A tension in evangelicalism...

A moment of clarity for me:

In evangelicalism, is the authority of the Bible absolute? Or is it the authority of the evangelical theological system?

In debates about the New Perspective and other issues, the notion of a 'classic evangelical' position is bandied about as a bit of a trump card: if not the joker in the pack, than certainly an ace up the sleeve. But at the same time, the authority of the Word in operation should theoretically at least mean that (within orthodoxy) for true evangelicals doctrine is revisable... which is to say, the theological system is revisable as the Bible is read more skilfully and more carefully.

In Sydney, Knox and Robinson were great models of the kind of true evangelical priority of the Bible. That is, they produced an ecclesiology which was in many respects a readjustment and reinterpretation of previous ones, because of their commitment to the authority of the Bible above all else. It left them exposed to the charge of an 'un-Anglican' ecclesiology. Today we do this with lay presidency: the argument is, sacerdoctal presidency isn't biblical. We don't care whether it is traditional or not.

Knox was quite an original thinker, and he was free to be, because he didn't hold to a rigid set of handed-down doctrines. That is why Moore sets a little at odds to our fellow evangelicals in other parts of the world: because we don't in general hold to a system of theology (like 5-point Calvinism) just because it might be logical or traditional: limited atonement isn't biblical (and you know, it just isn't!), so we ditch it. Our best current preachers and thinkers do this too: Peter Bolt and John Woodhouse are great examples of guys who have followed in the Knox-Robinson footsteps (if I may take their names in vain).

Noticeably, however, we are happy to play fast and loose with Anglican traditions, but not with evangelical ones. Perhaps this is because the former tend to be liturgical matters as opposed to doctrinal ones...

An eschatological sense of scripture?

In 2004, I wrote these words:

In the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead – the most dramatic revelation of God’s power since creation (see Rom 4:17) – we receive public notification that, in the work of Jesus, God himself was at work. He was handed over to death for our trespasses and was raised for our justification (Rom 4:25). How much more can the believer expect salvation from the wrath to come! As Paul describes it in 1 Cor 15, we are shown in the risen Christ the trajectory of what is to come. The death and resurrection of Christ “according to the Scriptures” are a powerful affirmation of those Scriptures from within the present age ahead of the final “yes” of God, which is yet to come.

Recognition of the place in salvation history from which we receive and read the Scriptures means that we can strongly affirm the meaningfulness of those writings without claiming that we have complete mastery over that meaning here and now. We also know that we read those Scriptures with the responsibility to answer to their divine author for how we read and respond. Rowan Williams makes a fruitful suggestion along these lines when he speaks of reading for an “eschatological sense” of Scripture:[1] by which he means that, as we read the Scriptures, we read as seriously as we can to discern the meaning of those writings, not shirking the discomfort of disagreement or avoiding the painful truth in them, but neither claiming an ultimacy for our reading that it is not ours to claim. Reading with this eschatological sense we may avoid merely co-opting Scripture in the service of our own power and instead become its servants: not using the text, but being used by it.

[1] R. Williams, "The Discipline of Scripture," On Christian Theology (Oxford: Blackwell, 2000) p. 59.

I still think the major thrust is ok here, but I can see that Williams is uncomfortable with almost any assertion at all. For him it is the tension between the readings that is itself somehow the point. I want to be able to say what he says but also to be able to say 'that is false teaching' when I see it, something he seems to find difficulty doing at the moment. I am trying to express a kind of critical realism/epistemic humility about our reading of scripture without capitulating to relativistic woolliness... any suggestions?

Temptation: a sketch

By making the central part of his first act the scene of temptation, Eliot suggests that temptation - or rather, its renunciation - is a crucial matyrological theme. Of course, as an imitatio Christi martyrdoms will always find echoes of Christ's passion, including his temptation by Satan and his trial by the authorities, so it is perhaps unsurprising that temptation is a prominent theme here.

For temptation to be real requires the presence of a freedom to accept it or reject it. In fact, temptation is a moment of decision for the individual prior to the public testing before the court or in the circus, an inward crisis whose outward counterpart is the trial before the powers. This is crucial, because the martyr must be one who freely chooses not self-determining freedom but submission to the divine will.

The renunciation of temptation requires a particular understanding of divine providence. Temptation occurs within an apparently dualistic framework. The doctrine of providentia dei is a reminder of the overarching monistic/monotheistic structure of Christian belief. But it must not be allowed to be articulated in a non-Trinitarian way. So, amidst the dualism of experience, the martyr rests on the singularity of the Father's providence, expressed in the supreme and effective example of the Son's renunciation of temptation and his strength under trial, and the comforting presence of the Spirit.

The Lord's Prayer is an interesting example of both perspectives: the Father is in heaven and rules - that is the basis of the prayer; yet we pray that his kingdom may come and his will may be done.

We must note the biblical words massah and peirasmos both mean 'trial' and 'temptation'. The seperation of the two concepts linguistically is a feature of later Latin theology. The temptation idea is more closely linked to the work of Satan and is designed as a trap; the test comes from God and is designed to strengthen the believer. The tricky text is the prayer 'lead us not into temptation': can he or would he do this? Can we really get around the problem with the rendering 'trial'?

Strangely perhaps, the early martyr-acts do not depict temptation stories, though they do depict trials and tests of course.

Hell article

Ben very kindly mentions my article on 'The Genesis of Hell' published in the latest version of the Reformed Theological Review. It's a bit of history cum exegesis cum theology cum literary review. Evidence that I don't know quite what kind of theologian I am!

This is how I finished the piece:

“Christians have since very early days appealed to Hell and depicted Hell in ways quite unknown in the witness of their own Scriptures, and have at times drawn a perverse comfort from the imagined spectacle of the suffering of others” (p. 148).



Also, Michael links to my scripture post: thanks everyone for the extra traffic!

Eight Theses on Martyrdom's Hermeneutical Prospects

Not mine (alas!) but Craig A Slane's. In may ways, here is encapsulated my project (oh dear!) ... I have bold-ed the theses I would like to think about some more...

1. The totality of a human life and its identity is graspable only whe death is entertained as a consititutive feature of that identity.

2. Subjectively or existentially, in the midtemporal experience of one's own death by anticipation the posttemporal whole of a life may be grasped in advance and become a significant catalyst for life.

3.Objectively, the postmortem vantage point, though excluding the subject of death by definition, is one in which the totality of a life appears to others as an object for consideration and reconsideration.

4. The quality of that totality of life which now appears as an object for consideration and reconsideratio is fixed neither by the end point of its death nor by its continuity as such, but by its evident comportment toward death, and hence, by the kind of end and the kind of continuity achieved.

5. A Christian death is one that consummates a life into which Christ's death has been assimilated.

6. The process of assimilating Christ's death into one's life begins at baptism.

7. Martyrdom is the quintessential form of that assimilation of Christ's death begun at baptism, whose possibility is contained embryonically within it.

8. The quintessential Christian death called martyrdom may serve, then, as a powerful lens for observing various aspects of the life it encapsulates.

The power of scripture?

Scripture is composed of human words that retain the frailty that belongs to all human language in a fallen world. That is not to say that we are condemned to wander the no-man’s land of relativism at all; only that we should not be surprised that the Scriptures are contested territory. This side of the eschaton, absolute certainty is not possible; though confidence is.
In fact, I would want to say that the human weakness of Scripture is entirely in keeping with the character of the God whose word Scripture claims to be. Protestant attempts to defend the Bible from its own scandalous humanity by appeals to (real or alleged) “original autographs”, and the like are not only futile: they are unnecessary. While often this theology appeal to the character of God, by supernaturalising Scripture it actually conceals something of God’s true nature. These appeals are an expression of an over-realised eschatology of Scripture, an emphasis of the “now” at the expense of the “not-yet.”

Scripture is, according to its human nature, revealed to be powerful along the continuum of salvation-history. That power has yet to be revealed in full; it as yet remains a power that is partly concealed, and contentious. It is rejected as much as accepted; denied as much as affirmed. It is a great, unfinished symphony! The themes have been stated and re-stated, but the resolving cadence has yet to be played.

However, we must also assert that the judgement of God has been inserted into human history, at the cross of Christ. For all the gentleness and forbearance of God’s word to us in Scripture, it has at its central motif God’s fearful verdict on humanity. The publication of this judgement in the pages of Scripture stands as a terrible warning to men and women of what the final judgement holds for them. It is God’s promise that he will vindicate his own righteousness at the last.

The Temptation to do good

'Sin grows with doing good', Eliot has his martyr say.

Alongside invitations to do quite marvellous works of piety and love, lies the temptation to somehow seek pride in them, or to use them manipulatively, or to love God less because of them.

The devil tempted Jesus to make bread and to share in rule and to save himself, all in themselves not bad things. The goodness of creation itself and serving its needs, which are real and authentic goods, can be extremely diverting from the ultimate purpose of human life, its worship of God.

The story of Mary and Martha - which I always found to be a great rejoinder to people obsessed with housework! - perhaps is suggestive of this. Martha is busy in doing good, doubtless. But her good spills over into her fury with her sister; and earns her a famous rebuke. Was Cain's sin likewise not the ungood of his offering, but his envy of his brother (see I John 3)?

Agaphour's Reading of "The Satanic Verses"

In Andrew Agaphour’s essay ‘Identity and Religion of the Status: The Rushdie Affair in the West’ he claims that, in The Satanic Verses, Rushdie outlines three types of ‘identity formation’: the ‘religious’, the ‘secular’ and the ‘postmodern’. The religious Agaphour defines in terms of traditional assignations of identity according to some transcendent ground; the secular is an identity that is utterly rational; and the postmodern (so-called) is seen in terms of ‘individual agency’. In Agaphour’s reading, then, Rushdie clearly favours the ‘postmodern’ over the other two. This a badly drafted typology, however: the ‘secular’ identity scarcely appears at all in the novel (as Agaphour defines it) and whether ‘postmodern’ is the most enlightening term for the identity Rushdie favours is extremely dubious. In fact, even Agaphour has to admit that Rushdie’s strident critique - in blatantly moral terms - of the religious identity is at odds with what may be termed a ‘postmodern’ critique. Rushdie’s analysis of identity and selfhood is contemporary (and in that sense perhaps ‘postmodern’) in that it is situated in the contemporary experiences of religious violence and of the massive movements of people-groups across the globe. However, it also solidly rooted in the Enlightenment and in the liberalism of the mid-twentieth century. There are echoes, too, of existentialism in Rushdie’s celebration of the individual forging his identity in the teeth of the circumstances, and especially death. Rushdie is perhaps a postmodern narrator, but he is no Foucauldian. The self in Rushdie is unsettled and unstable, but certainly not decentred.

Liturgy? Who me?

I'd love to begin a discussion of what happens currently in Sydney (and other evangelical Anglican) church services/meetings. At present, the standard format (liturgy?) seems to be: Song X 2
Welcome (often forgetting to pray)
Confession (perhaps)
Song
Break
Notices
Bible reading (on which the sermon is based)
Sermon
Song
Prayers (extempore, usually about local interests)
Song
Close
Coffee

THis pattern is indicative of churches I have had a hand in running, so I am as much to blame as anyone. But it seems to be the general pattern.

BUT: I have seven gripes with this:
1. Bible Readings - there is often no OT lesson, and the readings are entirely dictated by the sermon, which means we limit the way in which scripture may speak to us. We have no scripture unless it is explained - do we think our congregations are idiots?
2. Lord's Supper - if it is done at all, it is done in a kind of embarassed way, as quickly and as roughly as possible, and with as little prayer book as possible.
3. Creeds - what creeds? are we a creedal church or not? What do we believe? How would we know? Do we have any continuity with history at all?
4. Prayers - Confession is often missed out. On the one hand, we have abandoned the rich prayer book prayers, but we haven't got a tradition of magnificent extempore prayer like the baptists and pressies do. And we keep praying prayers that sound like announcements: "we pray for the outreach meeting on Saturday, which costs $10 a head. We pray that you would move those hear to do as I tell them and bring their friends..." Do we pray for our governments?
5. General sloppiness/messiness - church buildings are hugely and chronically untidy places. Would a lick of paint really hurt? Do we have to hand out large amounts of paper all the time? Musos leave sheets of paper everywhere! Service leaders dress badly and are underprepared, don't smile and don't introduce themselves. And they say too much, as if they were cricket commentators: 'now Jo is gonna read the Bible for us.' Power point is mucked up, or in the wrong order, or - well, something always goes wrong with it.
6. Sound systems - I can't believe that churches are so stingy about sound systems, and don't seek help for balancing sound or where the speakers ought to be placed.
7. Lack of creativity - it seems to me 'being creative' means 'having an interview'.

Perhaps I am becoming an old fogey (OK, I am). BUT: it seems to me that these services do not feed the churches well. They tend to the dull, and they are undernourishing. We have jettisoned the old forms and perhaps rightly so: but, we have also I think lost a good deal of the substance of the old Anglican way. I guess for me the shocking realisation was, that when I visited a liberal Anglo-Catholic church, they were getting more scripture than my evangelical church and it was better read. The mistaken assumption it seems to me is that a more free-form service is more 'seeker sensitive': but I would say 1 - no it isn't and 2 who is a church meeting FOR anyway? Seriously - as a pew-sitter, sometimes you do feel treated like a complete twit. Anyone? Could pastors comment as to why they do what they do in their church meetings? Could lay people say whether it is working or not?

[At Moore, we generally have a more prayer-booky service with lots of great bible stuff in it. It works really well, in my opinion: I find that it is a feast of scripture, and works on so many levels - the word of Christ dwelling among us richly indeed. The singing is great, too. And yet, when we turn the services over to the students to organise, we get the boring old sermon sandwich I describe above!]

The Children of God and the Children of the Devil

If, then, we are children of God by means of the love of God, we ought to live as the children of God and not as the children of the devil. If we have been set free from the works of the devil, we need not live our lives conditioned by them any longer. As the children of God it is no surprise that we are called to

1 - speak the truth, and especially the truth about God: to add our witness to voices that proclaim the greatness of God the Father and his son, Jesus Christ as the way to the Father.

2 - to love our brothers and sisters and not to not participate in the sin of Cain that has so marked human history from the beginning.

3 - to not fear death: though we will still die, death will not have the same menace that it did. As a forgiven person, death becomes not a judgment on my sins and something I dread, but a pathway to holiness and righteousness and life with God.

3. Life - Jesus in his death made a sacrifice for sin that broke the devil's power over death

We have spoken of where Jesus was true, exposing the devil's lies; we have spoken about Jesus life and death of love, counteracting the devil's murderousness; but in one way we have thought about it backwards. It was by his death that Jesus struck the decisive blow against the devil, and so unravelled all his works.

As Paul once said, the sting of death is sin. What makes death so appalling, what gives the devil his power, is sin and its consequences. That is death's real horror. But on the cross the Son of God made of himself a sacrifice for the sins of the world; he made atonement for sin so that the devil had nothing left with which to accuse us. By his death, Jesus disarmed death, so that for the children of God death is a bomb that explodes with no charge.

The cross was the scene of Jesus' great triumph: for finally there a human person did what Adam failed to. Finally there, a human being - in his flesh and blood, with all the difficulty that would have meant - in obedience to God, met the devil with all the worst that he could do, and overcame him. It would be easy for us to see the cross as a defeat, and the resurrection as the overturning of that defeat; but that would be to miss the way the NT talks about the cross as itself a victory - as Paul does in Colossians 2, and as the author to the Hebrews does in the second chapter:

Hebrews 2:14 Since the children have flesh and blood, he too shared in their humanity so that by his death he might destroy him who holds the power of death-- that is, the devil-- 15 and free those who all their lives were held in slavery by their fear of death.

That Jesus rose from the dead confirmed that he had in his death destroyed the devil and his works.

2. Love - instead of answering hate with hate, Jesus loved even his enemies by dying for them

Adam's fall resulted in the murderous violence of Cain, who belonged to the evil one.

The fruit of Jesus' resistance of temptation was not murder, but love. Instead of vengeance, he sought the good of enemies. He did not resist them, though he did challenge them; he did not call down curses upon them, but prayed for their forgiveness, even as they killed him.

His death was the great example of the Father's love: God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us. (Romans 5:8). It is a love that costs.

Jesus showed in his life and his death that devil's work in sowing discord and disharmony had been short-circuited. And more than that: that his death as a sacrifice for sin has brought us into a new way of being human, not one like Adam and Cain, but now like Jesus himself.

No wonder John in his letter can say How great is the love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God!

1. Truth - instead of believing the devil's lies, Jesus believed and told the truth.

Jesus, like Adam & Eve, was tempted by the devil. You remember the scene: before he started his public ministry he spent forty days and nights in the wilderness being tested.

And true to his nature, the devil presented him with not quite truths about the Father: that somehow, his provision and his authority weren't as absolute as all that. And each time, Jesus falls back on God's word to respond; instead of accepting the lie, he recalls the truth: Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from God's mouth; You shall not put the Lord you God to the test; Worship the Lord your God, and serve only him.

At this point, Jesus' story took a different fork in the road from that of Adam. Here now we have a human person who hasn't fallen for the devil's trap. Here is one of us who can actually say I am innocent. Here is one who hasn't meekly accepted the mastery of the devil, but who has rather offered him resistance.

How did the Son of God destroy the devil's works?

Adam & Eve's story of temptation, fall and death, corresponding to the three works of the devil is of course tragic. It is a story of unreached potential, of two beings who are in every way a shadow of their former selves. It is a story we are all enmeshed in.

But it is a story that has a sequel. Our text, remember says that the Son of God appeared to destroy the works of the devil.

How did this happen? What did Jesus Christ do to destroy the works of the devil? His story in many ways is a parallel to the story of Adam: only with a very different outcome.

There are three works that Jesus Christ did, as he retraced the steps of Adam, that directly confronted the devil's work.

1. Truth - instead of believing the devil's lies, Jesus believed and told the truth.
2. Love - instead of answering hate with hate, Jesus loved even his enemies; and began a group of people who would known by their love of each other.
3. Life - Jesus in his death made a sacrifice for sin that broke the devil's power over death

The three works of the devil. 3 - Death

The third work of the devil is death.

In Hebrews 2:14 we hear that the devil is the one who has the power of death. That is to say, not death merely in its physical aspect, but the death whose hidden sting is sin. This is what death must mean for those under God's judgement. And so the passage from Hebrews goes on to talk about those who all their lives were held in slavery by the fear of death.

So, the devil's work is, by the terrible sign of death, to obliterate human hope. The power of death is the dread it produces in us. Our contemporaries imagine that death can be a peaceful, natural affair. They kid themselves that non-being might be not so bad after all; and that, with our technology, we can somehow manage death: fit it into our busy schedules somehow. But that is somehow a mask for the reality of it; it is one way of coping with the fear that all human societies and in fact all human individuals have to face. Another coping mechanism is the frenetic activity of our lives which gives us thankfully not one second to contemplate anything beyond the instant.

The serpent in the garden was I guess partly right: on that terrible day Adam and Eve did not surely die. There was a stay of execution. But Adam's curse was that after his life of toil on the earth he would become gardening mulch: you shall return to the ground, for out of it you were taken; you are dust, and to dust you shall return (Gen 3:19). As Paul explains it in Romans 5, in Adam began the rule of death which spread from the one man to us all.

The three works of the devil. 2 - Murder

The second of the devil's works is murder. In John 8 Jesus calls him 'a murderer from the beginning'. Whatever he can do to promote the shedding of blood, he will. He loves violence, and he loves that we love violence. He stirs up hatred and strife even between people who have the best of intentions to do good.

In this work he is again successful: the fraternal struggles that are a feature of our recent history bear witness to his activity. Certainly greater enlightenment and civilisation has not brought greater peacefulness: but rather has meant the discovery of new means to kill. We have invented a technology of murder and a bureaucracy of killing upon which we in the suburban west depend for our security. Our fear of the murderous fanaticism of Islam is entirely disproportionate to the much more effective killing machine that is provided by the secular state.

This was the insight of that movie ‘A Few Good Men’. When Jack Nicholson's character the marine colonel sat in the dock and shouted 'you can't handle the truth' the truth he was speaking of was that the peace and comfort and clean hands of the west depends on the murderous dirty work of a few good men patrolling the frontiers away from our gaze. We would be appalled if we knew, so we look the other way. Unless they are prepared to accept guilt, the rest of us cannot imagine we are innocent.

In 1 John 3:12 we are directed again back to the earliest episodes of the human story. John says:

we must not be like Cain who was from the evil one and murdered his brother. And why did he murder him? Because his own deeds were evil and his brother's righteous...

Cain, the first born son of humankind, was also the first murderer. From the beginning, he did the devil's work and shed his brother's innocent blood. The human story, in other words, is steeped in blood, the fruit of the rising tide of envy and hatred.

The three works of the devil: 1- Lies

There are indeed three works of the devil: lies, murder, death.

1. Lies.
In John 8:44 Jesus calls the devil 'a liar and the father of lies'. Not only is the devil himself a liar, but he perpetrates falsehoods: he deals in untruths. He is the master of deceptions. He is the proprieter of the lie.

His success lies not only in the inability we have of giving a straight account of ourselves, or to match reality to our words. He is able most of all to decieve us about God: to make us unable to
hear the truth about God when we encounter it; and to fill the world with false gods and false images of God. We exchange the truth of god for a lie; and worship and serve the creature rather than the Creator.

The beauty of the lie he told Eve and Adam was that it was not completely a lie. In fact, it was close to the truth. 'Did God really say' he whispered, 'You shall not eat from any tree in the garden'?

There had been a command, true, and it had been about trees and eating. But Eve is able to put aside this suggestion: God in fact had said 'You shall not eat of the fruit of the tree that is in the middle of the garden, nor shall you touch it, or you shall die'; only one tree was off limits. Far greater was their freedom than their restriction.

But the serpent said to the woman, "You will not die; for God knows that when you eat of it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil."

God really doesn't have your best interests at heart, but is only protecting himself; God doesn't want you to have a power that you deserve but that only he has; God has lied about what will happen if you disobey him: these are profoundly attractive lies.

The Son of God and the Works of the Devil - notes for an Advent sermon

My text is from 1 John 3:8:

The Son of God was revealed for this purpose, to destroy the works of the devil.

Western culture, well most of it, is pretty good at laughing off the mythology of the devil as a superstition. The strategy is, make a cartoon character out of him (you know, horns, red suit, pitch fork), and then say, 'well of course he doesn't exist'. Well, fine: I don't believe in cartoon characters either... Which is why I need you now to make that little cartoon character that pops up in your head as soon as you hear the word 'devil' disappear. If you need to have an image, then the Bible portrays him in the form of a serpent, which, as a person who comes from the continent with 9 of the 10 most poisonous snakes in the world, will do admirably.

What we do believe in -what we trust in more than anything - is our that our rationalism has triumphed over this devil and his works. We believe that our technology and our ingenuity, our political skill and our social management, have banished the devil from the face of the earth and liberated humanity to be live unhindered. The devil was always previously a code for those evils in the world and in us that we can't understand or overcome: but as we progress, as we peel back the boundaries of knowledge, as we begin to understand human psychology better and better, such primitive explanations appear to have become redundant. Sheer knowledge - of our world and of ourselves - is surely enough to make the devil disappear.

We believe that we are part of a great exodus from captivity to ignorance into the glorious freedom that comes from knowing better. Since the 19th century education - especially secular education - has been seen as the great alternative to religion in helping people to be better people. Our faith in the capacity of education to make us better people and to produce a better society is virtually unchallenged. That's our response to any moral crisis, isn't it? We know people are basically well intentioned, and that they would make good choices given the right information. Knowing better is surely being better.

But that's where we are deeply ignorant. We Westerners have self-delusionary belief in our own capacity to overcome everything including our own natures. We prize our freedom above everything as the mark of our human-ness - our will to do and be what we desire; but we are dull to our own incapacity to do even that we would do - and our nagging tendency to do that we wouldn't do. The loss of temper, the moments of rage, the way we fail to tell the truth, the way we use words manipulatively or destrutively, our betrayals of our friends, the creeping envy, the impatience, the sudden surprise of lust just when you thought you had mastered it, the ingratitude, the way we rationalise greed, the wilfull blindness to the needs of the other: despite knowing the destructive consequences of these things, not least for ourselves, we find ourselves doing them anyway.

This twisting of our spiritual spines is why the Bible speaks us of us being enslaved by sin, or children of the devil. Despite ourselves, we do the works of our Father, the evil one.

And what are the devil's works? They are three, though they spawn many more:
1. Lies
2. Murder
3. Death

Theological Interpretation of Scripture

I have just taken receipt of the first title in a new series of commentaries, the SCM (or, in the US, Brazos) Theological Commentary on the Bible - Acts, by the late Jaroslav Pelikan. The exciting feature of the new series? No biblical studies specialists have been asked to take part! (Hooray!) The authors are theologians, self-consciously standing in the tradition of the great theologian-expositors of the history of the churches: Origen, Augustine, Calvin, Luther, Barth.

The editor of the series, RR Reno, in his series preface, explains the need for such a thing. The suspicion since the 19th century has been that theology has in fact made reading the Bible harder rather than easier. As a result, biblical studies and theology have evolved as almost seperate disciplines entirely. These days it would be considered the greatest impertinence for a theologian to publish a biblical commentary.

Is doctrine, then, not a moldering scrim of antique prejudice obscuring the Bible, but instead a clarifying agent, an enduring tradition of theological judgments that amplifies the living voice of Scripture? ... This series of biblical commentaries was born out of the conviction that dogma clarifies rather than obscures.

In fact, it is biblical studies that have been responsible for the greater obscurity and the fog that has descended on the bible. The bible needs to be released from the dead hand of the philologists and given back to the churches!

As Reno continues:

We cannot speak for contemporary biblical scholars, but as theologians we know that we have long been trained to defend our fortresses of theological concepts and formulations. And we have forgotten the skilles of interpretation. Like stroke victims, we must rehabilitate our exegetical imaginations...

Amen to that.

Quiz on christology

Which of the following statements would you assent to? (you can choose more than one).

Jesus the Son of God:

1. is subordinate to the Father only in the economy of salvation
2. is subordinate to the Father both in the economy of salvation and in eternity
3. is partly human, partly divine
4. remains fully human in glory.

In your answer, give some scriptural justification...

(ps, this is not a question of my devising)

Little Gidding

Today we went on a journey to Little Gidding, the place that inspired TS Eliot's poem. In the early 17th century there was a religious community there, founded by the Farrar family.
It is a remote and out of the way place. We visited the tiny church, and then went next door to the tea room for refreshments. I hadn't brought any cash with me, but being a tourist site of a kind I expected that I could pay for tea by debit card.

We were welcomed at the door like lost relatives by the couple who are now wardens of the property, Rev Tony and Judith Hodgson. I asked if they took cards: they wouldn't hear of it, and gave us all tea and cakes and juice. We were treated to a slide show detailing the history of Little Gidding and the communities who have lived and prayed there.

Eliot only went there once, on a May afternoon in 1936:

If you came this way,
Taking the route you would be likely to take
From the place you would be likely to come from,
If you came this way in may time, you would find the hedges
White again, in May, with voluptuary sweetness.
It would be the same at the end of the journey,
If you came at night like a broken king,
If you came by day not knowing what you came for,
It would be the same, when you leave the rough road
And turn behind the pig-sty to the dull facade
And the tombstone.

These words come now to life... I can see the rough road, and the pig-sty, the dull facade of the little church building, and the Farrar tombstone in front of it. Charles 1, the 'broken king' on the run from the Roundheads, sought solace Little Gidding in 1646 after coming here in more peaceful times.

If you came this way,
Taking any route, starting from anywhere,
At any time or at any season,
It would always be the same: you would have to put off
Sense and notion. You are not here to verify,
Instruct yourself, or inform curiosity
Or carry report. You are here to kneel
Where prayer has been valid. And prayer is more
Than an order of words, the conscious occupation
Of the praying mind, or the sound of the voice praying.
And what the dead had no speech for, when living,
They can tell you, being dead: the communication
Of the dead is tongued with fire beyond the language of the living.

Somehow, for once, tourism became pilgrimage.


http://www.littlegiddingchurch.org.uk/

Burn your boats!

The disciple simply burns his boats and goes ahead. He is called out, and has to forsake his old life in order that he may ‘exist’ in the strictest sense of the word. The old life is left behind, and completely surrendered. The disciple is dragged out of his relative security into a life of absolute insecurity (that is, in truth, into the absolute security and safety of the fellowship of Jesus), from a life that is observable and calculable (it is, in fact, quite incalculable) into a life where everything is unobservable and fortuitous (that is, into one which is necessary and calculable), out of the realm of the finite (which is in truth the infinite) into the realm of infinite possibilities (which is the one liberating reality).

A life of absolute insecurity: it is amazing how much we do to avoid this. Who wants to be a refugee?