The spirituality of doctrine?

Renovaré, the organisation founded by Richard Foster (Celebration of Discipline, et al.), have recently published a book entitled 25 Books Every Christian Should Read: A Guide to the Definitive Spiritual Classics. The list can be seen here (you’ll need to scroll down a little). I’ve read most of them, and at least some of almost all of them (as it happens, the only one I’ve never opened is Nouwen’s Return of the Prodigal Son; I know it’s wonderful; there’s even a copy in the house, as Heather’s homegroup worked through it a few years back; other things just keep getting in the way). The title is, I take it, deliberately provocative; such lists always generate argument, and an argument that leads to people being exposed to previously-unencountered classics of Christian spirituality is surely a good thing? I don’t particularly want to start that argument here; the list is a good one. It contains, however, three texts that would not often be included in the genre of ‘spirituality’: Athanasius On the Incarnation; Calvin’s Institutes; and Lewis on Mere Christianity. These are texts in doctrine (or perhaps apologetics for Lewis); the study of doctrine is not generally considered to be an aid to prayer in those parts of the church in which I move, at least. (And academic theological conferences do not often feel like powerhouses of prayer…) When John Rackley was BUGB President, he ran a survey asking (British Baptist) ministers what fed them devotionally, and commented in writing it up that almost none of them (two, from memory) mentioned reading doctrine. As it happens, reading Calvin does inspire me to devotion from time to time; the same is true of Barth, and one or two others in the dogmatic tradition. But if devotional inspiration is my aim, Brother Lawrence or Mother Julian are far, far more reliable options for me (and much lighter to carry around than Calvin or Barth!). This is, of course, a modern problem. The connection between doctrine and piety was routinely assumed in the tradition, whether in arguments that only the true contemplative could even try to do theology (Gregory of Nazianzus, First Theological Oration), or arguments that any right understanding of doctrine will inevitably lead to heartfelt worship and devotion (Calvin, Inst. 1:1-2). Less happily, heretics are routinely accused of the grossest acts, because it is assumed that their wrong doctrine must make them morally incompetent. This connection is, one way or another, traceable down to the beginning of the nineteenth century (it’s there in Coleridge (‘They must become better before they can become wiser’) and, in a way, in Schleiermacher), but had begun to fall apart a century, perhaps more, before that. By the time we get to the middle of the twentieth century, there is something of a prevailing assumption that theological scholarship will destroy piety and that practiced piety is at least an impediment to proper theological scholarship, and assumption that has begun to be overcome in the decades since, but that is still sometimes visible. What happened? I can think of various explanations. Perhaps St Bernard’s fulminations over Peter Abelard’s Sic et Non were well-directed, and the founding of the European university system was all a catastrophic mistake? (I don’t think this, by the way, but any academic theologian needs to reflect on it from time to time.) Perhaps theology should be done only within the local church (memorably, the Black Rock Address on ‘theological schools’: ‘In every age, from the school of Alexandria down to this day, they have been a real pest to the church of Christ’)? (I don’t think this either, but the authors were Baptists, and I accept that the challenge is as much mine to prove them wrong, as theirs to carry the point.) I have an alternative explanation, not quite so easy, which relies on some genealogical reflections. Doctrine, we should remember more often, is – or at least used to be, and should still be – the science of reading Scripture well. Athanasius’s On the Incarnation is a contribution to an ongoing exegetical debate. (I assume we all know by now that the whole debate over the Trinity in the fourth century was exegetical? The ontological schemes and logical distinctions that Athanasius and others worked out were proposed to offer ways of reading certain disputed texts that made better sense of the whole of Scripture than other proposals.) Calvin’s Institutes are written as a simple and easy textbook to give his readers the crucial concepts and distinctions they will need to make sense of Scripture when they read it for themselves. At some point (Hegel? Schleiermacher? Around then,...

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Nativity creativity

A few videos from around the web which I’ve tripped over, and which could be useful to some over the next few weeks. Most have appeared on my FB feed before now, but gathering them in one more permanent place, with details of where to get them from, seemed worthwhile. First, two films from Youth for Christ, which are available to download for free from iTunes (this link should open iTunes to the podcast page if you have it). The first is called ‘Disengaged’, an award-winning one-header of Mary’s experience of the build up to the nativity. The production values and acting are alike excellent, the script good, the setting modern, the tone gritty – not many laughs here. [youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RP4S5nJCiig]   Also from YfC – iTunes link again – ‘Father’s Day’: Joseph, monologue-ing outside as the birth takes place. For my taste, not as powerful as the previous one: well-produced; not quite so well-acted; again, a modern setting; again, fairly gritty. I can’t find it on YouTube, but you can see it on YfC’s own preview site here. The two would work well together if you wanted them to.   The nativity on Facebook. A film by Igniter media, available for download (for USD12) here. The whole story, told via FB updates. The pictures are all a bit Gustave Doré, which is slightly incongruous set against FB, but the conceit is probably clever enough to carry it. The ‘script’ is sometimes powerful, more often a bit safe: [youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sghwe4TYY18]   The next few are on YouTube. As such, you can show them from the web; there are programs and websites that will download them for you, but this is a breach of copyright law. ‘If Jesus were born in times of Google…’ is an advert for some company, which, similarly to the last one, re-imagines the nativity story in a digital age. Less reverent, unquestionably, but more inventive: [youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8gFYzErcweg]   ‘Nativity 2.0’ was produced by a missionary couple in Tahiti, using actors from their local context. It again imagines the story using digital tools. Gabriel sends Mary a text ‘U R highly favored,’ and the story is played for laughs. [youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kbXy0MhHVLA]   ‘Bethelehemian Rhapsody’ was a puppet show done by a youthgroup at a local church, I believe. Truly magnificent… [youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pW1pbuyGlQ0]   (The audio can be purchased for USD5 from the composer of the parody here.) It is too early to say ‘Happy Christmas’, of course – or even ‘have an austere and focused advent’; a blessed celebration of the feast of St Catherine of Alexandria to you all, however. Or indeed the solemnity of St Colman of Cloyne, if he is more to your...

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Justice and the gospel: Bruce Longenecker on Paul and the poor.

Joel Willits offers a review of my former colleague Bruce Longenecker’s recent book Remember the Poor: Paul, Poverty, and the Greco-Roman World (Eerdmans) over at Euangelion. I have not yet seen a copy, but Bruce was working in these directions before he left St Andrews for Baylor, and I think I can guess something of how the argument goes: although there is not an enormous amount of emphasis in the NT texts on Paul’s ongoing concern for the collection for the church in Jerusalem, or for caring for economically-disadvantaged members of the community, there is some; if we consider the then-prevalent assumption amongst devout diaspora Jews (like Paul…) that charity was an essential component of acceptable worship, then we can reconstruct on the basis of the evidence we do have a picture of concern for the poor, and particularly concern that the gentile churches should relieve the poverty of the mother church in Jerusalem, as being central to Paul’s vision of his own mission, and of the Christian identity of the churches he founded. Rather like Finney refusing to allow someone to profess Christianity without committing to the abolitionist cause, Paul could not conceive of a church that was not involved in (what we would now call) social justice; it is as intrinsic to the gospel as worship, discipleship, and mission – actually, it just is worship, discipleship, and mission, in Paul’s view. As Joel points out, this is a timely reminder. Joel himself has recently offered a substantial review of Kevin DeYoung and Greg Gilbert’s What is the Mission of the Church?, which is only the latest of a stream of publications arguing that social justice, whilst perhaps commendable, is no part of the core business of a Christian community. I understand the concern that, sometimes, justice has been perceived as an easier and less costly practice than other forms of gospel witness, and so has been allowed to displace them. The answer to this, though, is not so to swing the pendulum as to neglect this aspect of gospel witness instead. The bloodless conquest of the Empire by the early church was in large part achieved by a sustained and serious practice of social justice; bishops took the title ‘lovers of the poor,’ and lived it so well that, over a century or so, they constructed a new and previously-unimagined political power-base that propelled them to positions of prominence in almost every city of the Empire (Peter Brown, Power and Persuasion in Late Antiquity, is very good on this; start around pp. 90-100). Human hearts were conquered by the fearless witness of the martyrs; but the culture was conquered – whilst the church was still a minority movement – by a faithful practice of social justice. Paul consulted once with Peter and James and John about the ethical implications of belief in Jesus; one thing only was agreed to be non-negotiable by all four of them: ‘remember the poor’ (Gal. 2:10). This is at the heart of the...

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Could the evangelical gender debate be depolarised?

A conversation that some of us have been involved in privately has spilled over into the blogosphere and twitterverse in the last few days. It concerns attempts to get past the hard lines on gender roles in (family and) church that are being drawn within British evangelicalism. (There is of course a similar discussion in America; it seems to me that the lines are rather differently drawn there, however.) Krish Kandiah has published a couple of blog posts here and here; Jenny Baker has made some comments in response here; Vicky Beeching has commented here and here; Hannah Mudge, who I don’t know, links to a number of other posts here. I won’t attempt to link out the twitter debate… I have also seen comments to the effect that it is astonishing that anyone thinks this is still worth arguing over; I simply note that, in every tradition of Christianity (I know of) that can even plausibly claim to be growing, this is presently a live issue in some sense: not just evangelicalism; but old Pentecostalism; the broadly Pentecostal churches of the global South; British Baptist life; the Chinese house churches; confessional Catholicism (& confessional catholic churches out of communion with Rome); the Black majority churches in Britain; the ‘new-church’ charismatic networks in Britain and Europe; … If the job of a theologian in any way includes being responsible to the life of the churches, this issue should be near the top of our theological agenda. I would love to have a doctoral student or two working seriously on it. The evangelical debate is routinely presented as being polarised between ‘complementarians’ (who believe that men and women are created equal in value but different and complementary in role, and so see certain roles available to men that are not available to women – none the other way around, curiously) and ‘egalitarians’ (who see no necessary distinctions between the roles men and women may play in any area of life). It is routinely noted that these terms are ugly, unwieldy, and unhelpful (in that ‘complementarians’ protest their belief in gender equality, and (some) ‘egalitarians’ believe that men and women are created to be different, but that this does not impose any bars on the exercise of ministries in the church); I want here to challenge it as an inadequate typology of positions, which overlays a false polarity on a much more nuanced debate. To the extent that some of the immediate debate (posts above from Krish, Jenny, and Vicky Beeching) is about the possibility of finding a practical ‘middle ground’ between the two poles, if I am correct, there might be a chance of moving the argument forward. The debate turns on appropriate gender roles in family and congregation (the American tradition of letting it spill out into society more generally does not seem to have many serious proponents on this side of the Atlantic). However, already there is the possibility of complication: in a recent post on the New Frontiers theology blog, Andrew Wilson pointed out some of this complexity; in particular, he suggests (on the basis of quoting commentaries on Eph. 5) that several leading ‘egalitarian’ writers in fact hold a ‘complementarian’ view of marriage. If he is right (and even if he is wrong, he raises the potential of the position…), then we already need to distinguish ‘church-egalitarian’ from ‘family-egalitarian,’ and similarly with ‘complementarian’; there are four positions, not just two, and those who agree about church life might disagree about family life, and vice-versa. To complicate further, it is not news that the ‘church-complementarian’ position in fact covers several different claims. The most obvious, perhaps, is the distinction between ‘teaching’ and ‘exercising authority’; whilst some would argue that  the two are indifferently prohibited to women by Scripture, others – particularly, in my experience, conservative evangelical Anglicans, find the exercising of authority to be the crucial point, and would allow a woman to exercise a teaching ministry, even an ordained teaching ministry, so long as she was not the minister of the congregation. (Clare Hendry, who with Lis Goddard wrote the excellent Gender Agenda (IVP, 2011), which is the best non-technical introduction to this debate that I know, is an Anglican deacon who preaches regularly in her congregation and lectures in a theological college, roles she finds compatible with her commitment to Biblical complementarianism.) In British Baptist life we have fairly often moved in the other direction over the past century, allowing female leaders in the congregation whilst restricting the pulpit to men. Again, the Anglican move is often to insist only that the senior leader is male; New Frontiers argue that...

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Contemplative prayer and contemporary worship

A recent conversation with our pastor, Andrew Rollinson, about those spiritual practices which I find useful/generative/satisfying/whatever the right word is, brought to mind a blog post from Vicky Beeching which noted that she, as a leading worship leader in the contemporary evangelical style, finds broadly contemplative practices of spirituality most nourishing for her personal spirituality. I had indicated to Andrew that charismatic worship and contemplative prayer were the two places where I most regularly experience connection to God and personal transformation by God. This in turn brought to mind an argument I gestured at in a footnote of a paper on contemporary worship (a paper that is currently under review by a journal), and had intended to develop more fully. Let me assume (without a lengthy footnote exploring the present academic discussion…) that the study of (Christian) ‘spirituality’ is fundamentally a discussion and interrogation of the ways in which (Christian) people find personally-meaningful connection with the awesome reality that is the triune God. On this basis, spirituality cannot be reduced to technique – there are, simply, no practices we can engage in which will guarantee God’s response – but it can be analysed in terms of discipline – there are many practices we engage in which seem, for at least some practitioners, to tend to promote (an awareness of) divine response. (Parentheses to duck the question of whether practices in fact lead to divine response, or whether God always responds, but our practices aid our awareness of that.) On this basis, it seems to me that the basic orientation of charismatic spirituality, expressed in traditions of contemporary worship, is remarkably similar to the basic orientation of contemplative spirituality. I am aware of (some of) the many schools of traditional contemplative spirituality, and thus of the danger of generalising; for the sake of a blog post, however, I generalise. Many historical Christian traditions of spirituality school their disciples in practices of lengthy attentiveness, with words, images, or objects providing a helpful focus for this attentiveness. Somehow (and it is variously theorised) such lengthy attentiveness results in an awareness of God’s presence, and an experience of divine activity towards one’s own soul, that is held to be either the goal of the practice of prayer, or at least a substantial good to be achieved by the practice of prayer. The endless repetition of the ‘Jesus Prayer’ commended in the anonymous Russian Way of the Pilgrim; the practice of lectio Divina; meditation on object or phrase, be it candle, host, rock, or fragment of liturgy; even exercises directing mental focus to particular parts of the body – all seem to suggest that sustained attention or focus somehow allows openness to God’s life and activity. (I am aware of criticisms of this analysis in, e.g., Turner’s Darkness of God; to the extent that they highlight that the modern obsession with felt experience can eclipse the reality of divine action, I wholeheartedly agree with them; but I do not think that this changes my argument here very much.) The fundamental mode of charismatic spirituality, the extended time of worship, functions in exactly the same way, it seems to me. Through the repetition of songs and the extended time of singing, the worshipper is enabled to leave behind whatever baggage she brought with her into the meeting and to become focused in serious and transformative ways on God’s presence and action. Again, sustained attention or focus somehow allows openness to God’s life and activity. The two traditions are surprisingly congruent; it should be no surprise that some of us – like me – find nourishment in...

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