Barefoot in the wilderness
in search of understanding

Purgatory

One of the sillier things that Protestant christianity has done is to reject root and branch the idea of Purgatory. This was part of the whole Reformation rejection of Roman Catholic doctrine, owing to some nasty excesses and abuses that had arisen (and which were soundly addressed within the RC church by the Counter-Reformation). The reason that Purgatory got into trouble (as it were) was because of its association with the sale of indulgences – the idea that people’s souls were “stalled” in Purgatory and couldn’t be released until their sins had been paid for by the prayers and giving of those still living, and the suffering of the individual soul involved. Thus, people were forced to give more and more to the church under threat of suffering for their deceased friends and relatives. Not very nice.

However, the idea of Purgatory itself has almost nothing to do with this, nor with the Dantean idea of a garden where people wait to get into heaven. Indeed, if we look back at the roots of the idea, we find that not only is it entirely compatible with Protestant Christianity (as well as Catholic and Orthodox Christianity) but that it is almost inevitable as soon as we think seriously about what it means to die sinful but to be raised sinless.

The word “Purgatory” itself means essentially “the process of being purged”. That is, it’s a process of being refined, cleansed, of having our sinful nature taken away and replaced by the eternal, sinless nature of heaven. For the purposes of this discussion, I won’t initially be concerned with ideas of time and place – whether it’s a place we go to, or whether it happens simultaneously with death or resurrection; it will suffice to talk in general terms. Once we’ve got the groundwork established, we can think a little about the issues of particularity, but these are definitely subordinate issues and shouldn’t distract us from the larger truth.

So, what do we mean by Purgatory in this context? It simply encapsulates the truth that we all die sinful people – none of us are made perfect in this life, we all fall short of the glory of God. Even though Christians believe that Jesus has brought us forgiveness of our sins, we nonetheless continue to have a sinful nature. In other words, our body, mind and spirit (the whole being that is a human person) are still sick, broken and corrupted. However, Christians believe that, after we die, we will be raised to a life that is perfect as our Father in heaven is perfect, and that we will have a new being that suffers none of the flaws of our Earthly being.

However, we have skipped over an important step – the transition from sinful to sinless beings. Something must happen to us to strip away the illusions, to mend all the broken parts, to heal the sick parts and to purify the corrupted parts. We must be purged of our sinfulness and rendered pure. This process is Purgatory – nothing added, nothing taken away. Simply the process of being purified. Now, this might happen simultaneously with being raised (associated directly with death and resurrection) or it might occur “afterwards” (however we perceive time then). It’s common among evangelicals, if they consider the matter at all, to believe that the former is true but we actually have more biblical evidence for the latter – in particular, that it will be associated with the judgement of humankind. (As a brief aside, it’s crucial to grasp that, for Israel and the early church, “judgement” was primarily about restoring justice to the poor and outcast, not about condemning lawbreakers. It should be understood as a positive thing, not a negative one, if possible.)

It’s important to realise that Purgatory has nothing to do with gaining forgiveness or paying the price of particular sins. As Christians, we believe that Jesus paid the price for us and gained us complete forgiveness. Rather, it’s about changing our nature. As I have posted previously, we must distinguish between the two, and one way to do so is to see sin in terms of relationship – a sinful act is one that harms our relationship with God, with each other or with the world. If we see this then we can also more easily see the difference between a sinful act and our sinful nature – for our nature is that sick and broken thing that causes us to perform those sinful acts. Our nature is the thing that is wounded by our own sins and the sins of others, the place where healthy relationships ought to spring from but that instead is a source of pain and harm. Purgatory, then, isn’t about paying for our sins but about changing our nature.

Whether we consider that it happens at death or aftwards, however, there is another issue to face, one that has always been associated with Purgatory but one that has not been popular among Protestant Christians (and perhaps especially not evangelical Christians). Pain. Our experience on Earth, in the life we know, is that the process of purgation (which we endure throughout life as we walk with Christ and are remade into His image) is associated with pain and loss. We do not like to lose those sinful parts of us, we resist their removal even as we want to see them gone. The healing medicine often tastes foul, and the side effects can be very uncomfortable. However, we expect that the discomfort is worth it, because we will be more whole, more healthy, afterwards, more like Jesus who is the author and perfecter of our faith. Why, then, would we expect this final purgation to be painless and easy? The only basis we have for guessing what it will be like is that it will involve pain and discomfort, whether it lasts but an instant or a long, long time.

There is one more issue here, which is one of appropriateness and awareness. Christians believe that, in heaven, we will see God face to face, be familiar with one another. But how could we face God, broken, ugly and sinful as we are now? We ought to desire to be perfect before we see God. And would it be real to us, would it be satisfactory, if this purity was totally free and without effort on our part? Would we not need some time for self-examination and self-discovery before it became real? And even if the purity was given as a free, painless gift, this self-examination would not be painless, because it requires that we face up to those things in us that were broken and sick, that we learn truly where we were wrong and where others were right, where we failed and where we should have succeeded.

If, then, we can accept that, at some point, we will receive a final purification (whether that is simultaneous with death or after it) and that this purification will be painful (whether that is directly because of the experience or through our self-examination after the event), what else should we call this but Purgatory? This is the historic teaching of the Church, this is what we inherit and this is what we need to believe – in the sense that it follows logically from our other beliefs and our human experiences, that it contradicts nothing that Jesus taught or that we learn in the Bible, and that it is indeed taught in the Bible itself both indirectly (in how it talks about sin and heaven) and directly (in how it talks about forgiveness, death, resurrection, judgement and the new Creation).

And the secondary issues of whether Purgatory happens at death or afterwards, whether its discomfort is instant or prolonged, and whether that discomfort arises from the experience itself or only our remembrance of it are truly secondary. They are less than many other issues that we accept as valid differences, because they concern matters about which we can know little by their very nature – because they will happen after death. And they in truth matter little, because they are talking about details of the process, not the nature, causes or effects of the process itself.

So, I would urge you to remember Purgatory, both the part we live through now and the part that is to come.

(_Various of the ideas in this article are due largely to C.S. Lewis, who was instrumental in my first taking Purgatory seriously myself._)

pax et bonum