say in the very next breath that this news is “according to my gospel” (Rom. 2:16).
So check this out: right in the heart of Paul’s powerful exposition on the gospel, where he repeatedly notes that salvation is by grace and obtained by faith rather than works, he tells his readers that there will come a “day” when God judges even “the secrets of men,” and then he calls this the gospel—the good news. What’s going on?
Actually, this isn’t an isolated passage—from Paul or from other New Testament figures. Paul repeats this idea throughout Romans and elsewhere (see Rom. 14:10-12; 1 Tim. 4:1; Acts 17:31). Peter affirms it as well (see Acts 10:42; 1 Peter 4:5, 17). And John, as Adventists well know, quotes an angel who proclaims that included in the “everlasting gospel” is the news of the “hour of [God’s] judgment” (see Rev. 14:6, 7). And then, of course, there’s Jesus, who also affirms the idea, even saying at one point that “nothing is secret that will not be revealed, nor anything hidden that will not be known and come to light” (Luke 8:17).
It’s hard to get around the New Testament witness: according to Paul and Peter and Jesus and John, there’s a judgment that takes even our secret thoughts into account, and this is part of the gospel message. This is good news. No less than N. T. Wright, perhaps the most preeminent New Testament scholar in the world today, has recognized this dynamic as well—stubbornly insisting, even at the cost of fellow evangelicals calling him a heretic, that “there is, then, for Paul, a final judgment, and it will be ‘according to works.’ ”1
But that sounds so scary! It sounds like bad news, not good news.
An Antidote to “Performative” Religion
One of the challenges that’s plagued Protestant Christianity since the days of Luther and Calvin, as Wright has repeatedly pointed out over the course of his long career, is that we tend to read everything through the lens of an exclusively legal model of salvation. And we have a hard time getting away from this nearly irresistible vortex of a theme. As a result, we tend to think that the New Testament writers (especially Paul) were primarily interested in explaining how people can be “saved,” as though God is, in Wright’s words, a “distant bank manager, scrutinizing credit and debit sheets.”2 But that’s like thinking Paul is trying to give directions to Atlanta when he’s really trying to give directions to Toronto.
In that day, God’s true followers will be revealed—and it won’t be based on labels. It will be based on love.
Thus, when “how to get saved” is our framework, Paul’s teaching in Romans 2 doesn’t make sense—because it seems as if he’s telling us that we’re saved by keeping the law. The investigative judgment doesn’t make sense either within this framework, because it leaves people with the impression that we pass the judgment because of our work rather than Christ’s. But I’d submit that neither Romans 2 nor the investigative judgment are primarily trying to answer the question as to how people can be legally saved. Instead, they’re addressing, among other things, the question of how the universe can be made safe. They’re focused on how people, filled with the Spirit, can become, as Wright puts it, “genuinely human, genuinely free,” learning to act “in ways which reflect God’s image, which give him pleasure, [and] which bring glory to his name.”3
And this is the genius of Paul’s line of thinking. If you follow his logic throughout Romans 2, you’ll notice that he’s trying to establish the point that, in God’s estimation, labels mean nothing. God has no favorites, Paul explains in verse 11, and it’s not the “hearers of the law” who impress Him, but the “doers of the law” (verse 13). In other words, it’s not those who, like the Jews, belong to the right group, who take on God’s name thinking they have the inside track, that are truly His people. Simply put, God is interested, not in mere proclamation, but also demonstration.
This is why Paul then goes on to say that there are many people who are wholly unaware of God’s ways but who actually keep them because the Spirit has spoken to their hearts and formed them in love. Indeed, there are people who don’t claim to be Christ’s followers but who really are because they’ve unknowingly responded to the overtures of His grace and chosen to orient their lives toward the good of others (see verses 14, 15).
And all this will be made clear, Paul explains in the verse we already looked at, in the “day when God will judge the secrets of men by Jesus Christ, according to my gospel” (verse 16). In that day, God’s true followers will be revealed—and it won’t be based on labels. It will be based on love.
What I see Paul doing in Romans 2 is giving us an antidote to “performative” religion. He’s assuring his readers that, among other things, no one will sneak into God’s kingdom whose lives are characterized by toxic, abusive, and unsafe behavior—people who’ve acknowledged Christ with their lips, to borrow a famous line from Brennan Manning, but denied Him by their lifestyle (which has been the single greatest cause of atheism today, Manning adds).4
We need to create spaces where we bring the investigative judgment into the present—in ways that are free from shame and centered on God’s embracing love.
Indeed, there’ll be no pretenders in God’s kingdom—people who try to slide in on legal technicalities, saying the right prayers and repeating the right formulas, but who, because they’ve never allowed themselves to be fully vulnerable before God and healed by His love, are unsafe and toxic people.
To be clear, I don’t think that by talking about a judgment based on works, Paul (or Jesus or Peter) was trying to strike fear in the hearts of those who are humbly and genuinely (though imperfectly) trying to be kingdom people, as though their acceptance with God depends on perfect performance. He’s not trying to explain a formula as to how sincere people can get “saved” legally by works. Just the opposite.
I think Paul’s reflections were, mostly, intended to be a warning, a shot across the bow, to those who use the Christian name as a way to abuse and exploit others, and yet who think they’re just going to skate into God’s eternal kingdom without ever being exposed. It is, in short, largely a critique of those with religious “privilege,” urging them to remember that everything will one day be brought to light. Indeed, a day of reckoning is coming, and judgment will begin, Peter would hasten to add, at the house of God (see 1 Peter 4:17).
In that regard, Paul’s teaching dovetails perfectly with how early Adventists initially came upon the investigative judgment teaching in their study of the book of Daniel. There, in Daniel 7 and 8, the investigative judgment is introduced as a response, and the solution, to the corrupt and abusive work of the “little horn.” In that sense the investigative judgment is God’s way of speaking “truth to power,” a way to confront religious authorities that use their power (and God’s name) to exploit others and, in so doing, tragically denigrate God’s reputation. And this is, I’d propose, a message that Christianity desperately needs—and a message that is deeply resonant with so many people who’ve suffered at the hands of Christians (especially Christian leaders) who’ve used the “gospel” as a cover for all manner of toxic and abusive behavior.
They’ve used the “blood of Jesus” as an excuse to be awful people. They’ve claimed to be “justified by faith” but never allowed that faith to truly transform them in ways that reflect God’s image and honors the image of God in others. Gloriously, to those who’ve been beaten down and abused by such people, Paul clears his throat and says, “Folks, I have good news: God’s kingdom won’t be populated by unsafe and toxic people. Everything will eventually be brought to light, making it clear who’s really in step with Jesus and who isn’t.”
Fully Known and Yet Fully Loved
As incredible as this insight was for me, it suddenly dawned on me that the practical application of this idea was equally beautiful and powerful. I could now see more of the relevance of the investigative judgment, and how it connects amazingly with the concerns of so many people today—especially those with a secular and post-Christian mindset.
After all, if Western society has been characterized by anything of late, it’s been characterized by a deep commitment to exposure and shining light into secret places. Modern culture has been zealously pursuing its own sort of investigative judgment, making sure everyone’s skeletons are getting exposed—especially Christians who claim to be living on the moral high ground. To such people, God gives a big nod and says that He, too, is shining His light into the darkness, exposing all secrets. He’s toppling pretension and confronting hypocrisy, exposing those who claim His name but haven’t embraced His character.
At the same time, there’s been an “emotional revolution” wherein people are extolling the importance and healing power of vulnerability. Mental health experts have noted that freedom often comes through being transparent and vulnerable—by owning who we are, rather than trying to pretend we’re someone we’re not.5
All this is, I’d submit, at the heart of the investigative judgment. Essentially, the investigative judgment is about exposure and vulnerability. Indeed, Paul, in Romans 2, points to a day when, whether we like it or not, we will all be fully exposed; we will all be vulnerable. We will return to the state Adam and Eve were in before they fell—when they were naked and fully exposed to the light. There will be no hiding.
The only question is whether we’ll be unashamed, as Adam and Eve were before they fell, or ashamed, as they were after they fell, which caused them to try to hide and cover themselves up. And that question, I’d submit, will be determined by the degree to which we have practiced exposure and vulnerability ahead of time. After all, if we’ve already brought ourselves out into the light prior to the final judgment, there won’t be anything to be ashamed of then, because we’ve pulled the rug out from under anyone who might try to bring something up that we haven’t already acknowledged. We’ve already owned it all.
And this is where Christ’s righteousness comes in. Only those who are grounded in Christ’s righteousness, those who’ve embraced Christ’s acceptance of them, can be exposed without soul-crushing shame. They don’t fear vulnerability, because they know they’re already, in Ty Gibson’s words, “fully known” by God and yet “fully loved” by Him.6 And if God’s all-seeing eye has already seen our worst and yet He still loves us, why would we fear the gaze of anyone else—either now or later?
So those who are secure in God’s love won’t run away from the light and the judgment. They will run to it because they have nothing to hide that hasn’t already been seen. Exposure, therefore, isn’t bad news to those who’ve truly embraced God’s love: Not because they’re sinlessly perfect, but because they’re refreshingly honest (which is why, by the way, the psalmists repeatedly looked forward to judgment).
But those whose religion is performative—those who use religion as a way to hide from God and from others, refusing to truly get vulnerable—will run away from the light. Only those who want to keep up pretensions and use religion as a way to impress some and control others are fearful of the judgment. Indeed, as Jesus explained to Nicodemus: “For everyone practicing evil hates the light and does not come to the light, lest his deeds should be exposed. But he who does the truth comes to the light, that his deeds may be clearly seen, that they have been done in God” (John 3:20, 21).
What this all means, it seems to me, is that we need to create spaces where we bring the investigative judgment into the present—in ways that are free from shame and centered on God’s embracing love. We need to create spaces where it’s safe to be vulnerable and transparent; where people can come out of the darkness and step into the light without fear of condemnation. In so doing, we are really being people of truth, teaching people to take off their masks—which is going to happen sooner or later anyway—and not to be afraid to tell the truth about themselves (and, equally, the truth about how God relates to them, despite their sin).
Simply put, of all people, Seventh-day Adventists should be the most open, transparent, and vulnerable people, because we believe everything’s going to be brought into the light at some point anyway. So let’s get on with it now. This is, I’d submit, what it means to recognize, proclaim, and live out the good news of the judgment.
1 N. T. Wright, Justification: God’s Plan and Paul’s Vision (London: SPCK, 2009), chap. 7.
2 Ibid.
3 Ibid.
4 Quoted at https://relevantmagazine.com/faith/ragamuffin-legacy/.
5 See, among other resources, Brené Brown, The Gifts of Imperfection: Let Go of Who You Think You’re Supposed to Be and Embrace Who You Are (Center City, Minn.: Hazeldon Publishing, 2010).
6 Ty Gibson, See With New Eyes: The True View of God’s Character (Nampa, Idaho: Pacific Press Pub. Assn., 2000), p. 55.