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karlbarthpipeI have been reading from Barth and Hauerwas this morning, and thought I might share some highlights of what I’ve come across.

From his memoir, Hannah’s Child - Hauerwas on encountering Liberal theology in the University, and his attraction to the work of Karl Barth.

“The presumption of many scholars at the time was that the task of theology was to make the language of the faith amenable to standards set by the world. This could be done by subtraction:  ‘Of course you do not have to believe X or Y’; or, by translation, ‘When we say X or Y we really mean…’  I was simply not interested in that project. From my perspective, if the language was not true, then you ought to give it up. I thought the crucial question was not whether Christianity could be made amenable to the world, but could the world be made amenable to what Christians believe? I had not come to the study of theology to play around.

I am not sure why I thought like this, but I suspect it had something to do with being a bricklayer. I simply did not believe in ‘cutting corners.’ I was attracted to Barth because he never cut any of the corners. He never tried to ‘explain.’ Rather, he tried to show how the language works by showing how the language works. There is a ‘no bullshit’ quality to Barth’s thought that appealed to a bricklayer from Texas and that seemed to me the kind of straightforwardness Christian claims require” (p. 59).

Hauerwas delved into this fascination with Barth in more detail in a First Things article titled Karl Barth Dogmatics in Outline, and played off of Barth’s understanding of the word “God” in the essay Naming God at ABC.

Also a part of my reading this morning, an old post by Kim Fabricius, Ten Propositions on Karl Barth.

My reading has taken on a historical theme recently, with Pelikan’s The Growth of Medieval Theology and MacCulloch’s The Reformation currently occupying any free time I can find.

Next up, Gordon’s biography of Calvin.

Also of note, I just finished Jamie Smith’s The Fall of Interpretation (which was brilliant), and am adding a couple volumes by Barth and Torrance to the top of my reading list.

This morning I stumbled across the blog The Evangelical Calvinist. So far I’ve only read a couple posts – Thomas Torrance’s View of Scripture as ‘Human’ and Calvin: Right and Wrong on Predestination, Election – but it looks promising and ties into my other reading well at the moment.

I couldn’t be happier that the election is over, but I continue to find the apocalyptic language of both the Religious Right and the Religious Left incredibly disheartening. If Jesus is Lord means anything, it ought to mean the Church participates in a different sort of politics. As Augustine argued, Christians are part of a different polis, and that should determine how we approach the polis of the world – which one would hope leaves little room for uncritical partisan loyalties.

Speaking of Augustine (and Barth, Torrence, Smith, Calvin, the Reformation, etc.), might there be way of being [faithfully] “Reformed” that looks quite different from the way Piper and Co. have defined that term?

I believe so, but I am still wrestling with what that might look like.

On a tangentially related note – it seems I’m not the only one tentatively exploring a more traditioned stream of the faith these days. I have only anecdotal evidence for this, but it seems many who were engaged with emgerent have slowly and quietly begun moving towards something else. Of course, there is a significant difference between taking your next step in a journey and recanting your previous step.

From Jamie Smith’s essay “Lift Up Your Hearts”: John Calvin’s Catholic Faith.

 “Are you Catholic or Protestant?” I sometimes get this question from evangelical folks who don’t know me very well, but have heard me talk about liturgy or St. Augustine or spiritual formation or Graham Greene, or what have you. I usually simply answer, “Yes.”

As you might imagine, this engenders furrowed brows of consternation: “Is this guy out to lunch?, they must ask themselves. I asked an either/or question. You can’t answer, ‘Yes.’ You have to choose.” But do I? Can’t I refuse this as a false dichotomy? Is it possible to reject this disjunctive or?

What if we don’t have to choose between being Protestant and Catholic? Indeed, what if being a (magisterial) Protestant is a way to be Catholic? Would that somehow denigrate the Reformation? Would this be a kind of cathedral-envy, making me a Protestant with a bad conscience, sort of a wannabe papist wolf who lurks about Calvin College in Kuyperian sheep’s clothing?

…for me, becoming Reformed was a way of becoming Catholic, because in my pilgrimage to the Reformed confessional tradition I was inducted into a communion self-consciously in continuity with the ancient creeds. To be a member of a church that says the Creed—and whose catechism expounds the Creed—is to be Catholic.

Smith goes on to make a case for a deeply “Catholic” reading of John Calvin and the broader project of the Reformation. You can read the rest here.

I’m making my way through Jamie Smith’s The Fall of Interpretation, and thought I’d share some of the more thought-provoking quotes thus far.

On realizing all readings of Scripture are “traditioned:”

“I had been inducted into a tradition that didn’t think of itself as a tradition – indeed, I had been steeped in a hermeneutical tradition that regularly decried “the traditions of men” and thus championed a “back to the Bible” primitivism that took itself to be a reading rather than an interpretation of Scripture. In sum, I had been unwittingly and covertly initiated into what I describe below as a “hermeneutics of immediacy,” which, of course, does not think of it is a hermeneutic at all…

As you might imagined I felt somewhat duped, as do many who emerge from fundamentalisms that have effectivly hidden aspects of reality. Once those aspects of reality are discovered (or, in this case, once it’s discovered that “reality” is always already mediated), it’s hard not to ask: What were you trying to hide?”

On postmodern catholicity:

“there are two ways of being postfoundationalist: emergent or catholic. The former, I have argued, remains haunted by the ghost of immediacy and thus can never quite be comfortable with the particularities of a hermeneutic tradition in all of its specificity. The latter, in contrast, is a postcritical affirmation of the particularity of the “catholic” orthodoxy of the Nicene tradition, and of even more specific renditions of that (such as Reformed or Anglican or Pentecostal streams as particular interpretive traditions within catholic Christianity).

Both are postfundamentalist stances, but the former – still haunted by the modern dream – tends toward a liberal trajectory as the only other option within the modern paradigm, whereas the latter “catholic” option is postliberal precisely insofar as it refuses to be haunted by the modern myth of immediacy. Thus I have argued that the “catholic” option is actually more persistently postmodern.”

“No Creed but the Bible” has become a popular position to take, frequently expressed by fundamentalists and emergent Christians alike, albeit in rather different ways.

Carl Trueman wants to call b.s. on the whole thing.

I read his new book, The Creedal Imperative, over the weekend and – despite some significant areas of disagreement – found it thought provoking and well argued.

In particular I was struck by his argument that everyone has a creed, the only difference is creedal traditions put that creed in the public domain.

By that he is suggesting, and I’m prone to agree, that everyone has a framework they read the Bible through whether or not they acknowledge it.

That might be Calvinism, an affinity for Liberation theology, an eschatology that has been shaped by growing up in Dispensational churches, or a thousand other theological biases, but ultimately no one reads the Bible without interpretive baggage.

So then when a pastor proclaims his church has no creed but the Bible, he is in danger of two things. First, he is effectively making his church’s creed whatever he (and the other key leaders of the church) decree is Biblical in a given week. And secondly, he is identifying his own theology so closely with the Bible that he is unable to see his beliefs objectively enough to really evaluate them against the Scriptures.

In other words, it is too easy to move from “no creed but the Bible,” to “no creed but my personal interpretation of the Bible.”

Or, “the Bible says it, I believe it, that settles it.” [Switch part 1 and part 2 of that sentence as necessary]

I’ll admit that my own ecclesial history has made me prone to seeing all sorts of red flags when it comes to entrenched theological camps (which creeds and confessions certainly can represent). But that said, Trueman’s book is a good reminder that the alternative is fraught with difficulties as well.

What do you think? Are creeds and confessions helpful, necessary or inevitable even? Do they too easily lock us into errant or uncritical readings of the Scripture? Is there really a better alternative?

Thought this was too good not to mention.

From James K.A. Smith’s new Christianity Today article, What Galileo’s Telescope Can’t See.

“There is a particular analogy often invoked in current discussions about the relationship between Christian faith and science. Ours, we are told, is a “Galilean” moment: a critical time in history when new findings in the natural sciences threaten to topple fundamental Christian beliefs, just as Galileo’s proposed heliocentrism rocked the ecclesiastical establishment of his day. This parallel is usually invoked in the context of genetic, evolutionary, and archaeological evidence about human origins that challenges traditional Christian understandings.

Historical analogies like this are often particularly loaded because our age is characterized by chronological snobbery and a self-congratulatory sense of our maturity and progress. Since we now tend to look at the church’s response to Galileo as misguided, reactionary, and backward, this “Galilean” framing of contemporary discussions does two things—before any “evidence” is ever put on the table.

First, it casts scientists—and those Christian scholars who champion such science—as heroes and martyrs willing to embrace progress and enlightenment. Second, and as a result, this framing of the debate depicts those concerned with preserving Christian orthodoxy as backward, timid, and fundamentalist. With heads in flat-earth sand, any who voice hesitation or skepticism about the “assured/obvious” implications of evolutionary evidence are cast in the villainous role of Galileo’s putative persecutor, Cardinal Bellarmine.

… But the Galileo analogy doesn’t help us work through that tension because it says too much too fast. To invoke the Galileo analogy is to have already made up our minds. When we construe current debates about human origins in “Galilean” terms, we rhetorically position ourselves as if the implications of common descent were “as obvious” as the earth revolving around the sun. The Galileo analogy is a conversation stopper. It effectively suggests that resistance is futile.

Underneath the analogy is a more serious problem. These “Galileans” exhibit an essentially “whiggish” stance toward the theological tradition—an underlying confidence in progress and the unquestioned assumption that “newer is better.” At work here is a sense that faith needs “updating,” and that clinging to historic concerns and formulations is merely “conservative,” as if seeking to preserve historic doctrines were just a matter of fearing change.

The result is that the Christian theological tradition is seen to be a burden rather than a gift that enables the Christian community to think through such challenges. The Galileans never entertain the possibility that some of our ancient theological and confessional traditions might actually be a resource in contemporary debates—a wellspring of theological imagination to help us grapple with difficult questions. Instead, they suppose that the cross-pressure between theological tradition and contemporary science can only be alleviated by “updating” the tradition. On this account, our orthodox theological heritage—including the creeds and confessions—is part of the problem rather than a valued resource for articulating a solution.”

You can read the full article here.

Although I’m quite comfortable with evolution as a scientific principle, I think Smith does an excellent job of critiquing the ways in which the Galileo analogy encourages us to move rather uncritically from an acknowledgment of evolutionary science to the assumption that this must then necessitate the Church makes particular theological moves.

There have been some exciting changes at Deeper Story recently, including a new design and its expansion into three unique channels – Deeper Story, Deeper Family, and Deeper Church. I decided it would be the best fit for me to join the team at Deeper Church.

For my first post on this new channel I decided to write about The Beauty of Orthodoxy, partly inspired by all the Hauerwas I’ve been reading lately. Below is an excerpt, and you can read the rest here.

“I find theological orthodoxy to be profoundly beautiful.

Those are not, perhaps, the first words that comes to mind for many of us when we hear the word “orthodoxy.”

Orthodoxy has often been characterized as dry and stale, stuffy old men repressing new and creative thinking. But in fact, it is nothing of the sort, although it has taken me time to appreciate that. Quite a bit longer than it should have I’m sure.

Orthodoxy, true Christian orthodoxy, could never be dry – even less could it be a power play or weapon of rhetoric, though it often has been twisted to such purposes.”

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