Ok, I know it’s maybe a bit too snarky, but those of us who grew up in certain kinds of churches will greatly appreciate the Semi-Pelagian Narrower Catechism. (Let me say, sincerely, that I offer this having laughed warmly, and not angrily, as I read it.)
Category: Spirituality
Michael Bird offers a great post about whether N.T. Wright’s views on justification are encouraging protestants to become Catholic. Bird’s summary of the varieties of difference on something even as important as the doctrine of justification is enlightening:
Part of the problem is that some folks want to reduce the debate to “Geneva” versus “Rome” as if they are the only two games in town: they are not! For a start, there is a lot of diversity among the residents of Geneva. The Westminster and Augsburg confessions disagree on what is imputed, Melanchthon and Luther disagreed on whether good works are necessary for salvation, John Calvin was also able to hold together justification and sanctification through union with Christ in a unique way, Martin Bucer held to a two-fold imputation for the impious and the pious, the Puritans weren’t exactly monolithic on justification either as a comparison of Richard Baxter and John Owen shows, I think it was George Joye (like Ambrosiaster from the Church Fathers) who saw God’s righteousness as his faithfulness rather than as a righteousness imputed from God, etc. Then look at Rome. Yes, we have Trent that was reactive and heavy-handed, and therefore, given to a theology born out of polemics. But read some modern Catholic commentators like Joseph Fitzmyer and I remain confused as to how his Romans commentary which is sooo protestantesque in places was ever granted nihil obstat. D.A. Carson tells a story of how he asked Joseph Fitzmyer what did he believe: his Romans commentary or the 1993 catechism which is solidly tridentine when it came to justification? Then there’s a guy like Scott Hahn who is a better and more consistent covenant theologian than some Presbyterians I know. Then what about the Barthians who have a more christocentric approach to the matter that is speaking a different language altogether? Hans Kung saw in Karl Barth a bridge between Protestants and Rome. Not forgetting the post-Bultmann Lutherans like Ernst Kasemann and Peter Stuhlmacher who don’t fit neatly into any precise camp with their view of justification as transformative in the sense of God both declaring and making the sinners righteous. Then go east young man with the Orthodox theologians who can integrate justification closely to their leitmotif of theosis. Now suddenly the multiple-choice theology of Geneva or Rome seems highly simplistic doesn’t it? Wright’s critique of Reformed interpretation, overstated and full of generalization I often find it!, can only cause folk to go to Rome if they are caught in this Geneva or Rome dichotomy. In other words, if you ingrain into people that Geneva (or one suburb of Geneva) and Rome (= Trent) are the only two options, once they question some of their Reformed heritage, you haven’t left them with any other option.
I personally don’t have a dog in the “New Perspective” fight. I wish I had time to study it, but I don’t. But what this highlights for me — and I’m not really sure this is exactly what Bird intended — is the limited and contextual nature of all theological speech.
Categories
Terminator Jesus
Please tell me this isn’t real.
David Bentley Hart reviews Robert Wright’s “The Evolution of God” in First Things. Hart’s take-down is masterful, including many lines like this: “Perhaps the most important complaint to be raised in regard to Wright’s story, however, concerns its almost chirpy metaphysical Whiggery.” Read the whole review slowly with a cup of coffee and savor an elegant intellectual surgeon at work.
In our Intro to the Christian Tradition course at Biblical Seminary, we’re reading Stanley Hauerwas and William Willimon’s lovely little book Lord Teach Us: the Lord’s Prayer and the Christian Life. Following are some portions of the journal I’m required to keep for the course as we read this book.
It’s somehow embedded in my spiritual consciousness that the “Christian life” is primarily an exercise in avoiding dangers. My posture, unconsciously, often has been one of defensiveness and fear. “We” need to be on constant vigil against moral laxity, heresy, “liberalism,” “secular humanism,” and other threats. If there were something like the “Homeland Security Threat Meter” for spiritual things, in many of the settings in which I’ve lived, it would constantly have been on “Red.”
Hauerwas and Willimon present instead a faith that recognizes its own weaknesses. As they note at the start of the Introduction, “[b]ecause of the nature of the Christian faith, all of us, no matter how long we have been around Jesus, are always learning anew how to ask the right questions. No one of us ever becomes so faithful, so bold in our discipleship, that we become experts in being Christian.” They are able to make such a statement because they conceive of the faith “not primarily as a set of doctrines, a volunteer organization, or a list of appropriate behaviors.” It is rather “a journey of a people.” To be Christian, they say, “is to have been drafted to be part of an adventure, a journey called God’s kingdom. Being part of this adventure frees us from the terrors that would enslave our lives if were not part of the journey.”
Why is it that we often unconsciously or consciously think of the Christian faith as something that brings slavery to terror? My Christian commitment was in some important ways born of fear – the fear of Hell. As a young teenager, fire and brimstone preaching motivated me to think, do and say the right things. We lived under the cloud of the Great Tribulation, the scourge of Antichrist followed by eternal flames, from which only proper faith in Christ could rescue us. The vast majority of the human race was on a fast train to Hell, and only a small remnant of us who got things just right would escape.
Thankfully, there were other influences on my faith besides those fire and brimstone prophecy preachers. There were youth leaders, college professors, family members and friends who really did catch the “adventure” of Christian faith. And there was a kernel of truth in the pulpit thumping – Jesus himself, after all, was the source of the imagery of sheep and goats, good soil and rocky soil, Abraham’s bosom and Gehenna.
Yet, even now, it’s hard for me to fully assimilate the truth that the Christian faith is fundamentally “a prayer that [we] must learn to pray” rather than “a set of beliefs.” I’m baffled sometimes when I meet former Roman Catholics who have gotten “saved” and joined evangelical churches. Their testimonies uniformly concern freedom and security: they traded what they perceived as a rigid system of doctrines, good works, guilt and penances, for the blessed assurance of simple faith in God’s grace. I suppose they just haven’t realized that in many of our evangelical churches, particularly for those of us who have grown up in the church, the system of doctrines, works, guilt and penances is just as rigid as it is in any version of cultural Catholicism – and perhaps it’s more insidious because it’s under the surface. Scratch the skin of many life-long evangelicals and you’ll find the same iron blood as that which flows through the most traditional of Catholics.
So, when I read Haurewas and Willimon’s meditation on God as “Our Father,” it banishes some of those old demons and encourages the whisperings of better angels: “It is comforting to know that even though you don’t always feel like a Christian, though you do not always act like a Christian, much less believe like a Christian, your relationship as a friend of God is not based on what you have felt, done, or believed. Rather, you are a friend with God because of God’s choice of you in Jesus through the church.”
Indeed! Yet – “through the church” . . . . This is our fundamental weakness as “independent” evangelical churches. How do my Catholic friends who embrace and live their Catholic identities know they are accepted by God? Why don’t they suffer from the same guilt and fears as those ex-Catholics I know who left that faith for evangelicalism (or, more likely, for no faith at all)?
I think it’s because they’ve learned to receive the blessing of the Church. They’ve learned to recognize that their friendship with God is far bigger than their own personal strengths and weaknesses. Sure, they realize the need for a vibrantly personal faith, but it’s a faith that’s far more than “personal,” and that therefore is far stronger than their personal weaknesses. And here, they can more readily grasp the significance of Hauerwas and Willimon’s thoughts on the fact that “Our Father” is “in Heaven”:
“You may not be good with words. Don’t worry. George Herbert, St. Francis, and Teresa of Avila pray with you. You may not have your head straight on Christian doctrine. Go ahead and pray with confidence. Thomas Aquinas, Martin Luther, and Georgia Harkness pray with you. You may find it difficult to make time to pray. Pray as often as you can. Your prayer joins those already in progress by Dietrcih Bonhoeffer and Dorothy Day.”
We may demur for any number of reasons to the authority of Popes and Cardinals or Metropolitans. Maybe those reasons are good ones rooted in the Reformation, or maybe at this point they’re still born of the fear of change, or maybe there’s some of both at work. Regardless, it’s vital that our “personal relationship with Christ” be far more than “personal.” We thrive as we’re ingrafted onto the vine of Christ, rooted in soil that is thousands of years deep, in communion with branches spread across time, place and history.
Reading through Martin Luther’s classic On the Freedom of a Christian, this passage struck me:
This is a spiritual power, which rules in the midst of enemies, and is powerful in the midst of distress. And this is nothing else than that strength is made perfect in my weakness, and that I can turn all things to the profit of my salvation; so that even the cross and death are compelled to serve me and to work together for my salvation. This is a lofty and eminent dignity, a true and mighty dominion, a spiritual empire, in which there is nothing so good, nothing so bad, as not to work together for my good, if only I believe. And yet there is nothing of which I have need — for faith alone suffices for my salvation — unless that, in it, faith may exercise the power and empire of its liberty. This is the inestimable power and liberty of Christians.
In my “Intro to the Christian Tradition” class at Biblical Seminary, we’re discussing James Payton’s Light from the Christian East: An Introduction to the Orthodox Tradition. In Chapter 4, Payton describes how Eastern Orthodox Christianity historically has emphasized God’s ineffability to a greater degree than Western Christianity. As a result, Eastern Orthodox theology tends to stress “apophatic” or “negative” theology — speaking about God primarily by emphasizing what God is not like — over “cataphatic” or “positive” theology. Here was one of our classroom discussion questions and my response:
1. How do you respond to Orthodox theology’s understanding that speaking of God is “a hazardous enterprise,” and that language is unable to fully convey God’s nature? (p. 59)
This is a very helpful reminder for those of us raised in evangelical independent church traditions.
In some circles, I think our ways of speaking about God have become “scholastic.” We are very keen to make logical arguments brimming with “evidence that demands a verdict.” Our in-house arguments tend to focus on the precise meanings of terms in carefully drafted “Statements of Faith.” These arguments and Statements may have a place, but it’s helpful to remember that they don’t really begin to grasp or contain God. I believe God is concerned with our fidelity to Him, and that this involves the transformation of our minds and the ability to “teach sound doctrine.” However, God is so far beyond our ability to articulate who He is that I think we dishonor Him when we make doctrinal precision the sine qua non of the Christian life. In fact, I agree with John Franke’s book “Manifold Witness” that some degree of difference in doctrinal articulation is part of God’s design for the Church. This need not be disturbing when begin to realize that God truly is ineffable.
It’s also helpful to remember that we cannot fully explain God’s ways. Often, we display enormous confidence in our own ability to discern exactly what God is doing in the world. Perhaps we assume automatically that AIDS, or genocide, or a financial crisis or natural disaster, is a clear message from God about someone else’s sin. Perhaps we assume equally quickly that our own “success” is evidence of God’s blessing. It’s true, of course, that God does discipline and punish sin and that we do experience His blessing as we follow Him. Yet, it’s helpful to remember that our primary posture must be one of humble, kneeling humility and gratitude. In fact, one of the blessings of faith, I think, is the ability to leave such tangles in God’s hands. If His love, justice and grace ultimately are beyond us, it is not for us to circumscribe how and when He must act with regard to others. It is for us simply to seek to be faithful with what He has given to us.
The Test of Faith documentary looks like a superb new resource from the Faraday Institute. Here is the trailer.
On Jesus Creed, RJS, a professor at a major research university, is reviewing a book on missional campus ministry. This is post is so insightful, and so close to my own heart, that I’m going to reproduce it below:
The church I attend has an outstanding youth ministry. No question. And intentionally inter-generational worship. The staff is intent on building relationships. The church is thriving, even growing. The number of families with young children is increasing. And yet …
My daughter graduated from high school this year. She has been in this church since we moved here just after her first birthday; she “belongs.” There was a big graduation luncheon – complete with video and moving remembrances (we had known roughly half the 15-20 seniors since they were in preschool); the whirlwind of graduation ceremonies, family visits, and open houses. And the next Sunday as we prepared to leave for church she informed me that she was now supposed to attend one of the adult education communities … and as she put it “No Way!” For a time perhaps she no longer belongs.
This leads to the question I would like to address today.
What does your church do to intentionally reach, walk along side, and disciple 18-25 year-olds?
The above incident – while true – also gives a bit of a wrong impression. We are in a University town and have a growing church based campus ministry reaching college students, graduate students, and beyond. June, July and August are slow months for campus ministry (and other ministries). Nonetheless this incident is telling — our 18 to 25 year-olds are entering a strange new world. They are not children, or even youth – but neither are they full-fledged adults. The expectation that they will smoothly enter the adult program (even for the summer) is unrealistic. Emerging adulthood is an excellent description.
Church based college ministry – ministry to the college-aged adults is the focus of Chuck Bomar’s new book College Ministry 101: A Guide to Working with 18-25 Year Olds. This book is what “101” implies, an introductory guide and overview. I found it an easy read with a number of excellent insights. There is little detailed analysis, although he is clearly familiar with much of the literature. I will highlight a few of his points to start a discussion.
Why College-Age Ministry? This may seem obvious to some, but certainly not to all. The drift of college-age people from church is a well documented phenomenon.
“If our goal is to develop mature believers (and I hope it is!) we can’t afford to watch college-age people detach from the church. Developing ministries that nurture and disciple college-age people isn’t optional for churches. It’s part of our calling as the body of Christ. “(p. 21)
Ask Scot if we have a problem and stand back – we’ll get an earful (a well researched and articulated earful). We have a problem.
Identity formation. Many of the reasons for a church to invest in an intentional college-age ministry arise from the specific features of this age, amplified by our modern society where higher education of some form is becoming the norm. Bomar stresses the importance of identity formation for college-age people. They are exploring, taking ownership. and becoming. It is an exciting, challenging, and unsettling time.
“I want to say once more that identity formation isn’t just a big issue for this age group. It is the issue. I know some leaders who wonder why they need to understand identity formation. They believe that if they simply teach the Word of God, then identity will take care of itself. But this search for identity is so all-consuming that it greatly impacts the way a young person understands the Word. Identity is where our concern ought to lie.” (p. 37)
A successful college-ministry will emphasize relationships, discipleship, and mentorship, not numbers and programs. We need to meet people where they are – and college-age people are not, for the most part, settled and suited to our standard church model.
Teaching and Discipleship – one of Bomar’s best sections.
“Our traditional approach to spiritual formation isn’t really forming people as much as it is indoctrinating them. The simple articulation of conclusions we’ve come to doesn’t prepare college-age people for the intellectual challenges they’ll face as adult Christians.
Let me put this another way. College-age people who were raised with one perspective on questions of identity and meaning and life eventually become aware that this perspective isn’t the only way of thinking, that the answer might not have been as simple as the church made it seem. They start to wonder why we never told them about these other perspectives. And then they question all the conclusions we’ve taught them, wondering if the church is hiding something.” (p. 129)
According to Bomar a good college-age ministry should break away from the educational model. We shouldn’t teach our conclusions, we should teach the method used to reach our conclusions. A good college-age ministry doesn’t provide answers, it develops people “passionate about thinking correctly, asking questions, and seeking answers for themselves.” (p. 131)
This is a frightening prospect for some. It seems safer to provide the right answers up front. After all, if we don’t some of their conclusions and answers may differ from ours. But this we must leave in the hands of God, in the humble realization that some of our conclusions, answers, and positions are likely wrong.
Bomar suggests three significant changes:From teaching the law to teaching the faith; from knowing facts to understanding truth; from surface assumptions to deeper connections. We must realize that difficult questions often have ambiguous answers – and become comfortable with this.
Well, this is enough to give a taste – Bomar’s book contains practical wisdom and insight. It is a good start, but only a start to spur deeper conversation and thinking about college-age ministry.
This is the second entry in the “Redemptive Violence and Film” series between yours truly and Thomas. This is my first entry: “Terminator: The Eschaton.”
“I saw heaven standing open and there before me was a white horse, whose rider is called Faithful and True. With justice he judges and makes war.” – Rev. 19:11
The summer blockbuster film Terminator Salvation follows the exploits of John Connor as he fights for the human disapora against Skynet, an artificial intelligence that seeks to obliterate humanity in favor of a world run by and for machines. It’s a bad movie, filled with ludicrous plot holes (Earth to machines: haven’t you seen Goldfinger and Austin Powers? Kill John Connor before letting him into your secret lair!), though the post-apocalyptic special effects are undeniably cool. Yet, with all its absurdities, something about Terminator Salvation nudges my Biblical-relevance-o’-meter. Is it Left Behind for our ironic post-industrial sensibilities?
I spent many hours in my youth listening to preachers who thought they had figured out the imagery of Revelation 19. They imagined the armies of the earth literally gathered on the plain of Armageddon (the Megiddo Pass) to confront Christ, the Rider on the White Horse, in physical battle. At the conclusion of this decisive battle, the “beast” and the “false prophet” who lead the rebellion against Christ are “thrown alive into the fiery lake of burning sulfur” (v. 20). The remaining combatants are “killed with the sword that came out of the mouth of the rider on the horse, and all the birds gorge[] themselves on their flesh” (v. 20-21). (These scenes are only available in the “Unrated Director’s Cut” version of the Bible. The Disney Family Bible skips right to the “no more tears” part).
Here is “redemptive violence” at its thickest. Only after this cleansing apocalypse — and the ensuing, mysterious millennial period and final outbreak of rebellion in Chapter 20 — do we reach the quiet shores of the New Jerusalem in chapter 21, in which God “will wipe every tear from [his people’s] eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away” (v. 4).
I will need to demur to the literalism of those “Summer Bible Conference” preachers who first introduced me to the starkly horrific elegance of the Bible’s apocalyptic literature. Precisely because the genre is apocalyptic, these images must be understood as images, impressionistic and sometimes nearly incomprehensible pictures of realities far deeper than their “literal” surface. Those preachers were correct, however, to note that the divine reckoning they represent, in which “kings, generals, and mighty men, [and] horses and their riders” are judged along with “all people, free and slave, small and great” (ch. 19, v. 18) by the blazing light and piercing truth of Christ, is a violent act.
So perhaps we can see John Connor as Christ figure, a Rider on a White Horse, expurgating the steel-cold machinations of sin, leading a remnant of humanity to its final salvation. I would like to say that this is so, except that Connor also embodies the trope of the tragically stoic hero, the man who must deny his humanity so that others can live. Maybe Connor is a kind of high Medieval Christ, staring distantly from an altar triptych with big, vacant eyes. Better yet, he might reflect a Nestorian duality, never truly entering into the price of his atoning violence. Either way, we, the movie audience, are invited to gaze at the spectacle of a mechanical ritual sacrifice without experiencing the expurgation of real blood, sweat and loss. “Terminator” ultimately offers us Salvation without kenosis. For the real thing, the Rider must win his White Horse by way of the Cross.