“A Friendly Conversation”

It’s exam week. As usual, Karl Barth has words to keep everything in perspective:

No one should study merely in order to pass an examination, to become a pastor, or in order to gain an academic degree. When properly understood, an examination is a friendly conversation of older students of theology with younger ones, concerning certain themes in which they share a common interest. The purpose of this conversation is to give younger participants an opportunity to exhibit whether and to what extent they have exerted themselves, and to what extent they appear to give promise of doing so in the future. The real value of a doctorate, even when learned with the greatest distinction, is totally dependent on the degree to which its recipient has conducted and maintained himself as a learner. Its worth depends, as well, entirely on the extent to which he further conducts and maintains himself as such. Only by his qualification as a learner can he show himself qualified to become a teacher. Whoever studies theology does so because to study it is (quite apart from any personal aims of the student) necessary, good, and beautiful in relationship to the service to which he has been called. Theology must possess him so completely that he can be concerned with it only in the manner of a studiosus.

Evangelical Theology: An Introduction, 172

 

Ferguson, Race, and The Goodness of Created-Physical-Existence

Consider this one very small contribution to what is a huge and beyond complicated subject that I would much rather listen than contribute to.

One of the ways to approach this subject is to try to formulate a Christian account of race in light of the Gospel. A key text here is Ephesians 2:14-16–“For He Himself is our peace, who has made both one, and has broken down the middle wall of separation, having abolished in His flesh the enmity, that is, the law of commandments contained in ordinances, so as to create in Himself one new man from the two, thus making peace, and that He might reconcile them both to God in one body through the cross, thereby putting to death the enmity.” (NKJV)

In framing the discussion, I’ve heard some who seem be saying “We should talk about this subject as Christians. Not as black Christians or white Christians, but simply as mere Christians. In Christ there is neither ‘Barbarian, Scythian, slave, nor free’, after all. Paying special attention to a black perspective on this subject is divisive to the body of Christ where black and white don’t matter anymore.” And then those commentators who are perceived to maintain this kind of “spiritual neutrality” are praised for their “Christ centered objectivism” and those who “keep bringing up race” are accused of being divisive, and just throwing gas on the fire. “If you would quit bringing it up it would quit being a problem” is the (sometimes) unspoken hint.

I think we need to be careful here that we don’t unwittingly act out an unwarranted, almost gnostic, dismissal of our identity as physical beings in favor of a more “spiritual”, race-less, Christian identity. A robust account of our identity as persons created in the image of God with real physical bodies is essential to staying on course here. God created a physical world and called it very good. He’s not afraid of matter, and he’s not afraid of the physicality of our human bodies. He made us this way, and then he became embodied in physical flesh Himself! When he created humans and later divided them at Babel, he certainly knew of the thousands of different people groups, languages, cultures, perspectives, and skin tones (there are thousands) that would result. He points us to a future, not in which race is “done away” along with the tears and the pain, but one in which re-embodied people distinguished as from every tribe and tongue and people and nation are gathered around the throne praising the Lamb.

God created us in real bodies with real melanin, and that’s a good thing. In the body of Christ, we come from different perspectives that have been informed by our backgrounds, including our ethnic background. That’s a good thing. The mere existence of ethnic differences in the body of Christ is not in itself divisive, but only when those difference are allowed to form the basis for sinful division. Hence, the answer is not to pretend that those differences aren’t real, but to love one another through them, in them (and not “in spite” of them!). The glory of God in the gospel is when His Spirit takes those real differences and makes of them a unity in Christ–but not by pretending that those differences are not real or significant. What kind of glory is that? “Look, these people are getting along! (when they figured out that their skin color is illusory and irrelevant).” The unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace across ethnic boundaries is not made more glorious by ignoring those differences, but rather by robustly affirming them. The power of the gospel is not manifest by “not talking about race” but by bringing race to the table in all of its complications and messiness, and working through it in love. When a person becomes a Christian, does their physical body cease to matter? Is it merely an illusion, a distraction,–or worse–a necessary cause of division?

“Not talking about race” is not gospel unity–it’s superficial, and it might even be symptomatic of worse: a subtle denial of our good, created, physical, bodies, in color, no less.

I can’t wait until we have perfect unity around the throne. Until then, as a white-Christian, I need to hear from those parts of the body who can help me see my blind spots, and who are experiencing suffering because they are black-Christians, or otherwise. In my own limited and finite perspective, I need to hear from black-Christians. 

I’m not capable of participating in a “race-less” Christianity yet. If I’m reading my Bible right, I don’t think we ever will.

“How are Things in Your Heart?”

A word for theologians, (and theologians in training):

The story if told that the once famous Professor Tholuck of Halle used to visit the rooms of his students and press them with the questions, “Brother, how are things in your heart?” How do thinks stand with you yourself?–not with your ears, not with your head, not with your forensic ability, not with your industriousness (although all that is also appropriate to being a theologian). In biblical terms the question is precisely, “How are things with your heart?” It is a question very properly addressed to every young and old theologian!

The question might also read: “Adam, where are you?” Are you perhaps–in your interior and exterior private life–fleeing from the One with whom you as a theologian are pre-eminently concerned? Have you hidden yourself from him in the shrubbery of your more or less profound or high-flown contemplation, explication, meditation, and application? Are you perhaps living in a private world which is like a snail’s shell?

There is no avoiding the fact that the living object of theology concerns the whole man. It concerns even what is most private in the private life of the theologian. Even in this sphere the theologian cannot and will not flee this object. If this situation should not suit him, he might, of course, prefer to choose another and less dangerous discipline than theology. But he should be aware that it is characteristic for the object of theology to seek out every man in every place sooner or later (see Psalm 139). It will seek him out wherever he may be and pose to him the same question. Therefore, it would probably be simpler to remain a theologian and learn to live with God’s claim upon even the most intimate realms of the theologian’s humanity.

Evangelical Theology: An Introduction, pp. 83-4

 

“Avengers of Their Grandfathers”

More Barth, on how to view our theological fathers:

Time and time again, the community grows used to living from what was said in it and to it yesterday: as a rule it lives from the Christian knowledge of yesterday. In the meantime, it is to be hoped, theology has advanced somewhat further, and what it supposes to know, what it ventures to think and to say today, will only seldom agree completely with what the fathers of yesterday thought and said. The far greater likelihood is that the newer theology will vigorously take exception to the fathers, especially to the immediate fathers. Even if this tension is justified by the vigorous nature of theological science, theology will still do well to keep in contact with its predecessors.

By no means will we drop the problems which concerned them; instead, we will pursue them further, repeatedly considering the very problems they posed, although at the same time no doubt putting them in the right perspective. Otherwise, theology might find the sons of today proving tomorrow to be enthusiastic rediscoverers and perhaps avengers of their grandfathers. The work of overcoming past weaknesses and errors, a work which was perhaps only apparently completed, would then have to begin all over again. Ma the good Lord preserve us from that!

Evangelical Theology: An Introduction, pp. 46-7

 

Better than ‘The Bank Account’: Some Thoughts on Parenting

I have a four-year-old daughter and a two-year-old son, which makes me what’s known as an expert. So, with that out of the way . . .

Being a dad is seriously challenging. Navigating the maze of different parenting ‘styles’ is hard enough–being faithful to my scriptural responsibilities is impossible for this sinner-dad, and I am constantly crying out for grace. (and in the moments I am not crying out for God’s help, I am utterly failing at my task).

No one wants to be the strict, harsh, demanding, authoritarian, stereotype of a parent. I’ve heard that we should try to encourage as much as we correct, so that our children are not always hearing correction, and concluding that they’re “never good enough”. The analogy is like that of a bank account. If you are constantly criticizing, that’s like taking an emotional/relational withdrawal. Encouragement is like a deposit. If you only make withdrawals, there’s nothing left in the account, and an account always bordering on broke is a strained relationship. Make enough repeated deposits to keep a healthy balance.

So far, so good, right?

Just today I had a conversation with another dad about his five-year-old, and I saw beyond the analogy. I think we can do better than The Bank Account.

Encouragement/Criticism as the primary modes of relating to our children is a pretty managerial style relationship. It posits the child as an individual with certain behaviors, and his parents as individuals who are trying to influence those behaviors. Encourage the good behavior (and do that a lot, find stuff to encourage), and correct the bad (which can seem like it is happening ALL THE TIME.)

Here’s my question: How is this any different than an employer trying to get better productivity out of an employee? ‘Sandwiching’ his criticisms with praise as part of a performance review?

The fundamental aspect of the parent/child relationship that I want to cultivate more than behavior modification is the relationship as a good and delightful thing in itself. This means not just saying things, positive or negative, to influence their behavior, but creating shared experiences with them that they enjoy, such that I enjoy them as my children, and they enjoy  me as their dad. Reading books together, because they enjoy it, and I enjoy it, and we enjoy each other. Singing songs together as we cultivate a shared love of melody and each other. Adventures. Talks. Wrestling matches. Prayers. Meals. Snuggles. Encouragement and discipline become one more shared experience within a relationship that is defined fundamentally by delight in one another for our own sakes’, not for the sake of some outcome we are hoping to achieve. I don’t want my child to get addicted to my encouragement nor discouraged by my correction–I want them to enjoy me as their dad, and receive all communication from me as flowing from that more essential basis for relating.

Delighting in my kids takes (will take) work. And additionally I have to help them develop an affection for me. It means dying to myself and the things I naturally enjoy, to cultivate this kind of delight. Not reading my own book, so I can read one with them. Rasslin’ when I wish I could be resting.

Lewis famously said, “it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub, and exploit – immortal horrors or everlasting splendors”. I’m starting to see my children as potential
“everlasting splendors”, immortals whom I’ve been given the task of parenting. Moving beyond the bank account framework is more difficult, but more rewarding, and more faithful to who we both are as good creatures made in the image of God. God help me to love my children!