An unsystematic theology
17/02/16 05:27
I occasionally find myself in conversations where I am not quite sure that I understand everything that is being said. Not long ago a colleague and I were have a discussion and the colleague kept making references to “the God of the Old Testament.” While on one level I can accept that there are theological differences between the two parts of the Bible, I have no way to understand a conversation that makes a distinction between two Gods. My understanding of Jesus is heavily dependent upon the whole of the Bible. I know that what was being expressed wasn’t some kind of departure from monotheism. I know that my colleague doesn’t believe in two different gods. Nonetheless, I had a momentary sense of “I don’t really know what you are talking about.”
We, who are caught up in the love of talking about our faith, employ a lot of symbolic language. Not infrequently we use words in a different manner than the everyday vocabulary of the popular media. I suspect that more often than we realize, we miscommunicate because of our choice of words.
Last night I led a brief devotion at a church meeting that focused on the prologue to the Gospel of John:
“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God; all things were made through him, and without him was not anything made that was made. In him was life, and the life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.”
The highly symbolic language of the Gospel is deeply meaningful to me. In the church we have come to talk about two aspects of Jesus Christ. On the one hand, when we refer to Jesus, we are talking about a historical figure - a man who lived in a particular time and place, who was born, raised by his parents, lived and taught and was crucified. At the same time, we are talking about a unique revelation of God. That particular human person is also fully God. We affirm that Jesus was present with God at creation and throughout all of history that predated his birth in Bethlehem. And we believe that since his death and resurrection, Jesus continues to be fully present in the world, though in a different way than he was for the brief span of his life.
For me, speaking of “word” and “flesh” is a helpful way of expressing the dual nature of Christ: fully human and fully divine.
As such, carefully studying the relationship between God and Israel as revealed in the books we call the Old Testament is important to my understanding of the fullness of Jesus Christ. I can’t separate that study from my studies of the New Testament. Nor can I separate those studies from the study of the history of the church after the resurrection of Jesus and my life today. All are aspects of a quest to draw closer to God.
They are also ways of figuring out what it means to be a human being. It isn’t just that we need to understand Jesus in the context of the generations of faith, we also need to understand ourselves in such a context.
I’m pretty sure that my devotion was not very well focused. I didn’t have much time to express my ideas and convictions. If those who listened got a sense of my passion for thinking of Jesus Christ as present in all of history, that is probably enough for one small meditation. As is often true, it is not the content of my meditation that is central to our gathering, but rather the prayers that we share.
In seminary, we all had to take a course in systematic theology. One of the critical papers we had to produce in the course of our education was an orderly, rational and coherent account of our Christian faith and beliefs. My attempts at putting everything together into a single paper were largely ineffective. My thoughts and passions are not very systematic at all. One idea may spring from a previous thought, but not in an orderly fashion. I’ve read the attempts of others at systematic theologies and I have learned a great deal, but I don’t have an orderly and well-organized comprehensive theological statement.
Part of the challenge for me was that I was in my early twenties when I attended theological seminary. There was a different mix of theory and experience in my life in those days. I’ve gathered a bit more experience these days, but the truth is that a single human life is too short a span to express the depth of human understanding about the nature of God. If I live many more decades, I will not have experienced the fullness of God.
So it is important for me to drawn on the experiences of others. I am no expert on God’s call to justice, but I know how our people have wrestled with that concept for generations. I have some information on the teachings of the prophets who used God’s words to call the people away from their ways. I know some of what our faith teaches about the treatment of immigrants and orphans and widows. I find a great deal in the experiences of our forebears that can inform the decisions that we face today.
In my unfocused and rambling way, I find myself standing in a long line of people who have sought God in the past and as a predecessor to generations yet to come who will add insight and meaning to the discoveries of God that have been and are being made.
I doubt whether it will ever be my calling to produce a comprehensive, systematic theology. My contribution to the world of Christian thought will more likely be a series of random essays that appear without an obvious pattern or order.
Perhaps I’ll just call it a “blog” and let that be good enough for now.
I suspect my colleagues are as puzzled by the things I say as I am by their words at times.
We, who are caught up in the love of talking about our faith, employ a lot of symbolic language. Not infrequently we use words in a different manner than the everyday vocabulary of the popular media. I suspect that more often than we realize, we miscommunicate because of our choice of words.
Last night I led a brief devotion at a church meeting that focused on the prologue to the Gospel of John:
“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God; all things were made through him, and without him was not anything made that was made. In him was life, and the life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.”
The highly symbolic language of the Gospel is deeply meaningful to me. In the church we have come to talk about two aspects of Jesus Christ. On the one hand, when we refer to Jesus, we are talking about a historical figure - a man who lived in a particular time and place, who was born, raised by his parents, lived and taught and was crucified. At the same time, we are talking about a unique revelation of God. That particular human person is also fully God. We affirm that Jesus was present with God at creation and throughout all of history that predated his birth in Bethlehem. And we believe that since his death and resurrection, Jesus continues to be fully present in the world, though in a different way than he was for the brief span of his life.
For me, speaking of “word” and “flesh” is a helpful way of expressing the dual nature of Christ: fully human and fully divine.
As such, carefully studying the relationship between God and Israel as revealed in the books we call the Old Testament is important to my understanding of the fullness of Jesus Christ. I can’t separate that study from my studies of the New Testament. Nor can I separate those studies from the study of the history of the church after the resurrection of Jesus and my life today. All are aspects of a quest to draw closer to God.
They are also ways of figuring out what it means to be a human being. It isn’t just that we need to understand Jesus in the context of the generations of faith, we also need to understand ourselves in such a context.
I’m pretty sure that my devotion was not very well focused. I didn’t have much time to express my ideas and convictions. If those who listened got a sense of my passion for thinking of Jesus Christ as present in all of history, that is probably enough for one small meditation. As is often true, it is not the content of my meditation that is central to our gathering, but rather the prayers that we share.
In seminary, we all had to take a course in systematic theology. One of the critical papers we had to produce in the course of our education was an orderly, rational and coherent account of our Christian faith and beliefs. My attempts at putting everything together into a single paper were largely ineffective. My thoughts and passions are not very systematic at all. One idea may spring from a previous thought, but not in an orderly fashion. I’ve read the attempts of others at systematic theologies and I have learned a great deal, but I don’t have an orderly and well-organized comprehensive theological statement.
Part of the challenge for me was that I was in my early twenties when I attended theological seminary. There was a different mix of theory and experience in my life in those days. I’ve gathered a bit more experience these days, but the truth is that a single human life is too short a span to express the depth of human understanding about the nature of God. If I live many more decades, I will not have experienced the fullness of God.
So it is important for me to drawn on the experiences of others. I am no expert on God’s call to justice, but I know how our people have wrestled with that concept for generations. I have some information on the teachings of the prophets who used God’s words to call the people away from their ways. I know some of what our faith teaches about the treatment of immigrants and orphans and widows. I find a great deal in the experiences of our forebears that can inform the decisions that we face today.
In my unfocused and rambling way, I find myself standing in a long line of people who have sought God in the past and as a predecessor to generations yet to come who will add insight and meaning to the discoveries of God that have been and are being made.
I doubt whether it will ever be my calling to produce a comprehensive, systematic theology. My contribution to the world of Christian thought will more likely be a series of random essays that appear without an obvious pattern or order.
Perhaps I’ll just call it a “blog” and let that be good enough for now.
I suspect my colleagues are as puzzled by the things I say as I am by their words at times.