In recent years, I find myself sitting comfortably with friends who would self-identify as “hopeful universalists.” It’s not a label I am comfortable with, for a number of reasons, though I’m certainly fine with the spirit of their intent. The following clarifies why I resist the label for myself:

1. Until recently, I called my position “hopeful inclusivism” as described by Hans Urs von Balthasar and Kallistos Ware, but have discovered that people consistently misunderstand “hopeful” as if I mean “wishful” or “doubtful” or “maybe.” The upside of that misunderstanding is that they correctly infer that I am not “dogmatic” and this saves me a bit of grief.  And it’s true: I would not teach “ultimate redemption” (my conviction) as dogma or doctrine. But my position is actually a third critter:

I have always clarified that when I say “hopeful,” my hope is built on nothing less than Jesus’ blood and righteousness. That is, I use “hope” the same way Paul does when he refers to Christ as our “blessed hope.” He is completely convinced of something that is yet to come. For Paul, “the glorious appearing of Jesus Christ” (Titus 2:13) is not wishful or doubtful. He holds a conviction that is anchored specifically in the faithfulness of Jesus. In the same way, I am personally convinced of ultimate redemption or the restoration/summing up of all things in Christ. I believe the New Testament anticipates this telos dozens of times. And in that sense, I’ve moved from Balthasar’s and Ware’s open-ended hopeful inclusivism (that leaves room for the possibility in principle, however unlikely, that some might forever reject the love of God) to a more confident conviction (as in St. Gregory of Nyssa or St. Maximos the Confessor) that meeting Christ face-to-face will so heal the soul and remove the dysfunctions of the fallen will, that an entirely willing response to grace will inevitably result (a la Paul’s conversion or the Phil. 2 confession of faith).

On the other hand, I call this a confident conviction, rooted, I think, in Scripture and good theology BUT am not permitted (by my conscience or my spiritual father) to teach it as doctrine. Simply put, the Nicene Creed (our dogma) says of eschatology:

• He will come again [doesn’t say how],
• to judge the living and that dead [doesn’t specify whether retributive or restorative],
• We look for the resurrection, and
• the life of the age to come.

There is no dogmatic statement about the destiny of unbelievers or the nature of hell.

There is no dogmatic statement that all shall be saved or that any shall be damned.

So while I hold a personal conviction that all shall be saved, and am even free to share my conviction and the reasons for it, I cannot impose it as doctrine, nor should the infernalists. To do so, in my mind, is technically a heresy (a mistake) because it violates the freedom of conviction of such mysteries as preserved in the Creed.

2. Despite my conviction in ultimate redemption and belief that the Scriptures teach that all shall be saved, I have also always resisted the word “universalism.” The reason for this is because the term has become so nebulous that using such a broad brush incites a lot of mistaken inferences and dismissive misrepresentations. But the problem is not only in those who misunderstand what I would mean by the term. It’s also a problem among those who use it. From my observations, today, the great majority of those who identify as ‘universalists’ have minimized some elements I believe to be essentials of the gospel. Specifically, MOST universalists now seem to downplay or negate:

• the seriousness of sin and its consequences,
• the necessity or even reality of the Incarnation,
• the critical importance of Christ’s death and resurrection,
• the reality of judgment and of a final judgment,
• the necessity of a truly willing faith response to Jesus.