A call to worship

This semester in ACU's graduate chapel, our semester has been structured around the Apostle's Creed. Each week our service reflects on a sentence or two. My planning team got the part where we affirm that we believe Jesus

"suffered under Pontius Pilate,
was crucified, died, and was buried;"

Interpreting the suffering and death of Christ is something I've thought about a lot at both an academic and personal devotional level because it seems so central to the Christian faith. It certainly is for me. So it was good for me to be able to think about how to frame a worship service reflecting on it. This is the call to worship I came up with:

We believe that Jesus Christ suffered under Pontius Pilate, Was crucified, died, and was buried,

That this God who made heaven and earth sent his Son

not in wrath, to conquer us,

not to enforce his power over us,

but to share in the suffering and evil which we have brought upon ourselves,

Under Pontius Pilate,

not in some abstract metaphysical plane,

but as a human being in human history,

at the hands of human beings who hold onto power,

at our hands,

That Jesus suffered,

not punished by his Father,

but rejected by humanity along with the Father,

alienated, humiliated, misunderstood, betrayed, tortured and killed,

and buried.

Today we remember and affirm together that God in Christ entered into humanity, sharing in death with us so that we may share in life with Him.

"So What?" #1 Part 2: Grounding Theology

This is the long overdue sequel to my last entry. What I want to do is talk about why I defined theology the way I did in this post. As a refresher, I said that theology is "the cognitive, correlative process that is a part of the church's past and present experience of God."

The first problem, or so it seems to me, is to decide what grounds the discourse we call theology. What are we talking about anyway? Are we just making stuff up? Are we doing something like science, or is it something more like poetry or writing fiction? Interestingly enough, both anti-intellectual Christians and naturalist atheists tend to write off constructive theology as basically making stuff up, so this question is quite important, at least if you're someone who thinks theology is something more than that.

In my own denomination, most people tend to assume there is nothing more to theology than biblical exegesis: once we know what the Bible says about an issue, then we know what the proper Christian belief is. Then, the theory goes, if we've done our exegesis properly, the theological claims we come up with rest on the reliability of the Bible--which is to say, they are completely certain.

But for my part, this view has become more and more impossible to accept the more I've studied the books in the Bible and the history of the church. It's become more and more apparent that we all read through a lens that is necessarily quite different from the ones with which the authors wrote, meaning a truly "objective" exegesis is impossible. All interpretation is--in some way or other--creative. Perhaps more importantly, it doesn't seem to me that the texts of scripture represent one, unified and coherent theological system. Deuteronomy and Job interpret suffering in markedly different ways. The book of Samuel and Kings interpret Israel's history quite differently than the Chronicler. The gospel accounts don't all fit together very neatly from a modern historical perspective.

So for these and other reasons, the biblicist concept of theology doesn't work for me. For that matter, adding in "Tradition" as an authoritative guide to interpreting scripture also doesn't work for me, because it is even more true that the tradition does not all agree, is always read through a lens, etc. All adding in "tradition" does is to pile more books ontop of books, and I have become convinced that a foundation of books cannot succeed in grounding theology.

So what are we left with? For that matter--some might ask--if I don't think those things succeed in grounding theological claims, then why am I still a Christian? My answer is this: while those texts don't provide an epistemic norm--that is, a perfect guide for beliefs--they do provide a new kind of life that I can only make sense of by being a Christian, by immersing myself in and wrestling with the practices, the creeds, and, yes, the texts, of the Christian tradition, and by participating in the community that receives these various elements as a means of grace and new life. So at the end of the day, what grounds Christianity for me is not the epistemic reliability of a set of texts, but rather the experience of new life found in engaging those texts, among other things like sacraments, songs, disciplines, prayers, etc.

So, for me, Christianity is primarily an experiential thing, a kind of life experienced by a community through a tradition. Therefore, theology must be grounded in that experience. It must be centered not on either the tradition or the contemporary experience, but on the connection between the two. The best description I've come across of that connection is 'correlation.' That is to say, theology is about connecting those traditional elements with our current context.

To that I add that theology is clearly a cognitive endeavor. It is the our creative response as thinking beings to the experience of life found in the tradition. If we recognize the contextual nature of our thinking--that our cognitive response is going to be shaped by our particular location in time and space and culture--then we learn not to be dogmatic about our claims. And yet, recognizing that as human beings we experience a sort of urge to connect, to make sense of things, we cannot simply write off theology as merely subjective. There is still the need to be rigorous and coherent.

It also needs to be said that theology is more than merely a response because it also shapes our continued experience. This is the way the world of thought works: as we experience things, we attempt to form an understanding of that experience, and then our interpretation of future experiences is shaped in important ways by our understanding. Some experiences push us to modify our understanding. The process of shaping goes both ways.

That is more or less what I think theology is (for now, anyway). It's a very human sort of thing, and it doesn't lead to epistemic certainty. It is grounded in revelation only to the extent that God is involved with humanity in and through the Christian tradition. And if it is true that God is involved, that is a truth that can only be known be experience, I think.

But despite this lack of certainty, despite the fact that we can never get outside of ourselves or take off our lenses, there is reason for hope. If God is involved in things as human as the writing of scripture, our reading of scripture, in our practice of Christianity, and perhaps even in our cognitive attempts to make sense of it all, then perhaps as a part of new life we are also being led into all truth as well. This is the hope that motivates me.

“So What?” #1 Part 1: Why Define Theology Anyway?

So I've thought a bit about the fact that some people who might be silly enough to read these entries are not theology folks. And besides that, writing for a class is always just a little bit terse and boring. Maybe that's just me. Anyway I've decided I want to try and follow up entries by expanding on why anyone would bother saying the things I've said in my essays. I'd like to call these entries "So What?" So here goes. This one is on the entry where I offered my definition of theology.

So, what was the point of this assignment? Why do students in a systematic theology class need to bother defining theology anyway? I mean, I can just hit up dictionary.com and find out that theology is "the field of study and analysis that treats of God and of God's attributes and relations to the universe; study of divine things or religious truth; divinity." Why do we need any more definitions? And don't definitions just box people in, anyway?

The thing is that practitioners of theology need a specific concept of the work they do. This is especially true for theologians of the systematic variety. The term 'systematic' has a negative ring to it in some people's minds, but all it means is that we're going to be very clear and pay attention to the stuff we say, so that it is as consistent as we can make it. This has a number of benefits. First, and most obviously, it helps us avoid saying things that are contradictory. Ideally this means it helps us avoid saying things that are false, but at least it helps us realize when some things we say actually conflict with beliefs we hold more deeply. Second, far from being a limiting or constraining endeavor, examining how the various things we believe hold together tends to point to new truths we hadn't realized before. Often enough, taking the time to set things out clearly points to interrelationships between concepts that maybe we thought were unconnected. Other times it can help clarify how our existing beliefs can point to a solution to a new problem or situation.

Being able to be systematic can be really helpful, and in some senses, it has to start with a clear, helpful picture of what it is we're doing. What is the goal of theology? How can that goal be achieved? What methods are allowed? What resources are allowed? Clearly, how we answer those questions is going to shape how our theology looks. And we'd rather be up front and consistent about how we answer those questions so that we don't accidentally use methods or resources that fail to get us to our goal, or appeal to resources that don't fit with the process we believe ourselves to be doing. For example, if we think theology has to proceed from divine revelation, we have to be careful about appeals to science, philosophy, or nature. If we think systematic theology is clarification and presentation of church dogma, then we have to be sure not to contradict the canonical teachings of the church we're theologizing for.

But what does that do to people who might use a different method or appeal to a different resource? Aren't we being a little rude if we define things in such a way that it rules them out? Well, there are different approaches to that. Some people might purposefully be very specific and describe what theology is in a Lutheran context or a feminist context. For myself, I made an attempt to define theology that is merely descriptive (though I do assume a Christian perspective) but nonetheless provides guidance by highlighting what I see as the essential process of doing theology. But nonetheless, the whole point of articulating our own definition is to clarify the grounds on which we make theological judgments. That is to say, our definition should clarify exactly why and on what grounds we disagree with people on theological matters.

This is just like the scientific method shows exactly how you might go about showing one scientific hypothesis to be wrong and another to be right. We can be charitable in disagreement. We can be epistemically humble, admitting that we could be wrong. We can still be accepting and inclusive. Nonetheless, in order to engage another person in dialogue, it is necessary to have a position from which to converse. We need to be able to clarify why we disagree. Thus, we can offer a definition that does help clarify our own position and why we might disagree with others without fear that doing so will lock us into a path of exclusivism and intolerance. For that matter, we are always free to change our minds and modify our definition if we come to understand the task and method of theology differently. Nonetheless, in order to engage in any of that, we must start by taking a shot at saying what we're doing.

So the dictionary definition is accurate, but it doesn't provide any description or guidance for how theology is actually done. It's a definition that is broad and general enough for everyone to agree on, but any theologian is going to have a more specific picture in her mind of what it is she's doing when she does theology. That picture is going to guide her in doing theology. So if we want to engage in theology and we want to a) avoid being contradictory, b) understand how the various claims we make interrelate, c) have a clear idea of how to approach new problems, and d) engage in meaningful dialogue with others in which we can be clear about why we disagree, we probably need to start with a more specific definition of theology than dictionary.com is able to provide. In the next episode of So What? I will try to break down why anyone would bother defining theology the way I did.

A Cognitive, Correlative Approach to Atonement Theories

This is the second part of the assignment from the previous post. In that post, I offered a definition of theology, and identified what I see as the resources of theology and my theological norm. In this one, I attempt to apply all of that to a particular theological problem. In this case, I chose atonement theories. Atonement theories are an ongoing area of research for me. By atonement theories, I mean attempts to explain how Jesus' life, death, and/or resurrection bring about salvation.¹ Perhaps surprisingly, the Christian tradition is full of different approaches to this issue. And unlike the issue of Christology,² no particular explanation has been uniformly insisted upon as the only orthodox possibility.

If we apply the above observations about theology in general to atonement theories, it becomes clear that an epistemology of atonement theories is needed. For this, we first need a descriptive analysis of the epistemic desiderata of existing theories. This can be seen by first asking what a theory of atonement is and then by asking epistemological observations to guide us. The first question can be understood as asking what kind of correlation is involved in an atonement theory, and the second as asking how epistemology can help regulate that correlation.

It is immediately apparent that the description of theology above fits atonement theories perfectly. While atonement theories can be construed in a number of ways, they all involve correlating the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus with the experience of salvation in the lives of believers. Such theories start with the particular experience of transformation by the tradition. The cognitive response to this is to seek an explanation. Such an explanation must somehow correlate the "past event" with the "present salvation", to borrow terminology from Paul Fiddes.³

The differences between theories center around two interrelated issues: the question of how this correlation is to be made and the varying locations of the 'present' part of the correlation. Answers to the first question vary in the extent to which either the tradition or contemporary context is given precedence. Some, for example, suggest that the primary criterion for an atonement theory is the extent to which it represents what is taught in scripture,⁴ while others apply contemporary sociological theories.⁵

The second point is simply that different theories arise out of different contexts. Context plays a significant role in determining the epistemic guidelines within which a theorist must work. That is to say, context determines what methods are available to a theorist, what basic view of the human condition she operates with, what questions her audience needs answered, and what kinds of answers they will find convincing.⁶

Epistemology can be brought to bear on this problem in the following way: first, we may observe that theories of atonement are essentially particularist⁷ in their assumptions, and second, that various theories are engineered to fulfill different epistemic desiderata based on those assumptions.⁸ These particular assumptions and the epistemic desiderata which flow from them first need to be untangled. Following Alston's work on the concept of epistemic justification, this work must begin with a roughly comprehensive descriptive analysis of the epistemic desiderata at work in existing atonement theories.

This analysis would provide insight as to how the various desiderata at work should be categorized and ordered with respect to each other. It would be naïve to suppose that any process would lead to widespread agreement on a single theory, but such an analysis might potentially illuminate analytic grounds for pluralism with respect to atonement theories. Awareness of the desiderata at work in various theories could show that they are not as incompatible as they previously seemed. At the very least, it would provide clarity with respect to goals and methods for future atonement theories.

1. This is may seem like a broad usage of the term "atonement theory", which at one point only seemed to refer to theories that insisted that Jesus' suffering and death was the central point. But today, the term seems also to refer to theories that insist on emphasizing some other aspect as the central saving point, such as the Incarnation (i.e. Jesus' birth), Jesus' teachings and moral examples, or Jesus' resurrection. See Sam Wells' sermon, "How Jesus Saves Us" for a pretty nice way of breaking this down.

2. The issue of Christology (i.e. the issue of Jesus' nature) was hammered out specifically over different ecumenical councils, with one position named orthodox and others named heretical. So today, to be Christian means to affirm that Jesus is both human and divine. To say Jesus was only human or only divine is to adopt a position that has been ruled out by the historic church. To ascribe one or the other explanation of how Jesus saves, on the other hand, is to choose among several orthodox options.

3. Paul S. Fiddes, Past Event and Present Salvation: The Christian Idea of Atonement, Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1989.

4.
See J. I. Packer, "What Did The Cross Achieve? The Logic of Penal Substition", Tyndale Bulletin 25 (1974), 3-45.

5. See S. Mark Heim, Saved from Sacrifice: A Theology of the Cross, Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 2006.

6. One might suspect that the effects of varying the location of the 'present' context would disappear in the case of theories that give great precedence to the tradition, but this is certainly not the case. The context in which a theory arises appears to be an equally important factor in both cases. As observed above, theology involves creative construction even if the theologian intends passive description.

7. By particularist, I mean that, taken together as a whole (as opposed to considering them in their individual contexts) atonement theories start with various particular assumptions rather than beginning with a universalized method.

8. See Alston, Beyond Justification. I am indebted to Alston for the concept "epistemic desiderata" and for this overall approach to a set of apparently competing theories.

 

Systematic Theology as Cognitive and Correlative

I think I've finally decided to use this blog to post stuff I write for classes. This is an assignment for Systematic Theology in which we were asked to offer a definition of theology, specify the resources for theology, and identify our theological norm.

Theology is the cognitive, correlative process that is a part of the church's past and present experience of God. As a cognitive process, it arises from, informs, interprets, and articulates that experience of God. Through theology, the church constructs, describes, and evaluates beliefs, models, and theories related to the experience of God. As an aspect of experience, theology frames and informs continued experiences. Experience, in general, does not neatly precede interpretation, but is partially shaped by it. Thus theology is not simply passive description, but involves creative construction, even (and perhaps especially) when this fact is not admitted.

As interpretation and articulation, theology must have an audience. In general, its audiences are the community which identifies itself as the church and the larger public. Both groups have many subsets. To say theology is an activity of the church is not to say that it is the responsibility of theologians to locate themselves within the church. Rather, it is the responsibility of the church to acknowledge and expand to include theology wherever it is being done well.

The resources of Christian theology come from the canonical heritage of Christianity (scripture, creeds, liturgy, sacraments, lives of saints, theological and devotional literature, etc.) and from our own context (experiences of individuals and communities, philosophy, physical and social sciences, the arts, the human disciplines, interreligious dialogue, etc.). These are cognitive and experiential elements from the past and from the present. The method of theology is to correlate these disparate elements: experiential elements with cognitive elements, experiences of God in the present with experiences of God in the past, and cognitive work in the present with cognitive work in the past.

This correlation must be mutually critical and constructive. This is less a normative claim than a descriptive fact. From the very beginning, our own context shapes our experience of the tradition. It is true that as we interact with the tradition, our understanding of it critiques and corrects the perspective we bring from our context. But we cannot pretend that our approach can ever be entirely shaped by the tradition; we must allow that elements from our present context can critique the understanding we gain from our experiences of the tradition. Thus, none of these elements is prima facie superior to the rest.

To see how these elements are to be correlated, we return to the definition offered above. Theology is essentially a process of human cognition, though God is involved in the experience which gives rise to it and which it then interprets and shapes. The church experiences God both in the tradition and in its present. This ontologically transformative experience begs us to think, to make connections, and to form beliefs. But it does not confer a ready-made epistemology. We must avoid making too sharp a distinction between thought and experience, but, nonetheless, theology is the distinctively cognitive aspect of this experience of the divine.

As an aspect of the cognitive life, theology falls under the regulative guidance of epistemology.¹ This is not to say epistemology governs theology, but rather that theology is a fundamentally epistemic and epistemological activity. We start with the particular experience of transformation by the tradition, and proceed epistemologically from there. Thus we come to the contextually variable norm which regulates the correlation of the resources: Theologians do well to make explicit their epistemological assumptions, to examine their epistemic practices, and to use the best epistemological tools available to them to do and to evaluate their work.

1. See William P. Alston, Beyond Justification: Dimensions of Epistemic Evaluation, Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press, 2005, 1-5. Following Alston, I take epistemology to be philosophical reflection on the cognitive life as a whole, rather than merely the theory of knowledge or justification.

The RLP Retreat

So I got to visit RLP's church in San Antonio for a Franciscan Retreat. Being around so many bloggers has inspired to blog again! About this event, anyway.

It was a great trip. I drove down with my buddy Xander, which was a lot of fun. It turns out Texas is actually pretty if you go south and east-like. There are hills and trees and stuff. Who knew? It was great to have a friend to go with. If you know me, you probably aren't surprised to know that having someone to go with increased the likelihood of going.

So we went the week that was supposed to be for "clergy", and I'm not really clergy, but I figured I'm in school with a bunch of 'em and I might teach some future clergy-folk someday, so that has to be close enough. I'm really glad that we ended up going on that week because we got to meet some very cool people doing very different kinds of ministry. Emergent folks, Baptist folks, several Disciples of Christ folks (woot for Restoration movement folks!) and others.

We had one session where Gordon asked everybody to share their funniest ministry story or the most important thing they've learned. Well, I don't have any ministry stories, but I can't pass up what seems like an opportunity to tell a joke that honors and old friend, so I told my joke about the Pope and the Rabbi. I think that's close enough to a ministry story. Paulette appreciated it, anyway, which is good enough for me.

I got to meet a fellow "Pirate" blogger who went by the handle revsparker in a certain chatroom not too long ago. Sean is definitely a cool guy and I think his church is lucky to have him. He's the kind of guy I know I could have really cool conversations with if only we happened to live in the same city. It was great to find out that we do, in fact, have cool conversations when we are in the same city. Sean ministers at a Unitarian Universalist church in Salt Lake City of all places.

I also got to play some disc golf with RLP, which was a lot of fun. He has a great way of playing with folks of varying abilities which we used. Essentially it was five of us against the course. Each throw, we just used whomever's shot was the best. I'm proud to say I had the best drive once! (And yes, we did birdy that hole.)

It was structured like a real Franciscan retreat, which means we met for contemplative, liturgical style prayer/worship services at the canonical hours which was really cool. I definitely dig the way they did worship over there.

The theme of the retreat was making a "Rule of Life." As a (sort of) good church of Christ boy, this stuff is all pretty new to me, but I've been blessed by it quite a bit. For awhile I've been sort of drawn and pushed towards the spiritual disciplines tradition through reading folks like Richard Foster and Dallas Willard and by learning from friends here and there. Taking this retreat has given me occasion to blog a bit about this stuff.

Some things take a long time

I'm 25 years old. I think it's fair to say I've been reasonably successful at life so far. Not to toot my own horn, but it's probably fair to say I'm reasonably talented at a few things. I've had to work hard sometimes, but by and large I'm used to things coming quickly at least, if not always easily.

This problem (and it is a problem) has been reinforced by the fact that I've actually been taught to believe that my efforts should have quick results. Theologically speaking, I grew up believing that righteousness/holiness/fruitfulness/whatever-you-want-to-call-it would happen right now if only I would start acting right and trying hard enough.

In high school, I was a wrestler. In wrestling, you're expected to get to the lowest possible weight class so you can wrestle guys of a reasonable size. Now, it is certainly possible, and would have been possible for me, to just live healthy all year-round, but the path of least-resistance is to lose weight during the season and gain weight the rest of the time. You can guess what I (and most of us 14-18 year-old kids) did. I learned to expect that weight-loss can and should happen fast.

In the long run, neither physical health nor spiritual growth have come quickly or easily for me. Anytime I've set out with a spurt of willpower to change and live differently forever and lose weight/get in shape/read my bible everyday/repent of this or that sin/never do this or that bad thing again I have inevitably failed, experienced inordinate guilt, given up, and settled, more or less comfortably, into my original pattern, my expectations subtly adjusted.

As I've read the spiritual disciplines literature, I've felt drawn to the slowness and deliberateness of it. I'm drawn to the recognition that true transformation cannot be brought about by our willpower but neither will it happen against our will. We must "put ourselves in God's way", so to speak, and wait patiently.

I also appreciate the sense that we need a community that supports a different way of living if we want to live differently. We don't simply need people to hold us accountable or give us pep talks, we need a community whose rhythms and patterns intentionally model and encourage a different way of life.

Not only does the spiritual disciplines tradition encourage community with others living today, it draws upon wisdom from the ages. Rather than reinventing the wheel, we learn old ways of living passed down through the ages. We walk down a well-worn path that our fathers and mothers have told us is a good path. We do not have to find our own way; we are free to find the Way that was there before we were born.

So at the retreat, I won't say there was a Life-Changing Moment. Rather, I experienced an entirely different communal rhythm. I got a chance to take a little walk down the path and talk about it with some friends. I learned about making a Rule of Life, and it isn't a 3 Step solution to all my problems. But I do think the idea of taking on disciplines in community which can help me intentionally honor the values I say I have is one I will stick with for a long time.

I am not very good at this. This will take a long time. At this point, it only takes the slightest distraction from my normal rhythms to throw me off from the disciplines I'm trying to take up. But that is ok. Some things take a long time.

Paul Tillich on Systematic Theology

This quote is from the 3rd volume of Paul Tillich's Systematic Theology (tip of the hat to WTM).

The question “Why a system?” has been asked ever since the first volume of my systematics appeared. In one of the books that deals critically with my theology…the fact of the system itself, more than anything stated within the system, is characterized as the decisive error of my theology…There are many reasons for aversion to the systematic-constructive form in theology; one is the result of confusion of a deductive, quasi-mathematical system…with the systematic form as such…

For me, the systematic-constructive form has meant the following. First, it forced me to be consistent. Genuine consistency is one of the hardest tasks in theology (as it probably is in every cognitive approach to reality), and no one fully succeeds. But in making a new statement, the necessity of surveying previous statements in order to see whether or not they are mutually compatible drastically reduces inconsistencies. Second, and very surprisingly, the systematic form became an instrument by which relations between symbols and concepts were discovered that otherwise would not have been apparent. Finally, the systematic construction has led me to conceive the object of theology in its wholeness, as a Gestalt in which many parts and elements are united by determining principles and dynamic interrelations.

I dig it.