Uniting the Theological, Biblical, Mystical and Pastoral

Josep Benlliure Gil Life of Francis of Assisi

In a recent post (here) Collin Cornell shares some thoughts about how to teach Old Testament at seminary level. He notes a tendency in biblical studies to 'archaize' the bible through historical study. As he says, while this might, to some extent, undo the latent fundamentalisms and prejudices we bring to our use of the bible, archaizing the bible also has some deleterious effects. In particular, he notes that it enables the student to pull apart the biblical text but, as it were, not to put all the pieces back together.  The child-like pre-study use of the bible is transformed because historical study makes the text less sentimentally familiar, but the child-like whole is not replaced with a, potentially profound, adult use and understanding of the bible. There is something missing, and he suggests students have to be helped to love the text again through its study, not despite the study.  I think this is a common experience in theological studies in Australia. And it seems to me that what can also be missing, whether in my own study here at home, in the seminary, or in the local church, is the reunification of what we call biblical studies, systematic and historical theology, ascetical and mystical theology, and pastoral studies. Imagine learning to read scripture through the intelligent, questioning and faithful use of all the tools and wisdom Christian  theologia (in its fullest meaning) has to offer. I imagine being taught by Rowan Williams is, or being taught by Hans Urs von Balthasar was, such an experience. Being taught by John Gaden in the eighties was just such an experience for me.

Hans Urs von Balthasar

This kind of theologizing (and teaching) is not easy to do. Partly because to do it one needs familiarity with the texts as well as theology, historical and hermeneutical study, etc. All this takes experience and discipline. But it also requires us to be making connections between what is usually presented as discrete and separate(d) packages of thought, methods and purposes (Old Testament, New Testament, systematics, historical theology, pastoral studies, etc.). We also need to keep the creative juices going, and at some point those of us who read theology often end up just parroting what we read rather than doing something with what we read. And lastly, touching our depths, including the full panoply of human experiences and emotions, and then bringing this into our theological study and reflection (and praying), well, that is not easy and requires faith, courage and discipline, not to mention self-awareness.

1. I have hesitated to use the word 'spirituality' and instead opted for 'ascetical and mystical theology' but perhaps 'spiritual theology' would do. See here for helpful thoughts on 'spirituality' from Kim Fabricius.
2. For some critical warnings regarding the historical method in the study of Scripture see here.

Theologians

St John the Theologian

I remember reading an article by an Australian Anglican (episcopal) theologian saying, essentially, that the theologian should have, if not a preeminent place in the church, a place of superiority in the discussions, debates and directions of the church. The problem is that it sounds elitist, and the rejoinder to the claim by the bishop was that the church, with all its various divisions of labour, should be more like a symphony. This sounds right, but it does seem to me that the life and voice of the theologian is one that needs to be particularly nurtured and listened to in the church. We have always done this, although in these days of user-pay some smaller theological enterprises might come tumbling down to the detriment of the whole church. But why listen to the theologian? If the theologian's voice is not one of superiority, it is one that must be listened to. But why? I think this post from Ben Myers over at Faith and Theology is an excellent answer to the question.

Getting Our Language Right

This article from Hauerwas is good on the importance of learning to speak Christian. It includes the importance of learning when to stop speaking, and the way in which we have been co-opted in other political and social languages by a need to separate ourselves from extremism. An example of the former is not giving solace to the bereaved by saying of a loved one, "They have gone to a better place." That smells of the immortal soul. And he cites the use of 'God' instead of Jesus as an example of the latter. Using Cavanaugh, Hauerwas mentions the way in which the secular state has smoothed out the differences between different faiths for its own political stabilization and control through the universalism of  the words 'religion' and 'God'.

Theology Begins When ... (Quote)

Theology begins with an unwillingness to believe that the reality of human beings and human society can be fully explained solely in material terms. Its agenda and subject matter is the exploration of how an openness to a different or fuller explanation of those realities is best articulated and an exploration of how the consequences of such openness bear upon individuals and society, their beliefs, the axioms and principles of social conduct and responsibility. Theology in the specific sense of God-talk is a particular subset of that exploration — the theistic premise regarded as the most appropriate starting point to construct a positive alternative to the purely materialistic explanation of what is — though the openness in many cases will include an openness to the possibility that the theistic premise is itself wrong or misleading’. (Jimmy Dunn)

I pulled this quote from Jason's blog again. He cut this from an interview with Dunn. For links to other great figures in theology check out the full post.

Suspicious Minds

It is a feature of our world to be suspicious. Some might say overly suspicious. In particular, we are suspicious of motives and what lies behind the facade of human behaviour and intention. And in this schema of suspicion it is power and coercion - ultimately violence - that is assumed to be behind all human activity. (Nietzsche casts a long shadow here.) From a traditional Christian point of view, this is not as far off the mark as it may at first seem. The universality of sin means that all human behaviour and intention is mired in a cul-de-sac of failure. We too are suspicious of all discourses (although this does not mean human goodness is absent, but just that it is never pristine). But Christian theology also claims a uniqueness for Christ: he is not impeded by original sin. Here we meet one of the points of conflict between traditional belief and a more post-modern version of Christianity. I don't think the doctrine of the Incarnation is about power and coercion, but many lump it with all the other ideologies of the world. I think Christ was truly for us, just as God is for us, and only for us. Christ has opened up for us a new and living way within history that leads beyond it (but never deserting it), and overcomes all violence. And this is spelt out (amongst other doctrines) in the Incarnation.

[See David Bentley Hart, The Beauty of the Infinite, pp. 1-2. The picture above is of Nietzsche. It is easier to see here.]

Resurrection of the Body

One of the first sermons I delivered at Holy Innocents touched on the resurrection of the body. A theme I have continued in preaching and teaching since because of the dominance of a spiritualized (and essentially pagan) understanding of eternal life. Whatever the bodily resurrection of Jesus means for us (and I don't mean this in an agnostic way - there is much we can say about the resurrection of Jesus and its implications) it doesn't mean that souls zoom off to heaven permanently. The immediate response to this traditional claim is often one of two:

• But I don't want to live for ever in this old broken body! or
• So where is my deceased loved one now?

My initial response to each is:

• The resurrection of the body is not the continuation of this life but its transformation. It is not just a continuation of this life after the interruption of death is overturned by God in eternal life.
• The death of a loved one is a time of grief and hope. This is a good place to do some theological work, but this work must be done in the light of revelation if it is to be a Christian grappling with the intensity of life (and death). The bodily resurrection of Jesus is part of this original revelation.

If we dispense with the resurrection of the body, the doctrine of the Incarnation and sacramental theology become superfluous, bordering on nonsensical. There is a thread of continuity and coherence strung from creation, Incarnation, resurrection of the body and sacraments.

The Theo(il)logical Gospel

The gospel of Jesus stands out against all the 'logics' of the world. In this sense, the gospel is illogical. For example, a king born amongst the dung; a local king (Herod) willing to kill the children of a whole area to snuff out a nobody; the Christ who is a refugee; a Christ who calls sinners to be his disciples; the crucified Christ; and the unity of cross and resurrection, a gospel that never leaves behind the cross of Jesus in favour of his resurrection; a messiah known most easily in history in the form of the hungry and imprisoned. The gospel just doesn't fit our usual perceptions. And this alerts us to the perennial danger for disciples and churches, the temptation to domesticate the gospel (by making it more 'logical' and 'reasonable') because of the discomfort the mismatch provides. The temptation is to either change/ignore bits of the gospel or fib about our humanity (in all its glory and depravity). So how do we prevent this, as much as possible anyway? A couple of points:

• Be suspicious of glib or simplistic answers. Seek the simplicity on the other side of complexity, which means we will have to spend time working the issue, content to keep working it until it yields.
  
• Be suspicious of glib theology. The kind of thing that slices off aspects of the gospel that don't 'fit'. Examples abound, but the usual targets of this trimming are the bits about peace and justice (in favour of an evangelism exclusively), and the traditional parts that make Jesus Lord, messiah, Son of God, etc (in favour of the social activist Jesus who is only a role model of social justice or teacher of wisdom).
  
• Be honest about our humanity, and our common experience of humanity as we currently experience it. Let's not hide the brokenness, but not wallow in it. This is important, because our actual humanity was made for the full gospel. Lose one and the other won't make sense.
  

[For Christ the King, Matt 25:31-46, and Holy Innocents Patronal Festival. It happens to fit into our parish calendar well at the moment, but theologically contrasts the two styles of kingship: violence and peace.]

People From the Past Might Not Have Been As Stupid As We Sometimes Think!

This post from Faith and Theology makes some very important points about historical theology. Essentially, our task in reading theology from the past is not simply a matter of sifting out what is trans-historical and what is culturally bound. When we do that we assume that we can tell what is core and what is not. Instead, we must acknowledge the integrity of the text, and then realise that it was possible to write this theology (whatever it was) and be Christian. This way the writings of the past can challenge us (for instance, those silly bits that we sift out might be quite challenging when worked theologically), and we can no longer assume that we possess the only way of looking at things.

The author critiised in the post responded later to the accusations. He agrees with the points made by Ben Myers, but just doesn't think he made the errors as accused.

The Great 'I AM' of Exodus 3

Sunday August 31, 2008; Pentecost 16(A) Exodus 3, the burning bush and the great 'I AM'.

Strange name: I AM. This is partly God's way of avoiding ancient paganism's method of controlling a god by knowing the god's name. But there is more than this at work here. We are being asked to stretch our theological imaginations.

'I AM' is incomplete. I might say of myself, 'I am a human,' or 'I am Warren Huffa'. 'I am' needs further explanation and definition. In this way I am who I am over-and-against that which I am not. I am human, not a rock. But not so God. God needs no further definition than 'I AM'. God is already complete, and in no need to be defined over-against anything else. God just is.

This is stretching the theological imagination. God is complete, and is so without reference to me or you. (Or anything at all, for that matter.) Nothing more can be added to God, or God's life. God is already full and complete. An absolute fullness.

Sounds remote, self-sufficient and transcendent. Nothing could be further from the truth! In fact exactly the opposite is the truth. For example, God is love, a complete fullness of love already; loving us does not add anything to God. And rather than this making God cold and distant it ensures that God's love is a free gift, with no ulterior motive (no matter how laudable) for God's benefit (not even a win-win for God and us). And because there is no ulterior benefit God's love is entirely trustworthy, because God won't arbitrarily change for the sake of God's changing needs. (This is the point Rowan Williams makes in chapter 1 of Tokens of Trust.)

Let's stretch our imaginations a little more. Jesus claims this great 'I AM' in the Gospels. Especially in John in those "I am ...": the bread of life, the good shepherd, the light of the world. And most especially John 8: "Before Abraham was, I am." But not only in John. In Matthew's version of the miracle of Jesus walking on water, Jesus calms the disciples with the "I am". So Jesus is claiming that God, who is complete and full, who is not defined over and against anthing else but just 'is', this Goid, has taken flesh in Jesus. Jesus, who is defined as himself by not being someone else, or not being a rock. How very un-Godlike. The Jesus who becomes tired, who thirsts, who weeps, and, most especially, who dies a failure on the cross. How very un-Godlike. That stretches the theological imagination.

Let's stretch it a little bit more. We hear in the Gospel today that the evidence of this claim is to be found in this most un-Godlike aspect of Jesus: his death on the cross. Not just a temporary aberration from which we should avert our eyes in embarrassment, but the evidence we need to know th claim is true. Now that stretches the imagination to breaking point - or the reformulation of who God is.

Indeed, and this is the point. The God who is absolute fullness is the fullness of love because of the cross of Jesus. There is no interruption between God and Jesus, and because of this what we say of Jesus can be predicated of God. The cross of Jesus becomes the cross of God, and God becomes the God who is for us. (Rom 8:31)

Stretching Our Theological Imaginations

Christianity stretches our theological imagination. The fundamentalisms of the right and left are, at root, a failure of theological imagination. And, to my way of thinking, there are three key 'stretches' in the historic faith of the church, that once assimilated into our way of seeing everything (including Scripture) is utterly liberating. The three stretches are:

• The doctrine of the Trinity
• The doctrine of the Incarnation (in which I include life, death, resurrection of Jesus)
• The doctrine of creation, including creatio ex nihilo and transcendence.

Here are three examples of the kind of stretching required. First, the insight that God is not just somewhere else ('up there, a long, long way away' which is the meaning liberals attach to transcendence, and on this basis reject it for some kind of pantheism or, that blunt instrument of a term, panentheism) but somehow else. But how? Exactly. And incidentally, the implications of this in terms of God's presence and intimacy to and with creation gives everything pantheism does without corrupting our integrity as distinct from God and therefore free. And it is a much more precise theological formula than 'panentheism. See for example Phillip's use of it in terms of a non-competitive God, and a God who can save without diminishing our humanity.

Second, a God who is not defined (like creaturely being) by only separation and difference, but can be fully distinct and fully united with what it is not. I am not a rock because I am human. God can be human and divine without compromise of that humanity or divinity. Now that is stretching things. How to conceive of this? Well, actually, think of the Jesus of the Gospels and you come close. And just to re-stretch your imagination if thinking of Jesus requires little imagination: remember, if the Word (divinity) were removed from Jesus, what would be left? The answer? Nothing would be left. But Jesus is, and always is, fully human.

Third, that in the particular life of this one person, mapped reasonably accurately to a particular time in earth history, with all the baggage attending this history, brings healing and completion to everything that is, including planets and stars hundreds of light years away. Now that is an extraordinary claim. In fact, for me, the jump in theological imagination required is the relatively small jump (or so it would seem in comparison to the claim that Jesus saves the whole cosmos) from Jesus saving humankind. how can one particular life be so universal? Once you have made the jump from the dot of his one life to the circle of the all humanity, then enlarging the circle doesn't take all that more theological imagination, or perhaps I should say, not a jump in kind, just magnitude. But think about it, what an extraordinary claim to make of particularity, especially given the experience of our inefficacious influence on a very small circle of influence. Now that is stretching the theological imagination. No wonder the extremes of right and left tempt, and the historic faith of the church claims the status of a revelation.

Either/Or - Both/And

A task for Christian theology is to chart a course between the extrinsicism of blind faith and the immanentism of Gnosticism. We have to be able to perceive the revelation of God in Christ as a genuine revelation without reducing it to some kind of inner experience alone. The left and right of the church seem unable to hold this outer and inner together. In fact, I find that both the liberal extreme and the conservative extreme like to be either/or and find it very difficult to hold to a both/and. (This might seem surprising given how liberals like to think of themselves as open and comprehensive.) Another example of this either/or would be divine transcendence. Liberal theology dismisses transcendence as the God who is cold and distant, and the conservatives, in their well intentioned efforts to maintain the gap between God and creation, compromise the intimacy of the God-world relationship. Transcendence, correctly understood, holds both difference and intimacy together. This is not a call to create a theology that has no discernment of what should be included in it. More for a new effort to discover the traditional faith of the church which both liberal theology and the conservatives misuse.

Doing Theology is a Religious Experience

Empiricism can be defined as that philosophical movement that restricts reality to what can be proven to be in the world. ('Proof' residing within a narrow set of criteria.) Theory, from this angle, has no take on reality. The religious parallel is those who restrict the 'stuff' of faith to experience, exclusive of theologising. This tendency can be observed among those particularly struck by a spiritual experience, often restricted to an emotional experience or, at least, an emotional response to the experience concerned. I think here of some of the excesses of the charismatic and pentecostal movements. And, surprisingly, it is to be found among the liberal wing of the church whose theology too often appears as a thin veneer easily peeled away from the rock of experience (experience often couched in psychological terms or a broad, inchoate spiritualism). And then there are, of course, those utterly obsessed with a personal relationship with Jesus (again, narrowly defined).

Perhaps this goes back to the split between theology and spirituality that occurred in the West a thousand years ago or more, and is still so evident today in the progressive wing of the church. In earlier times spirituality and theology were not seen as separate but were united in true theologia. Why exclude theology (in the narrow sense) from our total religious experience? Let the barriers between spirituality and theology soften a bit, and let 'doing theology' be the religious experience (understood in a very broad sense) it so obviously is. It would seem to me that those who do theology well are those for whom theology is a religious experience, breaking down the narrow understanding of religious empiricism. If we were to do this, it would then be possible to reclaim our Christian heritage that understood the doctrine of the Trinity to be the ground for Christian mysticism (rather than some kind of general sense of the incomprehensibility of God being the foundation of mysticism). Theology could then take its place as a language of mysticism. (E.g. the doctrine of the Trinity)

Simplicity on the Other Side of Complexity

There are three levels of theological knowledge. The first is the level of simplicity where a person possesses a certain basic level of knowledge. This is not to be derided, for it can be a good, solid understanding of some core theology. However, there is often a lack of critical awareness and an ignorance of the breadth of the Christian tradition.

The second level of theological knowledge is the level of complexity. This begins when people begin some serious study, often at a university degree level. At this level a critical awareness is fostered where the old certainties are questioned and the rich resources of the Christian tradition are encountered. Specific bundles of knowledge on particular topics of theology are acquired, but the person does not see in the complexity the unifying patterns and, ultimately, the beauty of the whole, a whole to which all individual bundles of knowledge must yield. Some people lose heart at this stage, nostalgically remembering the old certainties, but lacking the knowledge and perseverance to push through the sheer busyness and complexity of this stage to the third level of theological knowledge.

The third level of theological knowledge is a deep simplicity that is informed by the complexity of the Christian tradition and its challenges while maintaining a critical awareness. In and through the complexity and the questions that arise people are able to recognise and intuitively grasp the overall structure and meaning of the Christian faith. This does not mean that they know everything, but have learned to recognise the patterns of the Christian faith that make up the beauty of the whole. They are then able to use this intuitive grasp of the whole to explore new questions and apply the profound insights of the Christian faith to life.

The tradition from which I come (Anglican, in the middle, but on the catholic side) is good at all three levels. Despite the Anglican-turned-fundamentalist jibe that says while Anglican they learned nothing and knew nothing, and had to join the fundamentalists to become Christian, Anglicans are generally well grounded in a simple faith that carries them through life and beyond. And we are certainly good at the complexity stage, and have plenty of examples of those who have attained the third level of deep simplicity. Where we have failed is communicating the complexity, and most especially, the deep simplicity in a popular way and at the popular level. The fundamentalists are excellent at this popular level, although they don't have to worry about translating complexity or deep simplicity into a popular level! (What they have is simplistic, but they are very good at communicating it at a popular level.) We need to embrace the popular and communicate both the complexity and especially the deep simplicity, and encourage and develop people who can do so.