Books

The Soul of Prayer: A Review

Jeffrey Bruce has recently posted a review on PT Forsyth’s The Soul of Prayer. He writes:

One of my great failures as a Christ-follower pertains to prayer. Throughout my life, I have consistently failed to cultivate this spiritual discipline. Sure, I throw up a few petitions each day, and set aside times for focused prayer every now and again; but, it does not characterize my living. Frankly, I find this disconcerting. Great Christians seems to pray…all the time…like Paul commands (1 Thess 5:17). In High School, I remember reading about Martin Luther, and how he would lament when constrained to spending only three hours in prayer at the beginning of the day.

Given my deficiency in this discipline, I deemed it wise to read a book on prayer. I began by going to one who, in my opinion, is an expert on the subject; Bud Burk, the children’s pastor at Whittier Hills. Bud immediately recommended The Soul of Prayer, by P.T. Forsyth. Sometimes described as an English pre-cursor to Karl Barth, Forsyth (1848-1921) was a leader in the Congregational church in Scotland. Early in his tenure as a minister, he was inimical to orthodoxy, and sought to reformulate Christianity according to his liberal sensibilities. However, in 1878 he had a conversion experience, wherein he went from (in his own words), “a lover of love to an object of grace.” He gained notoriety as a British non-conformist, who taught his generation the depth and reality of God’s grace. This book is dense, brief (only 107 pages), and chalked full of theological grist. Though his writing suffers at times from awkward phraseology,
and some of his theologizing raises the eyebrow, this tome remains a gem, and, as Eugene Peterson says, “goes straight for the jugular.”

Forsyth divides his discussion into various qualities of prayer; viz. the inwardness of prayer, the naturalness of prayer, the moral reactions of prayer, the timeliness of prayer, the ceaselessness of prayer, the vicariousness of prayer, and the insistency of prayer. In each section, Forsyth hones in on misconceptions regarding prayer, and tries to get behind the inner workings of the divine-human interaction.

He is eminently quotable. Allow me to demonstrate.

“Prayer has its great end when it lifts us to be conscious and more sure of the gift than the need, of the grace than the sin…We shall come one day to a heave where we shall gratefully know that God’s great refusals were sometimes the true answers to our truest prayer. Our soul is fulfilled if our petition is not.” (12)

“God is the answer to prayer.” (35)

“If it be true that the whole Trinity is in the gospel of our salvation, it is also true that all theology lies hidden in the prayer which is our chief answer to the gospel.” (51)

“Prayer is not identical with the occasional act of praying. Like the act of faith, it is a whole life thought of as action. It is the life of faith in its purity, in its vital action. Eating and speaking are necessary to life, but they are not living.” (69)

“Petition is not mere receptivity, not is it mere pressure; it is filial reciprocity. Love loves to be told what it knows already. Every lover knows that. It wants to be asked for what it longs to give. And that is the principle of prayer to the all-knowing Love.” (72-73)

“Let prayer be concrete. actual, a direct product of life’s real experiences. Pray as your actual self, not as some fancied saint. Let it be closely relevant to your real situation. Pray without ceasing in this sense. Pray without a break between your prayer and your life. Pray so that there is a real continuity between your prayer and your whole actual life.” (74)

“…as we learn more of the seriousness of the gospel for the human soul, we feel the more that every time we present it we are adding to the judgment of some as well as to the salvation of others. We are not like speakers who present a matter that men can freely take or leave, where they can agree or differ with us without moral result.” (83)

“Prayer is given us as wings wherewith to mount, but also to shield our face when they have carried us before the great throne. It is in prayer that the holiness comes home as love, and the love is established as holiness.” (85)

“Our public may kill by its triviality a soul which could easily resist the assaults of oppositions or wickedness.” (91)

“Strenuous prayer will help us to recover the masculine type of religion – and then our opponents will at least respect us.” (95)

“Prayer is not really a power till it is importunate. And it cannot be importunate unless it is felt to have a real effect on the Will of God.” (95)

What struck me most deeply were the following points;

(1) Prayer must be (in Forsyth’s words) importunate. Indeed, Jesus wanted to actually teach us something through the parable of the persistent widow! Prayer is strenuous, a mental exercise, and the passive resignation that so often characterizes prayer is not always a sign of piety. God wants us to pray mightily. We need not be afraid of urging and pleading with God to act. This is what he wants from us.

(2) Take public prayer seriously.

(3) Good theology can be prayed, and good prayer is theological.

(4) God is the answer to prayer.

I still have a few misgivings about Forsyth. In his attempts to be profound, I feel he sounds a tad pantheistic (though I know he is no pantheist). Moreover, his thoughts on resisting the lower will in God to arrive at his higher will need copious nuancing. Overall though, this book definitely hits hard, and presents a challenge to any alacrity in one’s heart for the discipline of prayer.

It is always encouraging to see Forsyth’s work being read. A pdf version of many of Forsyth’s books, including The Soul of Prayer, is available from here.

The Theology of the Christian Life in J. I. Packer’s Thought: A Review

Don J. Payne, The Theology of the Christian Life in J. I. Packer’s Thought: Theological Anthropology, Theological Method, and the Doctrine of Sanctification (Milton Keynes: Paternoster, 2007). 321 pages. ISBN: 9781842273975. Review copy courtesy of Paternoster/Authentic Books.

I am one among millions who in their early Christian pilgrimage read and benefited from reading J. I. Packer’s Knowing God. It was here that I first discovered the rich truth of what the Bible means when it talks about God as our ‘Father’. Some years later, I read and profited from his books Evangelism & the Sovereignty of God, Concise Theology, and his Keep in Step with the Spirit, among others. But it was his A Quest for Godliness: The Puritan Vision of the Christian Life which had the most lasting impact on me, feeding my love for the Puritans and my conviction that Protestantism desperately needs to recover the model of spirituality that they encouraged. Throughout all his writing, Packer is concerned that ‘theology’ and ‘godliness’ walk together and, as Thomas Noble writes in the forward, that ‘Truly Christian theology can never be an abstract intellectual pursuit. It is never enough to know about God. True Christian theology is Knowing God’ (p. xiii–xiv).

There is little debate that British-born Anglican theologian, James Innell Packer (b. 1926) is one of the most influential evangelical theologians of the late 20th century, defining in not a few ways the shape that some branches of evangelicalism has taken. Therefore, it is about time that his theology was given the serious and critical evaluation that it deserves. In his revised PhD thesis, Don J. Payne seeks to do precisely that.

Payne begins by confessing that a comprehensive analysis of Packer’s thought is beyond the scope of one book. This study, he maintains, examines aspects of Packer’s thought that have made what he considers a ‘significant contribution to evangelical piety’ (p. 1). Payne believes that such an examination involves a description and analysis of Packer’s theology of sanctification, and therefore Payne proceeds to examine the logic and ethos of Packer’s theology of sanctification by examining the theological anthropology and theological method that support it. This relationship between sanctification, anthropology, and methodology is then viewed against the backdrop of twentieth-century evangelicalism, primarily in the UK and the USA in order to gain understanding into Packer’s influence. He notes:

Though he is British in origin and education, Packer’s greatest influence has been in the context of North American evangelicalism. His particular brand of Reformed theology has found common ground with theological values that have been significant in shaping the ethos of twentieth-century evangelicalism in the United States. Likewise, his writings, both theological and popular, have had and continue to exhibit intense concern with Christian piety, especially as it is sustained by the doctrine of sanctification. (p. 2)

Payne proceeds to argue that Packer’s understanding of sanctification is sustained by a predominantly individualistic and rationalistic theological anthropology and methodology. He notes that significant qualifying factors are found in his anthropology and piety, reflecting an attempt on Packer’s part to ameliorate the risks of individualistic and rationalistic extremes. Thus, the inherent rationalism and individualism tend to be obscured from view. However, he suggests, the influence of these tendencies can be seen in the practical expectations and disciplines Packer enjoins for Christians.

The opening chapter establishes a general backdrop, parameters, and rationale for the theological analysis Payne wishes to follow. Chapter two offers definitions and genealogies of the British evangelicalism from which Packer emerged and the American evangelicalism in which he has exercised most influence, pointing up salient factors that help account for that influence. Chapter three traces Packer’s personal theological development in order to relate his views to the context of his overall life and theology. Chapters four to eight consider piety, theological anthropology (with specific attention to the imago Dei and the Incarnation), and theological method respectively. ‘This organisational schema’, he suggests, ‘intentionally moves from the phenomena of piety to the theology and then to methodology so as to best illuminate causal and systemic relationships’. In the final chapter, Payne summarises the trialogue between Packer’s piety, anthropology and method in order to identify patterns and implications of his theology, before suggesting some directions for further research.

Payne rightly identifies that the Christian life, for Packer, can adequately (though not exclusively) be denoted by the word ‘piety’, a term that Packer uses interchangeably with ‘spirituality’, ‘holiness’, and ‘godliness’, and apart from the reality of which ‘there is no true communion with God’ (p. 11). Payne proceeds to highlight Packer’s tendency to see the objective aspects of salvation in legal categories and to subordinate the subjective aspects to a distinct, separate and dependent relationship. He writes:

Though [Packer] seeks to anchor piety within a Trinitarian framework, insisting on the unique and essential role of each Person in the Godhead for the realisation of evangelical spirituality, the objective and subjective dimensions of piety find their integration elsewhere, that is, within a covenantal framework that is sustained by the doctrine of predestination. Covenantal predestination constitutes the framework for understanding the unique role of each Person of the Trinity in securing salvation and effecting holiness for the elect. (p. 79)

Payne identifies in Packer’s thinking that piety or holiness necessarily depend upon and involve an increasing precision in the quality of one’s ethical perception and obedience. This level of precision in holiness, he suggests, depends also upon precise transmission of God’s law to the human conscience. Scripture fulfils this role, he argues, as it communicates God’s revelation through precise, inerrant propositions. Since holiness involves the restoration of the imago Dei in conformity to the character of Jesus Christ, the rational faculties necessary for comprehending and responding to the message of Scripture are therefore critical if the image is to be restored. Packer states, ‘God is rational and unchanging, and all men in every generation, being made in God’s image, are capable of being addressed by him.’ Holiness, for Packer, therefore, depends upon the notion of an inerrant Scripture communicating the Law of God with precision to human rational faculties. ‘Precise knowledge of God’s will and obedience to God’s will’, Payne notes, ‘is possible, and only possible, through this precise, rational formula’ (p. 92). Payne concludes:

J.I. Packer’s theology of the Christian life follows a distinct anthropological and soteriological trajectory. The Christian life is a life of godliness or holiness as defined by God’s law. This genuine, biblical piety is a life of heartfelt obedience to God’s law which in turn depends upon inerrant, propositional communication of God’s will through Scripture and also on the human faculty of reason to comprehend that self-revelation. Holiness, true piety, is humanity restored to God’s original intentions as expressed in the imago Dei. However, this restoration is obstructed by the pervasive and tragic effects of original and indwelling sin, even in the life of the Christian. God provides and effects forgiveness and restored legal standing for the elect through Jesus Christ’s penal, substitutionary atonement for sin in his death on the cross. This formal justification before God then leads to sanctification, the existential transformation of the believer’s character into the image of Jesus Christ, who in his own obedience provided the model of godliness for which God intended humanity. Sanctification is enabled by God but demands ongoing, strenuous struggle in faith that God is working in and through the Christian’s efforts to bring about deep, genuine, and lasting transformation (pp. 128–9).

While some readers may desire a more critical engagement with Packer’s thought than this volume provides, those with a general interest in twentieth century conservative evangelicalism and its theological methodology would be well served by reading Payne’s work. Although it has one of the most unbecoming and out-of-focus photographs I’ve seen on the front cover of any book, this sympathetic study concludes with a most becoming and in-focus 18 page bibliography (!) of Packer’s work, a rich testimony in itself of the gift that Packer has been to the Church. This book is, therefore, both a helpful compendium to Alister E. McGrath’s book, J.I. Packer: A Biography, and an invitation for a more critical (in both senses of the word) reading of Packer’s enormous contribution.

Engaging with Barth

While PhD’s and monographs on Karl Barth’s thinking continue to be produced in greater numbers than ever before (and deservedly so, despite my question here), very few volumes have given us an evaluation both critical and fair of Barth’s massive theological legacy in a multi-author source.

January 2008 will witness the launch of Engaging with Barth: Contemporary Evangelical Critiques, edited by David Gibson & Daniel Strange. I must confess to being a little sceptical when I first surveyed the list of contributors to this title, some of whom I was surprised to see mentioned in a collection on Barth (not to mention the obvious omission of some leading evangelical experts on Barth). However, my tune has somewhat changed since I heard Andy McGowan read his chapter recently and despite remaining unconvinced on a few points, his paper was engaging and served as a model of clarity and fairness, of taking Barth seriously and extending the discussion into some helpful trajectories. If McGowan’s chapter is a true indication of the desire for this book’s authors to engage fairly with Barth, then I can honestly say that I’m now looking forward to reading (and reviewing) the rest, though still some chapters more than others.

The books contents are:

Foreword
Carl R. Trueman

Introduction
David Gibson & Daniel Strange

1. Karl Barth’s Christocentric Method
Henri Blocher

2. Does it matter if Christian Doctrine is Contradictory? Barth on Logic and Theology
Sebastian Rehnman

3. Karl Barth as Historical Theologian: The Recovery of Reformed Theology in Barth’s Early Dogmatics
Ryan Glomsrud

4. Karl Barth and Covenant Theology
A. T. B. McGowan

5. The Day of God’s Mercy: Romans 9-11 in Barth’s Doctrine of Election
David Gibson

6. Witness to the Word: On Barth’s Doctrine of Scripture
Mark D. Thompson

7. A Private Love? Karl Barth and the Triune God
Michael J. Ovey

8. Karl Barth and the Doctrine of the Atonement
Garry J. Williams

9. Karl Barth and the Visibility of God
Paul Helm

10. Karl Barth and Jonathan Edwards on Reprobation (and Hell)
Oliver D. Crisp

11. ‘Church’ Dogmatics: Karl Barth as Ecclesial Theologian
Donald Macleod

12. A Stony Jar: The Legacy of Karl Barth for Evangelical Theology
Michael S. Horton

On Being the Church of Jesus Christ in Tumultuous Times: A Review

Joe R. Jones, ON BEING THE CHURCH OF JESUS CHRIST IN TUMULTUOUS TIMES (Eugene: Cascade Books, 2005). Pp. xxx + 239. $27.00, ISBN: 9781597522762. A review.

Joe R. Jones, author of the massive The Grammar of Christian Faith and Doctrine, and who Stanley Hauerwas names ‘the best unknown theologian in America’ (how would Hauerwas know?), is well aware of at least two important realities that inform good theology. First, that theology is a discipline not of the academy but of the believing community which is ever to be that ‘sort of community that sustains a vigorous and continuing conversation within itself as to who has called it into being, to whom it is responsible, and what it is called to be and to do’ (p. xiii). Second, that Christian theology has its ground and end in the redeeming economy of the Triune God. These two convictions inform this collection of essays, sermons, and prayers composed over four decades.

The volume is made up of three sections. In the first, he addresses what it means to be the Church, that ‘broken body [which] must strive, in the midst of its brokenness in tumultuous times, to remember its calling and mission as an alternative community living an alternative way of life under the Lordship of Jesus Christ‘ (p. xiv). He repeatedly posits (pp. xvi, 6, 21, 35-6, 51, passim) his working definition of the Church:

The church is that liberative and redemptive
community of persons
called into being
by the Gospel of Jesus Christ
through the Holy Spirit
to witness in word and deed
to the living triune God
for the benefit of the world
to the glory of God.

Jones, a confessing pacifist ‘with many questions about how to be a pacifist’ (p. xxiv), contends that wherever Jesus’ body lives in the world, there the Church is properly a political entity with a distinct theology and ethic, and whose political witness is never for itself but is for the benefit of the world. Thus with definition above before him, Jones, in the tradition of that prisoner on Patmos, pens ‘A letter to the Churches After 9/11′ in which he reminds the church that it is ‘not called into existence by the American way of life, not called into existence in order to punish evildoers, not called into existence to endorse any given political regime, and not called into existence to protect Christians and wreak vengeance on nonchristians. But it does exist for the “benefit of the world,” though not on the world’s own terms regarding what it finds beneficial as an endorsement of the way it prefers to live’. When the Church, either ecumenically or as a particular congregation, is unclear about how to answer the key questions of its own identity ‘then its life will be a miasma of disarray and confusion’ (p. 6). Jones consistently names nationalism for the destructive and deceitful idol that it is, calling the Church to allegiance to its Lord alone, rather than serve two masters.

Jones turns in the second, third and fourth essays to a reflection on the Church’s illiteracy wherein he argues that the Christian community whose ‘language of faith has too often become hallow and empty’ has become ‘illiterate’ and ‘uneducated’ (p. 11). The Church needs to recover its ‘distinctive language’ (p. xv), its own voice – or that of her Lord’s – lest it be repeatedly ‘overwhelmed and held hostage by the nation-state and its political discourses and practices’ (p. xxiv), and whose discourse and practice form a necessary purlieus for doing theology. The witnessing Church requires a literacy in the Gospel: ‘The Gospel is not willy-nilly whatever people choose it to be. It is not just any presumably good or comforting news. But to be able to hear well and to witness well, the church must incessantly cultivate an understanding of the Gospel and the light it throws on the world. Whenever the church has neglected this cultivation, this education, it has itself become a wandering nomad, bedeviled by the mirages of passing fancies and fads’ (p. 14). He calls for a recovery of the Church’s educational processes that accentuate learning the Gospel’s content and giving it intelligent expression for the world. This doing of theology is not a luxury (or responsibility) for a few but for all the people of God. That said, the Church also needs to recover, he argues, a sense of the pastor as teacher and theologian for the community, to equip the community of theologians for ek-static movement towards and in the world as witness to God’s loving life (see pp. 21-34).

In the second of the three sections, ‘Theological Baselines for Doing Church Theology’, Jones explores, among other themes, notions of faith, soteriology, trinity, and Jewish-Christian dialogue. The essay on salvation (chapter 7) outlines the basis upon which believers have good reason to hope in an apokastasis panton. He argues that ‘the logic of a radical incarnation/atonement view centred in Jesus Christ moves resolutely to the final conclusion that all we be ultimately saved by God’s sovereign grace’ (p. 119). It is of little surprise, therefore, to read that Jones lists among his most significant influences and conversation partners, Karl Barth, Ludwig Wittgenstein, Alfred North Whitehead and Charles Hartshorne.

Also, not a few of the essays betray Jones’ indebtedness to Søren Kierkegaard and to that Dane’s insistence that ‘to be a Christian is to learn how to be a Christian’ (p. 51). This American nonconformist does not, however, share Kierkegaard’s despairing thoughts on the Church more generally, or the latter’s over-subjectivism. Instead, Jones persuasively posits that learning how to be a Christian ‘involves being a member of a community that has characteristic discourses and practices about the narrative of God’s grace’ (p. 67). Little doubt, if Kierkegaard had a different model of Church in mind when he made his bold criticisms, he would agree with Jones here. Jones’ collection includes two fine chapters on Kierkegaard: one on Kierkegaard’s thoughts on authority and revelation; the other on Kierkegaard as ‘Spy, Judge, and Friend’ in which he outlines the basic life, contributions and contours of Kierkegaard’s thought. He laments that while Kierkegaard ‘was one of the most influential intellectuals for the twentieth century’ today ‘I find few entering divinity students that can spell his name, fewer still who have read anything of his, fewer yet that have benefited from his friendship’. He describes Kierkegaard as ‘a Spy who will push you into inward places of hiddenness you are reluctant to explore, a Judge who will indict your vagaries of life with inescapable and relentless precision and vivacity, but finally a Friend who might spiritually edify you on the multifaceted journey of becoming a Christian‘ (p. 154). He proceeds:

‘With uncanny prescience, Kierkegaard knew he would someday be famous but feared and loathed the prospect that he would fall into the hands of the professors, who would analyze and reduce his life and writings to a thumbnail sketch or footnote, or even to a voluminous narrative, but would never realize that the whole of his literature was directed even to the professor as an existing person who still had to exist somehow. He criticized professors, philosophers, and theologians unmercifully for building grand mansions of theory and thought only to live their actual, existing lives in the barnyard, feeding daily out of the pig trough. The point here is this: intellectuals are given to the pursuit and development of thought, concepts, and ideas, and they can easily fool themselves into supposing that if they have thought the thought they have also lived the thought. No, says Kierkegaard; to live the thought means to have one’s living passions and decisions shaped by the thought. Intellectuals are inclined to forget the actual passions and concrete decisions that shape their daily living, and therefore are forgetful of their actual existing. Their theories cannot – of themselves – encompass and shape the theorist’s existential reality without decision and persistence in passions’ (p. 155).

The final section is made up largely of pastoral prayers and some moving sermons, including those preached by Jones at ordination and funeral services.

While few will be convinced of all Jones’ claims, this an engaging and at times provocative miscellany properly written with one eye on the Church (and not least his own Disciples of Christ denomination the focus on which, at times, gives the reader a sense that she is reading an in-house review) and one on God as both God and Church direct their engaging gaze to the world. The reader would have been better served with the inclusion of an index and a little more editing out of repetitious material. That said, this book will assist the Church to better understand, celebrate and practice the good and missional news of Jesus Christ in tumultuous times.


Two new books on Barth

Eisenbrauns have recently announced two new books on Barth:

Karl Barth’s Trinitarian Theology, by Peter S. Oh (Continuum, 2007)

Karl Barth’s Trinitarian Theology is an original and insightful discussion of the theme of the Trinity in the thought of Karl Barth, with particular reference to ecclesiology. The book examines Karl Barth’s analogical use of the Trinity, with respect to various patterns of divine-human communion in the context of the doctrine of redemption. In the first part of the book Oh explores Barth’s understanding and use of analogy throughout his theological development, and compares the work of Kierkegaard and Barth. This research gives fresh insight into Karl Barth’s Trinitarian, theological hermeneutics. In part II, Oh examines Barth’s analogical use of the doctrine of the Trinity from an ecclesiastical perspective.

and…

Karl Barth and Hans Urs Von Balthasar: A Critical Engagement, by Stephen Wigley (Continuum, 2007)

Karl Barth and Hans Urs von Balthasar are two of the most important theologians of the last century. Although one being Reformed and the other Catholic, they kept a lifelong friendship which also influenced their theological work. The book argues for the crucial influence of von Balthasar’s meeting with and study of Barth for the emergence of his own great theological trilogy, beginning with The Glory of the Lord, continuing with the Theo-Drama and concluding with the Theo-Logic. In particular it argues that it is von Balthasar’s debate with Barth over the analogy of being which is to determine the shape of von Balthasar’s subsequent theology, structured as it is around the transcendentals of being, the beautiful, the good and the true.

On this second book, check out Jim Gordon’s excellent 6-part review: here, here, here, here, here and here.

Rereading Historical Theology

Our good friends at Wipf and Stock have announced the arrival of a new book, Rereading Historical Theology: Before, During, and After Augustine, by Margaret R. Miles. The blurb reads:

Augustine of Hippo is arguably the most influential author in the history of Christian thought and institutions. Yet he has been revered by some reviewers and vilified by others. Contemporary critical approaches to historical authors can illuminate features of Augustine’s thought and activities that are not noticed when reviewers’ attention is either exclusively sympathetic or intransigently critical. Anyone who seeks to present an Augustine who has relevance for the twenty-first century must somehow hold together delight in the beauty of his prose and the profundity of his thought with dismay over some of the intentions and effects of his teachings. The essays in this book endeavor to read Augustine simultaneously critically and appreciatively. Miles places his thought in the context of his classical heritage and notices how pervasive in later Christian authors are the themes that informed Augustine’s thought. Understanding his writings as a passionate effort to describe a metaphysical universe that accounts for the endlessly fascinating mystery of embodied life makes many of Augustine’s proposals accessible, useful, and delightful in the context of contemporary quandaries and issues. His conclusions are less important than his method: In Augustine, knowledge and life mutually illuminate, energize, and critique each other, exemplifying the practice of a fully human life. Exploring some of his most persistent themes, these essays seek to show Augustine’s theology works.

James Wetzel, of Villanova University, writes: ‘In this collection of sixteen of her best essays, she tracks the ambivalences in Augustine’s love of the flesh, finds a Platonism with an earthly pull, sustains her sense of an antique social location, and finishes with a flourish of mystics and reformers—all successors to an Augustinian passion. An historian of great cultural sensitivity, Miles is not afraid to meet the past under the skin of contemporary life (where it, in fact, has always been). In the art of critical sympathy, she has no peer’.

More information here.

Suffering, Evil and the Existence of God

In today’s New York Times, Stanley Fish gives us a heads up on two soon-to-be-published books on the theodicy question. The two authors are Bart D. Ehrman (a theist turned agnostic) whose book is entitled God’s Problem: How the Bible Fails to Answer Our Most Important Question – Why We Suffer, and Antony Flew (an athiest turned theist) whose book is entitled There Is a God: How the World’s Most Notorious Atheist Changed His Mind. While both come from opposite directions they meet, or rather cross paths, on the subject of suffering and evil.

Fish suggests that while ‘Flew is for the moment satisfied with the intellectual progress he has been able to make … Ehrman is satisfied with nothing, and the passion and indignation he feels at the manifest inequities of the world are not diminished in the slightest when he writes his last word’. Fish asks, ‘Is there a conclusion to be drawn from these two books, at once so similar in their concerns and so different in their ways of addressing them? Does one or the other persuade?’ Fish contends that while the odd reader may have their mind’s changed as a result of reading either book, ‘their chief value is that together they testify to the continuing vitality and significance of their shared subject. Both are serious inquiries into matters that have been discussed and debated by sincere and learned persons for many centuries. The project is an old one, but these authors pursue it with an energy and goodwill that invite further conversation with sympathetic and unsympathetic readers alike’.

Fish concludes: ‘In short, these books neither trivialize their subject nor demonize those who have a different view of it, which is more than can be said for the efforts of those fashionable atheist writers whose major form of argument would seem to be ridicule’.

While these two books testify to humanity’s ongoing quest for a theodicy (or an atheodicy), Forsyth was right to press that the real question is not the justification of evil – as any attempt at a theodicy is ultimately to retreat into an ideology, which is the one thing we must not do – but the justification of God for whom there can be no rational vindication, as the Cross bears witness. I am reminded here of Bonhoeffer’s assertion in Creation and Fall, Temptation (pp. 84-5), that the question of why evil exists is not a theological question, for it assumes that it is possible to go behind the existence forced upon us as sinners. If we could answer it then we would not be sinners. We could make something else responsible. Therefore the ‘question of why’ can always only be answered with the ‘that’, which burdens humanity completely. The theological question does not arise about the origin of evil but about the real overcoming of evil on the Cross; it asks for the forgiveness of guilt, for the reconciliation of the fallen world.

Conversations with Poppi about God: A Review

Robert W. Jenson & Solveig Lucia Gold, Conversations with Poppi about God: An Eight-Year-Old and Her Theologian Grandfather Trade Questions (Grand Rapids: Brazos Press, 2006). 158 pages. ISBN: 97815874321613. Review copy courtesy of Brazos Press.

When was the last time you had a conversation about baptism, temptation, purgatory, time, economics, the Nicene Creed, creation, the Trinity, Christmas, metaphysics, church calendars, evil, indulgences, the Holy Spirit, liturgy, Lucifer, hamsters, a ‘really stupid’ bishop, the disestablishment of the Roman Church, the imago Dei, and a host of other things, all with the same person? When was the last time you did so with a person who just happens to be a world-renowned Lutheran, and ecumenical, theologian? When was the last time you did so with an eight-year-old who knows more about Dante than not a few philosophy undergrads?

In this remarkable book, we are invited to eavesdrop on a spontaneous and unscripted conversation between elementary schoolgirl Solveig Lucia Gold and her septuagenarian grandfather affectionately called ‘Poppi’, more formally known as the Reverend Canon Professor Dr. D. Robert W. Jenson, B.A., B.D., M.A., D.Theol., D.H.L., DD.

The book comprises the verbatim transcripts – with minor editing of ‘Ums’, ‘Well, buts …’ and ‘You knows…’, etc – of conversations recorded on a Radio Shack cassette recorder over a series of weekends in which Solveig visited her grandparents (‘Poppi’ and ‘Mimi’) in Princeton. After each session, Mimi typed it up.

The authors invite us to read their book ‘as you would a Platonic dialogue, though in this one, the role of Socrates goes back and forth’ (p. 10). Their discussion is more wide-ranging than most systematic theologies, and is filled with wit, warmth and wisdom.

Time for an example:

Solveig: How can God pick who goes to heaven or hell?

Poppi: By looking at Jesus, who loves you, Solveig.

Solveig: Can you show me?

Poppi: One way of saying what happened with Jesus is that Jesus so attached himself to you that if God the Father wants his Son, Jesus, back, he is stuck with you too. Which is how he picks you. (p. 20)

The young Episcopalian and her ‘sort of half Anglican and half Lutheran’ (p. 70) Poppi return to some themes a number of times over the weekends. One such theme that offers some of the book’s richest insights concerns the Spirit, or ‘God’s liveliness’ (p. 38), as the good Professor Dr Poppi likes to remind his granddaughter. Solveig tries on more than one occasion to argue a case that the second and third articles in the Creed ought to be reversed not only because ‘all of us share in the Spirit’ (Father and Son included), but also because that’s how you cross yourself. Poppi agrees, ‘Father, Spirit, Son is probably a better arrangement’ (p. 146). The Spirit is also ‘God’s own future that he is looking forward to’ (p. 42). They compare God’s liveliness with Santa Claus who is ‘sort of like a messenger from the Holy Spirit – in a way’ (p. 100), before coming to discern the spirits to see if they are from God, for whom to have Spirit means that he ‘doesn’t stay shut up in himself … but that the goodness and mercy – and wrath, when it comes to that – that is in God blows out from him to hit you and me. And that means that just like your spirit is yours and not mine, even though your spirit effects me, so God’s Spirit is his and not a spirit like Santa Claus’ (p. 101).

In between laughs, they talk about what it is about Holy Communion – Solveig’s ‘favourite part of going to church’ because she gets to ‘stretch and walk around a little’ (p. 31) – that means that ‘the wine should be the very best’ (p. 33) and that dissolvable bread should be banned. The meal should be appetising, and not like those baptisms ‘when they just dribble a couple of drops on the baby’ (p. 34). They also talk about a confirmation service led by ‘this weird bishop guy’ who is ‘really stupid’ (p. 34).

While I’m trying to resist the temptation to share every gem in the book (and there are lots), allow me one more, this time on heaven, purgatory, and hell:

Solveig: Do you think of where you might go after you die as two places or three places? I think of it as three places.

Poppi: What three is that?

Solveig: Heaven, purgatory, and hell.

Poppi: So you hold to the doctrine of purgatory?

Solveig: Yes.

Poppi: You know that is very controversial.

Solveig: Why? It’s in Dante, isn’t it?

Poppi: Well, it’s in Dante, yes. But of course, Dante isn’t exactly in the Bible.

Solveig: No. But he’s still …

Poppi: The thing about purgatory is that it’s a very reasonable idea. It’s just that we don’t know if it is true.

Solveig: Except … Maybe God thinks that you should just go to two places. If you are bad, he has no patience with you at all, and he will just sort you to go to heaven or hell. I think that is reasonable enough.

Poppi: That God is impatient?

Solveig: Yes.

Poppi: That’s where I think the notion of purgatory is reasonable. I don’t think the Bible talks about God’s being impatient in quite that way.

Solveig: If he isn’t impatient, maybe he doesn’t want us to spend time thinking about where we should go.

Poppi: You know that plate that your mother and father gave us that hangs on the wall in the dining room?

Solveig: Yes.

Poppi: Remember what it says on it?

Solveig: I don’t remember what it says.

Poppi: It says, ‘I desire not the death of the wicked.’

Solveig: ‘As I live, saith the Lord God, I have no pleasure in the death of the wicked.’

Poppi: Right. So the biblical God takes no pleasure in sending people to hell, and that’s why I think that purgatory is a reasonable idea. The problem is we don’t have any way of knowing whether the purgatory idea is true or not.

Solveig: It’s just Dante’s idea.

Poppi: Well, it was older than Dante.

Solveig: It was?

Poppi: Yes.

Solveig: Yes. Well, see, I think of Dante as a theologian, in a way.

Poppi: He was a very great theologian.

Solveig: Yeah, I know. I’m saying that he kind of liked to make up things he wasn’t quite sure about, if you know what I mean.

The delightful exchanges in this album offer us a model of how good theological dialogue can and should take place: with mutual respect and humility which delights in both the giving and the receiving; with an eye on the scripture, an eye on the tradition, and an eye on the world (for those who possess at least three eyes); and within an environment of safety in which no idea is too whacky and no avenue of enquiry cut off prematurely.

Carl Braaten’s words regarding this book are worth repeating,

Robert Jenson has created a new medium, with his granddaughter Solveig, to teach the basics of the Christian faith. Just as Martin Luther wrote his Small Catechism for children, this book of conversations covers the beliefs and practices of the Christian church – among them the commandments, the Lord’s Prayer, the Creed, and the sacraments – in a way that parents, regardless of their denomination, can confidently read and discuss with their children. Robert Jenson has translated the core convictions of his two volumes of Systematic Theology into simple truths that his eight-year-old grandchild can understand in the course of their unrehearsed and lively conversations. If you want to know what a sophisticated theologian really believes, listen to him explain the mysteries of the Christian faith to a child in simple terms without being simplistic.

Nonconformist Theology in the Twentieth Century: A Review

Alan P.F. Sell, Nonconformist Theology in the Twentieth Century (Milton Keynes: Paternoster, 2006). 239 pages. ISBN: 9781842274712. Review copy courtesy of Paternoster/Authentic Books.

Readers already familiar with Professor Alan P. F. Sell’s writing will know that he is a meticulous researcher whose reading is extensive (much of the material cited is now well out of print), whose commitment to ecumenism is exemplary, whose love for, and devotion to, the nonconformist tradition is contagious, whose acumen for critically identifying contemporary theological trends is cultivated and well coached, whose affection for PT Forsyth – and the centrality of the Cross in Forsyth’s thought – is laudable, whose writing betrays not a few hours of pastorally-informed reflection, and whose ability to get to the heart of things with an elegant economy of words makes not a few of his readers (including me) jealous. If all these accolades are accurate, then this published set of Alan Sell’s 2006 Didsbury Lectures is classic Sell, and Nazarene Theological College is to be congratulated for extending the invitation to Professor Sell to give these four distinguished lectures; furthermore, Paternoster are to be saluted for continuing to publish the series of which these lectures form a part. Certainly, here Sell deservedly joins the ranks of some distinguished scholars.

Despite significant works by historians Clyde Binfield, Dale Johnson, David Bebbington, Mark Hopkins, and Jim Gordon, and the wonderful 4-volume series of Protestant Nonconformist Texts, Paternoster’s Studies in Evangelical History and Thought series, and numerous other works by Sell himself, it could still be argued that too little ink has been spilt in recent years exploring the enormously rich contribution that nonconformist theologians have made, and continue to make, to theological conversation and Church life. Sell’s book needs to be considered as one of many – and one of the best – that continue to fill a gap in this area.

Nonconformist Theology in the Twentieth Century is broad in its scope, offering a well-textured balance of historical contextualisation, theological grappling, contemporary application, and anecdotal stories. Areas of divine providence, the New Theology (associated with RJ Campbell), baptism, Feminist Theology, Natural Theology, Process Theology, Calvinism, God’s Fatherhood, merely-Incarnational theology, the reception of Karl Barth into British theological conversation, and contemporary theological education all fall under Sell’s discerning gaze.

In the first lecture, Sell provides an erudite survey, a ‘bird’s-eye-view of the landscape’ (p. 38) of Protestant Nonconformist theology in the twentieth century, particular the century’s first half. The historical terrain, theological motifs, and ecclesiological realities, and their ongoing relevance for understanding and informing contemporary theological thought, debate and practice are all well covered in this chapter, which sets the tone for the remaining three.

Sell then turns in Lecture Two to the ‘doctrinal peaks’ of Christology (pp. 41–66), Pneumatology (pp. 66–71), the Trinity (pp. 71–84), and confessions of faith (pp. 84–89), attending fruitfully to each within their historical context while harnessing contributions from an enormous range of nonconformist theologians. Resisting the temptation to here rehearse multiple citations, I will offer just this one:

‘No Nonconformist theologian did more in the last two decades of the twentieth century to place the Trinity in the centre of theological debate than Colin Gunton. So all-embracing is his Trinitarian vision (an analogy might be drawn with the centrality of the Cross in the writings of P.T. Forsyth) that it is difficult to place him in a study of this kind’. (p. 81)

In the third chapter, Sell turns to discuss one of his great passions: ecumenism. Herein he seeks to address a number of questions: How did the mainline Nonconformist traditions understand themselves in the twentieth century? How did they reach out to one another and to more distant communions during the so-called ‘ecumenical century’? Is their traditional witness as Free Churchpeople still required, or even viable? Sell provides an at times provocative discussion on the relationship between Protestantism and Roman Catholicism (pp. 91–96), wherein he cites favourably the Congregationalist historian Bernard Lord Manning: ‘Protestantism … is not the opposite of medieval Catholicism: it is simply an improved kind of catholicism. Protestantism is not a negative thing. It is a positive re-statement of catholic truth’ (p. 93). True catholicity, Sell argues, is not found in a book, nor in a church, but in that true authority over book, Church and conscience – Jesus Christ, and the effectual word of his Cross, ‘to which the conscience owes its life’ (P.T. Forsyth, Rome, Reform and Reaction, 136). It is not here only that Sell walks abreast with Forsyth.

Professor Sell then accents the many published nonconformist studies on ecclesiology. It is a breathtaking reminder of the central place that ecclesiology has played in informing nonconformist theology, from John Oman to R. Newton Flew to Lesslie Newbigin and Daniel Strange. He notes that while all these contributors were not singing the same part, and ‘occasionally a faintly discordant note was struck’, they were ‘clearly singing in the same choir’ (p. 99), which is a fresh reminder of the breadth within the tradition. In more than one way were these theologians non-conformists.

With a newly sharpened pencil, this internationally known scholar of ecumenical studies turns our attention to ‘an abiding issue of global significance’ (p. 136): that of the historic episcopate. After noting that nonconformists are not simply Protestants but ‘Free Church people’, and as such have played significant roles in various ecumenical councils, he witily suggests that ‘the question for us now is whether there is any theological topic distinctive of Free Churches as a whole and not of one denomination only, on which the Nonconformists of England might be expected to speak with a united voice? Living alongside the only remaining Anglican established Church as they do, the obvious candidate is the establishment question’ (p. 136). Sell recalls that nonconformists have not been those who have denied the necessity of the state recognition of religion; ‘it was, after all, the state which accorded religious toleration’ (p. 137). Nonconformists have well understood the appropriateness of proper Church-state relations, but have (rightfully) questioned the very principal of a national church. Again, he cites Forsyth: ‘What we protest against is not the abuses but the existence, the principle, of a national church’. The very existence of a state church denies the Church’s catholicity. Again, Forsyth: ‘However Establishment may seem to work at a given time, the thing is wrong … For my own part, any doubt of the truth of our Nonconformist principles would mean doubt of the truth of what is most distinctive in Christianity itself – free faith, free action, and free giving, as the response of men who have been moved and changed and controlled by the free gift of God and grace in Jesus Christ’ (P.T. Forsyth, The Charter of the Church, 32). A state church is, as Congregationalist John Whale once noted, a ‘contradiction in terms’ (p. 139). Rightly suspicious of attempts towards dialogue in the past that were based on purely pragmatic principles, Sell looks hopefully towards the future, and towards those Anglicans and Free Church folk who are currently engaged in discussion about issues of establishment. He pleads: ‘May their outlook be ecumenical and their thoughts in the first place be theological’ (p. 144).

The final chapter, entitled ‘Rivers, Rivulets – and Encroaching Desert?’, turns our attention to eschatology, the atonement, and a collection of other themes that Sell identifies as important for understanding nonconformist theology, but have largely been overlooked in the preceeding chapters. He recollects that debates concerning the final fate of the impenitence were hotly contested, not least by Unitarians. Sell’s focus here is mainly on notions of universalism, annihilationism and the possibility of post-mortem probation. The discussion is fascinating, revealing again that there really is nothing new under the sun. I will limit myself here to one quotation. Sell introduces us to Sydney H. Mellone, Principal of Manchester Unitarian College, and his 1916 work Eternal Life Here and Hereafter. Mellone writes,

The assertion, sometimes made, that Universalism means in effect ‘it does not matter what we do, for we shall be all right in the end’ is unworthy of discussion. Universalism rests on the same foundation on which rests our belief in the eternity of goodness and truth in God … The ethical motive of belief in immortality means that compensation and retribution, to be real, must be redemptive. The religious motive means that final communion with God is the destiny of every soul, and not alone of those who know in this present by living experience what such communion is. The chief end of man is to glorify God and enjoy him for ever. (cited on p. 150.)

The chapter, and the book, concludes with Sell offering some hard hitting words as he critically reflects on the demise of the Church’s vocabulary, the integrity-eroding effects of political correctness on inter-faith dialogue, the revival of interest in the Trinity during the last 30 years, the side-lining of the atonement in the Church’s proclamation, the necessity for theologians to not merely speak ‘from faith to faith’ but to commend the faith to others, and the current state of theological education, particularly in England. On the latter, and in the same manner as his champion PT Forsyth, Sell argues that the Church desperately needs a more thoroughly trained clergy than it is currently receiving.

As a devoted churchman who served two pastorates in the United Kingdom from 1959 to 1968, and who has served internationally as a theological educator since, and so not unaware of the practical and financial hurdles that pastoral ministry candidates, their churches and their colleges are often forced to jump, Sell urges churches to take steps to ‘ensure that their younger candidates at least receive a full and rigorous academic course. If this means fewer visits to hospitals and prisons during a candidate’s college years, so be it; required in-service training for licensed probationers prior to ordination is not impossible to provide, and it is never more readily received than by those at the pastoral “coal face”.’ He continues,

I see no viable substitute for practitioners’ having a solid grounding in the Bible, a thorough acquaintance with the history of Christian thought (which is broader than historical theology, but includes both it and the linguistic competence to read salient texts), and sufficient philosophical-analytical skills to probe presuppositions, analyse arguments and avoid the writing of incoherent gobbledegook. None of this is achieved without real time and effort; and the churches would do well to encourage in all possible ways those ministerial candidates whose gifts take them in these directions, and whose academic lungs can withstand prolonged immersion in extensive and sometimes choppy waters (p. 191).

At times throughout the book, Sell makes claims that invite clarification and further comment. For example, he states that ‘there is a common defining essence underlying all genuine religious phenomena’ (p. 37). Does he have something like Otto’s notion of holiness in mind here [which I have written on here, here, here, here and here], or Feuerbach, or something else? I would have liked Sell to unpack this just a little. But this is really an insignificant squabble. More disappointing is the fact that Sell spills comparatively little ink on the second half of the century to which the title of his book flags. Apart from infrequent and brief discussions of the contributions of Paul Fiddes and Colin Gunton, by and large the lectures are heavily weighted towards the century’s first half which, to be fair, is by far where most of the material published by twentieth century nonconformist was birthed. As a consequence, the albeit scarcity of significant contributions from within Pentecostalism, the Brethren, Black churches, and independent evangelical churches are all but ignored. (This says more about the dearthly state of more recent nonconformist scholarship in England than it does about Sell’s treatment of the material.) Congregationalist, which receives the most attention, Baptist, Methodist and Unitarian contributions are, however, well represented. Some readers may also be disappointed that Sell limits his discussion to the nonconformist scene in England and, to some extent, in Wales. While a book that seriously took in any more would expand the book’s length considerably (and I think in this case with little profit), perhaps the title of the book could have been more revelatory here. That said, the book is no poorer for that.

The volume includes a helpful list of biographical references of some of the major personalities discussed in the lectures, as well as an impressive bibliography. Those concerned with the life and theological contribution of the nonconformist family specifically, and those interested in the shape that theology took in twentieth-century Britain more generally (and may be taking in this century) will be prodigiously served by reading this book. An encyclopedic, but accessible, study!

An Introduction to Torrance Theology: A Review

Gerrit Scott Dawson (ed.), An Introduction to Torrance Theology: Discovering the Incarnate Saviour (London: T&T Clark, 2007). viii + 179 pages. ISBN: 9780567031815. Review copy courtesy of Continuum.

The year was 2001. I was away on holidays in Echuca, ‘the paddlesteamer capital of Australia’. The previous week had seen a serious number of books turn up in my letterbox – just in time to take them away in anticipation of finding some space to peruse them. As usual, I was overly ambitious about just how many books I would ‘get through’. In fact, the only book I remember reading (and then re-reading) that holiday was the just-released How to Read T.F. Torrance: Understanding His Trinitarian & Scientific Theology, by Elmer M. Colyer. I remember the doxology that accompanied the reality that someone had finally put together an introduction – and a stunning one at that – to the thought of the most significant British (and arguably English-speaking) theologian this century. I also remember thinking that as richly profitable as Colyer’s introduction is, its size (393 pages) and depth would probably (and unfortunately) be a barrier to many who are not ready for a Torrance main course, and that I hope that someday someone writes a briefer (but no less constructive) entrée to TF Torrance’s thinking.

Finally, that day has come with the arrival of An Introduction to Torrance Theology: Discovering the Incarnate Saviour. The book is precisely what its editor, Gerrit Scott Dawson, claims: a welcoming and accessible introduction ‘for those just testing the Torrance theological waters, yet intellectually rigorous enough for serious engagement by fellow scholars’ (p. vii), opening up and inviting us to explore new theological vistas.

The volume consists of a diverse collection of papers delivered in March 2006 at the First Presbyterian Church of Baton Rouge, Louisiana (USA). It was the largest-ever gathering of scholars (many of whom are former students of a Torrance; a testimony in itself to the ongoing contribution that the Torrances have made, and continue to make, not just in Scotland but around the world) who had come together specifically to reflect on (and celebrate) the theological distinctives and contributions of a family that has for more than six decades had an extraordinary influence on theological and pastoral work, the brothers Torrance – David, Tom and James. The church team, and T&T Clark, is to be congratulated for hosting such an exceptional event, and publishing its fruits.

The anthology begins with a piece by David Torrance wherein he briefly but illuminatingly introduces us to the Torrance family traditions and theological values that have informed their Christ-centered theology. On the way, he gives us an insight into the devotional and pedagogical life of the home in which he, Thomas and James were raised – a life characterised by family worship, prayer and the reading and memorisation of Scripture. As children, the Torrances were introduced to Luther on Galatians, Robert Bruce on the Sacraments, and Calvin’s Institutes. (Apparently, they never watched the antediluvian equivalent of The Simpsons!) He properly reminds us that the Torrances, though deeply honoured by the consideration given to their work, would wish to resist any suggestion of a ‘Torrancian theology’: ‘We have given our understanding of the Word of God. We encourage members of the Church to read the Bible and discover for themselves what God is saying and discover whether what we have said helps towards a deeper understanding of the gospel once committed to the saints and treasured by the evangelical church through the centuries’ (p. 1). As this volume bears witness, many have certainly been so helped.

Andrew Purves explores the christological question: ‘Who Is the Incarnate Saviour of the World?’ and its priority over the attendant ‘How’ questions. He attends to the significance and priority of beginning all theology with the person of Jesus Christ. Christology precedes soteriology, and ought be given first and controlling place in any creed. He argues that Jesus Christ is him who entered into our weak, fallen, and rebellious humanity, penetrating to its very heart in its alienation and rebellion in order to redeem humanity and all creation. He suggests that evangelicals are too often not radical enough in thinking through the meaning and centrality of Jesus Christ, and too ready to replace him in priority with foundationalist, previously determined and independently derived, theistic and metaphysical assumptions that are then ‘clamped down upon the gospel’ (p. 29).

In his compelling essay, Elmer M. Colyer turns our attention to T. F. Torrance’s thinking on the atonement, reminding us that this Torrance’s mission has been to clarify the deep structures that are embedded in the very reality of the gospel itself. Colyer is concerned to highlight that in no sense (and at no stage) does the incarnation drive a wedge between the three persons. A significant proportion of his essay, however, is given to the matter of Christ’s assumption of fallen humanity and the need to qualify the judicial elements in the atonement in light of the tendency in Western theology, from the fifth century on, to embrace the notion that Christ assumed a ‘perfect’ or ‘neutral’ human nature. This Torrance coins the Latin heresy, suggesting that Christ’s atoning sacrifice, in this view, can only be understood in terms of external relations between Christ and humanity’s sin. The ‘Latin heresy’, it is understood, undermines believers’ assurance and confidence that our great High Priest really has entered the brink in his full identification with humanity, and so can truly sympathise with us in our weakness. Torrance, Colyer writes, ‘develops a participatory scientific theology in which our actual knowledge of God, that comes to us in and with God’s atoning self-communication through Jesus Christ and in his Spirit, calls into question all alien presuppositions and prior conceptual frameworks embodying what we think we know about God, for everything in theology has to be related to God’s Trinitarian self-revelation and self-communication to us in the gospel’ (p. 33). Like Purves, Colyer concludes his essay with a brief recapitulation of T. F. Torrance’s twin rejection of the two heresies of limited atonement and universalism.

The important notion of Christ’s assumption of fallen humanity, found so richly in John McLeod Campbell and replayed in the Torrance’s theology, is further taken up in Gerrit Scott Dawson‘s study, ‘Far as the Curse is Found: The Significance of Christ’s Assuming a Fallen Human Nature in the Torrance Theology’. Dawson grants considerable space in his paper to the posse non peccare debate in christology.

Douglas F. Kelly outlines T. F. Torrance’s realist epistemology, arguing that Torrance’s biblical and scientific realism is ‘his greatest contribution to the theological life and mission of the Church for ages to come’ (p. 75).

In Alan J. Torrance‘s moving essay, ‘Towards a Theology of Belonging: Key Themes in the Theology of J. B. Torrance’, Alan honours his father by reaffirming truths that lay at the centre of his father’s, and his own, theological heart: the distinction between indicatives and imperatives in the covenant, a filial rather than legal relationship between humanity and God, and evangelical versus legal repentance. Significant space is devoted to the great overarching theme of all these: covenant. God’s covenant with humanity is unconditioned by human response, is unilateral and is not – in any sense of the word – a contract. He writes: ‘To translate God’s covenantal relationship into contractual terms in order to manipulate people into either repentance or conversion clearly amounts to a betrayal of the life of the Body of Christ and the form of our participation in God’s Triune life. It is to supplant the free, loving and transforming activity of the Holy Spirit, with the worldly manipulation of people’s self-interest – by either the use of fear or the promise of reward’ (p. 106).

Graham Redding, who was I believe one of Alan’s students in New Zealand, offers us a helpful reflection on Reformed theology and current trends in worship entitled ‘Calvin and the Café Church’. Commenting on the emerging church, he suggests that ‘many developments and experiments in worship that accompany talk about the emerging church are taking place in a theological vacuum. Ignorance of the classic liturgies and what they have meant to the Church down the centuries, ignorance of the liturgical theology of Calvin and Knox [he is a Presbyterian!], ignorance of the role of ordained ministry, will lead ultimately to an impoverishment of Reformed worship and a detachment of corporate worship from its Reformed, early church and indeed Jewish roots. Some would argue that that is happening already. Marva Dawn, for example, talks about the dumbing down of worship right across the Church. That which we regard at one time as bravely navigating uncharted waters could with the benefit of hindsight turn out to be symptomatic of us having lost our way’ (p. 131).

Gary W. Deddo‘s essay reminds us just how practically- and pastorally-informed the gospel that the Torrance brothers have dedicated their life to preaching is, with weighty pertinence for how we understand and practice prayer, social justice, racial reconciliation, worship, evangelism, church renewal, mission, and pastoral ministry – indeed, all of life. The Christian life truly is a participation in Christ’s continuing ministry.

The final chapter, ‘The Hermeneutical Nightmare and the Reconciling Work of Jesus Christ’, is an offering from one of James Torrance’s former students, C. Baxter Kruger in which he creatively reiterates the revelation of the Father’s heart in the ministry of the Father’s Son. Echoing many of the themes in his books, and not least his latest publication Across All Worlds, Baxter – with all the passion of a great evangelist who is convinced that what he has to share really is good news – contends that Jesus wants his Father known. He is passionate about it. He cannot bear for us to live without knowing his Father, without knowing his heart, his lavish embrace, his endless love – and the sheer freedom to be that works within us as we see his Father’s face. Jesus knows the Father from all eternity. He sits at his right hand and sees him face to face, and shares life and all things with him in the fellowship of the Spirit. How could he be content, Kruger asks, to leave us in the dark with no vision of his Father’s heart? How could the Father’s Son be indifferent when we are so lost and afraid and bound in our mythology? Burning with the Father’s love for us, inspired with the Spirit’s fire, the Son ran to embrace our broken existence, baptising himself into our blindness. He braved the seas of our darkness to come to us. Why? So that he could share with us his own communion with his Father in the Spirit, and we could know the Father with him, and taste and feel and experience life in his embrace (p. 157).

The volume helps to clarify many of the areas of contention in the Torrance tradition (for example, the notion of Christ’s assumption of fallen flesh, the rejection of any suggestion of limited atonement, and christological universalism receive adequate treatment by not a few of the essayists), while recapitulating some of the great themes of the gospel so central to the heart and thinking of its main proponents. I would have loved to have seen included a paper identifying the critical sources to the Torrance brothers’ thinking, especially Athanasius, the Cappadocian Fathers, John Knox, Robert Bruce, Thomas Erskine, Edward Irving, John McLeod Campbell, Karl Barth, and others. (McGrath’s biography of T. F. Torrance is most helpful here). The collection betrays some of the realities of repetition that inevitably accompany any group of papers which concern themselves with the heart of any tradition. This, however – at least to this reviewer – is a picayune and inconsequential price to pay for being reminded of such significant realities and of the enormous debt we owe to this extraordinary family for faithfully re-making these gospel realities known. An Introduction to Torrance Theology: Discovering the Incarnate Saviour is the most accessible introduction of which I am aware to TF and JB Torrance’s exceptional legacy and thought, serving as a brilliant teaser to go and read the primary works themselves. Each contributor explores the contemporary relevance of Torrance Christology, and areas of ecclesiology, missiology, pastoral ministry and epistemology are all helpfully attended to. Those who devour this excellent entrée will no doubt go on to indulge likewise with the main course (I suggest The Mediation of Christ, and Worship, Community & the Triune God of Grace). An absolute delight to read, and commend!

Forthcoming book from Brill

February 2008 will see the arrival of Justification and Participation in Christ: The Development of the Lutheran Doctrine of Justification from Luther to the Formula of Concord (1580), by Olli-Pekka Vainio. Dr. Vainio is Researcher in the Department of Systematic Theology at University of Helsinki.

This book is #130 of the ‘Studies in Medieval and Reformation Traditions, and is listed at € 99.00.

The table of contents is:

1. Introduction
2. The Beginning of the Lutheran Reformation: Justification as Participation in Christ
3. Philip Melanchthon: Justification as the Renewal of the Intellect and the Will
4. Andreas Osiander and Matthias Flacius Illyricus: The Controversy over the Genuine Interpretation of Luther
5. Joachim Mörlin and Martin Chemnitz: Towards the Synthesis of the Extremes
6. Unio cum Christo in the Theologies of the Other Contributors to FC
7. The Doctrine of Justification in the Formula of Concord
8. Concluding remarks: What is the Lutheran Doctrine of Justification?

Here’s the blurb: The unity of the early Lutheran reformation, even in the central themes such as justification, is still an open question. This study examines the development of the doctrine of justification in the works of the prominent first and second generation Lutheran reformers from the viewpoints of divine participation and effectivity of justification. Generally, Luther’s idea of Christ’s real presence in the believer as the central part of justification is maintained and taught by all Reformers while they simultaneously develop various theological frameworks to depict the nature of participation. However, in some cases these developed models are contradictory, which causes tension between theologians resulting in the invention of new doctrinal formulations.

As a ‘closet Lutheran’, this is very exciting. It’s almost a Big-Kev moment.

Across the Spectrum: A Review

Gregory A. Boyd & Paul R. Eddy, Across the Spectrum: Understanding Issues in Evangelical Theology (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2006). 287 pages. ISBN: 9780801022760. Review copy courtesy of Baker Academic.

‘What Christ has done for me’, announced PT Forsyth, ‘has become possible only by what He did even more powerfully for others whose faith and experience have been deeper and richer than mine, but who reflect my experience all the same, even while they diversify and enlarge it mightily. Standing over my experience is the experience of the whole evangelical succession’. What Forsyth reminds us of here is of the great breadth and depth within the Christian tradition, a breadth and depth to be appreciated, studied and celebrated.

The purpose of this book by Gregory A. Boyd and Paul R. Eddy is precisely to appreciate, study and celebrate this diversity within one dominant Christian tradition, and to introduce evangelical college students ‘to the positions evangelicals take on various disputed topics. Each position is argued from the perspective of one defending the position and is therefore presented as persuasively as possible’ (p. 6). The book assumes a distinctly liberal arts approach to theological study, presupposing that the teacher’s job is not indoctrination of one particular position, but rather to introduce students to a variety of perspectives while providing students with the tools to think critically for themselves.

Five presuppositions are identified by the authors: First, the goal of this book is not to present a balanced overview of Christian doctrine. Second, this book considers only options that are discussed and embraced within evangelicalism, defined by a commitment to the core beliefs of historic, orthodox Christianity as expressed in the ecumenical creeds and to the primacy of Scripture in all matters of faith and practice. The authors’ decisions concerning what constitutes ‘major’ and ‘minor’ issues are governed mostly by their own assessment of how lively a particular debate rages within the evangelical family. Third, the book promises only an introduction to the diverse positions within evangelicalism. Thus, along with space limitations, each chapter is intentionally non-technical and general in nature. This it does very well. Fourth, the theological criteria assumed is that proposed by John Wesley’s quadrilateral: Scripture, tradition, reason and experience. Fifth, each chapter follows the same basic outline: Firstly, a brief section introduces each topic. This is followed by an outline of common ground evangelicals share on the topic then a note of the different views evangelicals embrace concerning the topic. Next, major differing perspectives are presented and defended, utilising the quadrilateral when appropriate. Each chapter concludes by refuting objections to the position under discussion.

The various chapters are given to discussing the following questions:

  1. The Inspiration Debate (Inerrantist, Infallibilist)
  2. The Providence Debate (Calvinist, Armenian)
  3. The Foreknowledge Debate (Classical, Open)
  4. The Genesis Debate (Young Earth, Day-Age, Restoration, Literary Framework)
  5. The Divine Image Debate (Substantival, Functional, Relational)
  6. The Human Constitution Debate (Dichotomist, Trichotomist, Monistic)
  7. The Christology Debate (Classic, Kenotic)
  8. The Atonement Debate (Penal Substitution, Christus Victor, Moral Government)
  9. The Salvation Debate (Calvinist, Armenian)
  10. The Sanctification Debate (Lutheran, Calvinist, Keswick, Wesleyan)
  11. The Eternal Security Debate (Eternal Security, Conditional Security)
  12. The Destiny of the Unevangelized Debate (Restrictivist, Universal Opportunity, Post-Mortem Evangelism, Inclusivist)
  13. The Lord’s Supper Debate (Spiritual Presence, Memorial)
  14. The Baptism Debate (Believer’s Baptism, Infant Baptism)
  15. The Charismatic Gifts Debate (Continuationist, Cessationist)
  16. The Women in Ministry Debate (Complementarian, Egalitarian)
  17. The Millennium Debate (Premillennial, Postmillennial, Amillennial)
  18. The Hell Debate (Classical, Annihilationist)

The chapters I found most helpful were 3, 7, 10 and 12.

In addition, an online appendix is given to discuss the following topics:

  1. How Should Evangelicals “Do” Theology? The Theological Method Debate
  2. The Psychological and Social Models of the Trinity
  3. Was Noah’s Flood Global or Local?
  4. Must Wives Submit to their Husbands?
  5. Christians and Politics: Three Views
  6. What Happens to Babies Who Die?
  7. The Debate of the Baptism in the Holy Spirit
  8. Is Speaking in Tongues the Initial Evidence of Receiving the Baptism of the Holy Spirit?
  9. Can a Christian be Demonized?
  10. The Debate over the Book of Revelation
  11. Has Jesus Already Returned? The Preterist Debate
  12. When Will Jesus Return? The Rapture Debate.

Boyd and Eddy provide the entering year theology student or interested lay person with an accessible introduction to some of the burning points of debate amongst conservative evangelicals, introducing readers to major strands in the tradition of which they may be unaware or ignorantly dismissive of. While their selection (rather than their definition) of what constitutes the ‘hot spots’ of evangelical theology betrays something more North American than I am familiar with, Boyd and Eddy’s representations of the various positions are fair and respectful. The volume also includes a useful glossary and a good list of resources for further reading.

Any volume endeavouring to cover such a broad sweep of topics will inevitably fail to address the favourite topics of many of its readers, and this book is no different. The topics covered understandably betray a focus on North American evangelicalism (indeed, some of the non-American related facts are just plain wrong; for example, Keswick is not ‘a seaside English town’ (p. 156)), though there is enough here to inform the reader from anywhere, not least those with some discerning selectivity of chapter readings.

Two smallish reservations: First, the volume could have provided a little more engagement with how ideas develop and are shaped throughout history. Second, the chapter, ‘The Hell Debate, fails to offer as an alternative ‘evangelical’ view the notion of christological universalism, even though this position is increasingly gaining adherents among confessing evangelicals and the authors are content to include George McDonald as a ‘noteworthy evangelical’ (p. 187). Other omissions (even from the appendix) include evangelical convictions regarding war and pacifism, regarding divorce and remarriage, and regarding tithing.

That said, Across the Spectrum is a really useful introductory volume for the student, and a helpful model for the teacher, proving again that what we call ‘evangelical theology’ is kaleidoscopic, versatile and diversiform.

What Does It Mean To Be Saved?: A Review

John G. Stackhouse, Jr., (ed)., What Does It Mean To Be Saved?: Broadening Evangelical Horizons of Salvation (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2002). 203 pages. ISBN: 080102353X. Review copy courtesy of Baker Academic.

‘This book shouldn’t be necessary’. So begins the Preface to this collection papers from a 2001 conference hosted by Regent College. Unfortunately, as each of the essays suggests, a book such as this will remain necessary this side of the Lord’s parousia. How well this collection, and the church itself, addresses such a perceived void ought in itself be a subject of some discussion too.

John G. Stackhouse, Jr., Sangwoo Youtong Chee Professor of Theology and Culture at Regent College, and editor of Evangelical Futures and No Other Gods before Me?, has again placed us in his debt by gathering together a group of fine papers by a distinguished group of scholars: Loren Wilkinson, Henri A. G. Blocher, Amy L. Sherman, Rikk E. Watts, Cherith Fee Nordling, Vincent Bacote, D. Bruce Hindmarsh. The inclusion of two critically responsive essays, by John Webster and Jonathan R. Wilson, are a most valuable inclusion to this volume, identifying common themes among the various contributors, suggesting areas of concern and possible trajectories for further conversation.

Each essayist, from a wide range of specialisations, representing diverse confessions, various (Western, though not from lack of trying to include participants from the Two-Thirds World) countries, and different stages of academic life, though all with a common commitment to an evangelical expression of Christian faith, seeks to respond to a narrow understanding of salvation that amounts to ‘a sort of spiritual individualism that is little better than Gnosticism’ (p. 9) and point us towards a more holistic vision of what God is up to in Jesus Christ and by the Holy Spirit. The goal: ‘to prod evangelical theology out of its comfortable spiritual individualism and toward a vision of salvation as large as God’s mission to the world he loves and redeems’ (p. 10).

Stackhouse invites theology professors and pastors to move beyond the notion that salvation is not about ‘Christians going to heaven’. Instead, he suggests, ‘salvation is about God redeeming the whole earth. Salvation is about Christians – and perhaps others, also saved by the work of Christ but perhaps not knowing about him in this life – heading home to the God they love and the company of all the faithful. Salvation is about heading for the New Jerusalem, not heaven: a garden city on earth, not the very abode of God and certainly not a bunch of pink clouds in the sky. Salvation is not about the mental cartoons drawn by medieval illustrators and found in Far Side comic strips. It is about the splendid collage of images offered up in the wealth of biblical glimpses of what is to come. And salvation is not only about what is to come but also about what is ours to enjoy and foster here and now’. (p. 10)

In the opening essay, entitled, ‘The New Exodus/New Creational Restoration of the Image of God’, Rikk E. Watts fitly argues that a recovery of a biblically-informed and determined soteriology will transform our understanding of humanity as the imago dei. Specifically, our soteriology must maintain at or near its centre the notion of the new exodus/new creational restoration of our embodied humanity. Thus eschatology is fundamental to any soteriology worth its name. Watts traces this theme from creation as YHWH’s temple-palace though to the installation of YHWH’s image into that temple-palace, from the exodus as re-creation and image renewal to the final restoration of the imago dei in the Incarnation. This is a fascinating essay, and sets the ball rolling for multiple reflections throughout the book on the centrality of the imago dei for soteriology.

D. Bruce Hindmarsh’s essay, one of the most interesting in the collection, explores what being saved meant for the early evangelicals. He argues that the resources for a renewal and broadening of the grammar and praxis of soteriology that is called for by the Lausanne Covenant and the Manila Manifesto are to be found within evangelicalism itself. He suggests that there is a congenital weakness in the evangelical tradition that pulls evangelicals in the direction of withdrawal from society and a privatised, individualistic piety. The Lausanne discussions, he notes, along with a host of political, cultural, and charitable initiatives begun by evangelicals in the second half of the twentieth century, witness to a significant effort to redress the effects of the great reversal and restore a more balanced evangelical integration of gospel proclamation and social concern. The focus of Hindmarsh’s contribution is principally John Wesley, and Hindmarsh offers a beautiful account of early Methodism’s concern for the body and soul, for society as well as for individuals, for the poor as well as for the rich. He notes that Wesley understood his mission as privileging the poor, whom he believed have a ‘privileged place in God’s program’ (p. 48). Moreover, Wesley maintained a sociology of mission that understood that the gospel went to work on a society normally from the bottom up, not the top down. The very last to enter the kingdom, Wesley argued, will be the academics: ‘Last of all the wise and learned, the men of genius, the philosophers, will be convinced that they are fools; will be “converted, and become as little children, and enter into the kingdom of God”’ (p. 49). Hindmarsh cites John Walsh: Wesley ‘tried to re-sacralize the poor in an age in which moralists and economists often saw them only as a problem; as reluctant producers of labour, as a social threat, or at least a nuisance. For Wesley, the indigent were “poor members of Christ”’ (p. 51). Hindmarsh proceeds to note that the early evangelicals had a vision for the transformation of society and the entire cosmos, the gospel itself transforming first individuals, then families, Christian nations and finally non-Christian nations.

Henri A. G. Blocher, in certainly the most cogent historical-dogmatic paper in the book, seeks to redress the distortion in Aulen’s over-stated Christus Victor motif by bringing together the ‘classic’ and ‘Latin’ views of the atonement. He writes: ‘The key position of the doctrine of vicarious punishment answers to the privilege of personal-relational-juridical categories, within the framework of covenant, to deal with the divine-human communication, over against that of ontological participation and moral assimilation in other strands of the Christian tradition. This “mind” is biblical. However, such a position does not make other languages and schemes superfluous, and it does not rule out ontological dimensions and moral influence. The polemic presentation, especially, is a welcome complement: When one understands that Christ’s victory was based on his sacrifice, one should unfold the fruit of his death as radical and universal victory! Understanding that Satan was defeated as the Accuser may help us to retain the particle of truth in the awkward suggestion that God’s attributes of mercy and justice had to be “reconciled” by the cross: Though God’s attributes are one (descriptions of the one essence), once evil entered the world (through God’s wholly mysterious, inscrutable permission), his justice became in a way the enemy’s weapon – until the divine wisdom (and love) provided the way for God to be both just and the one who justifies sinners through faith in Jesus (Rom. 3:26)’ (p. 90).

Vincent Bacote questions the adequacy of much evangelical soteriology, charging it with individualism and an over-concern with maintaining the status-quo. He proceeds to offer us what he calls ‘concrete soteriology’ which he describes as public in nature, political in character, pneumatologically inspired, and emphasises the need for place. ‘Concrete soteriology’ he argues, ‘recognizes that we were created to be at home somewhere and does not gloss over that fact by trumpeting the slogan, ”I’m just passing through this world.” While here, this life is not to be merely survived, particularly in nations and communities in which other Christians flourish’ (p. 112).

Cherith Fee Nordling’s delightful essay is one of the collection’s most instructive. Like Watts’, her concentration too is on the imago dei which she expounds as the relationality of the Triune Family into whose koinonia we are drawn to participate by virtue of God’s saving action. This reality also informs and defines humanity’s horizontal sociality and liberates sinners for fellowship. She then turns to the question of sexuality as an essential feature of the imago and argues that to be a human being is to be sexually differentiated, and therefore to be saved means that we continue to be female and male human beings in the age to come as new creations in Christ.

In the paper, ‘Salvation as Life in the (New) City’, Amy L. Sherman reminds us that the ultimate destination for believers is a city. She proceeds to define this city as characterised fourfold: (i) a refuge for the weak; (ii) a place of permanent residency; (iii) a place where we are named; and (iv) a place where we see Jesus face to face.

In the final essay, Loren Wilkinson tries to make a case for why ‘Christians should be converted pagans’. He suggests that Neo-paganism is ‘an attempt to recover an aspect of being human that is central to the gospel but is often obscured – that is, we cannot be fully human until our restored relationship with the Creator results in a restored relationship not only with other men and women but also with the rest of creation, which is seen and accepted as a divine gift. Paganism (old and new) sees that divine gift as the only essential revelation, and harmony with creation and its resident gods or spirits as the only salvation. Thus, paganism is forever inadequate for the wholeness its believers seek. But inasmuch as paganism does have open eyes to the gift-nature of creation, it glimpses a truth to which Christians are sometimes blind’ (p. 154). Beneath the puerility and plain silliness of a good bit of neopagan ritual, he argues, lies a longing for wholeness that can be fulfilled only through reconciliation with the Creator, a reconciliation that cannot be achieved outside of what God has accomplished in Christ. The danger for Christians today, he suggests, is that we are so afraid of the possibility of paganism or pantheism that we radically distance Creator from creation and understand salvation in such a way that it has no implications for creation. Until our understanding and our living our of new life in Jesus Christ involve a changed relationship with the earth, which God is also making new, we encourage an unconverted paganism, for paganism, rightly understood, is not an alternative to belief but rather a preparation for it. Wilkinson thus considers neo-paganism as a point of contact. He goes so far as to state that ‘a Christian who is not at the same time a redeemed pagan is in danger of a kind of Gnostic or Manichean denial of what it means to be a physical, created being enmeshed in the cycles of created. Thus, Christians need to be converted pagans’ (p. 155). Wilkinson’s essay is essentially a renewed defence of natural theology and, as Webster perceptively notes, highlights the incredibly high price that theology has to pay for its engagement in apologetics. Commendably, each contribution in this volume, and perhaps especially Wilkinson’s, is undergirded by a conscious concern for the mission of the church as part of the missio dei.

While this assemblage of conference papers has less of a ‘hit and miss’ feel to it than do many published collections, the combined voice of the essayists, although traversing a lot of rich soil with a good torch, still left me quite unsatisfied and somewhat concerned about the current state of evangelical theology. Allow me to note just a few of my concerns:

On a minor point, it is unclear who the intended audience for this book is.

More substantially, there is very little explicit discussion on the issues of justification, and none at all on sanctification nor on the question of universalism. Whether these areas are simply assumed (can they ever afford to be?), or ignored as being in the ‘too hard basket’, the absence of any discussion on these themes across the papers is a disappointment. Also, the absence of any exposition on the notion of God’s wrath and final judgement seems to reflect evangelicalism’s increasing embarrassment and failure to speak about wrath in the context of a positive soteriology.

The largely unqualified acceptance of some undefined form or other of natural theology is troubling, especially if this collection represents the future direction of any theology which wishes to retain the name ‘evangelical’. While not all evangelicals will want to echo a ‘Nein’ as strong as Barth’s here, all ought to share Barth’s concern at what is at stake in the question, and proceed with caution as wisely as Calvin or Forsyth does regarding this question. Far too much is at stake to do otherwise.

Finally, a call: Salvation is not an idea. It is an act! In a collection of this type, more ought to be have been made of this. As Hartwell has reminded us, ‘Objectively (de jure) all [people] are already justified, sanctified, and called in Jesus Christ in and through what He has done in their stead and for their sake. In Him, objectively, the old [person] has already passed away; in Him, objectively, we are already the new [person], represented as such by Him before God. However, though the salvation of all [people] is already objectively accomplished by Jesus Christ – without them and, as His Cross teaches, against them – many of them have not yet perceived and accepted what God has done for them in Jesus Christ. In order that Jesus Christ’s objective reconciling work may subjectively (de facto) bear fruit in the lives of individual [persons] and through them, as His witnesses, in the lives of other [persons], there is still needed as an essential part of the reconciling work of Jesus Christ the subjective apprehension, acceptance, appropriation and application of that work’. More attention could (and should) have been given to this reality than is given in this volume.

These concerns aside, Stackhouse and Co are to be commended for putting together a helpful assembly of essays (and responses) that address such a central question What does it mean to be saved? – and to do so in a way that engages with contemporary issues. Each essay invites us to reflect again on how wide is the love of God in Christ, and to broaden our soteriological horizons so that the things of this world may not grow strangely dim in the light of God’s glory and grace.


Jesus: A Question of Identity: A Review

JESUS: A QUESTION OF IDENTITY. By J. L. Houlden. London/New York: Continuum, 2006. Pp. vii + 136. $19.95, ISBN: 9780826489418.

 

At a time when the print run of new books seems to expire almost while the ink is still drying on the copies as they first arrive on the shelf, any volume that is still being republished fourteen years after its initial appearance probably ought to deservedly attract our attention.

 

In this primer, which grew out of lectures given at King’s College, University of London, J. Leslie Houlden, Emeritus Professor of Theology at King’s College, cogently interweaves together history, biblical studies, theology and apologetics in an effort to explore what we can know about Jesus. While not shying away from some of the perennial ‘problems’ and tensions involved in such a quest, Houlden, with eloquence, humility and non-technical style, invites his readers to engage seriously with the question of Jesus’ identity, not only as a Galilean carpenter’s son, but as God’s; as not merely the object of cool enquiry but as the subject and centre of living faith. He asks: ‘What are we now to make of Jesus, both as a historical figure and as involved with belief?’ (pp. 8–9).

 

Houlden is acutely aware that with the history of Jesus, both as recorded in the centuries following his death, and its subsequent developments, we have to do with interpreted history. ‘In this sense’, he writes, ‘theology takes precedence over history in the Christian story’ (p. 11). ‘The Gospels’, he contends, ‘are slanted. They were not written to answer our modern questions, about the order of events, causality and psychological awareness, but to commend faith’ (pp. 42–3). That is why Houlden turns first to Paul, and then the Gospels, while properly steering clear of driving any wedge between the Christ of faith and the Jesus of history. He is well aware throughout the essay that the modern ‘quest for a neutral view of Jesus and of Christian origins, one fully and solely evidenced from “the facts” (for example, from the Jewish context of his life), is a chimera’ (p. 124). He characterises the historians’ task thus:

 

The historian’s assessment has to steer a careful course: between seeing Jesus as so distinctive that he makes no sense in the context of his times and seeing him as so ordinary, so thoroughly part of his background, that the massive and speedy effects of his life become incomprehensible. Two extremes are unlikely: on the one hand, that our accounts of Jesus are wholly shaped by faith and that in reality he was nothing very remarkable; and on the other hand, that the accounts owe nothing to faith and that all happened and was said exactly as told. What is hard is to know at what point between the extremes truth lies. (pp. 53–4)

 

Tracing the story of Jesus – and the ‘vast yet specific tradition’ (p. 111) that pertains to him – as interpreted from the first century through to the early ecumenical councils, from Pliny and Ignatius of Antioch to Aberlard and Julian of Norwich, from John of the Cross and Aquinas to Schleiermacher and Schweitzer, from Reimarus and Strauss to Hengel and Sanders, from Kant, Tillich and Cupitt to Bonhoeffer, Barth and Moltmann, Houlden offers us a portrait of Jesus impressed with the wrestle marks of the Christian community.

 

But, as Houlden insists, no matter which of the many different postures about Jesus one adopts, in order to be ‘meaningful’, Jesus cannot be coolly and disengagedly observed from a distance: ‘Jesus must be (at least) my saviour: in that sense subjectivity has to be part of the picture. We are concerned with a religion, at whose heart he stands, not in the first instance a theory, which must be consistent if it is to be satisfactory’ (p. 113).

 

Houlden possesses a gift all too rare among Christian theologians and biblical scholars – the ability to harness the breadth of the church’s thinking regarding its Lord and communicate it in a way that is palatable, uncondescending and clear to a readership still finding its footing both inside and outside of the church and the academy. While some readers may wish to question some of Houlden’s presuppositions regarding the dating of divine recognition among Jesus’ first disciples, for example, and not all will follow all of Houlden’s theological conclusions, or perhaps even the route taken itself, his essay remains both informed and constructive, suitably identifies many of the important issues at stake, avoids most of the usual pitfalls, and provides us with some direction for how we might proceed. To this end, the volume includes – in addition to an index – a helpful list of suggestions for further reading linked with each chapter.

 

While Houlden’s opuscule is intended for the enquiring lay person – both ‘sceptics and enthusiastic believers’ (p. 118) – who wishes to ‘understand more about Jesus as a historical figure and as the object of devotion and faith’ (p. vii), it will not fail to educate and inform those more conversant with the technical issues at stake not only in the life and ministry of Jesus but also how that life and ministry touches our life and that of our multi-faith world. A commendable contribution to an ever-growing library of Jesus studies.

 

Matthias Gockel on Barth and Schleiermacher on the Doctrine of Election: A Review

Here are the links to my 10-part review of Gockel’s book:

Matthias Gockel on Barth and Schleiermacher on the Doctrine of Election: A Review – Part X

In answering the question, ‘Will, then, all people be saved in the end?’, Lutheran scholar Carl Braaten has reminded us that ‘We do not already know the answer. The final answer is stored up in the mystery of God’s own future. All he has let us know in advance is that he will judge the world according to the measure of his grace and love made known in Jesus Christ, which is ultimately greater than the fierceness of his wrath or the hideousness of our sin’. So Barth noted in The Humanity of God, ‘This much is certain, that we have no theological right to set any sort of limits to the loving-kindness of God which has appeared in Jesus Christ. Our theological duty is to see and understand it as being still greater than we had seen before’.

The criticisms and their implications raised by Gockel will no doubt continue to be a point of dispute – a dialectic – among readers of Barth for the foreseeable future. Those with an interest in the debate more generally over universalism would be well served in reading Gockel’s fine book. However, it ought to be noted that those who are already convinced that Schleiermacher’s and (early) Barth’s doctrine of election remains the most tenable proposal will only find further material here to bolster their conviction. To those who remain unconvinced, Gockel offers little argument here to change their mind.

Gockel’s work fills a notable gap in Schleiermacher and Barth studies. While there is, encouragingly, something of a renaissance of interest in Schleiermacher, Gockel’s contribution to our understanding of, and appreciation for, Schleiermacher’s project in general, and his doctrine of election in particular, is thus far unsurpassed. Schleiermacher is not an easy read. Not only is his own terminology inconsistent but his grammar is largely foreign to contemporary readers. Gockel offers us some assistance here. His contribution too regarding Barth’s early thinking on election also serves as a most worthy conversation partner with other contributions in the same area.

The essay is clearly written, avoids stereotypes of Schleiermacher and Barth, and includes a useful bibliography and two indexes. While Gockel offers us a very valuable survey to the thinking of two Protestant giants on a central theme not only in their theology but in the Reformed tradition of which they were both heirs – a valuable task in itself – I would have liked to have seen more critical engagement with these two voices. It may have also been fruitful, for example, to chart how Schleiermacher’s and Barth’s doctrine of election relates to the human response to God’s free grace in baptism, for example, as Barth was already directing us to in IV/4.

These grumbles aside, in what is certainly one of the finest essays to have appeared on Barth in recent years, Gockel models for us the kind of close dogmatic scrutiny that Schleiermacher’s and Barth’s theological contribution both deserves and demands. Those with an interest in systematic theology and the history of doctrine, those with an interest in getting their head (and hearts) around Barth’s much misunderstood doctrine of election, those with an interest in exploring a way forward for overcoming old rifts between Lutherans and Calvinists, and those with an interest in more current debates over universalism, would all be well served by reading Gockel’s book.

Matthias Gockel on Barth and Schleiermacher on the Doctrine of Election: A Review – Part IX

The only two tenable (i.e. biblically and theologically defensible) positions available for the soteriological question are either (i) a robust reaffirmation of limited atonement (the negative side of which includes the possibility of annihilation), or (ii) some form of christological universalism (with various degrees of agnosticism). Barth, of course, was rightly suspicious of ‘isms’, whether universalism or any other –ism, and would not affirm a dogmatic doctrine of universal salvation, although he does join a tradition of both Eastern and Western theologians going back to Origen of Alexandria (185–232), Clement of Alexandria (d. 215), Gregory of Nyssa (335–394?), Ambrose of Milan (337?–397) and Gregory of Nazianzus (329–389) who all affirm a strong hope in universal salvation.

Barth famously concludes IV/3/1 by again urging that we have no good reason why we should be forbidden, or forbid ourselves from an ‘openness to the possibility that in the reality of God and man in Jesus Christ there is contained much more than we might expect’, including the ‘unexpected withdrawal of that final threat’.

If for a moment we accept the unfalsified truth of the reality which even now so forcefully limits the perverted human situation, does it not point plainly in the direction of the work of a truly eternal divine patience and deliverance and therefore of an apokatastasis or universal reconciliation? If we are certainly forbidden to count on this as though we had a claim to it, as though it were not supremely the work of God to which man can have no possible claim, we are surely commanded the more definitely to hope and pray for it as we may do already on this side of this final possibility, i.e., to hope and pray cautiously and yet distinctly that, in spite of everything which may seem quite conclusively to proclaim the opposite, His compassion should not fail, and that in accordance with His mercy which is ‘new every morning’ He ‘will not cast off for ever’ (La. 3:22f., 31).

The creature cannot impose anything upon God because God is sovereign and free. That is why universalism equals the elimination of God’s freedom. But if God in his sovereignty and freedom has revealed himself in his being-in-act – that is, in Jesus Christ – then ought – nay, must – this not have radical implications for all doctrinal issues, and no less this one. We have no reason to presume that God in his total freedom will act other than he has acted in Jesus Christ – full of grace and truth.

Therefore, we may reasonably hope for a full Apokatastasis. Few have expressed this hope more beautifully than the nineteenth century Congregationalist minister, James Baldwin Brown: ‘The love which won the sceptre on Calvary will wield it as a power, waxing ever, waning never, through all the ages; and that the Father will never cease from yearning over the prodigals, and Christ will never cease from seeking the lost, while one knee remains stubborn before the name of Jesus, and one heart is unmastered by His love’. Or consider these words from Thomas Erskine,

I cannot believe that any human being can be beyond the reach of God’s grace and the sanctifying power of His Spirit. And if all are within His reach, is it possible to suppose that He will allow any to remain unsanctified? Is not the love revealed in Jesus Christ a love unlimited, unbounded, which will not leave undone anything which love could desire? It was surely nothing else than the complete and universal triumph of that love which Paul was contemplating when he cried out, ‘Oh the depth of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God!

In Jesus Christ, the Triune God has bound humanity to himself in such a way that even if we refuse him and damn ourselves to hell, God in his love will never cease hunting us down. So even if the church cannot affirm the apokatastasis panton, we can hope for it, and pray for it, and stop denying the possibility of it in the grace of God. Hans Urs von Balthasar was right when he said that there is all the difference in the world between believing in the certitude of universal salvation and hoping for it.

Matthias Gockel on Barth and Schleiermacher on the Doctrine of Election: A Review – Part VIII

It is difficult to imagine a more solid basis for an Apokatastasis panton than Barth gives us in his doctrine of election and reprobation. But does Barth’s commitment to divine freedom contradict the centre of his christological revision? Does he ultimately lead us all to a country and then not promise us that we might enter? Gockel, following Janowski, suggests he does, and that the payment for such a commitment threatens to ‘tear open again, though in a modified way, the abyss of the decretum absolutum et horribile (p. 210) – as though God’s Word towards a person might be different from that which he has spoken in Jesus Christ.

While Gockel notes Barth’s denial of an ultimate apokatastasis panton, he joins a pantheon of critiques – sympathetic and otherwise – who see an inconsistency in Barth here. Consider, for example, the critique from Bromiley. As one of the editors (with T. F. Torrance) and principal translators of Barth’s work, few are more familiar with Barth’s corpus and theology than Bromiley. Citing IV/3, § 70.2, Bromiley synopsises Barth view: ‘The lie cannot overthrow the truth, but God may finally condemn the liar to live in it’. Bromiley observes in Barth a ‘trend toward an ultimate universalism’ although acknowledges that, for Barth, ‘universalism in the sense of the salvation of all individuals is not a necessary implicate of Barth’s Christological universalism’. He suggests that Barth’s reservation here is ‘not really adequate’. Gockel identifies the same inconsistently in Barth, a holding back of the full consequences of Barth’s christology. Again, Bromiley notes, ‘God’s manifest purpose in Christ is to save, but under the sovereignty of the Spirit some might not be saved. The question is whether the Christological reference finally helps or matters very much. Is not the ultimate decision still taken apart from the revealed election – that is, not in the prior counsel of the Father but in the inscrutable operation of the Spirit? In other words, the decision regarding individuals is simply removed from the inscrutability of sovereign predetermination to the inscrutability of sovereign calling’.

Matthias Gockel on Barth and Schleiermacher on the Doctrine of Election: A Review – Part VII

Brewing away throughout Gockel’s book, not unoften rearing its head, is the question of universal election and universal salvation. Gockel contends that Barth’s christological revision leads him to abandon his 1936 objection to universalism and affirmation of an eschatological division between the elect and the reprobate. Barth now ‘joins Schleiermacher in leaving open the possibility of a “final opening up and expansion of the circle of election and calling” which may include everyone’ (p. 188). Barth’s reluctance, however, to embrace universalism leads to some pointed challenges by Gockel.

Gockel notes that both Schleiermacher and Barth share a stance coherent with supralapsarianism’s claim that the decree of predestination precedes that of creation and Fall, although they both go further in their assertion that God’s mercy is the decisive criterion not of redemption only but also of predestination. Gockel argues that despite Barth’s ‘own explicit unwillingness to go that far’, that is, to embrace a universal predestination to salvation, his affirmation of universal election ‘implies some form of universal salvation’ (p. 189).

Gockel also contends that Barth’s appeal to God’s freedom is inconsistent with Barth’s own position regarding God’s self-determination to be Immanuel in Jesus Christ. Gockel notes that Barth’s (and Schleiermacher’s) caution on the issue can be partly explained by the fact that ‘any affirmation of universalism would have meant the endorsement of an ecumenical heresy, which could have cost him dearly’ (p. 208). The question, however, remains: How can that which has already been overcome in Jesus Christ ever be undone? How can this impossible possibility remain? Gockel suggests that Schleiermacher is at least more consistent here with his emphasis on the unity of God’s will. With all of Barth’s massively powerful christological revisioning, he, according to Gockel, ‘shied away from certain far-ranging implications’ (p. 205). ‘One should ask’, Gockel suggests, ‘whether a consistent theory of an Apokatastasis, far from presenting a danger or even a threat, might not be a more satisfying option than the claim that the New Testament leaves us with a paradoxical constellation of the “universalism of the divine salvific will” versus the “particularism of judgement”’ (p. 208).

I confess that I sympathise with Barth’s reluctance to embrace with certainty an apokatastasis panton, even while I hold out, with Barth, hope in such a reconciliation. Barth was right to insist that God’s grace is characterised by God’s freedom. This means not only that we must never impose limits on the scope of grace, but also that we must never impose a universalist ‘system’ on grace either. To embrace either option would be to compromise the freedom of grace and also to presume that we can define the precise scope of God’s grace. That is why Barth’s theology of grace incorporates a dialectical protest: he protests both against a system of universalism and against a denial of universalism. The essential point, for Barth, is that God’s grace is completely free; that when God acts in grace it is none other than God himself who acts in freedom. When God comes to us in his grace, therefore, we can be certain that no third party or shadowy motive is twisting his arm. Because of this divine freedom and because of the nature of divine grace as grace, we can neither deny nor affirm, therefore, the possibility of universal salvation. I confess with Abraham, ‘Shall not the Judge of all the earth do right?’ (Gen 18:25). Barth writes,

The proclamation of the Church must make allowance for this freedom of grace. Apokatastasis Panton? No, for a grace which automatically would ultimately have to embrace each and every one would certainly not be free grace. It surely would not be God’s grace. But would it be God’s free grace if we could absolutely deny that it could do that? Has Christ been sacrificed only for our sins? Has He not, according to 1 John 2:2, been sacrificed for the whole world? … [Thus] the freedom of grace is preserved on both these sides … Even in the midst of hell, grace would still be grace, and even in the midst of hell it would have to be honored and praised and therefore announced to the other inhabitants of hell. It is not free for nothing, but it is also not grace for nothing. We should certainly not know it if we were of the opinion that we could stop short of announcing it.

Matthias Gockel on Barth and Schleiermacher on the Doctrine of Election: A Review – Part VI

Barth’s concern in his treatment on election is that election should be good news – gospel – or, what Barth calls is another place, ‘joyous news’. Thus does Barth begin his chapter on election in II/2: ‘The doctrine of election is the sum of the Gospel because of all words that can be said or heard it is the best; that God elects man; that God is for man too the One who loves in freedom … Its function is to bear basic testimony to eternal, free and unchanging grace as the beginning of all the ways and works of God’. Here Barth is following Calvin – and, according to Muller, the Reformed tradition more generally at least up until 1650 – who repeatedly stressed that we look to Christ as the assurance of our election. Here Calvin is as adamant as Barth. Where Calvin – and the Reformed tradition – is silent, however, is in how the question of reprobation – the shadow side of election – also relates to Christ. Holmes has suggested that the weakness in Calvin’s account of predestination is not that election is separate from Christ (which, as I have just said, it is not), but that ‘the doctrine of reprobation is detached, Christless and hidden in the unsearchable purposes of God. As such it bears no comparison with the doctrine of election, but remains something less than a Christian doctrine’. Holmes goes on to suggest that Calvin’s shortcoming is not that he reserved an equal stature – a double decree – to God’s ‘Yes’ and ‘No’ in election, but that he has ‘almost no room for the doctrine of reprobation in his account’; ‘the “No” does not really enter his thinking’, thus leading to an asymmetry between the two decrees and so, as Holmes suggests, ‘fails to be gospel’. This contrasts with Barth’s christological theology of reprobation. Holmes helpfully summarises Barth’s position thus:

In willing to be gracious in the particular way God in fact wills to be gracious, the Incarnation of the Divine Son, there is both a ‘Yes’ and a ‘No’, election and reprobation. God elects for humanity life, salvation, forgiveness, hope; for himself he elects death, perdition, even, as the Creed has said, hell. This self-reprobation of God is indeed the primary referent of the doctrine of election, in that God’s determination of himself is formally if not materially more basic than his determination of the creature, and so is considered first by Barth. In the eternal election of grace, which is to say in Jesus Christ, God surrenders his own impassibility, embraces the darkness that he was without – and indeed impervious to – until he willed that it should be otherwise … The apostle put it more succinctly: “He became sin for us.” This is the full content of the divine judgement, of the ‘No’ that is spoken over the evil of the world and of human beings. God elects for himself the consequences of that ‘No’, in saying ‘Yes’ to, that is, in electing, us. That is the whole content of the double decree, the whole content of the ‘Yes’ and the ‘No’ that God pronounces as one word, the whole content the election of grace.

Concerned that his own tradition had at this point replaced Jesus Christ with a decretum absolutum (as there is no Wikipedia reference to the absolutum it must not exist), Barth asked, ‘Is it a fact that there is no other basis of election outside Jesus Christ? Must the doctrine as such be related to this basis and this basis only?’ Because of Jesus Christ, Barth was able to speak of God’s ‘No’ as gospel also.

On the actuality of predestination, Gockel questions how useful Barth’s grammar regarding predestination as a present event is. He suggests that God’s ‘eternally preceding’ decision is ‘the mystery of all historical events’ and that it does not have to imply an ongoingness of the decision itself within history, given God’s predestining election of Jesus Christ. Gockel helpfully suggests that ‘a less actualistic view of predestination could more clearly emphasise the significance of the historical appearance of Jesus Christ and thus dispel the impression that Barth tears apart the “eternal content” and the “temporal form” of election’ (p. 185).