Alberigo demonstrates how at the close of the twelfth century theology rushed as impetuously as a flash flood from its traditional centers — the bishop’s residence, the monastery and the chapter of the canons regular — to a new, ecclesiastically neutral center, the university, and in doing so radically altered its spiritual and scientific complexion. Alberigo also shows clearly the inevitability of this process, considering the exhaustion of patristic  and monastic theology. He draws out the gain which accrued to theology thanks to this shift, a gain which consisted not least of all in ‘greater freedom for theological research’. But this well known historian also brings to light the reverse side of this ‘dislocation’ of teaching (and inquiry), which led away from ‘the most vital centers of the Church’, the diocese and the monastery, and thus signified a removal from the pastoral and spiritual context of local church realities. The orientation of theology toward a scientific status initiated a movement tending to divorce theology from the life of the Church: an ever more pronounced ‘hiatus develops between the Christian community and the institutional Church on one hand, and the guild of theologians on the other. The fact that the university became the new seat of research and of the teaching of theology without a doubt enervated its ecclesial dynamism and furthermore severed theology from vital contact with spiritual experiences” (115-16).

A better apologetic for the SAET one is not likely to find. Throughout Nature and Mission, Ratzinger acknowledges the challenges presented by the theological bifurcation of the academy and the church. Indeed, the whole book is geared toward addressing this challenge. I had suspected this problem was not limited to Protestantism, but thought that perhaps Catholic theology had fared a bit better. If Ratzinger is a fair representative, it would seem not. But what’s notable in all of this, is that in spite of Ratzinger’s deep awareness of the problem, he does not take the next step and suggest that the answer to the current problem of de-churched theology is a return of theology to the “bishop’s residence.”

1. “Sviluppo e caratteri della teologia come scienza,” in Cristianesimo nella storia II [1990]: 257-74.

That gets pretty close to the SAET’s mission statement: “The SAET is an organization dedicated to assisting pastors in producing  biblical and theological scholarship for the theological renewal of the church, and the ecclesial renewal of theology.”

Ratzinger’s book tackles this issue from a distinctly Catholic perspective. But there’s much wisdom here for any orthodox theologian committed to doing theology in light of the Creeds and councils of the church.

Paul’s explicit use of Isaiah is uncontestably “ecclesiocentric,” as is his use of Scripture more generally. His reading of Isaiah points primarily toward the  formation of an eschatological people of God in which Gentiles are to be included. Indeed, he seems to find in Isaiah not only a warrant for his apostolic ministry to Gentiles but also a direct prediction of it, closely analogous to the way the Qumran covenanters read scriptural texts as prophecies of their own communal life and vocation.

Paul is not alone. Calvin “applies many of the Old Testament prophecies of the rule of the Messiah amongst the nations to the preacher of the Word.” (So Wallace, Calvin’s Doctrine of Word and Sacrament, 87.)

Of particular interest is the strong echo in Gal 1:15 of Isa 49:1, suggesting that Paul understood his own “call” as the fulfillment—or at least the typological counterpart—of the Servant’s vocation to be a “light to the nations,” and (perhaps thereby?) to bring Jacob (that is, Israel) back to the Lord; cf. Isa. 49:5-6.

Add to this Paul’s use of servant language for himself in Romans 15:21, citing the suffering servant passage (Isaiah 52:15) to describe his work among the nations, “what Christ has accomplished through me,” not least as Paul suffered as the Messiah suffered.

The story he reads in the Isaiah scroll is closely constrained by Isaiah’s original plotline of Israel’s exile and restoration, accompanied by God’s radical eschatological renewal that embraces the whole Gentile world.

The Conversion of the Imagination, 26, 40, 47

However, Paul only gets to an ecclesiocentric approach to his Bible by being in the first instance a Christocentric reader of the OT. But once you are doing that, it is a very small move to see yourself in the text as well. In fact, the shift from reading Christocentrically to reading ecclesiocentrically is not a lateral move, still less a topical shift. Paul is simply expanding from the interpretive “bulls-eye” to a larger, concentric circle based on the bulls-eye within it, because whatever is his may be called ours.

In large part this reaction is probably a legacy of my seminary education (and, no doubt, my own, peculiar, contrarian nature). I’m grateful for many things from my time at Oak Hill, but perhaps the most important ongoing influence was the importance placed on reading primary texts. I think in particular of the daunting OT exam (covering 1 Kings-Malachi), which contained questions like (at this distance, I paraphrase!), “Compare and contrast the eschatological vision of Ezekiel with that of Isaiah,” and in which we weren’t allowed a Bible; the reasoning being that it would compel us to read that part of the OT thoroughly before entering the exam room (OT professors take note – it was a great educational strategy). Or the church history essays I wrote, in which it was made clear to us that engaging seriously with the writings of C19 liberal theologians, e.g., would gain us far better marks than footnoting summaries of their teachings drawn from elsewhere, or where I wrote on Calvin’s doctrine of the Lord’s Supper without citing a single secondary source in my bibliography or footnotes (I don’t recommend this!), and got the feedback: “Strengths: Lots of lovely primary texts”. As a result, it’s instinctive to me that, if I want to know what Augustine taught about the Trinity, I should jolly well read Augustine. It also gave me the confidence that on the whole (with judicious help from good secondary sources where necessary) this is doable, and is far more fruitful and enjoyable.

None of this is to deny the value of secondary literature. I’d be poorer for not having read Cranfield, Moo and Wright on Romans; or Lewis Ayres’s Nicaea and Its Legacy; or Richard Muller’s stellar work on Reformation and Post-Reformation dogmatics; or Gilles Emery on Aquinas’s trinitarian theology. These scholars, who have devoted decades to studying their subjects and are fine readers of texts, are not only able to summarise a text’s meaning, or untangle a particularly knotty argument, or point one in the direction of further sources; they are also able to situate the text in its historical, social, and linguistic context in a way I never could because I lack the skills and expertise. Nevertheless, I’m convinced that nothing beats repeated, careful reading of Romans itself, or Augustine and the Cappodocians, or the Reformed confessions, or Aquinas. And if I were forced to choose one or the other, I’d go primary every time.

Going primary is certainly slower. It takes time to get used to a new thinker and to begin to inhabit their world. Potted summaries would be easier to absorb. But they’re also thinner, less demanding, less rewarding. There’s a reason that Plato’s writings, and those of Athanasius, and Edwards, and Barth are classics. And nothing stretches and expands a small mind so much as thoughtful, albeit sometimes bemused and foggy, contact with a great one.

So, I for one am mostly likely to be found studiously ignoring lists of books written in the past few years, and brewing myself a strong coffee or pouring a glass of wine, and settling back with an old book in the hope of making a new friendship or renewing an old one.

*All of this in addition to my almost comically violent dislike of lists laying guilt trips on pastors by telling them that here is yet another list of books they positively have to read. Why not call these lists, “Ten books that might possibly benefit some pastors if they don’t already have more than enough to read to last them a couple of lifetimes, not to mention their innumerable other pastoral responsibilities”?

Auburn Seminary, a mainline institution in New York City, did a lengthy study of seminary graduates from across the spectrum of Jewish and Christian belief. Among other points, they found that regardless of one’s religious persuasion, the traditional academic disciplines–Bible and theology–were ranked one and two, respectively, by every group. Whether mainline protestant, evangelical, Roman Catholic, and Jewish, those two items were rated the “most important areas of study for professional life and work.”

(I know that Justin Barnard and Matt Lee Anderson, among others, will not be surprised that Roman Catholics ranked Ethics #3; I find it surprising and interesting that mainline pastors marked preaching significantly higher than others.)

One of the implications of this study, I think, is that serious engagement with sacred text and the theology it produces matters–and not just in seminary.

I’d also add a second point. I think I speak for Gerald and SAET in general when I say that such study can be an act of worship. Not just in leading us to worship (although sometimes it does this). Worship involves actively giving our bodies and minds to God (Rom 12:1-2), not so that they will be unused or empty, but so that they will be full of him and his word. “Thinking God’s thoughts after him” is an act of worship.

This morning I spent two hours teaching/discussing Proverbs, Song of Songs, and Job with some young believers. Among other things, we were able to engage the way in which Wisdom literature points to Jesus, as well as a biblical perspective on sex, sovereignty, and suffering. In a world saturated by sex, suffering, and human and demonic pretense to sovereignty, I can think of few better things to do than to prepare myself and others to discern God’s message in those areas.

I can’t study in the same way as Gerald, but a regular diet of study–even after completing my doctoral work–prepares me to wrestle with those questions and many others.

1. Staff to the vision. I don’t recommend making staffing changes solely with a view to the ecclesial theologian vision, but if you oversee hiring at your church and are in need of new ministry staff, let me strongly encourage you to look for ministry partners who share your sense of calling to theological scholarship. There aren’t (yet) many of us, of course. But if you can find a like-minded ministry partner who is serious about writing theological scholarship you will have overcome perhaps the most significant hurdle of the ecclesial theologian: isolation. The positive vocational peer-pressure and theological ferment found in the day to day relational exchange of the academy is absent in the local church context. This is a significant disability to the ecclesial theologian. Most of us don’t operate in a working environment where we can pop our head into the room next door and talk about how Thomas Aquinas’ prioritization of the intellect in conversion causes him to arrive at a different ordo solutis than Calvin and the implications this has for the doctrine of total depravity. For example. But now I do. And the difference it has made is huge. Building a staff that not only values theology, but is actually engaged in writing theology, will do more than anything else to put wind in your sail.

2. Get networked. Not all of us are in a position to hire a fellow ecclesial theologian to our ministry staff. Perhaps your church is too small, or perhaps you don’t oversee the hiring process. Regardless, the next most important thing is to get involved in a network of like-minded pastors. Whether formal like the SAET, or informal, having a network of peers who are engaged in theological scholarship is crucial to sustaining your theological calling. Use Skype, connect at ETS, start a blog, whatever. But find a group of pastors who are committed to publishing theology, and who regularly ask you what projects you are working on. Beyond the positive peer-pressure, a robust network is also helpful in making headway with publishers.

3. Make your study time a priority in your weekly schedule. The expectations and demands of your congregation will almost certainly push you away from study and writing. So if you’re going to get after it, you are going to have to make it a priority in your schedule. I’ve found that setting aside my mornings works best for me. This year I’m reading Augustine on Mondays, Thomas on Tuesdays, Barth on Wednesdays, and contemporary theology/scholarship on Thursdays. I turn my phone off, don’t open my e-mail and don’t schedule any appointments (if at all possible) until noon. Of course, sometimes I have to pull up from studying — funerals, emergencies, etc., press in occasionally. But for the most part I’ve found that I can get nearly all of my administrative stuff done if I push it into the afternoons. (Typically, if you give yourself eight hours to do your administrative stuff, it will take eight hours. If you given yourself four, it will take four). Of course, this only works when you are in control of your schedule. Most pastors are, but some of you serve in a church where you are at the mercy of others. Even so, there are probably times in the week that are usually open. Schedule your study time around those times. And one more point here — don’t just study for your next sermon or teaching assignment. Quite apart from striving toward the calling of the ecclesial theologian, too many pastors are merely one step ahead of the theological train. The lifeblood of the pastor — whether your local congregation realizes it or not — is a steady intake of rich theology, prayer and bible reading. Stop feeling guilty about prayerfully reading Calvin’s Institutes, or Anthanasius’ On the Incarnation or Augustine’s De Trinitate. Theological study isn’t something a pastor fits into his schedule when he’s completed his pastoral duties, rather theological study is the pastor’s duty. For the good of your congregation — for the good of your preaching and teaching and counseling and capacity to offer pastoral care — it is vital that you not neglect to feed yourself.

4. Get buy-in from the leadership of your church. If you’re doing your job right, the leadership of your church should eventually come to value the time you spend in your study. After all, they more than anyone else should be reaping the benefits of all your theological labor. But depending on the history of your church, theological engagement (at least the level of engagement necessary for being an ecclesial theologian) might be seen as a distraction from your pastoral duties. Go slow here. Theology has been separated from the church for long enough that it is no longer self-evident to most congregations that sustained theological engagement by their pastors is a good thing. This will need to be demonstrated, not simply argued. In any case, it’s important that you help your church leadership see that your pursuit of theological scholarship is not ancillary to your calling as a pastor, but rather a vital part of it.

5. Don’t ever forget that theology exists for the church — your church first and foremost! If the people in your congregation don’t feel valued as your first priority, then you are being a poor ecclesial theologian. Your congregants should feel like your study time is about them, not simply your next writing project. If they start to begrudge you your study time (e.g., “he spends all his time in holed up in his office”), you will need to take a hard look at yourself and your priorities. Because it is very likely that your study time isn’t really as much about God and his kingdom as you think it is. Theology serves the church, not the other way around. Love for God and his people should drive us to our books. If love for God and our congregations isn’t the fuel that powers our study, what are we really studying for?

6. Stop calling the place where you work an “office” and start calling it your “study”. Never, under pain of excommunication from the ecclesial theologian club, refer to your study as an office. If this is the first time you’ve heard this rule, you get three free passes. After that, you’re out. Semantics matter. If you call your study an office, the people in your church will have a certain set of expectations regarding your function as a pastor. The room with all your books, the room where you read the Scriptures and pray — that room is your study. Starting referring to it as such and your people will come to expect that studying is part of your calling.

Any other suggestions?

KV spoke of the importance of direct and indirect communication (Kierkegaard’s distinction): story, parable, proverb, and action are vital (and sometimes overlooked) tools for getting a message across. This prompts KV to ask if forms or genres of Scripture have authority, and if so, how? If they are not authoritative, we could simply download true facts abstracted from the Bible and be done with the tricky forms! (I also have in my notes the question, “Is Paul’s life canonical?” i.e., 1 Cor 4:8-17, but I cannot remember if that’s KV’s idea or my own reflection.)

The goal of theology is to form people of wisdom, not least so that theology and the life lived are not divorced. He gave the example of Philemon, where Paul foregoes command in order to facilitate a “fitting act that refreshes the heart,” as Vanhoozer interpreted it; or “prepared spontaneity,” in Paul Tripp’s wonderful phrase, brought out by Matthew Mason in his response paper. First Theology is about the gospel, but in a broad sense, larger than sin-defined needs–that’s milk, the beginning, but not the end.

Kevin’s recommendations included Fred Sanders, The Deep Things of God; he urged us to pursue a trinitarian gospel-centeredness, so that our gospel accounts for and celebrates “Not just God for us, but God with us and in us.” This is just one example of KV’s consistent effort to overcome theory-praxis distinction, a theme that arose repeatedly inDrama and in our discussion. KV asks what it means to be biblical, and he very forcefully insists that it is not enough to have the right propositions in hand…we must follow those facts, “walk in the way,” exercising (and acting in) judgment: we are actors, not just spectators.

The theologian also has the task of cultivating not just the intellect, but intellectual virtues, and habits of the mind linked to those virtues. Humility, not hubris; honesty, justice, patience; an intellectual pursuit that is “less about me.” A high view of our own thoughts over time makes us closed-minded and pastorally disastrous. (JH note: How do we balance this with the pastor-theologian as “public intellectual” and “Big Picture Specialist”?!? I’d recommend John Dickson’s new book, Humilitas.)

Kevin Vanhoozer was our special guest; Doug Sweeney, our regular Second Fellowship advisor, was also in attendance, and both brought the wisdom for us. Several of us gave papers that attempted to make Pumpkin Pie out of The Great Pumpkin, Vanhoozer’s Drama of Doctrine. KV interacted with our responses and spent time reflecting with us on what needs to happen in the theological-pastoral enterprise in which we are all engaged. A few soundbites faithfully (I hope) paraphrased:

“Theology is the study of reality. A theologian is a minister of reality.” Part of the theologian’s task is to challenge and cast down idolatrous counter-realities.

The task of the theologian is that of “public intellectual,” not necessarily in the global, CNN sense, but in the local sense. In a segmented world, pastor-theologians are the ones who can help make sense of the world as a whole. Local attempts to provide an answer to truly challenging questions, i.e., “What is a human being?” and thus make sense of the world cannot in fact do so.

The attempt to answer such questions can be made within the solar systems of economics, social media, medicine and science, politics, journalistic media, etc., and we can learn from such attempts. But wherever the attempt is made reductionism mars the end result. Theology alone gets to say, from a cosmic perspective, “God and reality are more than economics,” and theologians alone are the “Big Picture Specialists.”

“Theology and Christianity is not about getting God into my life, but about me getting into the life and story of God, who is restoring all things and renewing his image.“

UPDATE: Scot McKnight picked up the piece and raises a number of fair questions here.

Christianbook.com:

You note that most Christians are unable to determine whether something is morally edifying unless the movie, album or book immediately defines itself as such. As a result, the Christian culture has allowed marketing teams to define that which is Christian and to distinguish those things which are not Christian or ‘secular.’ . . . You also state, “I’m personally convinced that such market-driven theology will be viewed historically, with at least as much embarrassment as, say, the medieval sale of indulgences.” What might you say to those who would disagree with this conclusion? To those who have grown up in the context of “Christian Culture,” how can they develop a more discerning view of contemporary culture?

David Dark:

I’d say that the Catholic Church eventually repented over the indulgences, but there’s no sign of a similar moment of clarity in corporations who want their profits (at any cost) from their so-called “Christian” companies. The market will call “Christian” whatever sells as “Christian” and well-meaning church people inherit the heresy. The market we will always have with us (this side of the coming kingdom), but discerning the spirits and sorting out our allegiances from consumerism and America and whatever we’ve gotten fooled over is a fulltime, communal occupation. Studying history, praying, and talking these things through is really all we can do. But it’s what the church has always had to do.

I’d only add that it is not only a communal occupation; someone has to take the lead in discernment, historical perspective, and prayer.  I vote for pastor-theologians.