A Critical Review
Matthew Bates declares victory over historical understandings of baptism, but it feels like trading steak dinner for porridge. His attempt to reframe baptism and salvation through ‘allegiance’ to Christ’s kingship oversimplifies the sacramental theology that has long been foundational to Christian tradition. While innovative, Bates’s view diminishes the richness and depth of baptism, reducing it to a bare minimum that fails to capture the fullness of the biblical and theological narrative.
Matthew Bates’s most recent work, Beyond the Salvation Wars: Why Both Protestants and Catholics Must Reimagine How We Are Saved, builds upon the arguments he advanced in his previous books, Gospel Allegiance and Salvation by Allegiance Alone. In these works, Bates argues that salvation is fundamentally about faith in Christ’s kingship, with allegiance to Christ as the object of faith. In his view, salvation cannot be reduced to mere intellectual assent or individualistic notions of justification by faith alone but must be understood in terms of a relational allegiance to Christ as the reigning Lord. This perspective, which he develops through examining New Testament texts, reshapes the understanding of the gospel and the process of salvation, moving beyond traditional Protestant and Catholic positions. Bates claims that the Reformation’s understanding of justification, while important, is incomplete. The central emphasis should shift from the cross to the ascension of Christ, where He now reigns as King at God’s right hand, and the gospel should be understood not just in terms of salvation from sin, but as the establishment of Christ’s kingdom. This shift toward an understanding of salvation as allegiance to Christ’s kingship is intended to offer common ground for Roman Catholics and Protestants, who, according to Bates, share enough overlap in their soteriological doctrines to move beyond their historical disagreements and unite on the essential aspects of the gospel.
Bates elaborates on this shift, describing the current theological space as a “combat zone.” He anticipates receiving pushback for his claims, and indeed, such strong opposition is warranted. Bates argues that both Roman Catholics and Protestants, in their historical development, have misunderstood aspects of salvation due to the unavailability of crucial historical documents, particularly early Christian and Jewish writings from the first and second centuries. He provocatively claims that the Protestant and Catholic theological traditions have inaccurately shaped their doctrines because they lacked access to these historical sources. With the new manuscript evidence, Bates believes there is now an opportunity to build a “truer theological synthesis” that reconciles these two feuding traditions, allowing them to move beyond their differences on key issues of justification and sanctification. Bates’s thesis is that by understanding Christ’s reign and emphasizing “allegiance,” both Protestantism and Roman Catholicism can correct their historical errors and find common ground. However, his approach oversimplifies the rich history of these traditions, and while the effort to find unity is commendable, the task of reconciling such deeply entrenched theological systems through this lens remains an ambitious, if not premature, endeavor.
Bates’s argument on the Apostles, particularly his take on baptism and profession of faith, introduces an unnecessary dichotomy. He suggests that baptism and profession of faith are separate, and that the early church’s silence on infant baptism points to a rejection of such a practice. However, this view disregards the fact that much of early Christian practice, particularly with regard to baptism, was still in development and could not be fully codified in the manner Bates implies. His focus on the “silent argument” with the notion that Apostles never explicitly endorsed infant baptism and required professed loyalty (of course that ‘profession’ is part and parcel of adults with verbal and linguistic ability to coincide with baptism) is somewhat tenuous (e.g., there is also no mention in Scripture of an ‘age of reason’), as many in the traditional Church would turn this argument on its head, positing that the silence does not negate the validity of a practice but reflects an ongoing organic development of doctrine. Additionally, Bates places disproportionate weight on early church evidence in a way that does not fully appreciate the complexities of doctrinal formulation during that time (let alone the clear and explicit affirmations of Irenaeus, Polycarp, Cyprian, Origen, and Hippolytus). Early Christian writings, especially from the first two centuries, were often focused on theological development and the establishment of core doctrines that would later be articulated more clearly in subsequent ecclesiastical teachings. As such, Bates’s heavy reliance on a small set of early texts to form sweeping conclusions about the nature of baptism and its connection to faith undermines the broader theological continuity found in Catholic, Orthodox, Anglican, and Lutheran traditions (along with Presbyterians), where infant baptism is understood as part of God’s ongoing redemptive work through the Church.
Now, moving into the larger structure of Bates’s Beyond the Salvation Wars, the book presents both positives and should cause some reservations. On the positive side, Bates’s effort to get the gospel right based on new historical sources is commendable. His commitment to research and the application of these findings to the debate between Protestantism and Catholicism is a rigorous and vital part of theological scholarship. He does a good job of pointing out areas of shared belief and common ground between the two traditions, and his call to rightly understand the gospel story is important. However, Bates’s thesis is highly ambitious. Suggesting that both Protestant and Catholic views on salvation are fundamentally flawed, and that a unified “truer gospel” can be found by reorienting the doctrines of both traditions around Christ’s kingship and the concept of allegiance, is a monumental task. First, the historical claims Bates makes about the Reformation and its misunderstanding of early Christian documents are bold, but they run the risk of oversimplifying the complexities of Protestant and Catholic doctrine. Additionally, second, Bates’s claim that these two traditions can move beyond their sharpest doctrinal differences by embracing allegiance as the core of salvation seems optimistic. There are significant theological, historical, and ecclesiological challenges that must be addressed before this reconciliation can truly take place.
A third reservation pertains to Bates’s approach to the scholarship he engages with. As often happens in theological debates, Bates’s work appears to be heavily influenced by the perspectives of a particular “tribe” of scholars who share his views on the early church and the Reformation. While it is understandable that a scholar’s research will align with their intellectual influences, this narrow focus risks making too much of what one group of scholars agrees upon and presenting that consensus as the foundation for reshaping centuries of theological tradition. This could alienate a broader range of scholars, many of whom may not share his view of the early church or of the doctrinal development of salvation in the history of Christianity but would share some of the impulses in his research. While Bates’s research on early Christian texts is valuable, one must question whether it provides a sufficient basis for such a sweeping reconfiguration of Protestant and Catholic theology.
Moreover, Bates’s proposal risks reducing the breadth of salvation and its doctrine to a narrower, allegiance-centered view. While this focus on allegiance to Christ as King has merit, it also risks narrowing the concept of salvation to a specific allegiance rather than embracing the broader, richer, and more expansive biblical vision of salvation. Bates’s critique of sacramental theology—specifically his claim that Roman Catholicism has eclipsed the gospel through its sacramental focus—raises concerns (see pages 5-4). He overlooks the fact that the sacraments, particularly baptism, are not merely ritualistic, but gospel to live out and embrace. The sacramental life of the Church, rooted in the liturgical calendar and the embodiment of Christ’s redemptive story, offers a fullness of salvation that includes both faith and works, a more holistic view of salvation than Bates’s narrower focus on allegiance.
Bates’s treatment of baptism and its relationship to faith provides a case in point, which begins in a reorientation. In chapters 2 and 3, where Bates explores the historical and cultural context of the gospel, he critiques both Protestant and Catholic views on salvation, offering a fresh interpretation of the New Testament’s gospel message. He argues that the gospel is too often presented as centered on the cross, when it should be focused on the ascension of Christ and His reign as King. While this is an interesting reorientation, Bates’s conclusion that the gospel of Christ’s kingship should replace the cross-centered gospel of justification by faith alone overlooks the deep theological meaning that the cross holds for both Protestants and Catholics. By emphasizing allegiance to Christ as the key to salvation, Bates risks reducing the richness of the gospel to a narrow, politically charged vision of Christ’s sovereignty, failing to appreciate the broader, sacrificial understanding of Christ’s work as a redeemer.
In any theological review, it is important to weigh the sources and authorities that inform the arguments being made. This is especially crucial when engaging with works like Matthew Bates’s Beyond the Salvation Wars: Why Both Protestants and Catholics Must Reimagine How We Are Saved. While Bates’s New Testament work is significant, it must be acknowledged that his approach sometimes seems to exhibit a theological shallowness and an anemic vision of redemption. This likely reflects his current stage in theological development—he is a product of his time, still wrestling with certain issues, but this does not mean his arguments should be dismissed outright. His contributions to the conversation about salvation, faith, and allegiance, though lacking depth in some areas, offer substantial points worth engaging with. A more specific reading of his book will illuminate how he interprets the Apostles and interacts with early church figures who were themselves navigating similar questions about baptism and profession of faith. His arguments should be taken seriously, particularly when scrutinizing the theological sources and authorities upon which he builds his claims.
Bates’s argument on the relationship between the Apostles’ teachings and baptism, however, seems to place an unnecessary dichotomy between baptism and profession of faith. Bates’s interpretation reflects his position as a modern theologian engaging with contemporary debates on salvation, and it seems indicative of a broader trend of viewing early Christian practice through a contemporary lens that may miss important historical and theological nuances. And, once again the textual evidence of believers’ baptism alone in the first few centuries is not as strong as he suggests. The early Church was still in the process of refining doctrinal claims—claims that would eventually become codified in creeds and confessions—and thus, their understanding of certain theological matters, including baptism, was still being shaped. As such, the early Church should not be used as a final word on the matter (even if it were as strong as Bates suggests).
Bates offers a rethinking of salvation that centers on faith as allegiance, framing salvation as an act of personal, voluntary commitment to Christ’s kingship. For Bates, salvation is dependent on a conscious, active commitment to Christ as Lord and King, and this allegiance serves as the object of faith. This notion of faith, as Bates defines it, resonates with the New Testament’s emphasis on Christ’s sovereignty, especially in passages like Romans 10:9 and Acts 2:36–38, where confessing Christ as Lord is paramount. Salvation is not about intellectual assent or passive trust alone but an active, volitional pledge of loyalty to Christ as King. This understanding is in line with the early Christian emphasis on the kingdom of God as central to the gospel message, as seen in the Acts of the Apostles, where Christ’s sovereignty is proclaimed as already present and manifest in the Church.
However, while Bates’s framework of salvation as faith-allegiance offers important insights, it risks narrowing the biblical understanding of faith. The New Testament frequently portrays faith in more varied and dynamic terms, as something that can start small or weak and grow over time (like a seed that grows into a fruit-bearing tree of profound allegiance). Passages like Matthew 17:20 and Luke 17:6 point to the sufficiency of even the smallest faith, while Mark 9:24 illustrates faith that is mixed with doubt but still effective in bringing about Christ’s healing. In these passages, faith is not framed as a singular, mature allegiance but as a dynamic participation in God’s life, one that can begin with desperation or uncertainty and still lead to salvation. But, this said, it is consistent to argue that allegiance is implicit in some way in these passages without pressing the fine point that Bates presses. In other words, he goes too far and there is a broader framework that should be applied that encapsulates ‘allegiance’ and participation that permits the lame, the dumb, the mentally incapacitated, and the infant to come to Christ and participate in redemption. In fact, as Christ calls the children to come to him there is, in fact, just this paradigm, which is why Bates gets baptism wrong. In one true sense, we are all incapable of coming to Christ apart from numerous graces that are provided to help us along the way of our infantile spirituality—and this becomes a significant theological paradigm for understanding faith and baptism in Scripture.
This broader view of faith challenges Bates’s insistence on allegiance as a personal oath or formal declaration, especially in relation to practices like infant baptism. Bates’s argument for faith as allegiance risks excluding the possibility that infants can be part of the covenant community and recipients of God’s grace through baptism. In many Christian traditions, infant baptism is seen as a means by which children are initiated into the covenant, even, as some will argue, before they can make a conscious decision of faith. Acts 2:39 speaks directly to this: “The promise is for you and your children—to all whom the Lord will call,” suggesting that the covenant promise (i.e., salvation) extends to children of believers, regardless of their ability to articulate faith (implicit to this is ‘allegiance’, no doubt, as the reference to “Lord”).
The role of baptism in this context is crucial. Baptism is not merely an expression of personal faith but a sacramental act that incorporates individuals into the body of Christ (thereby picking up on Bates’s important unifying theme of ‘incorporated’ righteousness, see 251-55), marking the beginning of a new life in God’s covenant community. This understanding of baptism is reinforced and argued forcefully by Hans Boersma, who argues that baptism is not just a sign of personal faith but a means of grace that objectively incorporates individuals into the redemptive story. In his homily at his grandson’s baptism, Boersma highlights the importance of baptism as the means by which God, through the Church (as the archetypal Ark, the Temple along with other types), offers grace and hospitality to all, regardless of their ability to make a conscious profession of faith. Boersma’s perspective emphasizes that baptism is a divine act of hospitality, welcoming all into the family of God, even those who are unable to fully articulate or understand the depths of faith at the time of their baptism.
This broader sacramental view allows for a richer understanding of baptism and its efficacy in relation to salvation. Baptism is not merely symbolic but an objective means by which God acts in the life of the believer, regardless of the individual’s understanding at the moment of the sacrament. It is an act of God’s grace that incorporates believers into the Church and into the redemptive story. For Boersma, baptism represents a participatory act in the life of Christ, initiating the believer into the fullness of salvation. This understanding of baptism as a real and effective means of grace challenges Bates’s narrower focus on personal allegiance and highlights the communal, covenantal, even participatory nature of salvation.
Bates’s critique of what he calls the “sacramental eclipse” in Roman Catholicism—and, by extension, Eastern Orthodoxy—also reveals a limited view of the sacramental life of the Church. Bates argues that in certain traditions, sacraments like baptism and the Eucharist can become so central that they eclipse the gospel itself, with the focus shifting from personal allegiance to Christ to the ritualistic performance of religious acts. While there may be some truth to this critique, Bates’s emphasis on allegiance as the primary means of salvation overlooks the fact that liturgical practices and sacramental participation are deeply woven into the narrative of God’s redemptive work. So, at one level, this claim seems quite odd and insufficiently motivated. In the liturgical calendar, for example, the historical events of salvation—Christ’s birth, death, resurrection, and ascension—take on a deeper theological meaning, participating in the broader redemptive story that culminates in Christ as the fulfillment of all Israel’s hopes and promises. The liturgical year and the sacraments help the believer to enter into the redemptive story, experiencing salvation not just as an individual choice but as a communal participation in Christ’s life. And, for the community of faith, Christ actually recapitulates the life of Israel for his Bride to participate in.
The concept of “sacramental eclipse,” as Bates uses it, fails to appreciate that the sacramental life of the Church does not overshadow the gospel but participates in and actualizes it personally. The sacraments—particularly baptism and the Eucharist—serve as means of grace that allow the believer to engage with the gospel in a concrete, tangible way. They do not replace the gospel but deepen the believer’s participation in the story of salvation. Baptism, as the first sacrament, initiates the believer into this story, marking the beginning of a new life in Christ. The Eucharist, similarly, allows the believer to participate in Christ’s body and blood, nourishing the life of faith and reinforcing the believer’s ongoing participation in God’s redemptive work.
The sacramental life of the Church, as framed in a broader theological context, also permits a more generous understanding of faith. Faith, as a participatory act in the life of God, can begin in weakness, doubt, or even desperation. This is consistent with the New Testament portrayal of faith as a dynamic relationship with Christ, one that develops over time. In this context, baptism becomes the starting point of that relationship, a sign of God’s grace and hospitality that welcomes all into the family of faith. Whether a person is an adult or an infant, baptism is the means by which they are incorporated into the covenant community and begin their journey of faith.
This participatory understanding of faith and baptism is also echoed in the work of the Anglican tradition, which emphasizes the sacramental and covenantal nature of baptism. As noted in an article from Anglican Compass, infant baptism is not a contradiction of personal faith but a recognition that salvation is God’s work and that the promise of God’s grace extends to all, including children. Baptism is the rite by which God invites all people into His covenant, even before they can make a conscious profession of faith.
Tertullian, a second-century Church Father, was notably cautious about infant baptism, of which Bates draws upon, and uses to show favor to the mere believer’s baptism position (however, lets step back and realize how extreme all of Tertullian’s views on baptism truly are, even unwedded adults should not be baptized—not such a great authority—and, even most Baptists would deny that!). While his caution is understandable in light of early Christian struggles with theological clarity on baptism, Tertullian’s objections ultimately miss the broader theological and communal context in which baptism functions. Baptism, as understood in the early Church, is not merely a conscious, intellectual decision but an act of God’s grace that includes the recipient within the redemptive covenant (even a real space by which children can receive Divine grace and participate through becoming parts of the Church), regardless of their capacity to fully understand or articulate faith. As the Anglican Compass article points out, baptism is God’s act of hospitality, and it is the Church’s responsibility to offer this grace to all, including children, even before they can make a profession of faith. Baptism and the Eucharist allow believers to participate in the ongoing work of redemption, growing in faith and grace over time, and offering God’s hospitality to all people who are ‘willing’ and for those within a ‘willing’ covenant family.
Furthermore, Bates’ makes too sharp of a distinction between water baptism and spirit baptism. And, one does not need to affirm the strongest versions of sacramental baptism to see these as united realities along the lines of Titus 3:5. For an alternative account, there is a lesser known work that spells out the doctrine of ‘regeneration’ as it is tied to faith and baptism that is quite contrastive to Bates’s approach and fitting within broader evangelical circles historically construed.
By focusing too narrowly on personal allegiance as the key to salvation, Bates misses the richness of the sacramental life of the Church, which provides a cradle-to-grave ministry of grace that includes all those baptized (and is welcome to all to come) in God’s redemptive work. The sacramental tapestry, as articulated by Boersma and shared amongst traditional Anglicans, Roman Catholics, Eastern Orthodoxy as well as Lutherans (and, even some Presbyterians and Methodists), allows for a more robust understanding of salvation, one that incorporates both personal faith, degrees of faith and the objective work of God in the life of the Church. This view of baptism as an act of divine hospitality underscores the generosity of God’s grace and offers a more expansive and inclusive understanding of salvation.
One of the key strengths of the framework Bates proposes—where salvation is understood as a matter of allegiance to Christ’s kingship—actually offers a natural fit for infant baptism. Allegiance, in this context, isn’t solely the result of personal decision-making or intellectual assent, but rather something that can be conferred onto a person, even an infant, through the faith and actions of the family. Baptism, in this framework, becomes an act where God’s grace is actively applied to the child within the covenant community, forming an allegiance to Christ that begins even before the child has the capacity to understand or affirm it verbally. This aligns with the biblical understanding of faith as an objective reality, a space or sphere into which people enter as a result of divine action—not merely an internal, subjective spiritual experience or personal proclivity.
This concept of allegiance to Christ within a family context beautifully echoes the communal (or collective understanding whereby God’s determination of election are found in Christ as Bates rightly highlights in chapter 6) understanding of salvation found in the Hebrew Scriptures, particularly in passages like Joshua 24:15, where the leader declares, “As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.” Faith and salvation are shown to be communal and familial (i.e., ‘external’ and ‘objective’), not just individual. In the same way, baptism within the family of God’s people can be seen as a continuation of this narrative. Just as Israel’s covenantal blessings were extended to the household—children included—so too in the New Covenant, faith becomes something that can be passed down through the family of God. Faith, in this sense, is inherited as part of the community’s life together, an inheritance that the child receives as a member of the covenant. This is especially rich in light of the New Testament’s expansion of God’s promises to include all people, particularly women (where women presumably participate in the Lord’s Supper—although there is no explicit New Testament evidence) and children, and seen in the sacramental rites of baptism and the Lord’s Supper, where families together partake of the redemptive blessings of God’s kingdom (see 1 Corinthians 10 where all participate).
In this view, faith is more than a personal, autonomous decision. It is an inheritance, a familial and communal act that brings the child into the broader story of redemption, just as the ark served as a type of salvation and deliverance in the Old Testament—a type we can experience in the Church as infants are brought into God’s covenant family. Moreover, Bates’s move toward credo-baptism—insisting that faith must be personal, public (even political), and voluntary loyalty before baptism—ends up flattening this structure. It risks reducing salvation to an individual’s autonomous choice rather than a rich, covenantal inheritance that belongs to the people of God as a whole. It also fails to capture the biblical portrayal of faith and salvation as belonging to families, with parents acting as stewards of that faith for their children, passing on the promises of God, just as a father provides a name, identity, and inheritance to a child.
To deny the possibility of infant baptism based on the notion that a child cannot personally choose allegiance to Christ undermines the broader, communal understanding of salvation in Scripture. It seems counterintuitive and disconnected from the depth of the redemptive story of Israel, where the entire family partakes in God’s blessings. It runs counter to the historical and theological continuity of God’s covenantal faithfulness to families, and it diminishes the richness of the Old Testament’s vision of salvation. Salvation, both then and now, is holistic and inclusive of the entire family, and to restrict it to autonomous personal decision-making is to miss the broader picture of God’s redemptive work in the world.
As this is a review, I should say a bit more about his other theological themes advanced later in the book. Naturally, some of what has already been covered regarding the nature of baptism and faith will directly impact and shape how one understands some of the other notions including: election, regeneration, perseverance (or as he calls it ‘once saved always saved’), justification, and a proposal forward. In what will follow, I will make some quite general comments (of a positive nature), but they will in no way be detailed, comprehensive, or deep. Interestingly, Bates’s proposal on ‘election’ appears to be quite consistent with the general impulses that have already been described concerning baptism above. In other words, the emphasis on baptism laid out earlier as a reality that can bring/initiate people into the covenantal communion of the Church whereby they assume the status, responsibility, giftings, and the benefits of what Christ has secured for his Church is consistent with the doctrine election laid out by Bates. In particular, his emphasis on what the Scripture’s put forth as communal, Christ-first, and conditional is not only continuous with the Old Testament portrait but appears to be consistent with the growing trend of biblical scholars today (see especially, 144-56). As Christ is advanced as the elect-one primarily, the nature and kind of election is a historically rooted (in God’s redemptive narrative), concrete (rather than abstract in the hidden recesses of the Divine mind), and vocational of which we by ‘faith’ are called into the mission of Christ. As such, this way of reading the texts that have been historically understood, quite commonly, within Calvinistic discussions regarding the ordo salutis (e.g., Romans 8:29-33) is largely out of place when construing the nature of election as it is most commonly depicted in Scripture within the flow of redemptive history. This much seems right. As for regeneration, Bates argues that water baptism is often used should be understood not along the lines of the saving activity of God but, once again, he argues (too strongly) for the need of a voluntary, intentional choice of allegiance. Moving on the assumption that ex opere operato has been thoroughly undermined by Bates’s appropriation of certain key NT texts further buttressed by the early church, he argues that regeneration (e.g., meaning to make alive, to be born again, see 1 Peter 1:20-3; Col. 2:13; John 1:12; Titus 3:5) is out of place with infant baptism which takes as its ques the common Calvinistic way of working out the ordo salutis. However, this seems to be too strong. As I argued above, while I think his argument against the stronger view of baptism is not finally persuasive, there are a number of options (especially within Anglicanism) that permit that baptism, faith, and regeneration come together as a kind of package deal such that baptism, as an event, can bring about faith in the child, can be God’s means of doing so, and the baptismal waters work together with the Spirit (according to an appropriate read on Titus 3:5) such that that the two are not bifurcated, seen as two distinct baptisms, or one that treats water and spirit as dichotomous unrelated realities. Bates, then, seems to operate, as a practical result, with similar problems infecting Baptist theology that often relegates the whole and primary work of God or the work of man to the internal, invisible realm whereby the objective, communal, concrete realm of grace in the Church is wholly externalized rather than a spiritual reality. This seems to miss, once again, the richness of the Scriptural portrait on baptism, faith, and regeneration. So, whatever one makes of the parallel of ‘circumcision’ and ‘baptism’ (Bates gives a brief but somewhat persuasive) case that the two are only artificially related (165-66), the discussion concerning baptism, as infant baptism, is not predicated on that, but is predicated more on the ‘cleansings’, ‘priestly washings’, and the OT baptismal types that are expanded beyond the OT priests to the whole family in the New Testament.
Just a few notes about justification. Bates is operating within a New Perspective reading on Paul that does not operate out of the faith or grace to law dichotomy. Further, he understands the practice of Christianity as a participation in the final justification, which is an eschatological reality at the end of time. We are called to live into this reality insofar as it is an ongoing reality. What this means is that passages on the possibility of falling away are real (e.g., Hebrews 6:4-6; 10:26) and should be taken seriously. As our response to the call of the gospel mission to give our allegiance to King Jesus is highlighted, it is one that we must live into in an ongoing sense.
But, what this means, then is that there is a arche that places where the emphasis is in redemptive history. Is it baptism as many older traditions would suggest in liturgically oriented and sacramental churches or is it the public, political profession of faith as allegiance? Bates contends for the latter, but, as I have argued already this ‘fine-point’ in the redemptive narrative misses much of theological significance advanced in a rich communal, covenantal, objective, concrete redemptive practice that understands faith, regeneration, election, and justification as foregrounding the familial, even patriarchal, and organic nature of salvation from which to situate the individual and her response to King to Jesus. As were then, then, the organic metaphor of baptism as a rite, that is real in some sense (without affirming the ex opere operata view) remains a compelling and more likely place in a rich reading of Scripture that takes all the motifs, acts, and events seriously as informing individual salvation. For those who give far more credence to a rich typological reading of Scripture and, more, to some form of sacramental reading, the weaker and broader notion of ‘faith’ as participation in the one true God of history revealed in and through the Christian Church appears to be a better context than the finer point of faith as strict allegiance, according to Bates. But, if one takes this sort of approach and finds it viable, then an paedobaptist framework is theologically not only richer, but a better explanatory fit that aids in making sense of the redemptive story of which individual salvation sits.
Bates’s framework of allegiance as the central concept of salvation is not without merit, but it risks distorting the communal and familial nature of faith, as it is deeply rooted in the redemptive story of Israel and the Church. Faith and salvation, as described in the Scriptures, are not merely individual choices but a part of a shared inheritance passed down through generations, from parents to children, and ultimately, into the family of God. The sacrament of baptism has always been more than a personal decision; it is an act of divine hospitality that invites the individual—whether infant or adult—into the covenantal promises of God. By narrowing the scope of baptism to an individualistic understanding of allegiance, Bates loses the profound communal and objective dimensions of the sacrament that have historically anchored the faith of the Church.
Ultimately, Bates’s reduction of baptism to an allegiance-based act undermines the historical richness of this sacrament, flattening its depth and breadth. Rather than offering a fuller vision of salvation, he presents a truncated version that, while appealing in its simplicity, fails to grasp the fullness of God’s redemptive work as understood through the Church’s sacramental life. It’s an exchange of the feast for a meager portion, one that, ironically, leaves us wanting for something far more satisfying.
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