Bringing Theology to Life - Christianity Today

THE BIBLE IS THE WORD OF GOD.

That’s all I read on the blackboard as I strolled into the seminar hall a few minutes late. But there was plenty to read on the speakers’ faces. “This debate is one of a kind,” their expressions exclaimed. “We’re arguing the Bible at Princeton.”

We were a two-minute walk from the rooms where Warfield, Machen, and Hodge lectured and wrote about the Bible and revelation. From an open window, you could see the brick and white-trimmed Center for Theological Inquiry, a brainbank for the sorts of issues being debated this night

But judging by the expressions on the faces of the audience, most weren’t impressed. Many were young–university and seminary students. While a few appeared as eager as the speakers, most (probably required to attend) looked bored and distracted, preoccupied with more important concerns. Revelation and the Bible? To them, hardly life-changing issues, even at Princeton. As one student commented after the debate, “Why can’t we just get on with life?”

ORIGINAL SIN: ISN’T THAT CREATIVE MISCHIEF?

Recently in a conversation, I was making what I thought was a rather obvious point about “original sin.” As I pursued my logic, I realized one of my two listeners was not connecting with the term. As far as he was concerned, original sin meant “ten new ways to covet.”

How hard theology has fallen! Once considered the queen of sciences, today it is not even in the royal court. The social event of turn-of-the-century Berlin was Adolf Harnack’s lectures on the fatherhood of God. The classroom was standing room only, overflowing with students, intelligentsia, plain people, and pastors. In our day, announce a lecture on the fatherhood of God, and you’ll do well to muster the faithful (unless you link the topic to co-dependency).

The good news is, God isn’t asking me to get my people to read “The City of God.” All he asks is that I teach good theology in a way people can understand.

I learned something about how to do that during a conversation with Jamie, a member of my congregation who teaches German 101 at Princeton University. They don’t teach languages the way they used to. He tries always to couch vocabulary and grammar in real-life settings where everyday necessities demand rapid acquisition.

Why not do that with theology? I thought. My mind moved to the apostle Paul. He wrote his theology in response to life situations. The Corinthian letters, for example, contain some of Paul’s greatest theological instruction on the resurrection, the body of Christ, spiritual gifts, love, the new covenant, ministry standards and expectations, final judgment, God’s wisdom and the person of the Holy Spirit. From Corinthians I learned four lessons from the apostle Paul about how to teach theology so people will listen and understand.

START WITH THE FAMILIAR

In the past, my sermons have tried to come at life through theology. Paul came at theology through life with ordinary idioms and common metaphors. Call it the “Fulghum strategy”: everything I teach about theology I should have learned in kindergarten.

My associate did this recently in a sermon entitled, “Everything I Need to Know I Learned from Country Music.” The sermon was a four-point theology lesson, but the listeners never knew it. Tracy expressed his theological propositions (his what?) in country-music jargon. Instead of the main point “Revelation and truth are the basis for consistent Christian living,” he used, “Don’t break my heart, my achy-breaky heart.” He then quickly (and wisely) proceeded to develop his point with Peter, Paul, and the other apostles.

Later, when presenting the human condition as one of self-absorption and pride, he quoted, “I’m going back to a better class of losers.” The congregation soaked in theology through the country-music method of his madness, and they loved it! Months after the sermon, people still discuss it.

Sure, theological terms have value. Up front, however, they intimidate and confuse. How many times have I mentioned “total depravity” and then spent three minutes guarding the term and myself against misunderstanding? What am I trying to do, justify the jargon of theologians? Wouldn’t it be easier to introduce the concept with an understandable label like “sin-swept” and later name it theologically?

When hunting for familiar terms, replace latinisms with everyday Anglo-Saxon synonyms. Connect the term to contemporary issues, phrases, or personal memories. Take a blank sheet of paper, write the term in the middle, and then free-associate to people, events, the past, the future, and Bible stories. When you’ve found the fresh but familiar concept that illumines the theological truth, you’ll discover the pursuit pays off.

POPULATE

In Corinthians Paul linked theology to people. We read of the house of Chloe, the superapostles, the erring brother, the marital ascetics. Paul tattooed truth to flesh.

Biography is a great excuse to teach theology by another name. A few details from Augustine’s life make theological truths like original sin clear and meaningful. How did the doctrine impact his ministry in Hippo? His personal life? His choices? His successes and failures?

In one sermon I decided to approach total depravity from Augustine’s standpoint. I played detective. First I briefly narrated from Augustine’s confessions his account of stealing pears from the neighbor’s back yard. My Sunday morning crowd was tuned in.

Then I proposed several possible motives for the crime. One by one, the motives were shown to be inadequate. Eventually even the great Inspector Clouseau would have to agree with Augustine’s solution: original sin.

I followed with a few more biographical details (for instance, his mistress and their son, Adeodatus), enough to convince even the high schoolers of the relevance of an otherwise dusty theological concept and theologian.

If Augustine and the letter of Corinth tell me anything, it’s this: avoid teaching a theological concept apart from a name, a vitae, or a ministry that expressed it.

INTERROGATE

On her deathbed, Gertrude Stein mused, “What is the answer? … What is the question?”

Compelling answers arise from relevant questions, and so does interesting theology.

First Corinthians is a series of answers to questions put to the Paul. What should the Corinthians do about spiritual gifts, about virgins who want to marry, about food sacrificed to idols?

Theology turns boring or meaningless when it answers the wrong questions. An impassioned defense of the nature of the Bible would have been a poor answer to the Philippian jailer’s question, “What must I do to be saved?” To everything, including theology, there is a season.

A preacher’s job is to be an advocate for his listeners, to ask the theological questions they are or should be asking.

I did this recently with the L.L. Bean Christmas catalogue. Leafing through its glossy pages in the pulpit on the second Sunday of Advent, I muttered casual questions: “Would my wife like that jumper? Could my oldest son afford to buy this flashlight for me as a present?”

Then I put an edge to my questions. “Would Mary have needed this sweater in Bethlehem? Would Joseph have purchased that rain gear before leaving Nazareth? If I were following Jesus around Galilee, would it really matter if I didn’t own these high impact sandals?” Questions that begin with the contemporary scene and then move to theological issues like God’s provision and the place of material possessions make for interesting theology.

NARRATE

I am God’s example for my congregation in matters theological. The Sunday sermon offers an opportunity for me not only to teach theology but also how to do theology. Cindy and Karen and George and the rest of the congregation benefit by hearing me think aloud, assaulting an issue or problem and taking it captive to good theology. They benefit from seeing the process as I dissect the subject, ask the right questions, assign appropriate theological categories, and then turn to the appropriate resources. Narrating in the pulpit what I have done in the study leaves them an example to follow.

That’s what Paul did with the Corinthians. He didn’t just send back a harsh list of pronouncements. His response to the Corinthians is not a formal argument but a personal letter. We get the feeling we are following Paul’s thoughts as they came to him. He explains. He illustrates. He addresses his readers. His strategy is a rewrite of the “fish” proverb: Give someone a theological answer, and you solve one problem; teach someone how to do theology, and you’ve solved many problems.

Recently my wife’s doctor found a suspicious lump, and tests were ordered. In the end, the news was good: no malignancy. But in between, my mind was congested with all sorts of fears.

That Sunday, I shared my apprehensions with the congregation in my sermon. I reviewed my private questions and worst fears. I then explored (read, struggled) how these questions and fears related to the lordship of Christ, the goodness of the Father’s providence, and the work of the Spirit during times of testing.

The message wasn’t easy, but through it I demonstrated how spiritual strength is found for daily life issues in good theology. As is the case when theology meets life, people left that morning different from how they came.

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