Who Makes the Rules for God?

Have you ever heard someone say, "God had to do it this way"? Maybe it was about the cross, or justice, or forgiveness. And maybe you paused—just for a moment—to wonder: who exactly decides what God has to do?

This question opens the door into one of the more influential theories in Christian theology: substitutionary atonement. It's a broad family of ideas, but at its heart is a vision of Jesus taking our place. And while that may sound straightforward, the theological backstory is more complex—and more human—than we often realize.

From Feudal Lords to Suffering Gods

The roots of substitutionary thinking trace back to Anselm of Canterbury in the 11th century. Anselm didn’t talk about substitution exactly—he used the term "satisfaction." In his world, shaped by feudal hierarchies, the idea was that sin offends God's honor, just like a peasant might offend a feudal lord. And just as a lowly peasant couldn’t possibly make it up to a noble, we can't restore God's honor on our own.

Enter Jesus—the God-man—who steps in to make satisfaction where we cannot.

This eventually morphs into what we now call substitutionary atonement. Jesus stands in for us, bearing the weight and consequences of sin. And then, during the Reformation in the 1500s, it shifts again. Now it's not just the weight of sin Jesus bears—it’s the penalty. This version becomes known as penal substitutionary atonement.

God Versus... God?

For many of us who grew up in Evangelical contexts, penal substitution may be the only atonement theory we've ever encountered. The story goes like this: on the cross, Jesus satisfies God's wrath. God doesn’t want to punish—but God must. Justice demands it. And only a perfect sacrifice will do.

This logic introduces a theological tension. Because if God has to do something—if God cannot forgive without sacrifice—then doesn’t that imply there’s something greater than God? A law or principle that even God must obey?

That’s a pretty big theological problem.

Worse, this view can split the Trinity—casting the Father and the Son as adversaries in a cosmic transaction. But that’s not the God revealed in Jesus. That's not divine love working in unity. That's not the dance of grace and mercy we see on the cross.

Metaphors That Serve—and Stretch

It's important to recognize where these theories come from. They weren’t dropped from heaven. They arose in specific cultural moments. Anselm’s satisfaction theory mirrored feudalism. Penal substitution grew up alongside the legal reforms of the Reformation, when Europe was shifting from monarchies to nation-states. In that context, the courtroom became the dominant metaphor: justice, laws, penalties, rights.

And to be fair, legal metaphors can help us think about sin and salvation. But like all metaphors, they have limits. When stretched too far, they stop pointing us toward God—and begin to constrain our imagination of what divine love looks like.

A Better Story

Earlier expressions of substitution still carry weight. Jesus takes our place, absorbs the consequence of our sin, holds up a mirror to our violence. The cross shows us who we are—and who God is in response. Not with wrath, but with forgiveness. Not with judgment, but with love.

That’s a story worth telling. A God who doesn’t need to be appeased—but chooses to enter into our suffering, to heal and to reconcile. Not because some higher law demands it, but because love compels it.

And maybe that’s the kind of God worth trusting: not the one who follows the rules, but the one who makes and breaks them in service of grace.