Over the past fifteen years, a significant push has occurred amongst younger generations. On the one hand, it has been nice to see a theological perspective which I hold dear--that of classic Reformational theology known as Calvinism--make a comeback. On the other, I've seen how the push amongst a number of neo-Calvinism embracers has turned into shoves. I'm of the mind that your theology should be more armor than sword. James K.A. Smith agrees that theology should benefit more than smash, and the Calvin College philosophy professor--along the lines of other authors as diverse as Christopher Hitchens and Greg Boyd--wrote Letters to a Young Calvinist: An Invitation to the Reformed Tradition to this end.
One strength of Smith's work is the pace. The "letters"--which are directives written to his former self when he was new to the Reformed faith--are 4-8 pages long in a book that is 4x6 inches in size. The lively nature of the discourse/implied dialogue means that the reader progresses rapidly and can always slow down and savor the details.
Smith also makes a key distinction that theology is about more than just individual soteriology--meaning that what one believes about God and the world is more expansive than how one aligns with God to get into heaven. Chapter 13 (God's "Social" Gospel) is especially helpful here, as Smith verifies from the Bible that God creates, saves, and chooses a people, so the plural nature of Christianity (which leads into a defense of the importance of the church) is central to God's way of thinking.
The scope of God's redemptive work is bigger than reducing it to individual souls, maintains Smith, who points out that God is interested in the redemption of his entire creation. Calvinism should, he argues, truly be world-formative. A theology that always navel-gazes on one's own needs is not substantial enough; our theology must face creation and continually be engaging with God's world. (Smith makes helpful distinctions between "creation" and "the world" along the way)
So yes, I did find a number of helpful things in Smith's work. Unfortunately, that tends to get pitched in with other items that made this book more mixed bag than recommended treasure.
First, Smith is selective at best on the subject of justification by grace through faith, quoting John Calvin rather selectively from the Institutes of the Christian Religion to provide what he believes to be a squared-up alignment with N.T. Wright's teaching on the covenant nature of justification. While Calvin did underscore the essential nature of the covenant, he did not do so in other areas of his writing at the expense of individual faith and the legal, forensic picture of the doctrine shown throughout the New Testament. Wright's issue is that too much of his theology is centered in Galatians at the expense of the rest of the New Testament, and Smith's issue is that he follows Wright too blindly here. A shame, really, because Wright is a dynamic scholar on issues beyond this one.
Secondly, Smith gets himself way out of his depth when it comes to biblical scholarship. In letter 18 ("On Grumpy Speculations"), Smith engages with his own changed view on women's ordination to the ministry. While this is not the place to hash out this issue (heaven forbid I open that can of worms!), Smith dives in by claiming that the subjection of women is tied up in the fall into sin from Genesis. Now, I don't doubt horrific things have been done toward the female gender, and we can trace many of these things back to our original parents' rebellion. However, Smith--in pressing the creation-fall-redemption Biblical storyline into particular theological waters--forgets that I Timothy 2 appeals to creation, not the Fall, as the reasoning behind his statement that a woman should not hold ecclesiastical, spiritual authority over a man. A brief bit of fact-checking would have given him some pause. Philosophy, not biblical scholarship, is Smith's sweet spot.
Finally, for all of Smith's desire that the Reformed tradition be broad and "catholic" in the universal sense of the world, he goes against his own grain here. Practically bragging about the Dutch Reformed confessions of faith such as the Heidelberg Catechism (which I personally love), the Canons of Dort, and the Belgic Confession, he touts their expansive view of the Reformed faith. When it comes to Reformed insight elsewhere, Smith views the more Presbyterian-leaning Westminster Standards as an "arid desert of...cool scholasticism" and practically criticizes Westminster for ignoring the Apostles' Creed in its construction in a way that Heidelberg avoided.
Smith really needs to get his head around the logical reality that absence of evidence does not equal evidence of absence. The Westminster Confession of Faith and its subsequent Catechisms might not utilize the Apostles' or Nicene Creed in the structure of their formulation, but the theology of the Westminster divines bears out a close alignment with the patristics. Also, precision does not equal an arid desert any more than a 2018 Toyota Sienna's mechanics are more boring than a 2012 Chevy Cruze. Smith conveniently overlooks the warm devotion of the Puritans and others in resources such as The Valley of Vision, among others.
And in raising the flag of the Dutch Reformed confessions' value over others, I find it interesting that Smith tends to ignore the depth of other streams within the Calvinist tradition. Aside from a passing reference to the Thirty-Nine Articles of Religion in letter #8, Smith says virtually nothing about the robust, lively, and vivid expression of the English Reformation, of the weightiness of worship shown in the Book of Common Prayer, of the correspondence spearheaded by Thomas Cranmer with reformers like Calvin and others to unify along theological lines, of John Jewell's Apology of the Church of England, and of virtually every Anglican divine in the sixteenth century who demonstrated a strong Reformed theology that built up the flock and yet faced the world beyong the pen of the Church. Some might think this offends me as an Anglican; actually, it offends me as a historian.
So Letters to a Young Calvinist does its work provided one is willing to chew the meat and spit out the bones, however many there may be. And aside from what is said, my issue can be with how it is said. Smith, who has a habit of grousing about writers and personalities like David Wells, Rod Dreher, and Jordan Peterson, leaves a number of folks (myself included) wondering if he has some sort of ax to grind with other thinkers. In that case, one of the larger points coming from reading LTAYC for me might be this: Receiving a reassuring lesson that trying to snuff out other candles doesn't make yours burn any more brightly. Sometimes--like Solomon's wandering--we need a less-than-ideal example to correct our own behavior on the scale of humility.
Wednesday, March 28, 2018
Saturday, March 17, 2018
Recent Readings: A Return to the Troubles
Despite my recent inclination toward theology works, there's nothing like a good mystery novel to send a different sort of breeze rushing through your mind. I'm developing an affinity for crime fiction set in Northern Ireland. Writers such as Brian McGilloway and Stuart Neville (mentioned previously) are engaging in their tales of Ulster crime of today, but I was looking for something that would take me back to the days of the IRA, the Shankill Butchers, the Falls Road, the Maze Prison...in short, I wanted to vicariously live in that daunting period known as the Troubles.
Adrian McKinty takes one back to those days through his Detective Sean Duffy novels, beginning with The Cold, Cold Ground. Weaving in historical events with Belfast police procedural matters, McKinty takes the reader through the hunger strikes of the Maze Prison, the death of Bobby Sands, the news-arresting moment of when John Paul II was shot, and so on. The acrid smell of paramilitary bombs and the smacking of rubber bullets make this tale one that is felt as well as read.
Sean Duffy is assigned to a case north of Belfast in Carrickfergus, where he lives as the sole Catholic on a street full of diehard Protestants, sticking out like a cranberry on a bed of shredded coconut. Called to investigate a murder, Duffy soon discovers that they could have a serial killer on the loose targeting gay men. Complicating this matter are several realities: (a) Duffy, as a Catholic cop, has detractors on both sides of a red-hot divide, (b) the first murder victim is an IRA heavy player who had been noticed discussing business with the enemy days before, and (c) homosexuality is still illegal in Northern Ireland in 1981. An additional wrinkle ensues with other deaths, one of a young lady's suicide in which Duffy suspects there is more to the story.
Threaded through the story are Duffy's impulsive nature (what story wouldn't be complete without a gumshoe's brashness?), his love of classical music, and a developing yet conflicted romance with a lovely medical examiner.
Pulsing in the background is the wonderment of how much everyone knows, and who might be working for the other side on the sly. With Northern Ireland as a part of the United Kingdom, the question of how deeply involved British intelligence might be is an open one. McKinty also moves the story through an expert understanding of detective and forensic knowledge. The reader doesn't lack for explanation but McKinty never lets the story bog down.
Needless to say, this is a gritty, edgy display of Belfast crime fiction. Readers who cut their teeth on Anne of Green Gables and have a preference for Jane Austen might have an adjustment curve. The occasional gratuitous sex and violence are woven into the tapestry of McKinty's work, to the point where I had some issues, especially with Duffy's impulsive dalliances. The Irish-dialect f-bombs and the like splash throughout the ordinary conversations. But as far as the language goes, these are Ulster coppers, it is Belfast, and it's 1981. Do the math. To beg for a spray-starch clean read is to groan for a lack of realism from that most brutal of historical periods. In short, this is a story that asks a lot from its readers, and that causes me to respect the author for that. For my part, I'm determined to make my way through the sequels in this trilogy later this year.
Adrian McKinty takes one back to those days through his Detective Sean Duffy novels, beginning with The Cold, Cold Ground. Weaving in historical events with Belfast police procedural matters, McKinty takes the reader through the hunger strikes of the Maze Prison, the death of Bobby Sands, the news-arresting moment of when John Paul II was shot, and so on. The acrid smell of paramilitary bombs and the smacking of rubber bullets make this tale one that is felt as well as read.
Sean Duffy is assigned to a case north of Belfast in Carrickfergus, where he lives as the sole Catholic on a street full of diehard Protestants, sticking out like a cranberry on a bed of shredded coconut. Called to investigate a murder, Duffy soon discovers that they could have a serial killer on the loose targeting gay men. Complicating this matter are several realities: (a) Duffy, as a Catholic cop, has detractors on both sides of a red-hot divide, (b) the first murder victim is an IRA heavy player who had been noticed discussing business with the enemy days before, and (c) homosexuality is still illegal in Northern Ireland in 1981. An additional wrinkle ensues with other deaths, one of a young lady's suicide in which Duffy suspects there is more to the story.
Threaded through the story are Duffy's impulsive nature (what story wouldn't be complete without a gumshoe's brashness?), his love of classical music, and a developing yet conflicted romance with a lovely medical examiner.
Pulsing in the background is the wonderment of how much everyone knows, and who might be working for the other side on the sly. With Northern Ireland as a part of the United Kingdom, the question of how deeply involved British intelligence might be is an open one. McKinty also moves the story through an expert understanding of detective and forensic knowledge. The reader doesn't lack for explanation but McKinty never lets the story bog down.
Needless to say, this is a gritty, edgy display of Belfast crime fiction. Readers who cut their teeth on Anne of Green Gables and have a preference for Jane Austen might have an adjustment curve. The occasional gratuitous sex and violence are woven into the tapestry of McKinty's work, to the point where I had some issues, especially with Duffy's impulsive dalliances. The Irish-dialect f-bombs and the like splash throughout the ordinary conversations. But as far as the language goes, these are Ulster coppers, it is Belfast, and it's 1981. Do the math. To beg for a spray-starch clean read is to groan for a lack of realism from that most brutal of historical periods. In short, this is a story that asks a lot from its readers, and that causes me to respect the author for that. For my part, I'm determined to make my way through the sequels in this trilogy later this year.
Saturday, March 10, 2018
Recent Readings: Books Have Lives, Too
Previously, I reviewed Alan Jacobs' How To Think, which I rather enjoyed. So imagine how much my heartbeat increased when I discovered that Jacobs, an evangelical Anglican, had written The Book of Common Prayer: A Biography, an entry in the Lives of Great Religious Books series. It is not only people that should be portrayed in biographies, but great books also have their unique life stories. Jacobs gives a vivid look at the BCP as a living, breathing wonder of religious literature.
Jacobs briskly sketches the historical drama that brought on the composition of the BCP, putting the cookies of the past on the accessible bottom shelf for the average layperson. The central figure in this sequence is, of course, Thomas Cranmer. The initial passion of the Archbishop of Canterbury was that the English people be able to read Scripture and access its truth. To that end, he needed to create tools for that. The Book of Homilies was a collection of sermons (some unmistakably by Cranmer) that explained the Bible, but the BCP was to be the venue by which Englishmen could hear the Bible read and experience it. This would be a launching pad to common prayers together, all of which would mark the approach to the altar for Holy Communion.
Jacobs also adeptly shows how the BCP, a product of its time, also marked time for the common English parishioner. Cranmer utilized the church calendar to mark God's lordship over the patterns of time, using the rhythms of Advent to Epiphany to Lent to Easter to Whitsunday to Trinity Sunday through Ordinary Time on to Advent again. The BCP also demonstrates the rhythm of birth to life with its baptismal, marriage, and funeral rites. And the BCP also marks the pulses of each day through the emphasis on Morning and Evening Prayer services.
The sketch of the BCP's life continues with details of the "Black Rubric" from the arguments between Cranmer and John Knox. After Cranmer's martyrdom under Bloody Mary, the Elizabethan era with Richard Hooker's leadership gives way to the Cavalier and Roundhead rumblings that make a path for Oliver Cromwell's Commonwealth. Incidentally, it is at this time the Puritan Cromwell roundly bullies Anglicans who desire to be faithful to the BCP. Cromwell certainly does not come out of this story smelling like a rose!
Jacobs traces the shape and specific wordings of the BCP from 1801 onward, from a time where the Church of England was marked by little fruit or church attendance at all, through a Victorian renaissance of the BCP, all the while giving due diligence to the influence of John Henry Newman and the Tractarians, for the Anglo-Catholic wing of the Church of England pressed for key considerations in worship, as well.
The revisions of the BCP (particularly in 1928 in America and 1979 in Britain) are covered toward the end of the book as Anglicanism finds itself to be more of a global faith. Now the question is how to adapt the enduring weight of the BCP to particular cultural situations in Africa, India, and elsewhere. A final chapter mentions the various printers charged with producing the BCP down through history, which reveals that one printer was John Baskerville, from whom the Baskerville type font gets its name!
This is no dry, dusty monograph of literary evolution. The feel and fire of each person and historical element bursts into full flame. Jacobs has found a way for a religious text to come to life for the layperson, while exciting veteran clergy and scholars, as well.
Jacobs briskly sketches the historical drama that brought on the composition of the BCP, putting the cookies of the past on the accessible bottom shelf for the average layperson. The central figure in this sequence is, of course, Thomas Cranmer. The initial passion of the Archbishop of Canterbury was that the English people be able to read Scripture and access its truth. To that end, he needed to create tools for that. The Book of Homilies was a collection of sermons (some unmistakably by Cranmer) that explained the Bible, but the BCP was to be the venue by which Englishmen could hear the Bible read and experience it. This would be a launching pad to common prayers together, all of which would mark the approach to the altar for Holy Communion.
Jacobs also adeptly shows how the BCP, a product of its time, also marked time for the common English parishioner. Cranmer utilized the church calendar to mark God's lordship over the patterns of time, using the rhythms of Advent to Epiphany to Lent to Easter to Whitsunday to Trinity Sunday through Ordinary Time on to Advent again. The BCP also demonstrates the rhythm of birth to life with its baptismal, marriage, and funeral rites. And the BCP also marks the pulses of each day through the emphasis on Morning and Evening Prayer services.
The sketch of the BCP's life continues with details of the "Black Rubric" from the arguments between Cranmer and John Knox. After Cranmer's martyrdom under Bloody Mary, the Elizabethan era with Richard Hooker's leadership gives way to the Cavalier and Roundhead rumblings that make a path for Oliver Cromwell's Commonwealth. Incidentally, it is at this time the Puritan Cromwell roundly bullies Anglicans who desire to be faithful to the BCP. Cromwell certainly does not come out of this story smelling like a rose!
Jacobs traces the shape and specific wordings of the BCP from 1801 onward, from a time where the Church of England was marked by little fruit or church attendance at all, through a Victorian renaissance of the BCP, all the while giving due diligence to the influence of John Henry Newman and the Tractarians, for the Anglo-Catholic wing of the Church of England pressed for key considerations in worship, as well.
The revisions of the BCP (particularly in 1928 in America and 1979 in Britain) are covered toward the end of the book as Anglicanism finds itself to be more of a global faith. Now the question is how to adapt the enduring weight of the BCP to particular cultural situations in Africa, India, and elsewhere. A final chapter mentions the various printers charged with producing the BCP down through history, which reveals that one printer was John Baskerville, from whom the Baskerville type font gets its name!
This is no dry, dusty monograph of literary evolution. The feel and fire of each person and historical element bursts into full flame. Jacobs has found a way for a religious text to come to life for the layperson, while exciting veteran clergy and scholars, as well.
Tuesday, March 6, 2018
I Was Travis' Teacher...Imagine That Privilege!
The 2011-12 school year was a rough one for me, for many reasons I won't go into right now. I've never walked away from teaching for good, but that was one year in which I thought maybe the profession would be better off without me.
One day, there was a moment that started to change all that.
Fifth period Ethics. That was a vivacious bunch, and teaching them about the issues spawning from the commandment "You shall not commit adultery" wasn't keeping them calm (They were high school sophomores, after all!).
I don't recall the exact situation. I do recall correcting--in rapid fashion--a comment by a kid named Travis Ralls, and then having to stop him from getting further distracted by other students. Finally, I said quietly, "Travis, settle down, please."
That might have been the end of it except that Travis shook his head and looked at me pleadingly before saying, "Rabs [Rabbi is the term of semi-endearment my students use for me; Travis like to shorten it to 'Rabs'], why are you so hard on me?"
Partly due to frustration, partly wanting to move on, partly wanting to say something salvagably nice, I said, "Because I'm hardest on the ones with the most potential, because I believe in you."
To tell the truth, I don't know how willingly Travis swallowed that, but he did nod and ended up with an appreciative look on his face.
Did I mention he ended up leading us to multiple state baseball titles?
Did mention he ended up coming back to visit me faithfully a few times after graduating?
Did I mention this kid grew and matured the most out of almost all my students at Westminster?
And the capper: This guy gets it when it comes to living his faith.
In a recent article for a Greenville University publication, Travis wrote, "In life we fail--we have slumps, we hit hard times. Just like in baseball, how we react in these moments of trial are the true representations of our character. Without Christ, my baseball career and, most importantly, my life are meaningless. In my slumps both on the field and in life, I must rely on Jesus Christ for my strength."
Travis Ralls gets it. I got to have him.
He's no longer my student. I happened to be his teacher. Imagine that privilege!
One day, there was a moment that started to change all that.
Fifth period Ethics. That was a vivacious bunch, and teaching them about the issues spawning from the commandment "You shall not commit adultery" wasn't keeping them calm (They were high school sophomores, after all!).
I don't recall the exact situation. I do recall correcting--in rapid fashion--a comment by a kid named Travis Ralls, and then having to stop him from getting further distracted by other students. Finally, I said quietly, "Travis, settle down, please."
That might have been the end of it except that Travis shook his head and looked at me pleadingly before saying, "Rabs [Rabbi is the term of semi-endearment my students use for me; Travis like to shorten it to 'Rabs'], why are you so hard on me?"
Partly due to frustration, partly wanting to move on, partly wanting to say something salvagably nice, I said, "Because I'm hardest on the ones with the most potential, because I believe in you."
To tell the truth, I don't know how willingly Travis swallowed that, but he did nod and ended up with an appreciative look on his face.
Did I mention he ended up leading us to multiple state baseball titles?
Did mention he ended up coming back to visit me faithfully a few times after graduating?
Did I mention this kid grew and matured the most out of almost all my students at Westminster?
And the capper: This guy gets it when it comes to living his faith.
In a recent article for a Greenville University publication, Travis wrote, "In life we fail--we have slumps, we hit hard times. Just like in baseball, how we react in these moments of trial are the true representations of our character. Without Christ, my baseball career and, most importantly, my life are meaningless. In my slumps both on the field and in life, I must rely on Jesus Christ for my strength."
Travis Ralls gets it. I got to have him.
He's no longer my student. I happened to be his teacher. Imagine that privilege!
Friday, March 2, 2018
Why We're In This Thing
Somewhere between this morning's parent-teacher conferences and tonight's trivia night, I find myself on the sofa in our den thinking about the middle of this past week.
I drove down toward Memphis, through undependable weather in a very dependable Toyota Camry rental, to speak about something that is a pretty big deal to me.
As it turns out, it's a pretty big deal to others.
The man who gave me my first teaching position, Mickey Bowdon, had asked me to come to Olive Branch, MS, to speak on this idea of transformational Christian education.
For years, Christian schools have done quality work, but like many schools of different stripes, they reach a place where they have to ask, "Is what we're doing really effective? What do we need to change?"
Those are questions we need to explore. I was there Wednesday evening to talk about this idea of transformational Christian education: Moving what we do from jockeying students into a framework that conforms to an idea of where we want them to be, to shepherding a hopeful transformation that is underway.
I'm in the middle of going through several parts of this in this blog, but this was a venue to cover it all in one gulp. I was able to speak on moving from lesson plans and top-down to student learning, strategic struggle, and opening arenas to precocious pondering.
I didn't know what to expect, but the administrators were gracious, curious, prodding, and excited. TCE is, to them, a place of dangerously hopeful and exciting possibilities. Their queries in the Q & A session gave all the impression that we are on the verge of something really intoxicating.
And what was most profound and moving were our prayer group times. So many burdens were shared and prayed over. What an encouragement it was to know that we struggle over and have to work through many challenges, and that we can draw strength from God and each other.
This endeavor is bigger than all of us combined. The wonder is why the kingdom of God ever gets built, but He manages, and He wants to do it through human servants. That reassurance came home with dynamic force this week, and it was with a full heart and a happy soul that I drove home from Memphis.
I told my friend Scott VonderBruegge about my time there and he, in turn, was re-energized, saying this is "one of those things that makes going the next mile possible."
To be sure, it's nice to get some internal confirmation of why we're in this thing. Many thanks to Mickey Bowdon and all the others present this weekend, for you all have kickstarted me, as well.
I drove down toward Memphis, through undependable weather in a very dependable Toyota Camry rental, to speak about something that is a pretty big deal to me.
As it turns out, it's a pretty big deal to others.
The man who gave me my first teaching position, Mickey Bowdon, had asked me to come to Olive Branch, MS, to speak on this idea of transformational Christian education.
For years, Christian schools have done quality work, but like many schools of different stripes, they reach a place where they have to ask, "Is what we're doing really effective? What do we need to change?"
Those are questions we need to explore. I was there Wednesday evening to talk about this idea of transformational Christian education: Moving what we do from jockeying students into a framework that conforms to an idea of where we want them to be, to shepherding a hopeful transformation that is underway.
I'm in the middle of going through several parts of this in this blog, but this was a venue to cover it all in one gulp. I was able to speak on moving from lesson plans and top-down to student learning, strategic struggle, and opening arenas to precocious pondering.
I didn't know what to expect, but the administrators were gracious, curious, prodding, and excited. TCE is, to them, a place of dangerously hopeful and exciting possibilities. Their queries in the Q & A session gave all the impression that we are on the verge of something really intoxicating.
And what was most profound and moving were our prayer group times. So many burdens were shared and prayed over. What an encouragement it was to know that we struggle over and have to work through many challenges, and that we can draw strength from God and each other.
This endeavor is bigger than all of us combined. The wonder is why the kingdom of God ever gets built, but He manages, and He wants to do it through human servants. That reassurance came home with dynamic force this week, and it was with a full heart and a happy soul that I drove home from Memphis.
I told my friend Scott VonderBruegge about my time there and he, in turn, was re-energized, saying this is "one of those things that makes going the next mile possible."
To be sure, it's nice to get some internal confirmation of why we're in this thing. Many thanks to Mickey Bowdon and all the others present this weekend, for you all have kickstarted me, as well.
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