and again,

“I should like to add to all this that the church has the prior right to question us, even if it does not and cannot understand the details of our work; for we are pursing our theological study in its very midst as sure as we are members of that church. Therefore these questions, even if they lack in detail some of the definite theological concerns that we entertain, may be highly relevant and constitute a fire through which we must always march.”

A Little Exercise for Young Theologians, pp. 4-5 and 25-26.

Do they know? Do you? Many young people today are confused about the Bible’s perspective on sex, dating and relationships. Should they give dating a chance or kiss it goodbye? What exactly is sexual purity, and how far is too far, anyway? Perhaps our children don’t know the answers to these questions because we as parents are uncertain ourselves.

In this ground-breaking book, Gerald Hiestand provides objective, biblical answers to these vital questions, and unfolds a paradigm-shifting view of relationships and purity that challenges the basic assumptions of our Christian sub-culture. Touching on a wide range of subjects, Raising Purity is sure to help parents and children think clearly, biblically and practically about the God-ordained purpose of human sexuality.

If you’re a parent or youth pastor, this book is for you. I’m convinced our children will not have clarity on this issue until we as parents and pastors have clarity on this issue. And given the statistics, I think it’s pretty clear we lack clarity.

This topic is not necessarily my hot button. As a pastor striving to write robust eccleisal theology, a book on dating seems a bit off topic. But it’s precisely at this point that the whole “social location” thing kicks in. Early on in my ministry I did some time as a youth pastor and had to address the age old question “How far is too far?” It’s not a question most serious thoelogians in the academy have to deal with, but it’s a very live question for pastors. As I grappled with the issue and read the popular literature, I became increasingly convinced that most of our collective wisdom on this subject is simply wrong. We just haven’t grasped the Bible’s central message on purity. So I did some thinking on the issue and wrote a book. At the risk of sounding like a hubritic, I’m certain I’ve got some new things to say about purity, dating, and relationships – things that aren’t being said anywhere else. In writing the book, I’ve tried to be richly theological and eminently practical. I’ve field tested this at my home church with both parents and singles and the response has been overwhelmingly positive.

For those interested, here are a few links you might find useful.

• Download the First Two Chapters
• Buy the Book
• View the Recommendations
• View Images

Free Books
And now about that “free book” thing. . . since I’m self-publishing, I could use a little help with the marketing. So here’s my, “I’ll scratch your back if you scratch mine” proposal: I’ll send a free copy of the book to the first twenty people who send me an e-mail at ghiestand[at]harvestbiblechapel.org (include your address). But here’s the catch. You have to be a regular blogger (not a blogger whose last post was May 1, 2009), and you have to be willing to write a short review (doesn’t have to be a positive review) by Dec 31, 2009, linking back to raisingpurity.com.

I truly believe this is an important book for the church today – a life-changing book. If you’re a parent or a pastor, I hope you’ll read it. If you have read it, and have any thoughts, feel free to leave a comment. I welcome your thoughts.

This is more reasonable, even  if out of step with their earlier comments. But what the right hand gives, the left hand takes away. Bradley and Muller go on to state that a historian should not render judgment on the matter studied. “As a historian, one makes no judgment about the rightness or wrongness of the person’s teaching on an absolute scale. . . the student should not ask whether or not Arminius is ultimately doctrinal right or wrong.” And again, “One’s own writing should not register one’s own theological opinion, pro or con.”

Here I must voice strong disagreement. The entire point of historical studies as done by Christian theologians and historians is precisely to render theological judgment in service to the Church. The conscious divorce between systematic theology and historical studies is the curse of academic theology. To be sure, historians—christian or non—must be careful to do the hard work of finding out what was really going on in the original context; we can’t appropriate what we haven’t accurately understood. But to suggest that Christian historians shouldn’t appropriate the theological reflection of our tradition is significantly unhelpful.

I am reminded here of a recent exchange in JETS between two Calvin scholars on the role of “union with Christ” in Calvin’s soteriology. Thomas Wenger argues for a more traditional, forensic reading of Calvin and accuses Marcus Johnson of allowing his theological agenda to carry undue weight. Wegner writes, “It seems that Johnson has a vested interest to ground his existing theological views in Calvin, and in then grounding Calvin in Paul. . . My arguments have been decidedly historical, and in the original article I do not make a single theological claim.”

Pause here. What was the point of Wegner’s article then? With all due respect to Dr. Wegner (who is a pastor, ironically),  I don’t really care what Calvin thought about anything unless it can be demonstrated that Calvin’s thought has relevance to the Church as she exists today. Wegner’s article is excellent. Indeed I think his read on Calvin is more accurate than Johnson’s  (and I even agree theologically with Johnson!). But the superiority of Wegner’s article is not because he refuses to render theological judgment. If anything, this is a significant weakness of the article. Who is he writing this for, anyway? Apparently not the church, whose very life-blood runs red with theological judgments.

Johnson has not misread Calvin because Johnson has a vested interest in the subject matter. No doubt Wegner has a vested interest as well. No. Johnson has misread Calvin because he misread Calvin.

Bradley and Muller are correct. “It is…exceedingly unlikely that badly done history can be the basis of well-done theology.” Agreed. But  “well-done theology” is the ultimate telos of good history. Historical analysis that doesn’t terminate in theological assertions and a prophetic call to mission is like a “house” with no framing and only a foundation. Good as far as it goes, but useless in and of itself.

To make their point, Bradley and Muller point to Catholic historical reflection prior to the mid-eighteenth century, noting that “it was almost invariably written from a confessional viewpoint and it was anything but detached. . . . The theological assumption that links authority with antiquity has thus had a longstanding, deleterious effect on scientific investigation.”

In short, because Catholic theologians were committed to a Roman notion of continuity between the past and the present, they were unable to critically engage with the primary source material. “The entire view point was dominated by the concepts of a controlling providence and the unanimity of the tradition, granting the normative character of tradition for the contemporary expression of the church.”

For Bradley and Muller, the Protestant historical method fared little better. While the Protestant Reformation introduced a more critical historical method, “this reorientation was laden with its own problems. The principle of Sola Scriptura profoundly influenced the Reformers’ understanding of church history as well as theology.” Bradley and Muller go on to observe that the Reformers were less interested in establishing continuity with the past, and tended to “view the period of church history from St. Augustine, or at least from the thirteenth-century dawn of scholasticism, to the sixteenth century, in terms of apostasy.” Thus, “Church historians throughout the sixteenth and most of the seventeenth century. . . viewed the church’s past in terms of either orthodoxy or heresy.” In other words, church historians ran into problems because they viewed church history as church historians, rather than as secular historians.

The main difficulty with Bradley and Muller’s central point here is that they seem to be assuming the historian can approach the text from a epistemologically neutral perspective. Pointing toward the Pietist historian Gottfried Arnold as an example of a more appropriate critical method, Bradley and Muller observe that Arnold was unencumbered by any commitment to orthodoxy or continuity.  “Since the heart of religion for Arnold was subjective, experimental piety rather than strict orthodoxy, he strove for a fair presentation of the religious motives of various heretics and schismatics.” Well and good. No need to be harder on the heretics than necessary. But Bradley and Muller immediately go on to observe, “The corollary of this generosity, however, was that Arnold frequently treated the orthodox with undue severity.” Exactly.

To be sure, Bradley and Muller don’t view Arnold as a model historian. “Arnold . . . never really grasped the need for an objective handling of the original sources. But [his] new approach to the past freed [him] from arriving at a predetermined, predictable conclusion.”

No it didn’t. Arnold found what he was looking for. The simple rub is that we all tend to find what we are looking for. Orthodox theologians looked for unity and found it. Arnold looked for disunity and found it. This isn’t to say that we can’t achieve a functional level of objectivity, but it is to say that we don’t come to the data as disinterested observers. In as much as Bradley and Muller are arguing for accuracy in historical studies, I agree. Augustine didn’t affirm double imputation and we shouldn’t try to pretend he did. But Bradley and Muller at times push beyond this when they imply that the Christian scholar should not approach the data as a Christian.

When I read  St. Paul, or the Fathers, or Thomas, etc., I do so as both a Christian and a pastor. And (even more scandalously!) I have an ecclessial agenda that consciously drives my investigation and analysis. I read Augustine not just to know what Augustine believed, but to know what the church should believe, and to know what I should preach to my people.  I very much am looking for unity and continuity from the apostolic age to the present. Sometimes I find it; sometimes I don’t. But there’s no point in pretending that’s not what I’m doing. And indeed, I don’t know what else a Christian historian should be doing.

The key to being objective is not to set aside one’s presuppositions and agendas, but to openly and consciously acknowledge them. If both myself and my readers know I am approaching a given subject with certain stated theological commitments and agendas, both myself and my readers are better able to judge the accuracy of my conclusions.  But the historian (secular or ecclesial) who attempts to bury his agenda beneath a veneer of objectivity, tends to leak out his (a)theological commitments in less obvious, and, for that reason,  often more malignant, ways.

Aside from the caustic tone of the review (and to be fair, Wright’s tone wasn’t always particularly charitable in his book), and a few mischaracterizations of Wright’s position (contra Bray, Wright doesn’t see Christ as a “plan B” after Israel’s failure), I agreed with much of what Bray wrote.

However, I didn’t find myself in much agreement with Bray’s concluding comments.

If anything is clear from Bishop Wright’s book, it is that it is impossible to serve two masters at the same time. Either one is a diocesan bishop or one is a serious scholar—having a day job in Auckland Castle and pottering around with scholarship in one’s spare time is not a viable option in today’s world. Bishop Wright pleads lack of time for what even he recognizes is the inadequacy of his response to Mr. Piper, but if that is so, he needs to reconsider his priorities. There is no shame in giving up scholarship, or in resigning a bishopric, when the pressures become too great, but doing a half-baked job in one is bound to lead to the suspicion that one is doing an equally half-baked job in the other, and that the long-suffering recipients of such treatment are ending up with the worst of both worlds….Let us hope and pray that he will see this for himself and decide whether he wants to be a bishop or a scholar—but not both. We would all be better off if he has the courage to take the right decision and choose one or the other, but best of all, he himself would be a happier and more productive man for it, and it is for him that our primary concern at this point must surely be (Churchman, 104).

Hmmm. Does Bray really mean to look down his nose on the pastor-theologian model? Bray spends the whole review complimenting Pastor Piper’s handling of the subject, and then, in an attempt to insult the scholarly capabilities of Wright, delivers an (unintended?) shot to Piper by insulting the pastor-theologian model en toto. What the right hand gives, the left hand takes away.

Bray prefaces his critique of the pastor-theologian model by stating that it is not a viable option in “today’s world.” Presumably, then, he appreciates the viability of the model for days gone by. And indeed, how could he not? Church history is filled with evidence to the positive: Athanasius, Augustine, Calvin, Luther, Edwards, Wesley, Barth, et al. The list is nearly endless. But Bray raises a question worth considering: is such a model attainable in our contemporary context? Two thoughts here:

First, we haven’t really tried to find out. There is a dearth of intellectuals in the pastorate, and therefore it is difficult to assess accurately the viability of the model. Can a pastor realistically produce a book like’s McGrath’s Iustitia Dei, or Wright’s Jesus and the Victory of God (written before he became Bishop of Durham)? Maybe, maybe not. But it should be pointed out that not every academic scholar can produce this sort of magisterial work either. It’s a bit unfair to compare the two groups of theologians, simply in light of the sheer difference in numbers. If we had as many pastor-theologians attempting to do “serious scholarship” (as Bray calls it) as we do academic-theologians, we would better be able to assess the viability of the pastor-theologian model. So maybe time will tell.

Second, Bray is absolutely correct that the pastor-theologian cannot serve the two masters of pastoral ministry and academic scholarship. This is a point I’ve made elsewhere. But the SAET (at least) is not looking to do academic scholarship. Ecclesial scholarship marks a third way, and—properly understood—is not a competing master to the pastoral calling. Indeed, the two masters are one. It may be true that the contemporary pastor-theologian will not have the luxury or time (or even interest) to chase down the secondary literature with the same vigor as the academic scholar. Undoubtedly the organizational structure of parish ministry needs to shift in such a way that the pastoral office is once again freed up to do serious theological reflection. But regardless, the pastor-theologian brings to the theological task an important strength the academic scholar lacks: an ecclesial context. The Scriptures are not merely an historical document, dead words on a page and fodder only for historians and scholars. The Scriptures are the life-blood of the Church—the local church not least. The sword hilt of Scripture has been uniquely fashioned for the pastor’s grip. The sensitive academic-theologian can wield it with profit, but it’s natural home is in the Church. The whole thrust of contemporary orthodox scholarship has largely forgotten this vital truth. We can not move theological reflection and writing out of the context of the local church without consequence.

The title captures well the thrust of Sweeney’s focus. Throughout the book  Sweeney shows how Edwards’ deep commitment to the written Word influences every aspect of his life and ministry. Sweeney’s book is more bibliographic than theological, and focuses mostly on Edwards’ life and ministry. Yet Sweeney does a good job of introducing the reader to Edwards’ major theological themes. (In Chapter 5 Sweeney provides concise summaries of Edwards’ four major theological treatises—The Freedom of the Will, Original Sin, On True Virtue, and The End for Which God Created the World.)

While I’ve frequently pointed to Edwards as a consumate example of the pastor-theologian, I have always tried to be realistic about the disconnect between Edwards’ eighteenth-century New England and our contemporary context. Certainly the North American academy was not established as it is today, and thus theological discourse as a whole tended to be more ecclesial in nature, simply by default. Further, I supposed that much of Edwards thought emerged prior to the rise of higher criticism, allowing Edwards to focus more on ecclesial matters and not be sidetracked by apologetic concerns. Yet it appears my chronology is askew. Sweeney points out that Edwards was “fully apprised of recent trends in modern critical thought,” and that he “devoured” the writings of the higher critics (p. 95). The fact that Edwards engaged with the deconstructive academic theology of his day and yet devoted his theological writings to ecclesial matters demonstrates the extent to which Edwards’ theological project was primarily driven by ecclesial concerns.

Edwards was (and remains) the most influential theologian in North America, and it should not be lost on us that he was—first and formost—an ecclesial theologian. My favorite phrase in Sweeney’s book appropriately captures the Edwardsian vision of the pastor-theologian. Edwards was, Sweeney points out, a “priestly theologian” devoted to the oracles of God and their application in the lives of his people.  I can think of no better label to describe the SAET’s vision of a pastor-theologian. If you’re a pastor with a desire to embody the Edwardsian vision, I encourage you to pick up a copy of Sweeney’s book.