Cruciformity

Stephen Holmes is an author that read a little bit of at College, he’s a theologian at St Andrews in Scotland, and I understand that he was quite closely associated with Colin Gunton. Everything I’ve read of him (so far!) has been great. So I recently discovered that he’s a Baptist and that that he’s got a great looking blog over at shoredfragments.wordpress.com. I also found a very humbling passage he wrote on the work of a theologian, well worth taking to heart:

I think a good theologian prays well, first. No theologian who doesn’t has even begun to understand the discipline. And then s/he serves the Church, and his or her particular part of it (down to a local congregation) in humility and faithfulness. Theology belongs to the Church; any theologian divorced from the Church is a bad theologian, however brilliant or knowledgeable. A good theologian has a grasp of gospel values, and would swap everything s/he has written to see one sinner repent, or one broken life healed. A good theologian writes and speaks only to help the Church be more faithful to the gospel, bringing whatever knowledge of the tradition, whatever insight into contemporary modes of thought, and whatever native cleverness s/he may possess, all into service of this one end. A good theologian is marked by humility and cheerfulness, knowing how far short of the mystery of God and God’s works his/her best efforts fall, and knowing that in the good grace of God something of lasting worth may still come from them. A good theologian, finally, does know something, and has some capacity of thought, and so can make a contribution through his/her God-given vocation.

I am not a very good theologian.

I just wanted to run a quick question by you. What happens when we use the word ‘immutability’ to describe God? I’ve got a eight ideas, but I’d love to hear what you think.

1. People don’t know what it means. It’s a word that has been used for centuries a way of describing God as ‘unchanging’. If you didn’t know that much it’s a case in point, but if you did, what does ‘unchanging’ mean?

2. People that DO know what it means often have different ideas of what it means. For some people immutable will refer to God’s  commitment to his promises and true-ness to his character. Others will take a more philosophical take on it, that it means an unchanging essence or being.

3. It CAN and often DOES mean what the bible says about God. If we were to spend time understanding passages like Num 23:19 and Mal 3:6-7 in their contexts, we would deepen our appreciation of how different God is to us; he’s unchanging and constant in his love toward us and in keeping his promises.

4. It CAN and sometimes DOES locate our discussion of the idea in the history of Christian thought. This is a very important point since we need to make a priority of learning from our forefathers in the faith. We have much to learn. But it has to be conceded that this could only obscurify the meaning of a term. I don’t know the history of ‘immutability’ but it isn’t always clear how words are used by different authors at different periods of recorded history, and how meaning has shifted in time.

5. It’s a partial descriptor of God. While it can describe a truth about God,  it will never describe all of what God is like by itself and so it needs further explanation. I guess we can’t ask too much of words, they can only do what they can do.

The result of these four things is the following:

6. It’s seldom necessary. If someone asked you a question about God’s ‘immutability’ you can’t ignore the word. But if they don’t, you could quite easily use other words to say what you mean, and probably more directly. That is, …

7. There are clearer ways of saying the same thing. For example, Karl Barth proposes an alternative - ‘constancy’ (CD 2/1 , 492-3). God isn’t unpredictable or unreliable like we often are, his love and character towards us is faithful and trustworthy and so he’s ‘constant’. This language is pretty easy to understand, and it’s less technical. Finally, …

8. ‘Immutability’ can create the picture of an abstract or impersonal God. This is a big one for me, although I find it difficult to articulate. ’Immutability’ stirs in me a degree of resentment. It seems to deny proper theological method, which begins with humbly and prayerfully receiving Jesus, revealed in the Scriptures by faith and obedience. I keep feeling that it jumps straight to putting God into an ancient philosophical discussion, or at least into a theory to be pondered, poked and prodded. So it might also be that it sounds rude. Like talking about someone without admitting that they’re in the room with you. God is kept at the distance of a proposition and so removed from the history of salvation revealed in the Holy Scriptures. That’s my gut reaction anyway…

So, it does have meaning. But my question is, why use it when there are better ways of saying the same thing?

What is true Freedom? The modern way of thinking basically suggests that true freedom is having lots of choices. So how’s this for an idea? An ancient way (including an ancient Christian way) of viewing freedom is that true freedom means less choice, not more! I know, it doesn’t sound right. Have a read of a section of David Bentley Hart’s book about deluded Atheists. While plugging Hart’s book yesterday, I was reminded of a section of the book that sums this thought up nicely. Have a read:

It should not be forgotten that the concept of freedom that most of us take for granted, at that is arguably modernity’s central “idea,” has a history. In the more classical understanding of the matter, whether pagan or Christian, true freedom was understood as something inseparable from one’s nature: to be truly free, that is to say, was to be at liberty to realize one’s proper “essence” and so flourish as the kind of being one was. [...] We become free, that is, in something of the same way that (in Michelango’s image) the form is “liberated” from the marble by the sculptor. This means we are free not merely because we can choose, but only when we have chosen well. For to choose poorly, through folly or malice, in a way that thwarts our nature and distorts our proper form, is to enslave ourselves to the transitory, the irrational, the purposeless, the (to be precise) subhuman. To choose well we must ever more clearly see the “sun of the Good” (to use the lovely Platonic metaphor), and to see more clearly we must continue to choose well; and the more we are emancipated from illusion and caprice, the more perfect our vision becomes, and the less there is really to choose. We see and we act in one unified movement of our nature toward God or the Good, and as we progress we find that to turn away from that light is ever more manifestly a defect of the mind and will, and ever more difficult to do. Hence Augustine defined the highest state of human freedom not as “being able not to sin” [...] but as “being unable to sin” [...]: a condition that reflects the infinite goodness of God, who because nothing can hinder him in the perfect realization of his own nature, is “incapable” of evil and so is infinitely free. (Atheist Delusions, 24-25).

As a teenager I remember engaging with friends in long, long discussions about those questions. Could God produce a rock too heavy to lift? Could God microwave a burrito so hot that even he couldn’t eat it? More often than not, these were questions asked because they niggled. Occasionally, though, someone would suggest that it proved God couldn’t exist.

In any case, I’ve become accustomed to side-stepping these by highlighting the importance of understanding God as he is towards us. Often the philosophical questions result in discussions of an abstract god or a caricature of God. God’s identity is removed from his self-revelation in Scripture, and is reduced to a series of categories - omnipotency, omnipresence, impassibility, aseity, etc. I’ve found that a more meaningful discussion of God draws from God’s revelation of himself. I can still hear my doctrine lecturer, Robert Doyle repeating the phrase, “God is who he is towards us!”

Of course, Robert was channelling Karl Barth, who was channelling Soren Kierkegaard. Kierkegaard, often called the Father of Existentialism, keenly opposed systems of thought and particularly those proposed by his predecessors Kant and Hegel. Barth continued this method in his theology, mostly ignoring categories of Systematic Theology and preferring to understand God by his (mostly) excellent exegesis of Scripture. It’s a result of such emphases that here at Moore College Biblical Studies rightly holds a place of priority among the subjects we study. God is as he is as he is towards us: He has revealed himself most clearly in his son Jesus, whose life and work reconciled humanity with himself, and issued in hope of new creation, which is brought into being by God’s Spirit. This is the triune God as revealed in Scripture, the one that Christians believe and worship.

I don’t mean to dismiss any value in discussing God’s attributes; this discussion could venture into a number of interesting areas from here. But the question that I’ve got going relates to the work of Oliver Crisp. I was introduced to Crisp at last year’s School of Theology on John Calvin. More recently, I’ve been reading Crisp’s 2007 work, Divinity and Humanity, a series of essays that relate to the Chalcedonian Definition, both challenging it and reinforcing it. To my surprise, Crisp has embraced these philosophical categories, used them to critique people like Barth and Gunton, and yet doesn’t even mention this key difference in methodology.

In one particular chapter, I’m left almost completely unconvinced by Crisp’s rebuttal of Edward Irving’s, Gunton’s and Barth’s view that Christ had a fallen nature. Granted, it was a short essay. But it really could have engaged more in the long and sustained arguments of any of these thinkers who work closer to the biblical texts and not philosophical categories like God’s omnipotence.

Oliver Crisp is a man much smarter than I am and I certainly don’t want to disrespect him. I also don’t want to say that there is NO value in using these philosophical categories, I guess I’m just confused. Haven’t we realised the limits of these categories?

I was looking at the website of what you might call the official celebrations of Jean Calvin’s 500th birthday over here. The celebrations seem to have consisted of a some serious publications and a pretty flashy looking touring conference. It made me think: although a 500th is up there when it comes to birthday celebrations, if I had heard of this a couple of years ago I probably would have wondered what all the fuss was about.

When I first started reading Calvin’s Institutes, it didn’t exactly blow me away. All he seemed to say was what I already knew. But over time it has dawned on me how remarkable it is that his theology has lasted so long. There are plenty of books that age the moment they enter the bookshop, but Calvin’s theology and exegesis has been read and referenced for the best part of 450 years. What’s also remarkable is the way that his theology seems to constantly speak into the very latest of theological ideas and trends.

Anyway, I gleaned from this website what I thought was a cool little summary of a sermon preached at one of the conferences (posted there by Ray Pennings):

On Ephesians 1:3-14 enttiled “Election” by Rev. Geoffrey Thomas. He expounded the text with five points:

1. Election is a simple doctrine to understand. A useful illustrative narrative between a pastor and parishoner who was confused about election was used to make his point.

Pastor – How are you saved? Parishoner – By God’s grace.

Pastor – Did God save you or did you save yourself? Parishoner – God did.

Pastor – Did He do so on purpose or by accident?

2. We should not have small or shrinking thoughts of God’s election. He has saved a great multitudes of His people.

3. God chose multitudes because He loved them. “We cannot speak of God without speaking of Him as being in love with His people.”

4. The teaching of election effects us by (a) humbling us; (b)encouraging us; (c)providing support for evangelism; (d) making us courageous.

5. How can we know we are elect? We know our election by having Christ. “A faith as thin as a spiders thread, in Christ, will carry us across the fire.”

I’ve been interested recently in the nature and task of theology. This is a short summary of John Webster’s description of theology in Word and Church (2001). I understand that he has a more elaborate account in Theological Theology (1998).

Christian theology is rational speech about the Christian gospel. As rational speech, it is an attempt to articulate a set of responsible theological judgments. Such judgments are ‘responsible’ in the sense that they are intellectual (and therefore moral and spiritual) acts in which we struggle to order our thinking and speaking in response to reality, and so to think and speak truthfully. To understand the rational character of theology in this way is, of course, to enter into dispute with some dominant modern conventions, according to which rationality is a critical epistemological directive rather than an obedient following of given nature… As rational speech about the Christian gospel, theology directs itself to the declaration which lies at the heart of Christian faith and common life, the announcement that in and as the man Jesus Christ, who is present in the power of the Spirit, God creates, reconciles and perfects all things. Set in the midst of the praise, repentence, witness and service of the people of God, theology directs the church’s attention to the order of reality declared in the gospel and attempts responsibly to make it a matter of thought. Conceived in this way, Christian theology is not a spontaneous undertaking but ordered towards a positum. It takes its rise in an act done to the church rather than by the church; it does not attempt to run ahead or peep behind that act; it does not consider itself competent to inquire into whether there is or ought to be such an act. It arises out of the devastatingly eloquent and gracious self-presence of God, by which it is endlessly astonished and to which it never ceases to turn in humility and hope.

What of the situation in which Christian theology goes about its business? All theology is occasional: bound up in its conception of its own calling is a certain reading of the circumstances into which it speaks. The term ‘occasional’ is much to be preferred to the more familiar ‘contextual’…

Theology is responsible for articulating a theological reading of these occasions. It needs to learn to interpret its present situation, not merely as a set of cultural norms or constraints or opportunities, but as an episode in the history of the gospel’s dealing with humanity, as one further chapter in the history of holiness and its overcoming of disorder, wickedness and unbelief. This - the progress of the gospel through the occasions of human life - is theology’s context, which is properly spiritual and therefore properly a matter for theological description. Yet the obstacles into which the theologian stumbles in trying to do just that - describe theology and its contexts theologically - are very considerable.  Not only is there the resistance generated by the instinctive conservatism of the theological establishment (especially of the liberal establishment) but also the theologian encounters with him- or herself a resistance to the necessary losses sustained by those whom the gospel beseiges. There is a certain temper of mind and soul from which the theologian must be set free, a sense of competence in the matter of the Christian faith, an inordinate and unstable desire for intellectual stimulus, the witty avoidance of the wounds which the truth inflicts on our self-sufficiency. Good dogmatics is a mode of holiness: chastened, unassuming, sancified speech. It has nothing of genius about it; it is simply apostolic. And one of the fruits of apostolic holiness is coming to perceive where we are - in the history of grace, in the wake of the Spirit’s presentation of Christ.

… If one finds that one cannot follow this direction, the risk is of casting oneself in the role of a theological Ishmael: Genesis 16:12… All one can do is - following the example of the grand old man of Basel, or of those ressourcement theologians who pored over Migne for years looking for buried treasure - dig deeply and lovingly into the thoughts of the church thinkers of the past and above all into Holy Scripture, and say as clearly and vividly and generously as one can what one finds, in the hope that it may well prove to be just what church and culture really need. (Word and Church, 3-6)

I’ve been working through the book of James recently and while I’ve really enjoyed the experience of looking at a book from scratch and considering its structure and themes and message without assistance (something we don’t do a lot of at College), I’ve been suitably challenged.

James is a book that you can’t hold off at arms distance. His words are judgements on my behaviour and I’m challenged not to be “like a man looking at his own face in a mirror; for he looks at himself, goes away, and right away forgets what kind of man he was.” (1:22-23).

Consider the passage in James that speaks about our use of our tongues.

James 3:3   Now when we put bits into the mouths of horses to make them obey us, we also guide the whole animal.a 4 And consider ships: though very large and driven by fierce winds, they are guided by a very small rudder wherever the will of the pilot directs.  5 So too, though the tongue is a small part |of the body|, it boasts great things. Consider how large a forest a small fire ignites.  6 And the tongue is a fire. The tongue, a world of unrighteousness, is placed among the parts of our |bodies|; it pollutes the whole body, sets the course of life on fire, and is set on fire by •hell. 

7   For every creature—animal or bird, reptile or fish—is tamed and has been tamed by man,  8but no man can tame the tongue. It is a restless evil, full of deadly poison.  9 With it we bless oura Lord and Father, and with it we curse men who are made in God’s likeness.  10 Out of the same mouth come blessing and cursing. My brothers, these things should not be this way. (HSCB)

The truth of this reflection is confirmed in the words of novelist Ben Okri:

It sometimes seems to me that our days are poisoned with too many words. Words said and not meant. Words said and meant. Words divorced from feeling. Wounding words. Words that conceal. Words that reduce. Dead words.

If only words were a kind of fluid that collects in the ears, if only they turned into the visible chemical equivalent of their true value, an acid, or something curative - then we might be more careful. Words do collect in us anyway. They collect in the blood, in the soul, and either transform or poison people’s lives. Bitter or thoughtless words poured into the ears of the young have blighted many lives in advance. We all know people whose unhappy lives twist on a set of words uttered to them on a certain unforgotten day at school, in childhood, or at university.

We seem to think that words aren’t things. A bump on the head may pass away, but a cutting remark grows with the mind. But then it is possible that we know all too well the awesome power of words - which is why we use them with such deadly and accurate cruelty.

We are all wounded inside in some way or other. We all carry unhappiness within us for some reason or other. Which is why we need a little gentleness and healing from one another. Healing in words, and healing beyond words. Like gestures. Warm gestures. Like friendship, which will always be a mystery. Like a smile, which someone described as the shortest distance between two people. (quoted in Richard Bauckham, James, 205).

When I was at uni I used to tutor people in maths and physics and I found this fairly easy. There were foundations to the knowledge that were necessary and once these foundations were understood, then more advanced knowledge can be derived and understood. Over time, you develop in your knowledge and these foundations seem so elementary that you can too easily dismiss them as simple and easy. Your application of formulae, the language and symbols that you learn back then are now as common to you as the air you breathe.

Although the cross is foundational and fundamental to Christian faith, I’m unable to dismiss it as understood, simple and easy to teach. It’s elementary and advanced.

I’m reading ‘The Crucified God’ by Moltmann with friends at college and I’m amazed at the powerful way that it’s speaking into my life. Here’s an excerpt.

Faith in the cross distinguishes Christian faith from the world of religions… A Christianity which does not measure itself in theology and practice by this criterion loses its identity and becomes confused with the surrounding world; it becomes the religious fulfillment of the prevailing social interests, or of the interests of those who dominate society. It becomes a chameleon which can no longer be distinguished from the leaves of the tree in which it sits.

But a Christianity which applies to its theology and practice the criterion of its own fundamental origin cannot remain what it is at the present moment in social, political and psychological terms. It experiences an outward crisis of identity, in which its inherited identification with the desires and interests of the world around it is broken down. It becomes something other than what it imagined itself to be, and what was expected of it.

To be radical of course, means to seize a matter at its roots. More radical Christian faith can only mean committing oneself without reserve to the ‘crucified God’. This  is dangerous. It does not promise the confirmation of one’s own conceptions, hopes and good intentions. It promises first of all the pain of repentence and fundamental change. It offers no recipe for success. But it brings a confrontation with the truth. It is not positive and constructive, but is in the first instance critical and destructive. It does not bring man into a better harmony with himself and his environment. It does not create a home for him and integrate him into society, but makes him ‘homeless’ and ‘rootless’, and liberates him in following Christ who was homeless and rootless… And yet this faith, with its consequences, is capable of setting men free…” (38-39).

I’ve been reflecting a bit on God’s love for a sermon this weekend. My almost complete lack of nous when it comes to romance leaves me feeling a little behind the eight ball but thankfully love is broadly relevant in life in general.

In my experience love is just about everything that is important to me. My security and significance (to borrow from Larry Crabb) come almost exclusively from my friends, family and colleagues; I love the love of my friends, the warm embrace of my family and the approval and endorsement of my colleagues.

Recognising this, then, it’s clear how God’s love can have such an impact on a person. If Almighty God whose whispers formed mountain ranges desires YOU, then this would blow the categories of security and significance - you’d be unstoppable.

Of course, this sounds good but how can we have any confidence that God does love us? The diversity of speculation that is rendered of God’s volition in various instances would suggest that we have a low degree of certainty. But thankfully God has rendered speculation itself unnecessary as he’s shown us what he’s like in his son Jesus:

You see, at just the right time, when we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly. Very rarely will anyone die for a righteous man, though for a good man someone might possibly dare to die.  But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us. (Rom 5:6-8, NIV)

God’s love precedes our loveliness: we were powerless, ungodly, unrighteous, sinners and God’s enemies. It’s at this point that God demonstrates his love for us. In fact, ‘demonstrate’ is probably too weak a word- he ‘proves’ it through the death of Jesus. Here is the love of God: the emotion-ridden self-sacrificial, gracious self-giving of God for his enemies.

Moreover it’s not merely something that God does but rather something that God is. It’s not a job or a mood or an obligation that he takes up and sets down. No, God is love. He always loves in his own being (Father, Son and Spirit) and his love for us is the overflow of this just as with all of his works.

As Paul indicates in Eph. 3 the implications of this are fathomless. Assurance of God’s love, proven in the cross of Christ is hugely significant in my circumstances each day. What better words to express this that Paul’s in Romans?

… we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God. Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us. (Romans 5:3-5 NIV)

Hi folks. It has been a long time between posts… Yes, hard at work again. I’ll show the picture of the fish I caught in Darwin really soon.

Actually, I’ve just finished an essay for Church History that just about knocked me out cold. The Anabaptists. To be honest, my constant frustration during this essay was reading Mennonite scholars who read their current ideals back into their forebears’ stories. Thankfully there were a couple of writers with some sense.

However, with that rant out of the way I have to say, in reflection, that the 16th Century Anabaptists had some remarkable stories! Interestingly, they were one of most feared and persecuted groups in the time of the Reformation by Catholics and Protestants. Yet there is a high correspondance between some of their ideas and the ideas of most of the churches we go to today.

One group of Anabaptists decided that their Christian calling involved violently invading a city called Münster and establishing it as the New Jerusalem. They set up some guy as a Messianic King and aimed to forcefully (and polygamously) bring the Kingdom in.

Thankfully, there were other winsome examples. of people labelled ‘Anabaptist’. One story that has struck me and goes well above and beyond my behaviour as a Christian is depicted in this picture here. Facing arrest, Dirck Willems fled for his life across a frozen lake. When his pursuer broke through the ice, Willems gave up his chance to escape by turning to save his persecutor. He was then captured, imprisoned and burned at the stake in 1569.

You have heard that it was said, Love your neighbor and hate your enemy. But I tell you, love your enemiesa and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be sons of your Father in heaven. (Matt 5:43-5)