A short post - but not a 'filler'. [EDIT: It was short at some point!] I haven't blogged for a while, mostly because I've been busy turning my life upside down. This post is in some degree inevitably introspective, but I hope it is not indulgent.
I read rather a lot of theology (to the point of indulgence) - but every now and again some of it breaks through and actually serves to change how I live: Martin Luther dichotomised two theologies - the theology of glory and the theology of the cross.
Theology of Glory
Forde explains that a theology of glory assumes "that what we need is optimistic encouragement, some flattery, some positive thinking, [and] some support to build our self-esteem."
A theology of glory, when looking at going into ministry, will look at gifting and appearance - will affirm, as it were, the incidentals of who we are. A theology of glory will allow a 'calling' or 'gifting' (not to equate the two!) to supercede any defects in character or lack of maturity - to go forward immediately, armed with gifts, and try to achieve for the kingdom.
This theology believes that God's workers must be strong and self-confident. That we should show God's power through our own.
Luther says that the theologian of glory "does not know God hidden in suffering. Therefore he prefers works to suffering, glory to the cross, strength to weakness, [and] wisdom to folly"
If you allow this not to be trite, it won't be: Gandalf explains these theologies:
Theology of the Cross
This is how Luther describes 'Cross theology': "Through the cross, works are dethroned and the 'old Adam', who is especially edified by works, is crucified. It is impossible for a person not to be puffed up by his 'good works' unless he has first been deflated and destroyed by suffering and evil until he knows that he is worthless and that his works are not his but God's."
The theology of the cross is foolishness to the world. It says that humility and humiliation come before glory.
The theology of the cross remembers two things plainly - one: that we bring nothing. We are sinful and simple folk.
Secondly, it remembers that Jesus, because he was in his very nature God, did not cling to his equality with God, but instead went in all obedience and humility to death - even the most humiliating of deaths. And thus he was glorified (Philippians 2:6-11).
I wonder if this will ever fully seep in for me; though I sincerely pray that it will.
The bit where I talk about me
A couple of years ago, I had to leave university for a while because I was ill (I later packed it in altogether). My friends had all given me a lovely send-off, but one, instead, wrote a letter and sent it first class to my home so that the next day, when I woke up, literally hundreds of miles from where I wanted to be, and was feeling thoroughly sorry for myself, then the post would arrive.
The letter told the story of Isaac Watts - who had to give up his ministry because of ill-health. But his writings and hymns in that time were the lasting parts of his ministry - affecting Dodderidge and thus William Wilberforce. That was what I chose to listen to, walked straight to my desk and got reading and writing (I haven't really stopped since).
But I found the letter again, buried in my bureau, about six months ago and read two sentences that I'd chosen to forget. "I'm not saying that the reason for your illness is that God is going to use you in the same way. Be open to what the Lord may have to teach you and how He may want to prepare you and refine you."
I was not. What I could have learned in that time was lost in a desire to prove myself.
I'm partly writing this because of a chance reading this morning of this in a letter written by John Keats: "Do you not see how necessary a world of pains and troubles is to school an intelligence and make it a soul"
You can walk into a room and put on a sticker that says 'Chief of Theologians' or claim in your private thoughts to be 'Chief of Preachers' - however deluded these things may or may not be, the substantive point is that they are irrelevant.
The minister's job is for the 'Chief of Sinners'.
A Halfling's Call
I can flit between the Boromirs and Faramirs - between self-confidence (achieving) and self-doubt (proving); and I do. It is men, you'll remember, who are most easily seduced by the power of the ring.
But some way down the road, the theology of glory will lead to a sudden, crippling realisation that we 'can't do it'. If you can abide with a second Tolkien video - this will give you shivers - Frodo says he 'can't do this' - Sam says 'I know'...
We do this because it's good and right; not because we are strong and good. Because we cling to goodness.
I read a book recently that another friend had sent me (- I think with the sole purpose of kicking my backside). It mentioned a man whom I've looked up to for many years:
"In his living room with tea, I once asked Jerram why he hadn't written more books over the years... I told him how so many of us longed to hear more from him and want to learn more. Pausing and shrugging his shoulders, he smiled broadly... What he said put ministry ambition and the doctrine of creation into perspective. "I'd like to write more," he said, "but I really enjoy my garden.""
Whether to be Samwise the gardener, a bloke on the rigs, a barista or barrister, or, for some, to become ministers straight away in life, we will none of us be in a position for ministry while we are men. It's a Halfling's call.
No comments:
Post a Comment