THE

SEMINARY

BULLETIN

“The Teaching Office in the Reformed Tradition” Ronald C. White, Jr.

Editorial

The Ministry of God Thomas W. Gillespie

Opening Convocation, September 18, 1983

And He Called Them His Disciples Marvin McMickle

Opening Communion Service, September 19, 1983

Education, the Gospel, and the Marginal Craig Dykstra

The Empowering Gospel: D. Campbell Wyckoff s

Concept of the Guiding Principle Donald B. Rogers

The Black Presbyterian Church and Its Rural

Ministry James H. Costen

Emile Cailliet: Christian Centurion Richard J. Oman

Princetoniana

Memorial Tributes

John Alexander Mackay (1889-1983)

Norman Victor Hope (1908-1983)

VOLUME V, NUMBER 1

NEW SERIES 1984

PRINCETON THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY

Thomas W. Gillespie President

John M. Templeton, President

Robert M. Adams James F. Anderson Clem E. Bininger Robert W. Bohl John H. Donelik Peter E. B. Erdman Rosemary H. Evans Milton A. Galamison Sarah B. Gambrell Francisco O. Garcia-Treto Helen H. Gemmill Carl H. Geores, Jr. Margaret L. Harmon Alexandra G. Hawkins C. Thomas Hilton J. Roger Hull, Jr.

Bryant M. Kirkland Johannes R. Krahmer Henry Luce III

Eugene C. Blake J. Douglas Brown John G. Buchanan Frederick E. Christian Allan M. Frew John T. Galloway Henry E. Hird

BOARD OF TRUSTEES David

Robert M. Adams, Secretary William E. Lawder, Treasurer

TRUSTEES EMERITI

James I. McCord President Emeritus

i. Watermulder, Vice-President

Donald C. McFerren Dale W. McMillen, Jr. Earl F. Palmer George T. Piercy William A. Pollard Clifford G. Pollock William H. Scheide Laird H. Simons, Jr. Frederick B. Speakman John M. Templeton William P. Thompson James M. Tunnell, Jr. Karen L. Turner Jeffrey R. Wampler Samuel G. Warr David B. Watermulder Charles Wright Ralph M. Wyman

Weir C. Ketler Harry G. Kuch Raymond I. Lindquist John S. Linen J. Keith Louden Irving A. West

The Princeton Seminary Bulletin

VOL. V NEW SERIES 1984 NUMBER 1

Ronald C. White, Jr., Editor

J. J. M. Roberts, Book Review Editor

CONTENTS

“The Teaching Office in the Reformed Tradition”	Ronald C. White, Jr.	V
Editorial
The Ministry of God	Thomas W. Gillespie	1
Opening Convocation, September	18, 1983
And He Called Them His Disciples	Marvin McMickle	9
Opening Communion Service, September 19, 198 3
Education, the Gospel, and the Marginal	Craig Dyjstra	J3
The Empowering Gospel: D. Campbell WyckofPs
Concept of the Guiding Principle	Donald B. Rogers	21
The Black Presbyterian Church and Its Rural
Ministry	James H. Costen	28
Emile Cailliet: Christian Centurion	Richard J. Oman	33
Princetoniana Memorial Tributes
John Alexander Mackay (1889-1983)		41
Norman Victor Hope (1908-1983)		44
Sermons
The Tacit Dimension of Ministry	Thomas W. Gillespie	46
Christian Unity in a Wounded World	Paul A. Crow, Jr.	5°
Spirituality of the Struggle	John W. de Gruchy	55
Bible Study on Peace: Ephesians 2:11-3:21	Cullen I K Story	59

Book Reviews

The Faith of the Old Testament: A History, by Werner H.

Schmidt Ben C. Ollenburger 67

Women Recounted: Narrative Thinking and the God of Israel, by James G. Williams

Elizabeth Gaines 68

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Colossians, Philemon, by Petei T. O’Brien	Otto Reimherr	7°
The Church, by Wolfhart Pannenberg	David J. Bryant	71
Message and Existence: An Introduction to Christian Theology, by Landon Gilkey	Mar\ Kline Taylor	72
Romantic Idealism and Roman Catholicism: Schelling and the Theologians, by Thomas F. O’Meara	Walter Sundberg	74
Birth and Death: Bioethical Decision-Making, by Paul D. Simmons	William DeVeaux	76
Christian-Marxist Dialogue in Eastern Europe, by Paul Mojzes	Charles C. West	77
Pastoral Theology, by Thomas C. Oden	H. Dana Fearon III	77
Discovering the Church, by Barbara Brown Zikmund	William D. Howden	79
The Twentieth Century Pulpit, ed. by James W. Cox	Donald Macleod	80
Biblical Preaching: An Expositor’s Treasury, ed. by James W. Cox	Thomas G. Long	80
The Light Within You, by John R. Claypool	William D. Howden	81
Stained Glass from Medieval Times to the Present, by James L. Sturm and James Chotas	Donald Macleod	83

THE PRINCETON SEMINARY BULLETIN

THE PRINCETON SEMINARY BULLETIN

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“The Teaching Office in the Reformed Tradition”

by Ronald C. White, Jr., Editor

The Teaching Office as an integral ministry of the church needs to be redis- covered and affirmed. In recent years many other aspects of ministry have been accented. Emphasis has been placed on the minister as enabler or administrator. There has been increased interest in developing skills in counseling and organ- izational development. Interest in preaching is bursting out all over. But where have all the teachers gone?

Many have gone to the academy — colleges, universities, and seminaries. And there the good students are spotted and encouraged to teach — but in the academy, not in the church. This cloistering of the Teaching Office in an academic en- vironment has not always been the case.

The subject of the Teaching Office has special poignancy for those within the Reformed family. In The Institutes of Christian Religion John Calvin set out four offices for the church: pastors, doctors, elders, and deacons. On returning from his Strasbourg sojourn, Calvin presented to the Genevan city council a schedule of ecclesiastical organization calling for a fourfold public ministry of the Reformed churches. The second order, the doctor, was charged with “teaching the faithful in wholesome doctrine.”

Despite this historical foundation, the second office somehow atrophied in the intervening centuries. It did not die. One place where it lived on was in New England. For example, in 1632 the Boston First Church ordained John Cotton as teacher to serve alongside the ordained pastor, John Wilson. The next year the newly organized Church of Cambridge selected Thomas Hooker as its pastor and Samuel Stone as its teacher. The landmark Cambridge Platform of 1648 included provisions for the Teaching Office based not in the school but in the parish.

Today I am discovering in many places persons aware of the tradition of both Calvin and various followers and eager to translate the Teaching Office into contemporary models. People are often working creatively in their own contexts but in isolation from each other. These doctors of the church may have something to say to all of us.

I

It is critical that we be clear about what is being commended. “Teaching Office” can be abstract or amorphous. I am speaking concretely about a teacher. The Association of Theological Schools sponsored a series of conferences recently on the Teaching Office. The ecumenical dialogue was informative as we examined the Teaching Office in the church, whether it be resident in pope, bishop, or theologian. We talked a lot about the movement of information from the top down, but we had a harder time envisioning teaching from the bottom up, with the teacher hard at work at the local or parish level. Teaching is a high calling; but if it is reserved only for the higher ecclesiastical or theological echelons of the church, it will not finally do the job of “teaching the faithful in wholesome doctrine.”

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A persistent problem is that many conversations about education never quite get to the teacher. Yes, it is important to think through educational philosophy, but we need to set apart persons to teach. Yes, we need to coordinate Christian education programs, but potentially gifted teachers are often consumed in ad- ministrative responsibilities. In the course of preparing this editorial I have talked with numbers of able persons who want to exercise a teaching ministry but find themselves hamstrung by multiple other duties.

Perhaps this Teaching Office is beginning to sound like a new elitism. But to be set apart is only to recognize the imperative of the task. We so often find ourselves apologetic about teaching and learning. We can count the number of people we see in a busy afternoon, so counseling and calling can be measured in terms of usefulness, but how can we justify closeting ourselves away in our studies? To speak about the Teaching Office really involves the redefinition of our ministries.

II

To learn more about the teaching ministry and to encourage its practice, a continuing education seminar was convened at Princeton. Individuals were in- vited who were trying to work out the implications of the Teaching Office in their various ministries. The group included ministers in both single and multiple staff churches, a college teacher who is a ruling elder, a clergy couple sharing an educational ministry, and a person with teaching and training responsibilities in a paraparochial youth ministry. One participant with the title “teaching minister” was set free by his congregation lor an extensive ministry which included Bible study groups in the parish — several utilizing Greek and Hebrew exegesis — and discussion groups for professionals in several center city locations.

Over the course of four days together we probed the historical background of the Teaching Office, shared in Bible study, explored the relationship between preaching and teaching, and struggled toward strategies for implementing a teaching ministry. Out of our time together emerged a covenant to support each other in the teaching ministry. One participant decided to return and renegotiate his call if the teaching ministry was to be fulfilled in his congregation.

Finally the group decided to meet again in one year. In between we set ourselves some assignments. In almost every session we were pushed back again and again to the nature and meaning of the church. We realized that our understanding of the church will determine whether or not learning and teaching are central or peripheral. For the coming year we decided to study Ephesians and several theological studies on the church. Each person will also teach Ephesians in his or her own context as part of the effort to work with our people in exploring both the nature of the church and the teaching ministry. In between our Princeton meetings we would pair ourselves by regions so that we could be accountable in both our frustrations and accomplishments.

III

In this second year a primary focus will be on the dynamics of teaching. If teaching is an office, it is also a gift. We have all learned from good teachers. But what makes them good?

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We are convinced there is a dynamic relationship between teacher and content. If Phillips Brooks defined preaching as “truth through personality,” we need to keep in mind both sides of the equation in teaching. There are many personalities out there who seem to exhibit more charisma than content. At the same time, who has not come away from a meeting convinced that the content was solid, but the communication of the material never made it from teacher to class or congregation. There is a critical if difficult to define process of transmission that makes learning lively. The learner needs to trust the teacher both in terms of personal integrity and mastery of subject matter.

We agreed that central to the teaching ministry is biblical teaching. For the church reformed, the process of re-forming comes from a people in intimate conversation with the scriptures. In our meetings we did not want simply to talk about what we need to do but rather to do it. So we began each day with Bible study. The format this year promises to be rich with the background of our joint teaching of Ephesians as our catalyst.

“Teaching the faithful in wholesome doctrine” is a high calling. The call here is not so much to restore an office as to encourage a ministry. We need a wider conversation about the shape of that ministry in the contemporary tapestry of ministerial forms. But whatever the form, people are eager for ministers who can teach so that the there and then of Christian truth and love intersects the here and now.

The Ministry of God

by Thomas W. Gillespie

Dr. Thomas W. Gillespie began his tenure as President of Princeton Theological Semi- nary on September i, 1983.

Opening Convocation, September 18, 1983

Dean Massa, faculty colleagues, ad- ministrative associates, fellow stu- dents, and honored guests: Permit me a personal word of reminiscence.

The last time I stood in this pulpit, I was preaching my Middler sermon here at the Seminary. The assigned text was John 16:33, * the world you have tribulation; but be of good cheer, I have overcome the world.” Even a charitable memory recalls a homiletical effort that generated more tribulation than cheer. My concern was to expound and ex- plain precisely how and under what conditions Jesus had overcome the world. The result was accurately stated in the critique which followed.

Professor Macleod said to me: “Mr. Gillespie, if your name were not on this manuscript, I would have sworn that it had been written by George Adam Smith and preached to Queen Victoria. Mr. Gillespie, come down from your theological high horse and preach to Aunt Fannie in the front pew.”

That was wise counsel, and for the past thirty years I have tried to honor it. Tonight, however, it is not Aunt Fannie who is sitting in the front pew or, for that matter, in any of the pews. Given this special congregation and oc- casion, perhaps it is permissible for me to mount my horse again in an en- deavor to speak theologically on the theme of the ministry of God.

I

For a decade now I have served as a member of our Presbyterian delega- tion to the Consultation on Church Union. It has been a rich and rewarding

experience. With it, however, has come a big surprise. I have discovered that the most divisive issue among the par- ticipating churches is not our theology of Scripture and Tradition. Neither is it our understanding of Creeds and Confessions, nor our theology of the Sacraments. It is not even our diverse liturgical practices. The most divisive issue among us is the nature of the min- istry in the church.

Traditionally, in ecumenical conver- sations and elsewhere, this theme has been approached at the formal level of offices, orders, and ordination. In Ro- man Catholicism, for example, the point of departure until recently has been the priesthood with its clerical and hier- archical orders. In our Reformed tra- dition, despite its lip-service to the priesthood of all believers, the starting line has been the ministerial orders for- mulated by Martin Bucer at Stras- bourg, implemented by John Calvin at Geneva, and modified a century later by the Westminster Assembly at Lon- don. Thus when a Presbyterian speaks of “the ministry” of the church, the usual reference is to our threefold ec- clesiastical order of pastors and elders and deacons.

Let me state categorically that the traditional approach is the wrong ap- proach. The ordained offices of the church are not the proper point of de- parture for a theology of the ministry. In support of this denial, I submit to you three considerations.

First, beginning our theology of ministry with the offices of the church leads inevitably to an unhealthy cleri-

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calism. The “clergy” are defined as that group within the church which by or- dination has “a part” (Greek: /{lews) in the ministry. The rest of the church is defined as the “laity” (Greek: laos), meaning the unordained “people” who have no part in the ministry. The church is thus divided into two distinct classes of believers it not into two separated castes. There are the ministers and there are those to whom these ministers min- ister. Where this ministry is conceived in terms of priestly functions, the peo- ple of God live in a two-story house. The clergy occupy the “upstairs” and the laity the “downstairs.” A non- priestly version of the ministry, like our own, results in a “split-level” living ar- rangement. Here the staircase may be shorter, but the “upstairs/downstairs” mentality remains. What is ironic about all this is the fact that a theology of ministry is transformed into a sociology of status. I would argue that any the- ology of ministry that turns upon the question of status is by definition false doctrine.

The second consideration follows from the first. If beginning our theol- ogy of ministry with the offices of the cburch is an invitation to clericalism, the acceptance of this invitation results in a part where only a few are asked to dance. Without question, the scope of the church’s ministry is severely lim- ited to the work of ordained officers. No matter how strongly we may ad- vocate a “trickle down” philosophy of “Christian service,” the impression is given that the ministry belongs to the ordained. One layman put it graphi- cally, “My task in the church is to show up, sit up, pay up, and shut up.” His name, I fear, is Legion — for he is many. Such a consequence “short-stops” the work of the Spirit, “short-sheets” the

work of ministry, and “short-changes” the laos of God who are called to this task.

The third consideration is the cri- terion by which the two previous ones are viewed negatively. Put simply, it is this. Beginning our theology of min- istry with the ordained offices of the church is not where the Bible begins. Our traditional doctrines of ministry have certainly appealed to the scrip- tures of the New Testament. Whether Episcopal or Presbyterian or Congre- gational in commitment, all ecclesias- tical orders claim biblical warrant. Cal- vin, for example, assumed that the New Testament sets forth a discernible pat- tern of offices that is both unified and binding. In order to discern this unity amid the bewildering variety of the tex- tual data, however, he was compelled to engage in exegetical procedures that are highly questionable by our present standards. Yet Calvin believed he had faithfully represented the binding or- der established by God. Others from different traditions have shared Cal- vin’s assumption but have drawn con- flicting conclusions. How do we ex- plain this? New Testament scholars today argue that the conclusions are conflicting because the assumption is false. There is no unified and binding order of ministerial office in the New Testament. They point instead to the evidence of diversity in this area and to the traces of development within the period represented by the canonical documents. In other words, diversity and development are the key terms in any consideration of ministerial orders and offices within the canon. If we seek unity and continuity in a theology of ministry, we must begin where the New Testament itself begins.

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II

Where that is may be stated clearly. The New Testament begins with the empowering of all believers by the Holy Spirit from baptism for participation in that ministry which belongs to the triune God. It is perhaps a sign of the times that we find a growing ecumenical con- sensus on this perspective. The two Tubingen theologians, Hans Kiing and Jurgen Moltmann, may be cited as evi- dence. Kiing, the Roman Catholic, be- gins his discussion of ministry precisely at this point in his volume on The Church. Moltmann, the Reformed theologian, follows the same line in his monograph, The Church in the Power of the Spirit. The ministry of the church is grounded in the ministry of God who shares it with the whole church for the sake of the entire world.

Let me illustrate the point by some exegetical remarks on i Corinthians 12. Here, if anywhere, we have Paul’s full- est single treatment of ministry in the church. The crux of the matter is set forth in vv. 4-1 1. I cite it from the Re- vised Standard Version (with a few Greek terms thrown in for free):

Now there are varieties of gifts ( cha- rismata), but the same Spirit; and there are varieties of service (< iiakpnia ) but the same Lord; and there are vari- eties of workings ( energemata ), but it is the same God who inspires ( ener - gein) them all in every one. To each is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good. To one is given through the Spirit the utterance of wisdom, and to another the utter- ance of knowledge according to the same Spirit, to another faith by the same Spirit, to another gifts of heal- ing by the same Spirit, to another the working of miracles, to another

prophecy, to another the ability to distinguish between spirits, to an- other various kinds of tongues, to another the interpretation of tongues. All these are inspired ( energein ) by one and the same Spirit, who ap- portions to each one individually as he wills.

The material theme of this passage is established in verse 7 as “the mani- festation of the Spirit.” The question is where in the world the Spirit is man- ifest. Paul’s answer is that the Spirit is manifest in the Spirit’s wor\. That is why the verb energein is used twice in seven verses. The R.S.V. translates it by the English word “inspire,” but that is too weak. What the Greek verb means literally is “to work,” that is, to effect by action. Ministry is here defined in terms of the activity of the Spirit in and through the church.

But not the Spirit alone. This activity is the work of the Spirit, the work of the Lord, and the work of God. This clear trinitarian formulation anchors ministry in the work of the triune God. There is no place for a “unitarianism” of the Spirit or of the Son or of the Father in the apostle’s understanding of ministry. For it is grounded in the action of the triune God.

How Paul characterizes this divine activity is depicted by the three Greek nouns that I gave you in the reading of this text. Consider them in the re- verse order of their appearance. There are “varieties of workings” {energe- mata). Of course! Energein is mani- fested in its energemata , the work in its workings, the act in its activity. What the apostle is telling us here is that when the triune God ministers something ac- tually happens. And it happens because God is at work in the world.

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There are also “varieties of service” (< diakpnia ). Here our description of God’s working in terms of “ministry” finds its expression. It meets a genuine hu- man need. And it does so at the price of self-abasement. That is what the term diakpnia meant in the first century. If it signified social status, it was a lowly status, the status of the servant who waits on tables. Any theology of min- istry that connotes any other kind of status cannot claim to be Christian. Ministry that is not diaconic is by def- inition not ministry.

Finally, there are also “varieties of gifts” {charismata). The working of God is not only energetic and diaconic. It also is charismatic. Much mischief in the church of late has been perpetrated under the banner of this term. And it has been encouraged by the way cha- risma has been translated. Our English term “gift" suggests that something is given, turned over, or entrusted by one person to another. That, however, is not the meaning of charisma. Students of Greek will recognize that the word is formed by adding a mu-alpha suffix to the term charis, the word for “grace.” Grammatically, mu-alpha suffixes are used to convey the idea of the actual- ization of something. Here it is used to signify the actualization of grace. That is what a charisma is — an actualization of the power of grace. In this context it means that God's unmerited, unde- served, unearned love is actualized in the ministry of the triune God. And if we are to use these three terms as ad- jectives, then they are properly ascrib- able to God. It is the triune God, ac- cording to Paul, who is energetic, diaconic, and charismatic in ministry to and through the whole church.

Yes, the whole church. The mem- bership becomes the medium ol God’s

ministry. “To each is given the mani- festation of the Spirit for the common good” (12:7). “All these are worked by one and the same Spirit, who distrib- utes to each one individually as he wills” (12:11). Through this distribution of the Spirit’s ministry, every member be- comes a co-worker with God. Every member stands in the service of God as a servant to the others in the church. And every member needs the ministry of the others. For this distribution of ministry in the freedom of the Spirit clearly implies that the Spirit works everything through no one person or group. If the apostle’s vision of ministry can be reduced to a slogan, surely it is this: “To each for the sake of all.”

Ill

This raises, of course, a crucial ques- tion. Does such a theology of ministry eliminate the need for orders and of- fices of ministry ? Not according to Paul. For he proceeds in this passage to ground his theology of ministry in his theology of the church. The text continues:

For just as the body is one and has many members, and all the members of the body, though many, are one body, so it is with Christ. For by one Spirit we were all baptized into one body — Jews or Greeks, slaves or tree — and all were made to drink of one Spirit (12:12-13).

Paul’s point is that the context of the ministry of God is the church as the Body of Christ. The basis ot this met- aphor is the reality of the human body, a reality constituted by the unity of its diverse members. Each member serves a different function in the body and thereby serves the body as a whole. The coordination of these diverse functions Paul attributes to the genius of the body's

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Creator. “For God has arranged the organs of the body, each one of them, as he chose” (12:18).

The Greek verb translated here as “arranged” is tithemi, and it is not ac- cidental that it appears again in the summary statement of this chapter where the reality of the human body is applied analogically to the reality of the church:

Now you are the body of Christ and individually members of it. And God has appointed ( tithemi ) in the church first apostles, second prophets, third teachers, then workers of miracles, then healers, helpers, administrators, speakers in various kinds of tongues (12:27-28).

In other words, as God has ordered the organs of the human body in the free- dom of his creative activity so also he has ordered the ministry of the church in his redemptive activity.

The order envisioned here gives a certain priority to the work of apostles, prophets, and teachers. The use of or- dinals (first . . . , second . . . , third . . .) make that clear. The other ministries are important but follow in no partic- ular order of importance. Why this should be so is evident from the com- mon task of apostles, prophets, and teachers. They all share in the ministry of the Word, of the Gospel that creates the church and continues to create it. No doubt the apostles, prophets, and teachers enjoyed a certain status in the primitive Christian communities, but the emphasis here as elsewhere falls upon their function (their “ministry”) rather than upon their person. Like the vital organs of the human body, they are the vital organs of the Body of Christ. But a vital organ has no status apart from

its function. Its service to the body is what makes it vital.

Now this embryonic ministerial or- der of First Corinthians undergoes de- velopment in the New Testament pe- riod. Ephesians declares that “grace was given to each of us according to the measure of Christ’s gift” (4:7). Specif- ically, however, “his gifts were that some should be apostles, some prophets, some evangelists, some pastors and teachers, to equip the saints for the work of min- istry, for building up the body of Christ” (4:11-12). Here the initial threefold or- der of apostles and prophets and teach- ers has been expanded to include evan- gelists and pastors. Those who are convinced of the deutero-Pauline au- thorship of Ephesians would go fur- ther. Noting that the author speaks honorifically of “the holy apostles and prophets” (3:5), they argue that by this time the apostles and prophets are ac- tually a memory of the past. The func- tioning order is now that of the evan- gelists, pastors, and teachers. However you may judge that opinion, two points are indisputable. Here we have a de- velopment of ministerial orders, and here again the orders arise out of the grace given to the entire community of faith and serve “to equip the saints for the work of ministry.”

A more dramatic change, at least in terminology, appears in the Pastoral Epistles. Tbe author of the two Letters to Timothy and the one to Titus speaks no longer of the apostles, prophets, evangelists, pastors, and teachers. He speaks rather of bishops, elders, and deacons. Moreover, these functions are now clearly offices that require filling when vacated. We are looking in through the Pastorals at that transi- tional period which New Testament scholars refer to as “early Catholicism.”

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For here the foundation is laid for that division of official labor in the church which became the classical model in the second and third centuries. Roman Ca- tholicism built its orders of bishops, priests, and deacons upon this foun- dation. And it was this development which was reinterpreted in the six- teenth century by the Reformed Church in terms of pastors, elders, and deacons.

Such developments should neither surprise nor dismay us. For it is the nature of bodies to develop. Change is the order of life in the body. What mat- ters is not the continuation of certain descriptive titles of offices, but the maintenance of those functions which are vital to the life of the body. Thus Moltmann writes of “special charges as- signed by the community and directed toward it,” special charges that “are necessary and of essential importance.” Without order of precedence or value, he lists the following:

(i) The charge to proclaim the gos- pel; (ii) the charge to baptize and celebrate the Lord’s supper; (iii) the charge to lead the community’s as- semblies; (iv) the charge to carry out charitable work.

In other words, “What are essential for the community are: \erygma, kpinonia, and diakpnia. For these the congrega- tion needs preachers, presbyters, and deacons” {The Church in the Power of the Holy Spirit , p. 307).

But if the ministerial orders of the church are variable, both historically and situationally, the theology of ministry which informs those orders remains constant. The ministry of the church, properly speaking, belongs to the triune God who distributes the work of the Spirit to each and every member of the Christian community. Where God or-

ders certain functions of that ministry for the sake of the Body of Christ, the resultant “special charges” represent the ministry of the whole church and serve to make the whole church effective in ministry. But where this ordering of ministry results in a class or caste sys- tem, where it divides the community into “clergy” and “laity,” where it sep- arates those who have “a part” in the ministry from those who have no part in it, there the theology of ministry au- thorized by the New Testament is for- saken.

IV

What then is the significance of or- dination within such a vision of the ministry? The answer to this question, I think, is twofold. On the one hand, ordination has no significance with re- gard to prestige. On the other hand, it has great significance with regard to the promise of God. Let me explain.

The term “ordination” does not oc- cur in the New Testament with any reference to our understanding of it as an ecclesiastical rite. What we do find in the Acts of the Apostles and in the Pastoral Epistles are a few references to “the laying on of hands” in connec- tion with the undertaking of certain tasks and the assuming of certain of- fices. Two of the relevant verses in the Pastorals do, however, provide us with a theological connection between this rite that we now call ordination and the theology of ministry set forth by Paul in 1 Corinthians. One is 1 Tim- othy 4:14.

Do not neglect the gift {charisma) you have, which was given you by pro- phetic utterance when the council of elders laid their hands upon you.

The other is 2 Timothy 1:6-7.

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Hence I remind you to rekindle the gift of God {charisma) that is within you through the laying on of my hands; for God did not give us a Spirit of timidity but a Spirit of power and love and self-control.

Here the Spirit’s empowering for min- istry is associated with the ancient Jew- ish practice of “the laying on of hands” as an act of authorization for ministry. The question, however, is whether the rite confers the charisma or rather con- firms the evident work of the Spirit.

Calvin appears to be ambivalent on this point. On the one hand, he says:

It is clear that when the apostles ad- mitted any man to the ministry, they used no other ceremony than the lay- ing on of hands. I judge that this rite derived from the custom of the He- brews, who, as it were, presented to God by the laying on of hands that which they wished to be blessed and consecrated. . . . The apostles, ac- cordingly, signified by the laying on of hands that they were offering to God him whom they were receiving into the ministry (. Institutes , IV, III, 1 6).

On the other hand, he follows this by stating:

However, they used it also with those upon whom they conferred the vis- ible graces of the Spirit (Ibid.).

What Calvin means by this “confer- ring” of “the visible graces of the Spirit” comes to expression in a very surprising passage late in the Institutes. There he designates ordination as an extraordi- nary sacrament. Yes, I said a sacrament. Here are his words:

The imposition of hands, which is used at the introduction of the true

presbyters and ministers of the Church into their office, I have no objection to consider as a sacrament; for, in the first place, that ceremony is taken from the Scripture, and, in the next place, it is declared by Paul to be not unnecessary or useless, but a faithful symbol of spiritual grace. I have not enumerated it as the third among the sacraments, because it is not ordinary or common to all be- lievers, but a special rite for a par- ticular office (IV, XIX, 28).

Calvin’s definition of a sacrament should be remembered at this point: a divine promise of spiritual grace confirmed by a visible sign. Quite evidently he views “the laying on of hands” as the sign which confirms “the grace of the Holy Spirit” that God promises to those whom he calls to ministry.

To the extent that we permit Calvin to influence our understanding of the Reformed theological tradition, we rec- ognize a very high view of ordination here. But what exalts this view is the conviction of Calvin that ordination is “a faithful symbol of spiritual grace” for the work of ministry. Its purpose is not to convey the ordained person a special status within the community of faith but to confirm to the ordained person a special promise of the Spirit’s power for the ministry to which he or she has been called.

The reason why even such a high view of ordination confers no special status upon the ordained is the simple fact that our only status as Christians has already been conferred on us in baptism. Jurgen Moltmann puts it this way:

Even ordination, which takes place once and for all and determines the whole of life, makes no difference

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here, for the “call” event of baptism is already once and for all and de- termines the whole of life. Ordina- tion, with its conferring of a partic- ular charge, cannot enter into competition with baptism and can- not outdo it (Ibid., p. 308).

Another way of saying it that is faith- ful to the Pauline language tradition is that our lives are justified by grace through faith. Therein lies both our

identity and our status. “The Spirit bears witness to our spirits that we are the children of God” (Romans 8:16). Be- cause our identity and status are given to us through our believing, we do not need to seek either through our min- istering. In our ministry we are free to serve the other. For this ministry be- longs to God who is at work in the world through lives that are open to the power and presence of the Spirit.

The Rev. Marvin McMicfle, a native of Chicago, has received degrees from Aurora College and Union Theological Seminary, and is currently enrolled in a D.Min. program. He is pastor of St. Paul’s Baptist Church in Mont- clair, New Jersey, and is also a Visiting Pro- fessor of Preaching at Princeton Seminary. He has taught New Testament and Blac\ The- ology, and preaches frequently in area semi- naries. This sermon was given at the Opening Communion Service for the 1983-84 school year.

Opening Communion Service, September 19, 1983

Text: “ In these days he went out into the hills to pray; and all night he continued in prayer to God. And when it was day, he called his disciples, and chose from them twelve, whom he named apostles; Simon, whom he named Peter, and Andrew his brother, and James and John, and Philip, and Bartholomew, and Matthew, and Thomas, and James the son of Alphaeus, and Simon who was called the Zealot, and Judas the son of James, and Judas Iscariot, who became a traitor." (Luke 6:12-16)

I want to suggest to you today that we can learn much about the will of God for the nature and composition of the church in this country and around the world by being attentive to the con- figuration of personalities among the twelve disciples of Jesus. In a good many instances, our perceptions about those twelve men are quite limited and nar- row. Many of us might have difficulty even remembering who they were. We would know Peter, James, and John.

We might know Judas and Thomas and Andrew. But beyond that our knowledge becomes rather vague.

When we think of them, we think of a group of fishermen who lived in the same region, shared the same life- style, and looked out upon the world from the same perspective. The fact is that the group assembled by Jesus was not a homogeneous unit that was sim- ilar in vocation or values or viewpoint.

It was a group with wide diversity. And at two points, that diversity was literally

scandalous and startling. As we ex- amine that diversity among the earliest followers of Jesus, we are challenged to give a new shape to the church in our day; all the way from denominational programs and personnel to the com- position of our local congregations.

The first disciple I want us to meet is a man named Matthew. His nation- ality is Jewish and his vocation is tax collector. Meet a man who serves as an agent for the Roman Empire, perform- ing a task that has earned him the hatred and contempt of the Jewish people. Matthew gathered tax money from the Jews that was used primarily to support the Roman army that was occupying the land of Palestine. Other Jews looked upon Matthew as a collaborator — one who contributed to the oppression of his own people at the hands of Rome.

There was, of course, another reason why Matthew and men like him were objects of scorn among the people of Israel. Tax collectors worked with an

And He Called Them His Disciples

by Marvin McMickle

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extra-ordinary incentive. Each tax col- lector was responsible for gathering a certain amount of revenues from each district. Anything he was able to gouge out beyond that amount was his to keep. Therefore, it was to Matthew’s personal benefit to be as ruthless and relentless as possible in gathering the taxes. So in the eyes of other Jews, Matthew was not simply contributing to their oppres- sion at the hands of Rome, he was get- ting rich in the process. It was for this reason that tax collectors like Matthew were a hated and despised group.

Yet, Matthew was one of the men that Jesus chose to be one of his dis- ciples. What a scandalous selection that was. The average Jew would have no association, public or private, with a tax collector. For the average Jew, a tax collector was Persona non Grata in the synagogue, in the home, at all social gatherings. For the average Jew, tax collectors were always unwanted and unwelcome. And yet, Jesus calls a tax collector to be one of his disciples.

This raises a serious problem. Once you select a man that everybody hates, who else can you get to work and walk by his side? What self-respecting Jew in all of Palestine would follow Jesus if he knew it meant walking along with Matthew the tax collector? According to Luke’s Gospel, Jesus did find some- body who would work along with Mat- thew: Simon the Zealot. What an un- likely pair of co-workers they were: Matthew the tax collector and Simon the Zealot. After all, a zealot was a fanatical, left-wing, revolutionary who opposed anyone and anything having to do with the Roman Empire, and I would imagine that a tax collector would be high on that list. Hundreds of Ro- man soldiers had been killed by zealots, and hundreds of zealots had been cru-

cified throughout Palestine as a result of their attacks upon Roman authority. And now Jesus calls his disciples, and among them are Matthew the tax col- lector and Simon the Zealot. And the miracle is not just that Jesus called them, but that they came together, and worked together, and stayed together, and turned the world upside-down together.

Why would Jesus settle upon this pattern of personalities among his twelve disciples? It is like having members of the Black Liberation Army and the Weather Underground become co- workers with Jerry Falwell and the John Birch Society. Jesus surely knew how wide the socio-political gap was be- tween Matthew and Simon, but he asked them to bridge that gap, to come to- gether despite all of their outward dif- ferences, and to be his disciples. I am sure it required a lot of patience and forgiveness and love for Matthew and Simon to build that new relationship. And yet they did it, because that is what Jesus asked them to do. And may I now suggest to you that Jesus is asking no less from you and me today. He is call- ing upon his church to set aside all of the man-made and self-imposed socio- political divisions among us, to take one another by the hand, and make every phase of the church today just as di- verse in its composition as it was when Jesus called his first disciples, among whom were Matthew and Simon.

It is to the everlasting shame of the Christian community that we stand as one of the most segregated and ho- mogeneous institutions in society. The phrase from Liston Pope remains true after all of these years: Eleven o’clock on Sunday morning is the most seg- regated hour of the week in this coun- try. In 90% of the cases, at least, when Christians gather to worship and pray

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they do so comfortably and conven- iently clustered around a homogeneous racial, cultural, or economic group. In my own town of Montclair we have 40 churches. All of them are structured around one homogeneous unit that rep- resents at least 95% of the congregation. The only exceptions are a handful of blacks who have left black churches and joined white congregations for one rea- son or another. In my years in that town, it has never occurred in reverse order, with a white person seeking to join a predominantly black congrega- tion. And the way it is in Montclair is the way the church is structured all across this nation. People gathering to serve God in the company of those who look like them, live like them, think like them. But is that the will of him who established the church and who called his disciples and chose Matthew the tax collector and Simon the Zealot?

I know that Peter Wagner and Don- ald McGavran are saying that the key to church growth is homogeneity: ra- cial and cultural sameness. I know that they say that people like to come to church without having to cross over too many lines of social divisions. But do you hold the Church Growth Move- ment to be in tune with the will of God? Is God pleased when you have a large black congregation here and a large white congregation there, who are out of touch with one another? Is God pleased when some congregations are little more than extensions of the coun- try club and the corporate boardroom, while others are composed of people who meet each other during the week in the unemployment lines and welfare offices? Is God pleased when we offer our endless round of excuses and apol- ogies for our continuing segregation in the life of the church? Of course, we

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all sing with much energy: “In Christ there is no east or west, in him no soutn or north, but one great fellowship of love throughout the whole wide earth.” But virtually every time we sing that song, we are standing in a sea of racial and cultural homogeneity. What a far cry that is from that early fellowship that included Matthew the tax collector and Simon the Zealot.

If only Jesus had just called Peter, James, John, and Andrew. They were all from the same town, had the same job, spoke in the same accent. And if Jesus had meant for the church to be parcelled out along homogeneous lines, then he would have called only those who had much in common. But the church was never meant to be an in- stitution shaped along the lines of “Walton’s mountain” where everybody is a carbon copy of the mind and ex- perience and perspective of everybody else. Jesus declared that clearly when he picked that homogeneous unit of Peter, James, John, Andrew, and added to them Matthew the tax collector and Simon the Zealot.

What is it that 1 am asking of the Christian church in America? I am calling for the full and final integration of the church in every phase of her life and work, and especially at the level of local congregations. I am not calling for any more Brotherhood Sundays or pul- pit exchanges or symposiums on the black church. Those things may be con- structive, but they are not conclusive. They are like a temporary cease-fire during a prolonged war. For a short period of time the shooting stops, but not the war. After a time, the hostilities resume, the fighting continues, and the list of casualties steadily grows. Instead,

I am calling upon the church to join hands across all of our man-made social

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divisions and to tear down the remain- ing forms of institutional racism and economic injustice and sexual discrim- ination that continue to frustrate the will of God for his creation and for the church. I am asking you to be faithful to Jesus Christ. The will of God was declared by Jesus in Luke’s Gospel in two places. In Luke 4, Jesus was lit- erally thrown out of the synagogue in Nazareth, not because he claimed to be the Messiah, but because he declared that in the days of Elijah and Elisha God’s love did not remain within the borders of Israel, but in the days of Elijah and Elisha it extended to a widow in Phoenicia and a leper in Syria. In Luke 18, the will of God was again made known when Jesus said that peo- ple would enter the Kingdom of God from the north and the south, the east and the west.

Shouldn’t the church be as bold and courageous as the larger society around us? NASA is sending black men into space. General Motors put a black man in charge of all of their legal affairs. Why, even the Miss America Pageant has discovered that “Black is Beauti- ful.” Meanwhile we Christians con- demn segregation in South Africa from churches that are just as segregated as South African society, in fact, if not by law.

I know how hard a task this now seems to appear. Many black Christians are not anxious about serving God in an integrated congregation. Their at- titudes are based upon history. There would have been no black church at all, if white Christians had not turned

away our ancestors at the door of their churches. And over the years, black churches have become havens of rest, relief, and renewal from an oppressive white American society. Many black Christians see the church not as a place to work with white people, but as a place to escape from them. I know how hard the job now appears. White rac- ism has not abetted, and as a result black insecurity about their place in so- ciety is also high.

So here we are with many white churches that are dangerously close to the words of Harry Emerson Fosdick: “Rich in things and poor in soul.” And with most black churches effectively isolated from the life and work of the majority of Christians in this country. What shape will we give to the church in this generation? Will it be integra- tion at every level of the life of the church or another 25-40 years of iso- lation? Will we be informed by the so- cio-political currents of this society, or by the bold and decisive example of Jesus who defied socio-political divi- sions and distinctions and numbered among his disciples Matthew the tax collector and Simon the Zealot?

Let me close with this paraphrase of a line from William Shakespeare: “To be the faithful church of Jesus Christ or not to be. That is the question. Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suf- fer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing end them? " It is this question that confronts the church in the days to come.

Education, the Gospel, and the Marginal

by Craig Dykstra

I would like to organize this essay around two texts. The first comes from Cam Wyckoff s book, The Gospel and Christian Education (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1959), where he says that “the aim of education is that we may become persons who see things as they are and who come to grips with life” (p. 54). The second is a quotation of Rabbi Hanokh that is used by Dor- othee Soelle in her book, Choosing Life (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1981). The quotation is: “The real exile of Israel in Egypt was that they had learned to endure it” (p. 1). Soelle amplifies this by saying that “the real exile of Chris- tians in the First World is that we have learned to put up with . . . exile” (p. 1).

In Choosing Life, Soelle provides what seems to me to be a very illuminating (and frightening) cultural analysis of our condition as Christians in an affluent society:

We do not look on our life in the affluent society as if we were in Egypt. On the contrary, we have adapted ourselves to it to such an extent that in the very midst of Egypt ... we feel quite at home. We Christians in

The following two articles were delivered as part of a colloquium to honor Professor D. Campbell Wyckoff in May 1983. Dr. Wyc\off retired as Thomas W. Synnott Pro- fessor of Christian Education on August 31, 198^.

A native of Grosse Point, Michigan, Dr. Craig Dykstra is currently Associate Professor of Christian Education at Louisville Theo- logical Seminary. He completed his under- graduate work at the University of Michigan and received the M.Div. and Ph.D. from Princeton Theological Seminary. His books include Vision and Character (Paulist Press, 1981). In 1984, Dr. Dykstra will join the faculty of Princeton Seminary as Thomas W. Synnott Professor of Christian Education.

the First World have adapted our- selves to the Egyptian way of life, and we have taken over the Egyp- tians’ fundamental outlook — the as- sumption, for example, that individ- ualism is the highest stage of human development; or the assumption that history is a senseless seesaw; some- times one group is up; sometimes — after a revolution, perhaps — it’s an- other. We have learnt very success- fully to endure our exile — so suc- cessfully that as Christians we no longer see ourselves as being in exile at all, or as strangers in a foreign country. In fact we are more con- cerned to Egyptianize the whole world. . . . The Egyptian way of life seems to us the natural one. We don’t remember that once upon a time there were people who preferred the des- ert to our cities, and conflict to our peace; that they chose hunger instead of the meat we eat — meat produced from the corn which the hungry lack.

In the First World we have learnt to put up with exile, and that means that we have even forgotten the thirst for justice and righteousness. We have become one with the objective cyn-

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icism of the prevailing culture (pp. 1-2).

Soelle goes on to describe the “Egyp- tian" lifestyle as one which is centered in what she calls “hedonistic fascism" or "consumismo. This means that meaning in life is essentially derived from our consumption of goods — goods which we do not need in any primary sense, but which we are brought to need only secondarily by a technological so- ciety whose ultimate goal is simply to keep the cycle of production and con- sumption moving at whatever cost for the sake of profit. Such a culture man- ifests itself in the routinization and trivialization of work, competition, estrangement from one another, achievement compulsion, militarism, pleasure and enjoyment only through having, exploitation of the nature world, and finally mistrust of self and other and fear of life. Our fear of life can be seen most clearly in our desperate de- sire to escape suffering — which, of course, cannot really be done if we are really to be alive.

To avoid suffering has advanced to the position of a major strategy in the consumer culture, whether phys- ically by means of diversion, or po- litically through blindness. We have developed techniques of all kinds in order to avoid suffering, but what we are really avoiding is life itself.

. . . Apathetic freedom from suffer- ing, from privation, from pain, and from involvement has advanced to the position of highest value. . . . Pre- venting, avoiding, pushing away, getting out of the way are becoming the essential activities of life (pp. 16-

*7)-

This, for Soelle, is what life in exile involves. And the tragedy is that for

the most part, we do not know it. We have become so accustomed to it that we think this is the only possibility. Nonetheless, we do not find this form of existence fulfilling. We feel it as a kind of living death. But not really be- lieving that there is any other way, we have surrendered to cynicism. In exile, we are all cynics.

There is, in fact, another way, how- ever. There is, in fact, life. And the life of faith is most fundamentally choosing life: “ ‘Choose life’ presupposes that ‘life’ in this emphatic and absolute sense really exists, and that we can choose it and lay hold of it, or can throw it away or miss it completely.” “Choosing life in the face of death means chiming in with the great ‘Yes’ to life.” It is “a ‘Yes’ without any conditions. It applies in sickness and dying as well. It applies above all to the people who have felt themselves to be denied and without dignity for so long that they have come to terms with the situation. . . . [Cjhoosing life is the very capacity for not putting up with the matter-of-course destruction of life surrounding us, and the matter-of-course cynicism that is our constant companion.” “Choosing life is what the Christian tradition calls ‘faith' ”

(p. 7)-

Now w'hat does this have to do with Wyckoff s definition of the aim of ed- ucation and his theory of Christian ed- ucation as he lays it out in The Gospel and Christian Education ? Without wanting to impute to Wyckoff Soelle’s rather despairing analysis of contem- porary first world culture, I do want to maintain that Wyckoff s theory of Christian education has significant compatibility with Soelle’s understand- ing of the place and function of Chris- tian faith in relation to our culture.

Recall that Wyckoff s book begins with a rather extensive analysis of “the

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process and condition of culture.” His analysis of the present culture con- cludes that ours is a pluralistic, dy- namic, complex, secular, and scientific culture.

It is pluralistic in that there are no generally agreed on foundations and values undergirding it. It is dynamic, however, since it is in search of such foundations and values. Because this search for unity of spirit is far from consummation, the fabric of society is held together by a highly complex organizational structure, a sort of culture-substitute which perhaps should be recognized realistically as all the common culture we have. The very fact of this complex organiza- tional structure as the symbol of our culture makes it clear why as far as we have a prevailing authority it is secular, and why as far as we have a prevailing hope it lies in science (p. 27).

Wyckoff describes both the positive and negative sides of this cultural situation, but he does not miss our alienation from nature, the fragmentation of the world community, “the manipulation of small nations by the larger powers, cynicism in human relations, and an assumption that the good life can be organized into existence” (p. 22). All in all, his reading of at least the negative side of our cul- ture is very much akin to that of Soelle. He does not see it as “a situation to be bewailed,” as Soelle clearly does, but one “to be seen for what it is, and dealt with for what it is” (p. 27). Nonetheless, it is a culture basically alienated from the gospel (p. 45), and one “that is in many ways hostile to” the Christian life (p. 46).

For Wyckoff, the aim of all educa- tion is that we may become persons who see things as they are and who

come to grips with life. And what he calls technical, liberal, and moral and religious education are all necessary for this. But really seeing things as they are and coming to grips with life (can we understand this now in what Soelle calls the “emphatic and absolute sense”?) are, for Wyckoff, terribly difficult and ul- timately impossible outside of Christian faith. He asks, rhetorically, “is this pos- sible except from a fully Christian per- spective?” (p. 54). His answer is clearly, “No!”

Seeing things as they are implies realism — realism in viewing history and its meaning, realism in viewing the contemporary scene, realism in self-understanding. (These are so easy to say, yet so unbearable to the hu- man spirit in many of their impli- cations.) The realism of seeing things as they are means the recognition of God’s sovereignty and judgment; the recognition of man’s freedom, sin, responsibility, and need; the recog- nition of the significance of revela- tion and redemption; the recognition of and the incontrovertibihty of hope. Seeing things as they are leads to clarity of idea and attitude, and to the clear motivation of completely realistic intention.

Coming to grips with life implies man’s action within the context of things as they are, within the context of his culture. It means the acquisi- tion of the personal and social skills needed for full and responsible par- ticipation in the work of the church and the world at every level. . . .

Education with such aims inevi- tably implies a fully Christian per- spective. To avoid a Christian per- spective leads on the one hand to the substitution of secular religious val- ues, whose fate is to stand outside

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the door of Biblical faith yearning for what lies within but unwilling to enter. Or it leads, on the other hand, to limitation of aim and even to bit- terness and cynicism (pp. 54-55).

The fundamental question, then, for Christian education for Wyckoff is the question of how it is we are to come to see what is going on in us and around us realistically given a culture which in many ways blinds or distorts our vision, and of how we can come to grips with life. Put in Soelle’s terms this is the question of how we can come to rec- ognize when we are in exile and have become so adapted to it we do not know that we are, and of how we can choose life instead of death. For neither Wyck- off nor Soelle is there an option of es- caping culture. For both, the question concerns “the redeemed life — the life transformed by . . . God” (Wyckoff, p.

53)-

If this is the task, its enormity and difficulty become immediately appar- ent. Wyckoff lays his finger on one part of the problem when he says that “Christian education reflects the nature of the culture as it has affected both the church and education” (p. 42). The church “is a social institution, and . . . as such it always tends to mirror its culture” (p. 43). Our problem is that our theologies tend to be theologies of what Walter Brueggemann calls “royal rationality” — a rationality based in the presumptive life-world, vested inter- ests, social structure, and authority hi- erarchy of the dominant culture (cf. The Creative Word [Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1982], ch. 3). And our problem is also that our educational processes tend to be processes that are themselves consumeristic, technological, competi- tive, and specialistic (cf. Wyckoff, p.

42). In other words, both in what we believe and in the way we communicate it, we are in danger in the church and in its educational ministry of simply saying what the culture says in the same way in which the culture says it. And, as Wyckoff warns, “Any education, re- ligion, or religious education that the culture devises and uses in this situation is not only a party to that sin, but suc- ceeds in compounding it” (p. 49).

Wyckoff s answer to this difficulty is to argue that, even so, the church is still the church and it has a gospel to pro- claim. The church, he says, “is the body of Christ, and as such tends to resist cultural inroads and to work for the redemption of culture” (p. 47). The gos- pel, defined as “God’s redeeming ac- tivity in Jesus Christ” (p. 98), is the “heart and point of God’s Word” — a message given to us for us to proclaim, our clue to the meaning of history and of existence, and the reason for and power of the church’s existence (see pp. 98-108). The work of the teaching min- istry of the church is to deliver the gos- pel message, help people prepare for response to it, show them how to re- spond, and help them to see and work out the fullness of its implications (see p. 108). So long as the church carries out this ministry, we can trust that we will not be entirely overcome by the culture and that the way to redeemed life will remain open.

I believe that all of this is true, but I am not sure that it goes far enough. The gospel, as Wyckoff makes plain, is good news. But what happens to it in a church where it is no longer really news ? What happens when the story and the message have been told so often and have become so domesticated that the gospel can no longer be heard as gospel , as something new at all? Fred

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Craddock points to this problem in his book, Overhearing the Gospel (Nash- ville: Abingdon Press, 1978), where he discusses at great length Kierkegaard’s dictum: “There is no lack of infor- mation in a Christian land; something else is lacking.” It is true, of course, that it is impossible to say that ours is a Christian land in any deep sense. But it is also true that much of the Christian message has, at least on its surface, been proclaimed, told, taught, preached. Why then is our culture still so blind — and more, the church still so captive?

Almost everyone in the church knows the story of Abraham and Sarah and the journey of the household. In the fall quarter of 1982-83, a unit on Abra- ham and Sarah appears in the curric- ulum material for young children that is sponsored by the Presbyterian churches and other denominations. The key verses are Genesis 11:29-12:2. The children are told the story of Abraham’s and Sarah’s journey. The session is devel- oped by asking the children how they feel when they are moving (family trips, moving to a new house, etc.), and then about how they think Abraham and Sarah might have felt. Finally, the chil- dren take a simulated trip through the church — a “long” journey — until they reach their destination, set up a tent, talk over the journey, sing a song they have learned, and thank God for caring for them.

What is going on here? It seems quite innocent. Abraham and Sarah moved. What better way to help the children understand this story than by getting them to recall their own experiences of moving and by simulating a trip? But there is a problem. The problem is that this story becomes a story about mov- ing. I move, you move, we all move — even Abraham and Sarah. It is a com-

mon human experience. And the gospel in it is that we can depend upon God to grant us safe journey in whatever kind of move we make. God loves us and cares for us — so if you have to move, do not be afraid.

Unfortunately, the biblical story is not about this at all. Abraham and Sarah are not just anybody moving. They are immigrants called to a frightening journey, not only physically but cul- turally. They are, from the point of view of the Yahwist writer, writing in Jerusalem to a people who have suc- cumbed to urban, royal culture, the progenitors of Israelite faith who dare to walk right straight out into the wil- derness', right straight out of their own settled life, on the basis of a call and a promise from God. What has happened in this lesson is that a gospel which calls us to risk the desert rather than suc- cumb to cultural death has been do- mesticated into a “gospel” of trust in a God who will care for us wherever we move. It speaks to little children who are moved around from one place to another year after year because their parents are transferred by corporations that care not one wit for family roots and the building up of personal and social networks so that communal life can be sustained and nourished. It tells them that all this is all right, when in fact it may not be; that God will com- fort them, and that the turmoil they feel each time they have to leave their best friends and home should be suf- fered quietly and forgotten when in fact God’s word may be a word of protest against this whole pattern of life.

My point in all of this is that it is very hard to proclaim the gospel in a cultural situation which turns that gos- pel toward a justification of its own ways. When we tell the story, we too

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often tell a different story using the narratives of the Bible to do so. And we see so little of this when we do it. It seems to me that if the gospel is to be proclaimed and heard, it will depend not only on what is proclaimed, and on how it is proclaimed, but also upon the context in which it is proclaimed. And that context, I want to argue, cannot be the context of the predominant cul- ture. It will have to be at the margins of that culture.

Brueggemann provides us some as- sistance here in his discussion of the prophetic dimension of the church’s ed- ucational task:

The prophet speaks God’s alterna- tive word, which stands free from and over against the dominant com- munity. That free word, however, is better understood as reflective of a community not fully contained by the royal rationality. There is a sur- prising affinity between the word of Yahweh and the community of the marginal ones in which the prophet lives and from which he/she speaks.

This is a most important resource for education. Though it may be ed- ucationally difficult, an important implication is that the texts we re- gard as authoritative and canonical are in fact marginal in their origins and claims. Education may require reexperiencing that kind of margin- ality both in terms of social power and in terms of rationality (p. 50).

What does this suggest for Christian education? It suggests that the gospel is most likely to be proclaimed and ap- propriated in those contexts in which the enculturation processes have bro- ken down. It suggests that Christian education which enables us to see things as they are and come to grips with life

must lead people to and raise their con- sciousness of the culturally marginal in social and personal life in order for the gospel proclamation to have its re- demptive power.

There is such a thing as unsuccessful enculturation. This happens in the cases of “social outcasts.” One may be a social outcast for biological reasons. One may be, for example, physically “deformed” or mentally “retarded.” Or one may be outcast because one has broken signif- icant social norms. In all cases, the so- ciety will label such persons — give them a marginal place in the social structure and a self-conception against which there is virtually no subjective defense. He or she is what he or she is supposed to be, to him- or herself, to significant others, and to the community as a whole. To be sure, one may react to this fate with rage or resentment, but it is as an inferior and marginal being that one resents and rages.

But suppose that such outcasts begin to congregate in enduring groups. And suppose a new counter-reality is offered to them which they begin mutually to affirm. In this case, counter-definitions of reality and self-identification now begin to arise, and persons in that group may come to discover “hidden depths” within themselves that they never re- alized before. Who am I? Society says that I am a “nigger,” an “idiot,” a “crip- ple,” a “drunk” — but that is essentially wrong. No, what I really am is a child of God, a disciple. When this happens a cleavage appears between “appear- ance and reality” in the individual’s and in the group’s self-apprehension. She is no longer what she is supposed to be. She looks like and acts like a “cripple,” but really she is a child of the covenant. When this claim begins to be made known in the larger social structure,

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disequilibrium begins to take place and the set of cultural definitions begins to be upset. In the end, such cultural def- initions become permanently unstable for it is no longer possible to “nail down” everybody’s place and identity — even one’s own. After all, if it is possible for “cripples” to refuse to be what they are supposed to be, it is possible for anyone to make that refusal.

In this light, it is extremely impor- tant to underscore Brueggemann’s point that our canonical texts emerged from situations like this. Christianity began as a religion of the socially marginal and of those who were not so marginal but who were for some reason willing to make common cause with the mar- ginal. Now, of course, it is possible to re-enculturate all the new language so that “Christian” comes to mean a mem- ber of the church, understood primarily as a social organization, “disciple” be- comes one who performs certain roles in certain institutions, and in-groups and out-groups form all over again. What I am arguing, however, is that the place where really new seeing may very well take place is in the “cracks” of the en- culturation process — ever transform- ing it, ever renewing it, ever upsetting it — and not so much in it or as a result of it.

Furthermore, one does not have to be a member of a socially outcast group in order to have this kind of experience. There are always elements of our per- sonal, subjective lives which have not been socialized, or which have been re- pressed or controlled for the purposes of maintaining ourselves in the cultural system, but which keep returning to us and haunting us nonetheless. Subjec- tive life is not completely enculturated. Every person can and does often ap- prehend himself or herself as being both

inside and outside the culture. This means that even when the world of everyday life retains its massive and taken-for-granted reality, it is threat- ened by the marginal situations of or- dinary human experience that cannot be completely handled culturally. One of the most crucial such marginal ex- periences, one which can never be com- pletely socialized because we must ul- timately face it alone, is our own death. But there are others: intense suffering, physical isolation, and even such strange experiences as the shock of non-rec- ognition of one’s own face in front of the mirror, the unsettling suspicion that one’s spouse and children are myste- rious strangers, or the dreams and fan- tasies we dare not reveal to anyone.

There are two ways of handling such situations. One is to return as quickly as possible to the everyday social reality of firm and culturally approved roles and identities. But the other is to stay in and with such experiences long enough to allow the question to arise as to whether there is some other way of experiencing and seeing reality than the one our present culture gives us.

The gospel becomes “news,” I think, at points of marginality. For those of us who live in the “royal household” as effective, respected, accepted mem- bers in the dominant culture, that mar- ginality may first be experienced only at the point of our internal “strange- ness” to ourselves. But if this inner “strangeness” is met by the gospel, it has the potential of opening one to the estranged other — the stranger, the one who is marginal to my own culture or the one who lives in another culture altogether.

In the case of the Bible study de- scribed above, it may be that children’s powerless but natural protests against

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being uprooted time and again for the sake of economic mobility provide clues to more fundamental meanings of the wilderness journeys than our own rather optimistic interpretations. Farley ar- gues that one of the characteristics of redemptive existence is “the trans- formed status of the stranger.” Here the stranger is seen for what he or she is: not primarily as threat, but as “fel- low-sufferer and potential participant in redemptive existence” ( Ecclesial Man [Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1975], p. 170). When the stranger is thus under- stood, it becomes clear that “no type of human being is excludable, no race, lifestyle, age group is excluded” (p. 171). Indeed, it may easily be that precisely the stranger, the one who comes from the margins of my dominant culture, is the one who can most help me to see the meaning of the gospel. As Fred- erick Herzog tells us, “It was the poor with the Bible in their hands who taught us liberation theology in the South” (Justice Church [Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1980], p. 3).

When one makes actual contact with the “stranger,” the culturally marginal other, and begins to learn from him or her, then something else may begin to happen. Because of one’s identification with the stranger, one actually becomes in some senses culturally marginal. One begins, in at least some small degree, to suffer with the stranger the suffer- ings which social marginality brings. One begins oneself to feel the power of the dominating culture as alien through this suffering. As a result — and again through the power of the gospel — one may begin to resist the authority, vision, images, language, and power of the dominant culture. And in this activity of resistance, the clarity and life-giving

power of the gospel becomes most ap- parent and most needful. For here, if we are to see and live at all, it will only be because of the vision which the gos- pel gives us and the power that the redemptive activity of God in Jesus Christ provides. The power and vision of the culture will not do, because we now stand over against it.

The teaching ministry of the church, understood as the work of enabling people to see things as they are and come to grips with life from the per- spective of the gospel, is done, then, in contexts where we sense our inner “strangeness,” where we make contact with others who are strangers to us by virtue of their cultural marginality, where we suffer with and for the other, and where we engage in resistance to the suffering that the dominating cul- ture brings. As Brueggemann pointed out, educationally this may all be very difficult. Nonetheless, it means that Christian education can no longer really be done in highly parochial, culturally segregated enclaves. The educational ministry must break open the doors of its congregations to bring its people into contact with people who are different from themselves — politically, econom- ically, socially, linguistically, racially, even religiously. Furthermore, even within our congregations, those who are mentally “retarded,” physically “de- formed,” “enfeebled” by age, “imma- ture” in their youth, or otherwise so- cially deviant can no longer be kept separated from the rest of us. In the context of contact with these “others," there is a chance that the gospel may be proclaimed and heard, that we may see things as they are, come to grips with life, and choose it.

The Empowering Gospel: D. Campbell Wyckoff s Concept of the Guiding Principle

by Donald B. Rogers

Michael Cardew talked with hands and voice as he shared with the workshop potters gathered around him the knowledge gained from years of making stoneware pottery in England and Africa. He had spent a long career exploring the intricasies of clay and glaze and fire, and the subtle relationship be- tween function and form and beauty. A workshop participant, hearing a comment on stoneware glazing, asked if that would also be true of porcelain. Cardew replied, “Ah, that I do not know. You see, porcelain is another lifetime.” The years of that famous potter had been spent mastering one area of the larger field. His technical knowledge is immense, but the persistent problem, the enduring challenge was to produce cups, pitchers, tea pots, and the like that served their intended purpose. That did not allow him time to learn porcelain, too. The task of the potter is, to Car- dew, to penetrate through the mastery of technique to the wedding of form and function. He commented, “I am not very good at making coffee mugs because I drink tea from cups.”'

Danielle, blond and proud, stands comfortably before a group of stran- gers, adults, in an unfamiliar setting, and plays Schumann’s “The Two Grenadiers” on the violin. When asked to play she had responded, “What would you like to hear?” She knows the first

1 Michael Cardew, Pioneer Pottery (London: Longman Group Ltd., 1969). Cf. chapter 12, “The Product,” pp. 237-254.

Professor Donald B. Rogers is a native of Colorado. He received a B.A. from the Uni- versity of Colorado and both the M.A. and Ph.D. degrees from Princeton Theological Seminary. Dr. Rogers currently serves as Pro- fessor of Christian Education at United Sem- inary in Dayton, Ohio. He is the author of In Praise of Learning ( Abingdon , 1980).

26 pieces of the repertoire. Her mother and/or father will be watching with in- terest when she plays. They, although not violinists, have been her teachers along with Connie Rogers, her primary teacher.

Danielle has been playing the violin for 4 years. She is now 7 years old. She will have completed the standard rep- ertoire of the Talent Education Method in about 8 more years if her current progress continues at the same rate.

She is not a prodigy. She does not work under the pressure of pushy par- ents. She works at her own pace with enjoyment, knows her progress, plays with excellent technique, makes music. Her tone is rich and full. She is not unusual for there are thousands like her all around the world. She, like those thousands and thousands, have been for many years the debtors to Sinichi Su- zuki, the founder of the method.

With a few simple assumptions at his feet, Sinichi Suzuki has added to the lives of many children and their parents, as he worked to help them know the enriching quality of beautiful mu- sic. One such assumption is that the natural process by which the mother- tongue is taught and learned is a sound model for many other educational tasks.2

The Talent Education Method re-

2 Cf. Sinichi Suzuki, Ability Development from Age Zero (Athens, OH: Ability Development Associates, 1981). Cf. also Sinichi Suzuki, Nur- tured by Love: A New Approach to Education (Smithtown, NY: Exposition Press).

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quires teachers to understand the tech- nique of playing the instrument so well that the curriculum can move in simple steps from a variation on a Mozart tune (Twinkle, Twinkle) to the Mozart D Major Violin Concerto. The method requires such a mastery of technical knowledge that technique becomes the quiet servant of the music, the teaching of musical ability, the enhancement of life.

“Thus Christian education reflects the culture in which it lives. But Chris- tian education is also concerned with the culture creatively. . . . Christian ed- ucation participates in rebuilding the culture in which it lives.” This point is that of D. Campbell Wyckoff writing in 1959 in his book The Gospel and Christian Education A The analysis of culture proceeds as four questions are raised, questions which cover the areas of foundation and values, way of life, authority, and source of hope.3 4

At that point in time Wyckoff s own analysis is put in a summary form in these words:

[Our culture] is pluralistic in that there are no generally agreed on founda- tions and values undergirding it. It is dynamic, however, since it is in search of such foundations and val- ues. Because the search for unity of spirit is far from consummation, the fabric of society is held together by a highly complex organizational structure, a sort of culture-substitute which perhaps should be recognized realistically as all the common cul- ture we have. The very fact of this complex organizational structure as

3 D. Campbell Wyckoff, The Gospel and Chris- tian Education (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1959), pp. 13-14.

4 Ibid., p. 21.

the symbol of our culture makes it clear why as far as we have a pre- vailing authority it is secular, and why as far as we have a prevailing hope it lies in science.5

The relevancy of that analysis is ex- trapolated in the later work of William Barrett, The Illusion of Technique: A Search for Meaning in a Technological Civilization .6 That work, too complex to summarize in brief fashion, arrests our attention. He addresses a fear. “We can thus imagine a technical society of the future that had conquered its ma- terial problems but was afflicted with a loss of meaning that its own technical thinking left it unable even to grasp.”7 He speaks of a reliance on technique among philosophers, one that has largely waned today, but then says, “Yet the belief in the decisive role of technique has not vanished; it has passed from the philosophers into the culture at large. It has become a general faith, wide- spread even when it is unvoiced, that technique and technical organization are the necessary and sufficient condi- tions for arriving at truth; that they can encompass all truth; and that they will be sufficient, if not at the moment then shortly, to answer the questions that life thrusts upon us.”8

Wyckoff asks if we must not mirror and critique our culture. Barrett asks us to see a fascination with technique as a major cultural entity. The next question seems to be, have not we in Christian education, thought and prac- tice included, mirrored the technical fascination without sufficient aware-

5 Ibid., p. 27.

6 William Barrett, The Illusion of Technique (Garden City, NJ: Anchor Press/Doubleday,

•978)-

7 Ibid., p. xix.

8 Ibid., p. 8.

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ness of the danger there involved and without adequate attention to the mov- ing beyond technique in the practice of creative nurture?

We are helped by Barrett in the anal- ysis of technique. In its strictly tech- nological sense, he says, it involves two factors, “(i) There must be a clear and distinct separation of the subjective and objective components in any situation in order for us to take rational hold of the problem. (2) The objective problem, thus isolated, is to be dealt with by a logical procedure that seeks to resolve it into a finite number of steps or op- erations.”9

Dr. Wyckoff has helped many in the field of Christian education to engage in orderly thought about the tasks of developing theory, curriculum, evalu- ation, and practice. He has brought ob- jectivity and logical procedure to the field. A major continuity of reference, both explicit and implicit to his work, is through the use of his carefully stated categories. In the vein of this paper the received contribution of this major fig- ure in the field has been one of assisting the process of thought at the level of technique. He has called for and dem- onstrated the need for careful thought in the responsible intertwining of the contributions of the foundation disci- plines and the development of a full and comprehensive set of principles in coherent theory. He has fostered giving studious attention to the implications for practice as well as the implications of practice for the development of the- ory and the questioning exploration of the foundation disciplines.

Wyckoff demonstrates the technical thought process in his article “Christian Education Redefined.” Note this proc-

9 Ibid., p. 22.

ess description: “This preliminary def- inition is treated analytically and com- paratively, and criticized historically, educationally, theologically, and behav- iorally, and in terms of Christian ed- ucation theory. The intention is to bring out possible alternatives, and to provide a basis for deciding among them. The definition is then reformulated in ac- cordance with the results of the eval- uation, with comment on its technical adequacy as a definition.”10

His contribution to the ongoing process of Christian education has, in a similar fashion, placed him in the role of consultant to curriculum developers, to the efforts to state and re-state the objective for theory, and to other theory and program efforts in a wide variety of denominations and ecumenical groups. What is not as evident is the manner in which his technical precision responds to the Barrett thesis and moves the enterprise beyond technique.

The usage of Wyckoff s work is not unlike the cultural tendency that can be seen in the response to Cardew, the level of interest in Suzuki, and the pro- liferation of efforts among Christian educators in recent decades to look for technical assistance and little more. It appears to be reflected in the attraction of Christian educators to human sci- ence data, to social science models, and the patterning of education on technical scaffolds of theology. In this we see Christian education reflecting the cul- tural inclinations laid bare by Barrett.

Yet in Wyckoff s own work, in its fullness, lies the impetus to move be- yond technique to the rooting of the education task in what lies before,

10 D. Campbell Wyckoff, “Christian Educa- tion Redefined” in George Johnston and Wolf- gang Roth, The Church in the Modem World (Toronto: Ryerson Press, 1967), pp. 203-204.

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within, and beyond technical thought and technologically informed models of practice. That impetus is seen in his development of the concept of the Guiding Principle.

This concept is described in these words:

The guiding principle, in differen- tiation from all of the other princi- ples of theory, would suggest, infuse, and steer the whole matter: it would be at the heart of the setting of ob- jectives; it would guide and check every procedure and method em- ployed in the curriculum; it would serve as a guide to the selection of curriculum content; it would suggest how Christian education should be set up, run, and improved; it would serve as a guide to pruning out any administrative system and device that was not really germane to the church’s faith, life, and work."

The criteria for such a principle are then detailed:

it should be theologically adequate, educationally adequate, integral to the elements that make up Christian education, at the heart of the process of coming to grips with the Christian faith, at the heart of the teaching process, simple and clear.12

The power of the Gospel in this cen- tered fashion in Wyckoff s life and work is kin to the intensity of the words of William Gayley Simpson, quoted in the curriculum text To Know God which Wyckoff wrote for publication in 1972, “But here you have an exquisite sense of value by which you know intuitively

" Wyckoff, The Gospel and Christian Educa- tion, p. 86.

11 Ibid., pp. 87-88.

what is light for you and darkness; what food and what poison; what true and beautiful, strengthening, enlarging, and full of life and what is false and ugly, fettering, narrowing, and deadening. Here is your central sun, illuminating for you all that you look out upon, re- vealing it at its true worth; and around it your whole life is meant to swing” (from Toward the Rising Sun).li (In this curriculum piece Wyckoff illustrates the manner in which the Gospel as Guid- ing Principle is translated into practice.) Another demonstration of the manner in which the Guiding Principle informs the task of Christian education can be seen in Wyckoff s text for missionary education for senior high youth.14

It is in this conceptual contribution where, within his contribution to the technical, Wyckoff moves beyond tech- nique in a manner instructive to Chris- tian educators today. The particular statement concerning the gospel as guiding principle may be moot. What is not dismissable is the need to find the means by which we can cling to the standards of technical excellence he ad- vocates, be it in theory or practice, with- out losing ourselves and the church’s primary educators, the laity, in a mael- strom of complexities or a retreat into simplistic refuges.

The echoing of Cardew and Suzuki is in this respect. Neither of these two ignores the contribution of excellence in technological matters.

Cardew knows his craft. He has committed himsell to a life-long explo- ration of technique. Yet, he sits at the wheel anew each time to fashion one

15 D. Campbell Wyckoff, To Know God (St. Louis: Christian Board of Publication, 1972), p. 98.

M D. Campbell Wyckoff, In One Spirit (New York: Friendship Press, 1958), pp. 16-22.

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of the basic raw materials of our earth into the objects of everyday life. His attention is riveted on the delicate shap- ing that changes the clay in every di- mension to the useful product. The end result is not only functional adequacy, but beauty and a certain intuitive en- riching of one who uses the piece in everyday life.

Suzuki, likewise, by his attention to the detail of technique, in matters that range from the placement of the feet and holding the bow to the understand- ing of the music and the joyful inter- action of teacher and student, frees teachers and students alike to the ex- perience of the beauty of the great com- posers of the ages.

The functioning of something very similar to the guiding principle for learning is described by W. T. Jewkes as the contribution of critic Northrop Frye. “In order for a student to grasp an intellectual subject, there must be a point of view from which he can see the whole subject as one thing. There is enormous value for him, once he has seen his subject in that way, in being able to relate everything he studies in it thereafter to the subject as a whole. It is this perspective that has been so sadly lacking in the subject of criticism until now, and it is Frye who has pro- vided us with a way to do it. It is this kind of approach that makes criticism centripetal rather than centrifugal.”'5

None of these is simplistic, none of these is content with technique. Wyck- off completes the group by joining in their ability to keep technique firmly before us without making the technical

15 W. T. Jewkes, “Mental Fight: Northrop Frye and the Teaching of Literature” in The Journal of General Education XXVII, 4 (Winter 1976) Pennsylvania State University Press, p. 293-

thought process or the technique of ed- ucational practice an end in itself.

The context in which Wyckoff in- troduces the concept of the Guiding Principle is that of being responsible communicators to the laity. It is all well and good, even admirable, for Chris- tian educators to engage in sophisti- cated thought. It is appropriate to wres- tle with the refinements of language that allow direct conversation with the doings of the scholars in the relevant fields. In short, a commitment to tech- nique in Barrett’s sense is more than an unknowing capitulation to a cultural inclination. It is desired. Christian ed- ucators can be criticized, in fact, for moments of superficial appropriation of the current fad in a related field with- out a true disciplinary understanding of the technical refinements of that field.

Wyckoff s model presses for a broad and responsible technical conversation for the sake of making the best possible theory, grounded on the best possible principles understood as precisely and objectively as can be. But just as firmly, Wyckoff requires that the end result of that technical conversation and con- struction be placed in the hands of the bulk of Christian education practition- ers without degrading the theory in im- proper simplification. It is the Guiding Principle which maintains the tension.

An emphasis similar to this appears in Wyckoff s unpublished article on “Religious Teaching — Art or Sci- ence?” He says, “We have a clear re- sponsibility for planning, conducting, and evaluating our work as knowl- edgeably and intelligently as possible. For us, in this sense, religious education can be a science. At the same time we are dealing at profound levels with feel- ing, belief, and commitment. We are religious, in ways that require the

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expression of these feelings, beliefs, and commitments through the creativities of music, speech, literature, drama, ar- chitecture, and the other arts. For us, in this sense, religious education can be an art.”'6

Cardew’s adoption of the form-func- tion principle serves potters in this way. If one will think through the intended use of a pitcher, then one will know how to sift through the array of tech- nical knowledge about clay and throw- ing and glazing and firing to produce a good pitcher. Is this to transport and deliver lemonade to tall glasses on a hot summer’s day? Is this to trickle out rich cream into a cup of coffee? Size, weight, handle placement, throat, lip, texture, and even color begin to “have reasons.” Even the potter who must ask the stu- dio teacher for the final answers to each question is empowered by knowing the questions.

Suzuki’s use of the mother-tongue model serves the Talent Education Method in the same way. The novice teacher, the parent, eventually the stu- dent, can become conscious of the nat- ural rhythms of teaching the language and begin to see through the refine- ments of musical and educational the- ory the answers to questions about modeling, hearing, repetition, affir- mation, stepped progression, and never ending refinement. In this instance, too, the assistance of the trained teacher will be needed to flesh out the implications of theory, the development of the rep- ertoire, the mysteries of technique, but the empowerment of the non-technical participant occurs.

As far as I know Wyckoff does not talk of empowerment, but it would ap-

,6 D. Campbell Wyckoff, “Religious Teach- ing— Art or Science?” unpublished, pp. 7-8.

pear that such a phrase is consonant with his intent for the Guiding Prin- ciple. The gospel is a viable candidate for Christian education theorists be- cause it is at the center of Christian experience. It is central to all levels of knowledge of the Bible, to all levels of theological reflection. It is unique to the Christian faith and yet open to the variation of interpretation that is char- acteristic of the whole of the Christian community. It will not in a trite and simplistic manner supply all of the an- swers to the questions of Christian ed- ucation. The Guiding Principle is not intended to do that. The resources of the trained educator will still be needed. But it will serve the novice teacher, the parent, and the technician as common ground for raising the appropriate questions, and it will do so in a manner that enhances a conversation among peers.

The concept of the Guiding Princi- ple is a technical solution to the prob- lem of overcoming the limitations of technical concentration. It is a step to- ward the simplification of the technical for the sake of enhancing communi- cation and empowering the laity. The Gospel as guiding principle extends that empowerment as we take Paul’s words to heart (Romans 1:16) and see that the Gospel is not a witness to God’s power, nor a descriptive reminder of the ex- ercise of that power in the redemptive event, Jesus Christ, but is the power of God. Thus the empowerment that arises Irom Wyckoff s choice for Guiding Principle is simultaneously an empow- erment of “technical excellence made available” and an openness to the pro- found presence of God in the education ministry of the church.

While this is not a return to Pesta- lozzi’s Gertrude, it is an attitude that

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would appreciate the intent of that 1 8th- 19th century educator. We can sense the “rightness” of a simple mother being the bearer of wisdom as she says, . . it is all well and good for them to learn something, but the really important thing is for them to be something — for them to become what they are meant to be. . . .”‘7

In a time when cultural patterns threatened dehumanization, an edu- cator called his culture into question. Is this Pestalozzi? Yes, as he sensed the impact of the industrial revolution. Su-

17 Johann Pestalozzi, Leonard and Gertrude (New York: Garden Press, 1977 edition), p. 152.

zuki? Yes, as he sensed the impact on the children of Japan of the Second World War. Cardew? Yes, as he sensed the state of mind as well as economy of an African people who had lost their craft inheritance and needed to become again the potters they once had been. Wyckoff? Yes, as he has faced in quiet resolution the cultural chaos of our time and with his deep commitment to peace and justice and steady humility reached for scholarly excellence and practical relevance through his own commit- ment to and search for the implications of the redeeming action of God in Jesus Christ for the education ministry of the Christian Church.

The Black Presbyterian

Church and

Its Rural Ministry

by James H. Costen

Before beginning a discussion of the rural Black church and its ministry, especially the Presbyterian church, we need to be aware of those qualities and historical features that have made the Black church the unique institution that it is today.

Gayrand S. Wilmore, in his book Blac\ Religion and Blacky Radicalism, has written, “The religious beliefs and rit- uals of any people are inevitably and inseparably bound up with the material and psychological realities ot their daily existence.” This is a true statement. The experiences of Black persons in this na- tion have been unlike that of any other group or race. Stripped of an ancient heritage, divested of family and root- age, dehumanized by the heinousness of slavery, and systematically brutal- ized by discrimination — the Black per- son has had to run a treacherous ob- stacle course toward full personhood, full humanity.

The Black experience in America has been one of slavery and oppression, prejudice and injustice, racism and the denial of basic rights. It has been an experience of toilsome and burdensome labor. Though victimized, the victim is

In September 198 3 Princeton Seminary hosted a Conference on the Small Church. This paper was delivered by James H. Costen on September 13.

A native of Omaha, Nebraska, the Rev. James H. Costen is an alumnus of Johnson C. Smith College and Seminary in Atlanta, where he later served as Dean. On December 1, he became president of the Interdenominational Theological Center in Atlanta. He has served on committees at the Presbytery and Synod levels, and most recently was Moderator of the 194th General Assembly (UPCUSA). Mr. Cos ten’s experience with the small church in- cludes having organized the Church of the Master in Atlanta in 1965.

now called upon to bear the weight of society’s inhumanity. And yet, in the midst of such a dehumanizing experi- ence the slave, and generations of his ancestors, developed a faith that gave strength and courage for the struggles of each stage of the journey and un- relenting hope for the future.

The Black church, then, is unique because of the uniqueness of the Black experience in America which shaped it. Any human life may be thought of as a story, a sequence of experiences in which a person lives out his being as fully human within a world of other people and things. To isolate a self from its experiences is as impossible as iso- lating the core of an onion from its layers. Therefore, in order to truly un- derstand the Black church and its min- istry, one must first of all know some- thing about the Black experience in this land. Such experiences as Blacks have gone through can never be abstracted from a history of meaning which shapes them and lends them their particular significance. Thus, in addition to un- derstanding God as holy love, seeking to redeem man from his fallen state through the grace of Jesus Christ, the

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Black church images God as the Lib- erator who sets his people free from all kinds of captivity and, indeed, as the One who stands on the side of those who are oppressed. Thus, the Old Tes- tament stories of liberation are basic to the life of the Black witnessing com- munity.

From its inception the Black church has endeavored to remain faithful to the gospel of Jesus Christ through its articulation of the meaning and pur- pose of Jesus’ life. It has closely iden- tified itself with the “servant” image of Jesus Christ, and sees Jesus, the “Suf- fering Servant,” as having identified himself with the hopes and aspirations of oppressed people. Having identified itself in such a way has greatly influ- enced the Black church’s style and tech- nique in ministry. Thus, the Black church is temple and academy, gym- nasium of spirit and body, sanctuary for the learning of God’s love and cen- ter for dispensing that love. Its mission and ministry defy easy sacred-secular labels. Life there is not codified in such ways.

The focal point for ministry in the Black rural church, like that of the Black urban or city church, has been the gos- pel of Jesus Christ. This genesis point has informed the ministry of these churches, often when the realities of life in America made such loyalty to Christ hard to imagine and irrational.

Active worship among slaves was generally prohibited by slavemasters. Large gatherings were denied because of the fear of insurrection such as that with Nat Turner. In spite of the refusal to allow for the worship of the slaves, ways were found to get around these restrictions. Spirituals and other uniquely Black songs of that period are replete with the code words for gatherings to

nurture the spiritual life in this strange and alien land. Some of these spirituals were “Steal Away to Jesus” and “There’s a Meeting Here Tonight.” Distant fields, riversides, and brush arbors were em- blazoned with God’s glory and became places fit for worship.

During the years following the emancipation proclamation, the Black rural church played a pivotal role in helping newly-freed slaves adjust to their new status. Made up primarily of poor people, landless people, and those with- out basic personal resources, the Black church, from its inception, encouraged cooperation, including the founding of mutual aid and burial societies. Out of these societies came the great Black banks and insurance companies which still exist today.

The purpose of these societies was to help the church member through crises of life — such as sickness and death. In writing about these benevolent societies which grew out of Black rural churches in the late 1800’s, E. Franklin Frazier, in his classic book The Negro Church in America , states:

They were supported by the pennies which the Negroes could scrape to- gether in order to aid each other in time of sickness, but more especially to ensure themselves of a decent Christian burial.

Historians will long applaud the work of kindly, benevolent, White Presby- terian benefactors who came to the ru- ral South following the Civil War and helped establish schools and churches among freedmen. Coupled with the ef- forts of many unlettered but deter- mined former slaves, the wonderful balance of educating both head and spirit was begun, a process that has grown to enormous proportions. The Presbyte-

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rian church became known for its work among rural Blacks in the South. Al- though the Congregational, Baptist, Episcopal, and other mainline White denominations — including the Catho- lics— were at work in the South, the Presbyterian church made the greatest and most diverse contribution. Inez Parker, in her book The Rise and De- cline of a Program of Education Among Blacks in the Presbyterian Church , ver- ifies that at one time there were one hundred fifty -eight schools in the South associated with the Presbyterian church. These were colleges, seminaries, sec- ondary, and elementary schools, all de- signed to advance the cause of the re- cently freed Black man.

These schools grew out of a ministry envisioned by the small Black Presby- terian congregation in a given com- munity. The minister’s wife quite often was head mistress. These institutions were highly respected. The pastor and the school personnel exerted tremen- dous influence in most communities. Role models for effective leadership, in- cluding ministerial leadership, was gained in these settings. It is no accident that an overwhelming percentage of Black leadership in the Presbyterian church today came out of these South- ern rural churches and schools. Addi- tionally, a significant number of Amer- ica’s past Black leadership in all fields came from this Presbyterian back- ground. Carter G. Woodson, a preem- inent historian, felt that the masses of Black people were repelled by the wor- ship and order of the Presbyterian church but drawn by the quality of its edu- cation, often the only educational op- portunity available in many commu- nities.

It was the leadership provided by the minister that lifted the sights of Black

sharecroppers in the South to become land and home owners, to register and vote, to educate themselves and their children, thereby influencing their own destinies. Organizations of farm work- ers were initiated and land ownership was encouraged. By 1920, 925,000 Black persons operated farms in the South. In 1978 this number had dwindled to 58,000 — a loss of 94%. At stake here, according to a resolution from the Ad- visory Council on Church and Society to the last meeting of the General As- sembly, is:

1) the survival of Black-owned land and the future participation of Blacks in agriculture;

2) the survival of what has been the longest single equity resource in minority hands in the South, and the possibility of utilizing minor- ity-owned land as a foundation for greater participation in the dramatic development activities occurring in the Southern region, the Sun Belt.

The Black rural church, while undergoing some significant demo- graphic changes, still maintains many of its historic characteristics. While having to compete with television, the availability ot the automobile and the nearness of city life, the breakup of family solidarity, among many other features, it still maintains a hub rela- tionship with significant numbers of its members. Much of their social, politi- cal, and religious life still evolves around the church. Many of these churches have strong youth-oriented programs. They have vibrant church and Vacation Bible Schools. Many of them still retain or- ganizations such as Westminster Fel- lowship. In fact, many predominantly Black presbyteries in the South still

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sponsor youth rallies, a feature which we had developed to a science as a de- nomination and then dismantled.

A demographic change that has given the rural ministry a shift in direction is the availability of industrial jobs within easy driving range of most communi- ties. Few congregations would still have a majority of farmers within their membership. They work for the grow- ing number of industries that are mov- ing South. Those who continue to farm, however, have a median income of $7,584 as compared to $17,323 for com- parably situated White farmers. Re- cently, the Census Bureau reported that for the first time this century the ma- jority of persons who moved were mov- ing South rather than to the North or West. Many of these persons have re- tired and are returning to their land and to their roots. It remains to be seen what opportunities and challenges this will present the Black rural church in the years ahead. I contend it has po- tential for tremendous membership growth.

The concerns of Blacks who live in rural areas today are much the same as those who live in urban areas. Unem- ployment, poor housing, crime, drugs, economic inequities, poor and inade- quate education are problems that call for and demand the church’s attention. The response is mixed as to the effec- tiveness with which churches have met these needs.

Some of these churches have activi- ties going on seven days a week. In addition to Sunday School, Sunday worship, Bible study, Vacation Bible School, youth fellowship, and camping programs which are geared primarily toward one’s spiritual growth, other programs include tutorial projects which attempt to increase the reading and math

skills of elementary and high school students. Many churches have estab- lished senior citizens centers and neigh- borhood service centers, using their ed- ucational units or other church-owned facilities. These centers give the rural elderly a place to go and engage in ed- ucation and leisure time activities. Nu- trition programs for the elderly provide balanced meals for those who are shut- ins, handicapped, or living alone. Food and clothes closets provide emergency assistance for individuals and families in need. Black rural churches were some of the pioneers in day care centers in the South. In some areas rural churches have facilitated the efforts of Black farmers and vegetable growers to form agricultural cooperatives. Like their ministerial predecessors, many Black ministers are the primary motivators to start youth thinking about a college ed- ucation.

It must also be said that where Black rural churches are engaged in viable ministries, the leadership has made the difference. Those churches that employ full-time pastoral leadership are the ones that have developed relevant and ex- citing ministries. Traditionally, most Black rural churches have not been able to support a full-time minister. The majority of these churches have a pastor who is also the pastor of one or more additional churches. In the 1930s and 1940s the presbyteries sought to address the problem of small, clustered rural churches by organizing larger parishes for the sharing of personnel and the better development and utilization of lay leadership. This parish model is no longer in vogue and yet nothing has emerged to take its place.

Finding a way to address the lead- ership needs of these small rural churches is a frontier for the church in the years

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ahead. With the reunion of the two largest Presbyterian bodies, there are about 475 predominantly Black churches. Approximately two thirds of these churches are in the South, mostly in small towns and rural hamlets. About 100 of these churches are too small and isolated to justify the calling of a full- time minister, assuming one were available. They vary in size from five or six members to seventy or eighty. Their members are often quite active in presbytery and pillars of the local community. A plan to address this need is one of the glaring opportunities we will face in the very near future.

Ministry among Blacks in the rural South will prove to be the modern fron- tier of the Presbyterian church. To meet this challenge we will have to:

1) Increase the number of theolog- ically educated men and women w’ho can provide visionary lead- ership in the pulpits, classrooms, and community circles. They need to be a selfless variety.

2) Move away from a cultural ori- entation that places the minister at the center of church life to one that fosters the minister’s role as being the enabler of ministry. While still significant as a role model, the image has shifted slightly and power and authority

is gained through selfless ser- vanthood.

3) Create a climate where lay people are aware of their need to be ed- ucated for their ministries and are willing to sacrifice to attain the necessary training.

4) Return to a value-oriented life- style in which standards are once again emphasized, an environ- ment where community expec- tations are high and where people are lovingly helped to attain high goals.

Historically, the Black rural church was a cocoon-like community. There was nurture there. There was a great deal of love and encouragement. There was a willingness to allow for an oc- casional fall, but an intolerance toward sanctioning wallowing in the mud.

There was a mirror for viewing one- self realistically, yet there was also a reflector pointing toward what one might become.

There was a deeply rooted, deeply understood biblical base that informed all its activities. God’s love and grace, made manifest in Jesus Christ, was cen- tral, sustaining when all else failed.

This is the church that challenges me today. These are the qualities I would like to see developed further for the good of those still to come.

Emile Cailliet: Christian Centurion

by Richard J. Oman

The eminent writer and teacher, Emile Cailliet, has left the Church and the world a legacy of practical, in- spirational, and learned books. While he was perhaps best known for his au- thoritative Pascalian studies, his mind and pen roamed the Christian land- scape of reality from science to litera- ture, from philosophy to theology.

Dr. Cailliet was born at Dampierre (Marne), France, on December 17, 1894. Following service on the faculty of the University of Pennsylvania (1926-31), he held professorships at Scripps Col- lege and the Claremont Graduate School, Claremont, California (1931-41); the Graduate School of Arts and Sciences, University of Pennsylvania (1941-45); Wesleyan University, Middletown, Connecticut (1945-47); and at Prince- ton Theological Seminary (1948-59), where he was Stuart Professor of Chris- tian Philosophy.

A layman, Dr. Cailliet had pursued advanced studies in anthropology and philosophy, and received doctorates from both the Universite de Montpellier (1926) and the Universite de Strasbourg (1938). He died in Santa Monica, California, on June 4, 1981.

It was my privilege to be his student, colleague, and friend for over thirty years. Without question he was the one

An alumnus of Macalester College, the University of Minnesota, Princeton Theolog- ical Seminary, and New College, Edinburgh, Dr. Richard J. Oman is currently the Howard C. Scharfe Professor of Homiletics and In- terim Director of the D.Min. Program at Pittsburgh Theological Seminary. He is the author of several articles and is a member of the Academy of Homiletics and the North American Academy of Liturgy. While at Princeton, Dr. Oman served as Dr. Cailliet' s Teaching Fellow, and later spent three years as his staff instructor.

person who held the greatest influence over my own life, shaping my thinking and ministry. The debt I owe this mar- velous and unique man can never be measured or weighed in merely human terms.

Dr. Cailliet had described the “cen- turion type of Christian” as a Christian with but one concern — “to do the Lord’s will in joy and simplicity ot heart. . . . It is a life of love and power, because it is a completely surrendered life, and therefore a life in line with the will of God. As such it abides forever” ( The Beginning of Wisdom [New York: Fleming H. Revell, Co., 1947], p. 182. Cf. journey Into Light [Grand Rapids: Zondervan Publishing Co., 1968], p. 98). No better words could depict the life journey of this contemporary pilgrim.

Following in the footsteps of his be- loved Blaise Pascal, Cailliet, too, wres- tled with such questions as the nature of man, the source of authority in re- ligion, the seeming hiddenness of God, the relation between faith and reason. In both prophetic and practical ways, he spoke to many of the issues which plague and perplex the lives of count- less moderns, both within and without the Church.

In a world increasingly broken and fragmented, Cailliet sought to bring to-

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gether a viewpoint which sees life as a whole. Three examples serve to illus- trate his search for meaning.

I

Philosophy in Relation to Theology

Every human being is, in fact, a phi- losopher. If we think of philosophy as a meditation upon life, then each per- son has some outlook on life which mo- tivates us whether we realize it or not.

The question is: Are we Christian philosophers? Cailliet observed that “Christian philosophy appears when- ever and wherever a Christian begins to think. The possible alternatives to this could only be either a thinker who was not a Christian at all, or a Christian wrho did not think at all. And then it should be of uttermost concern to the Church to have people think as Chris- tians, and to see to it that Christians actually think, and do think as Chris- tians” ( The Christian Approach to Cul- ture [Nashville: Abingdon-Cokesbury, !953]> P- 59)-

This means that there is a Christian view of nature, a Christian outlook on history, a Christian approach to psy- chology— and “a Christian epistemol- ogy preparing the way for constructive Christian metaphysics” (Ibid., p. 77).

Because, as Cailliet observed, philos- ophers are impatient by nature, in their anxiety to solve problems they pre- maturely cease debate, and are often tempted to fill in the unknown by “spinning out of their mind some on- tological entity” (Ibid., p. 177).

Theology Cailliet defined as “that scientific discipline which concerns it- self with the human aspects of both general and special revelation” (Ibid., p. 262). Theology deals with the theme of the light going out into the world.

while Christian philosophy deals with the theme of the world going to the light. Philosophy in this sense is the servant of theology, hopefully a helpful one.

In examining the long history of the relationship between philosophy and theology, Dr. Cailliet singled out Im- manuel Kant and Karl Barth as being representative of influential thinkers in the making of the modern religious mind.

Kant’s views stand like pyramids on our horizon, casting their shadows upon all our thinking. Much of our philo- sophical and theological reflection re- mains a running commentary on Kant. He is a great divider in the history of human thought, for better or for worse.

The point of departure for Kant was the knowing mind. When we look at the universe or ourselves or think of God, what we are doing in fact is put- ting with our minds an imprint of the reality we perceive. We never get to know things as they are; higher realities are definitely beyond our reach. Met- aphysics are ultimately impossible. In placing such a ceiling on our thinking, and making us prisoner of our own minds, no wonder that some called Kant “the greatest disaster that ever hap- pened in philosophy.”

But if we live in the long shadow of Kant, the atmosphere for philosophy was further clouded by the work of Karl Barth. “No one has ever chal- lenged the relevance, validity, and even the advisability of Christian philosophy as has Karl Barth in our day” (Ibid., p. 50). He would have theologians turn away from any philosophical approach to theology. There is no need to study philosophy, for these are the arguments of a darkened mind.

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Cailliet acknowledged that we owe an eternal debt to Barth for restoring the perspective that true thinking must begin with God — His sovereignty, His Word. But Barth intervened at a time of tremendous crisis, and as is often the case, like a pendulum, he went to ex- tremes. The image of God was not to be found in persons at all.

For Cailliet, the ultimate question became: In our thinking should we give priority to what is, or to our knowledge of it? The answer to this particular question holds the key to theology and philosophy. The “or” part of the ques- tion is the special burden of modern philosophy.

It was Augustine who had laid his finger on what Cailliet felt was the greatest truth of Christian philosophy: Nostra Philosophia. “I believe so that I may understand” — this insight points to nothing short of a scriptural notion of truth: when everything has been said and done, truth proceeds from the trustworthiness and reliability of God. To Augustine, the way to understand the world of nature and of man is to view it in the light of general revelation (God-bathed) as a means of leading to special revelation; to view time as du- ration with meaning under God. Cail- liet later confessed that he had lost in- terest in the distinction between general and special revelation— for where, in- deed, should the dividing line be drawn? Better that the view of Christian phi- losophy be that of a seamless robe— i.e., be seen as a whole.

Cailliet’s judgment of what he learned from Pascal is germane to the issue: “That Christianity is essentially a mat- ter of commitment; that theology is a matter of authority; and that in the last analysis the supreme authority in the-

ology is that of the Incarnate Son, the Supernatural Christ” ( Pascal : Genius in the Light of Scripture [Philadelphia: The Westminster Press, 1945], p. 363).

II

Science and Religion

Cailliet was very much at home in the arenas of scientific inquiry. In his writings he sought to provide the world view suggested by science in our day, against the broad picture of the rise of scientific research as a background, with special attention to the present day need for a Christian recovery of a sense of purpose.

While inspired by a candid intellec- tual honesty, at the same time Dr. Cail- liet approached the question of a philosophy of science in a constant awareness that by birth and by right our Reformed tradition is called upon to develop a good-neighbor policy with the new science. In so doing without appeasement or compromise, Cailliet was convinced that the churches and institutions of learning issuing from the Reformation would keep in touch with the world which is their mission field. They would be in a better position to speak to the condition of contemporary men and women. By the same token theology and Christian philosophy would gather from scholars of science a great deal of information, with ref- erence to both methods and subject matter, that would prove useful at a time when “reconstruction” is the or- der of the day.

A word used often by Cailliet was “mystery.” A mystery, as he saw it, was an invitation to pilgrimage — to study, explore, search for meaning — and should never be allowed to degenerate into a mere problem.

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Such an approach to mystery he at- tested to be the attitude of the true sci- entist, “this expectant faith, this spirit of submission to fact coupled with a readiness to proceed upon the resulting situation, however, perplexing it may be" (Journey Into Light , p. 51). Such an attitude was bound to “expose the de- ception of all attempts on the part of New Testament Christianity to save its life by sacrificing its objectivity, or even satisfy its imagination at the expense of a committed intellect” (Ibid., p. 49).

What makes for the greatness of the modern scientific method at the same time proves its stumbling block! Sci- ence today is characterized by brilliancy of achievement and obscurity of un- derstanding. The consequence of all this is that the scientist is lost in a maze of facts — and facts need interpretation.

Can science produce the necessary faith principle? Cailliet was aware of two ever-present dangers in approach- ing this question. One was the danger of reductionism, always evident in our age of specialization. The second dan- ger was the false faith-principle of ide- ology. Ideologies are subtle and dan- gerous because as a rule they appear at the apex of a scientific or philosophical quest, and become in fact substitute re- ligions.

To Cailliet the universe of science is not the universe of creation. The con- fusion between these two is responsible for a great deal of our trouble. We are not observing two universes on the same scale. It is the scale of observation which creates phenomena.

Thus, the universe of science may be seen as a construction of the human mind, and the question becomes, how much does this construction have to do with the actual world of God’s crea- tion? Cailliet believed there was no basic

conflict between science (construction) and religion (interpretation), that the- ology should not be afraid of science per se, and that when the scientist re- covers his/her humanity, it makes all the difference whether the scientist is a Christian or not.

When the core of truth touches hu- man situations, it immediately raises questions of a scientific nature. The key to keeping the truth whole is to be found in the distinction between the “actual world of creation” and the “construc- tion” which the scientist puts upon in- vestigation. The former is the perennial proclamation; the latter, the hierarchy of sciences.

Theology, in the realm of the sci- ences can do much for the scientist as a scientist and as a person: it can dem- onstrate how the fact of “construction” needs, and actually calls for, a “higher.”

Sciences, as constructions, are always changing. Reality (truth) is rooted in the very nature of the Divine: God’s reliability.

Ill

Presence and Purpose In the Midst of Solitude

Following his retirement from active teaching in 1959, Dr. Cailliet devoted a considerable amount of his thinking and writing to one of the most pressing issues of modern life, loneliness — and its Christian antithesis, a transfigured solitariness. Intimations of this concern, of course, are scattered throughout many of his earlier works, but his retirement years became the crucible for reflective meditation, culminating in his volume. Alone At High Noon (Zondervan: Grand Rapids, 1971).

“Thou, O Lord, hast made me pow- erful and solitary.” These words serve

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as pointers to the nature of the life of a servant of God. Such a life is one of power and one of solitude. Solitude it- self is a state of mind and of soul.

To Cailliet, there was a world of dif- ference between being alone and being solitary. While being alone or living alone is neither good nor bad in itself, aloneness can become painful, even vi- olent. Like a disease, it threatens to in- vade and destroy our true self. “A di- vided soul soon turns into a lonely soul . . .” (Ibid., p. 35).

The answer to such an enervating possibility? To capture a sense of the Presence of God and to recover a sense of cosmic Purpose in life.

In words reminiscent of Pascal’s great “Fire in the Night” experience, Cailliet pointed to his first encounter with a Bible at the age of twenty-three, his plunge into its depths, and his emerg- ing from beyond the words to the Word, the Living Word, Jesus Christ. It was this Christ who now became alive to him. This event proved to be his ini- tiation to “the notion of Presence which later would prove crucial to my theo- logical thinking” (Journey Into Light , p. 18).

Note that Cailliet here is not talking about the existence of God — a question he called “a metaphysical matter ulti- mately beyond verification” (Ibid., p. 88). The Presence refers to the in- dwelling of the spirit of the living Christ in power. It is that indwelling Presence which brings certitude to the believer,

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“certitude” being that which endures, things which do not change, the abid- ing things of God. Such a person in the midst of solitude finds oneself moving in the direction of both sanctity, which is health of spirit, and sanity, which is health of intellect.

Those who would know with cer- titude are persons in position to do the truth— which brings Cailliet to the problems involved in the recovery of a sense of purpose in life. Lack of purpose according to him is at the root of sol- itude. How many persons, for example, use the phrase “killing time” as evi- dence of the fact of a loss of purpose? If we are to reach any meaningful con- clusion regarding the meaning of sol- itude, it is by coming to grips with the issue of Cosmic Purpose. Here is the clue to the solitary life. Authenticity in solitude demands the sense of reality which purpose makes possible.

As the Presence enters the human soul, so the Promethean departs, the Promethean being that which is finally responsible for the loss of purpose in every being.

Personality as the crown of life finds its fulfillment, receives its full stature, when a person becomes an act of God. Such a person truly learns to live and savor life at its fullest. And physical death — when it comes — may be com- pared to the blinking of the eye which does not interrupt the vision. So it was, I believe, for this Christian centurion, Emile Cailliet.

Memorial Tributes

John Alexander Mackay

1889-1983

The Faculty and Administrative Staff of Princeton Theological Seminary, meeting in regular session, wish to pay tribute in this Memorial Minute to our former President, John A. Mackay, who died June 9, 1983, in his ninety- fourth year. With gratitude to God, we here record our esteem and admiration for our colleague’s life among us and his witness to the whole church of Jesus Christ throughout the world.

John Alexander Mackay was born in Inverness, Scotland, May 17, 1889, and like a true-blue Highlander was graduated from the University of Aberdeen with First Class Honors in Philosophy. “A raw youth,” as he later described himself, he ventured across the ocean to Princeton Theological Seminary. It was the first of many extended voyages that during his life took him several times around the globe.

Graduating from the Seminary in 1915 with a fellowship for graduate study, he had hoped to go to Germany. Central Europe was then into the first years of World War I, and John Mackay decided to go to Spain to study with Miguel de Unamuno, the Spanish existentialist who, before most, had discovered and written about Kierkegaard. It was the beginning of a love affair with the Iberian Peninsula and Hispanic culture to which he would be devoted throughout his life. Later, he wrote of Unamuno that “he incarnated Spain in much the same way as the soul of Russia was incarnated in Dostoyevsky.” Though divergent in many ways, the Highland Celt and the Spanish mystic converged in a vision of existentialist missionary witness to the living Christ.

In 1916, John Mackay and Jane Logan Wells were married, and they set off as educational missionaries for Lima, Peru. There they founded a Protestant school, now known as the Colegio San Andres. While in Peru, John Mackay was invited to occupy the chair of Philosophy in the National University of San Marcos. The first Protestant to be appointed to such an academic position in this renowned university, founded in 1551, it was an honor equalled only many years later by an award of the “Palmas Magisteriales” by the Peruvian government for John Mackay’s contribution to education.

Step by step, and country by country, John Mackay was making his way, providentially we may believe, to Princeton. Under special assignment with the South American Federation of the YMCA, he began to lecture and write first in Uruguay and then in Mexico. He was appointed a member of the Board of Foreign Missions of the Presbyterian Church with general oversight of Latin America and Africa. Through this association, he began a lifelong friendship with Robert E. Speer who, at this time, was President of the Presbyterian Board and a Trustee of Princeton Seminary.

John Mackay was called in 1936 to the presidency of Princeton Seminary, where he served for twenty-three years not only as President, but as Professor of Ecumenics, the first such designated chair in an American seminary. It was a time of theological disruption, and a few years earlier several reactionary

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trustees, faculty, and students seceded during the fundamentalist controversy, which was then dividing churches and denominations across the country.

John Mackay came into this unpromising situation with his eyes open and with missionary zeal. In short order, he restored stability to the campus, tran- scending the arid debates that had split the Seminary and enlarging and strength- ening the faculty. He began overtures with the University toward mutual rec- ognition of academic programs, raised the morale of the campus with his ecumenical enthusiasm, insisting all the time that theology must be an intellectually respect- able discipline.

The chronicle of John Mackay s life during the following two decades reveals a series of eminent positions to which he was appointed. His long and distin- guished ecumenical career began at the Oxford Conference in 1937, where he headed the Commission on the Universal Church and the World of Nations. This occasioned his often-quoted directive, “Let the Church Be the Church.” He was a member of the Central Committee of the World Council of Churches (1948-1954), President of the American Association of Theological Schools (1945- 1950), Chairman of the International Missionary Council (1947-1958), and Pres- ident of the World Alliance of Reformed Churches (1954-1959). He was elected Moderator of the General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church in the USA in 1953. After his retirement from Princeton, he taught at the American University in Washington as Adjunct Professor of Hispanic Thought.

In all these church and official positions, John Mackay was governed by the interdependence of what he liked to call “Order and Ardor.” He argued for balance between ecclesiastical unity and evangelical mission, between the ecu- menical and the confessional, between the structure of doctrine and the freedom of the Spirit. Those who heard him speak remember his impassioned contrasts between “The Balcony and the Road,” “Don Quixote and Robinson Crusoe," “The Badge and the Banner,” “The End and the Beginning,” “The Way to Tomorrow Leads Through Yesterday.”

A prolific author, John Mackay was always in the process of writing articles, editorials, reports, dedicatory inscriptions, and books. He published thirteen books, three of which he wrote in Spanish. In 1944, he founded and edited the religious quarterly Theology Today. The review, he hoped, would carry on and extend the tradition of earlier Princeton reviews going back to the days of Charles Hodge and more recently to the co-editors, Benjamin B. Warfield and Charles A. Briggs. The first “Aim,” as he formulated it for the journal, read, “To contribute to the restoration of theology in the world of today as the supreme science, of which both religion and culture stand in need for their renewal."

In 1953, John Mackay, disturbed not only by the so-called “McCarthy Hear- ings” and other allegations of unpatriotic trends in this country, but also by the silence and timidity of ecclesiastical and educational institutions, drafted “A Letter to Presbyterians,” calling for reasonable reflection. In one of his favorite phrases, he urged leaders in church and culture “to take the lead." The “Letter" was widely distributed and acclaimed as a lone voice crying in the wilderness.

In the same vein, he repeatedly advocated open dialogue and summit meetings of political leaders for China, Russia, and the troubled areas of Latin America.

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Many remember a dramatic community meeting in the Auditorium of the Cam- pus Center when John Mackay, with an emotional introduction, welcomed J. Robert Oppenheimer, then the Director of the Institute for Advanced Study and at the time under a cloud of suspicion because of his association with the atomic bomb.

At the time of his retirement in 1959, a special issue of Theology Today, against his better judgment, carried a series of tributes to John Mackay from some of his friends and associates. Among those who wrote were John Baillie, Walter Lowrie, Emil Brunner, Harold Dodds, Eugene Blake, Nathan Pusey, James Pike, and F. W. Dillistone. But high-sounding praise was not to his liking, for John Mackay was in many respects a plain man with simple tastes and frugal ways. If to many he seemed at times austere, to a few intimates, such as his Seminary roommate, Peter K. Emmons, he was always “Jock,” and on rare occasions he was known to demonstrate his soccer footwork on the front campus to an astonished group of seminarians.

Coming out of a small sectarian Scottish church, John Mackay became a world- recognized ecumenical ambassador. He liked to say that no one could teach him anything about divisive sectarianism or rigid orthodoxy. A born missionary, for whom personal piety provided the spark for his relentless drive, he hated prose- lytism, sentimentality, and piosity. An essentially reflective person, he had un- limited confidence in the persuasive power of the spoken and written word. His public addresses were delivered with dramatic eloquence, punctuated not only with rhetorical flourishes, but with imaginative and symbolic language. He would have made a distinguished Secretary of the United Nations or a superlative Shakespearean actor; but John Mackay ’s ruling passion was in “bringing into captivity every thought to the obedience of Christ,” in words which he invoked when granting diplomas to graduating divinity students.

In 1932, and the date is significant, for it was mostly a time of theological wasteland, John Mackay was invited to give the Merrick Lectures at Ohio Wes- leyan University. He titled the series “Prophetic Thinkers.” He dealt, prophet- ically as it turned out, with Kierkegaard, Dostoyevsky, Nietzsche, Unamuno, and Barth. These early lectures set the tone for later titles, all hinting at what he called the dimension of “Beyondness.” The following captions are typical: “The Endless Journey Starts,” “Keep Moving Beyond,” “Heritage and Destiny,” “An Ecumenical Era Calls for Missionary Action,” “Let the Church Live on the Frontier.”

On the tombstone for Sir Christopher Wren in St. Paul’s Cathedral which he had designed, we can read the Latin inscription Si Monumentum Requiris Cir- cumspice. So, too, of John Alexander Mackay, as we survey his life and work on this campus and around the world, and as we try to calculate his continuing influence upon this place he loved so well, we can say that if anyone searches for a monument to his memory, all we need do is look around us.

To his widow, Jane Logan Wells Mackay, and to their children, Isobel, Duncan, Elena, and Ruth, and their families, we extend our heartfelt sympathy, our high regard, and our Christian greetings.

Norman Victor Hope

1908-1983

The teacher peered around the lectern with a mischievous twinkle in his eye as he spoke of the barbarian invasion of the British Isles. With straight face he told his students, “When the tribes of Angles crossed the channel the obtuse Angles turned south and became the English. The acute Angles turned in the opposite way and they became the Scots.” Once again Dr. Hope had lightened learning with laughter and captivated his class.

In a style uniquely his own, Norman Hope excelled as a teacher and scholar, and endeared himself to us as colleague and friend. His was a first-rate mind, a cosmopolitan consciousness, and an enviable sensitivity in the use of language, not only in theological discussion but also in historical and literary settings. Born in Edinburgh, Scotland, he was the son of Alexander and Margaret Duff Symons Hope. He attended the George Herriot School and then won high honors at the University of Edinburgh in history, economics, and ecclesiastical pursuits. After study at the University of Berlin, he earned a doctorate at his alma mater. Then in the years 1935 to 1938 he served as pastor of the Busby West Parish in Glasgow. What a lively time that congregation must have had!

At the age of thirty Dr. Hope came to this country to teach Systematic Theology at the New Brunswick Theological Seminary, first as lecturer and later as James Suydam Professor. In 1946 Princeton Seminary called him to the Archibald Alexander Chair of Church History, a post he held until retirement as Professor Emeritus in 1978. Ordained a minister of the Church of Scotland, he was enrolled as a member of the Presbytery of New Brunswick during his years in this country until his death. He was predeceased by his wife Isabella Logan, known to friends as Shumi. In 1967 he married Wanda Swoll Christiff, who survives him. We pray that our gracious God will be her refuge and strength, comforting her and sustaining her in this time of her loss.

A committed and gifted teacher, Professor Hope was a marvel in the classroom, a witty and learned lecturer who was popular not only with students on this campus but also in many other academic institutions, and with many congre- gations. His prodigious memory enabled him at will to call forth dates, figures, quotations, information, and illustrations with amazing accuracy and uncanny relevance. This ability served him well in his role as a constant reviewer of books and also as a qualified author himself. He contributed material to The New Schaffer -Herzog Encyclopedia of Religious Knowledge and to A Dictionary of Prac- tical Theology , and he had several books to his credit. Norman Hope succeeded eminently as a creative, dynamic member ot this faculty and chairman of the Seminary’s History Department. With his rare talents and unmistakable elan, he attracted many admirers and brought much credit to this institution which he loved and served so faithfully and well.

Like Zaccheus, he was a wee man in stature, but he was a great man in mind and heart and soul, kindled with boundless energy. It was in his walk, in his talk, in his schedule. Whether speeding across the campus pathway or across a

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century of church history, there was a transparent vitality. It came through at the most ordinary moments as he answered the telephone “Hope speaking” or as he asked successive generations of students in his eagerness to plunge into the lecture, “Has the bell not rung? Oh, there it goes. Let us pray.” It came through at the holiest of moments, too, when, as he did almost every Sunday of every year, he came to the pulpit to preach.

Norman Hope brought the enriching illustrations of his homiletical care to his lectures, whether the source was from biography or poetry or history. He brought the clarifying summary gifts of his teaching to the pulpit— “My three points are these.” And always, everywhere, there were the punctuating forceful gestures of his hands and head, the twinkle of mirth in his eye and raised brows, the delight in humor and the affection for people.

He preached in hundreds of pulpits. Thousands of people knew him and considered him their friend. In their appreciation of his sermons — their clarity, their conviction, their memorability and their brevity — his congregations iden- tified Norman Hope clearly with Princeton Seminary. As a good Scot and a concerned member of the Seminary community, he often challenged them to be generous in their stewardship and in support for Princeton. Chiefly his preaching was a vivid witness to Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior, and an enthusiastic encouragement to follow Him in faithful service. His attentive congregations knew he was speaking to them thus because of his personal concern for them.

In the sadness of the speed with which the disease took his strength and his mobility, his alert caring concern for students, alumni, and friends continued, and he became increasingly aware too of the care both human and divine that surrounded him. In a very memorable moment Norman was parked in front of the Administration Building. He could not leave the car. The window was rolled down. He would wave as he could, but the voice was weak. Professor Geddes Hanson came over and inquired for him and then said, “Norman, there is one thing in all this you can be sure of. You are not alone. You know that.” And with a voice that reclaimed its old strength, and speed of deliverance, and a matching gesture of hand and nod of head, Dr. Hope replied, “That I know, that I know.”

Norman Hope was a faithful servant of the One who was with him in the valley of the shadow of death. His life and teaching reflected his faith, and many of us on this campus and across this land have been influenced by him in our pilgrimage and service. To him we give our gratitude, thanking God for our encounter with this exceptional friend, colleague, and mentor, and giving to Norman the accolade of the prophet of old, “They that be teachers shall shine as the firmament, and those who turn many to righteousness as the stars for ever and ever.” Amen.

The Tacit Dimension of Ministry

by Thomas W. Gillespie

Until last October, I had never met a leper. The only lepers I knew were the ones 1 read about in the Bible. Something of their wretchedness came home to me in the motion picture, Ben Hur. The scene depicting the helpless- ness and the hopelessness of the lepers in the Valley of Gehenna was unfor- gettable. Yet, until last October, I had never met a leper.

Then, with sixteen members of our church in Burlingame, we visited United Presbyterian mission stations in South- east Asia. One of our stops was in Chiengmai, a city in the north of Thai- land. There we were introduced to the ministry of the McKean Leprosy Hos- pital. It was founded seventy-four years ago by Dr. James W. McKean, a Pres- byterian medical missionary who went out to Thailand in 1889. The hospital is located on an island in the Mae Ping River, away from the city. This land was given to Dr. McKean in 1908 by the governor of Chiengmai. It was con- sidered haunted by evil spirits, and that apparently was a fitting place for a lep- rosarium.

Today it is a fitting place. It is a home and a hospital for the lepers who are “outcasts” of the Thai society. In Thai- land, even those lepers who are cured are not permitted to return to their vil- lages and families. So McKean is a vil- lage apart, a community of hope for people who otherwise would know only rejection and despair. The people who live there with their leprosy are beau- tiful in spirit but deformed in body. We met men who have hands without fin- gers, and women who have legs with-

On most Mondays President Thomas W. Gillespie preaches to the Seminary community in Miller Chapel. The following is his first Monday sermon, given on September 26, 1983, at the beginning of his presidency.

out feet. Many of them have suffered terrible facial disfigurement. If you have an ounce of compassion in your heart, you are moved deeply by the condition of these fellow human beings.

Now when I read a story like the one told by Mark about Jesus and a leper, I have a feeling for it that I never had before. When the man is identified as a leper, I can imagine what he looked like. When he is portrayed as coming to Jesus with his disease, begging Jesus, kneeling at the feet of Jesus, and crying out to Jesus, “If you will, you can make me clean,” I can appreciate his desper- ation. And when Mark tells us that Je- sus was “moved with pity,” I can res- onate to that because it corresponds to my own feelings toward lepers at McKean in Chiengmai.

There is only one small problem. It is, of all things, a textual problem. Some of the oldest and best manuscripts of Mark’s Gospel do not say that Jesus was “moved with pity.” They say instead that he was “very angry.” Now because I prefer Jesus to show “pity” and not “anger,” I am tempted to dismiss the variant reading. But my training in tex- tual criticism will not permit that. For I was taught in seminary and in grad- uate school an important rule of thumb. And this is the rule. When manuscripts that are of equal vintage disagree on a reading, the more difficult reading is more likely to be the original. Applied to this instance, it is easy to see why a Christian scribe would change “he was angry” to read “he was moved with pity.” But it is not easy to understand why a scribe would change “he was

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moved with pity” to read “he was an- gry.” So we are stuck with the difficult reading. The emotional response of Je- sus to the leper was not one of pity but one of anger.

But this resolution of the textual problem creates for me a theological problem. Why was Jesus angry when confronted by this leper? The context of the story in the Third Gospel pro- vides the answer. Mark introduces the public ministry of Jesus by reporting that “after John was arrested, Jesus came into Galilee, preaching the gospel of God, and saying, ‘The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God is at hand; repent, and believe in the gospel’ ” (1:14- 15). He then illustrates what it means to repent and believe in the gospel by the calling of the first disciples. Simon and Andrew, James and John, leave all they have and follow Jesus. This is fol- lowed by an exorcism in the synagogue at Capernaum and the healing of Si- mon’s mother-in-law. Then comes a Marcan summary statement which sounds programmatic:

That evening, at sundown, they brought to him all who were sick or possessed with demons. And the whole city was gathered together about the door. And he healed many who were sick with various diseases, and cast out many demons (1:32-34).

But this is not a programmatic state- ment. At least it does not represent the focus of our Lord’s ministry as pre- sented by Mark. What that focus was becomes clear in the ensuing pericope.

The morning after the healing ser- vice at the door of Simon’s house, Jesus is missing. Finding him at prayer in an isolated spot, the disciples announce that everyone is looking for him. The peo- ple want to see more of this wonder-

working power. But Jesus replies, “Let us go on to the next towns, that I may preach there also; for that is why I came out" (1:38). This is Mark’s way of tell- ing us that the focus of the public min- istry of Jesus was his preaching of the gospel of God. The healings and ex- orcisms were a part of his ministry, but they provided the tacit dimension. It is also Mark’s way of explaining why Je- sus is angry in the story of the leper which immediately follows. Given the focal intention of Jesus to preach the gospel, the reason for his anger is evi- dent. He is not angry at the leper. He is angry because he is frustrated. Here is a human need that cannot be avoided. But if he meets this need it will frus- trate his intention. Jesus evidently healed by touching. If he touched a leper, how- ever, he would be contaminated. And that would make his preaching impos- sible in the cities of Galilee. Yet he did touch the man. “Moved to anger, he stretched out his hand and touched him, and said to him, ‘I will; be clean.’ ” In that moment the leper became clean. In that same moment Jesus became un- clean.

According to the Revised Standard Version, Jesus then “sternly charged” the man to say nothing to anyone about who effected his cure. According to the Greek text, he “snorted with inward rage” as he gave the command. His command to remain silent was an expression of his indignation. But the cleansed leper was a blabbermouth who could not keep the secret. As Mark tells it, “he went out and began to talk freely about it, and to spread the news.” The result was inevitable: “Jesus could no longer openly enter a town, but was out in the country” (1:45). That is not a reference to his fame. It is a reference to his fate. As one who had touched a

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leper, he could not enter the villages of the people. By honoring the tacit di- mension ot ministry, Jesus paid a price. Yet the price had its dividends. Ac- cording to Mark, the “people came to him from every quarter” (1:45).

Today our crucified and risen Lord continues his ministry through the Church. You and I are the instruments of his work in the world. And the focus of his ministry remains normative for ours. We are called to preach the gospel of God, the good news of the kingdom of God, the redeeming message of the sovereign love of God that is not only “at hand” but “on hand” in the person of Jesus the Christ. Yet we dare not forget the tacit dimension of this min- istry. Not even when it seems to frus- trate and sidetrack our focal efforts. Like Jesus, we set out on our way to preach the gospel to the cities of Galilee which are now the cities and villages of the world. But as we go we are confronted by people who say to us out of desper- ation: “If you will, you can secure jus- tice for me.” “If you will, you can lib- erate me from my bondage to poverty.” “If you will, you can enable me to feed my own hunger.” “If you will, you can influence the world in the cause of peace.” Like Jesus, we cannot avoid these needs but we can be frustrated by them. They are so deep, so broad, so monu- mental that they require of us every- thing we have and then some. More- over, we cannot meet these needs without touching them, without be- coming involved with them, without being contaminated by them in the eyes of many. Is it any wonder that we, like Jesus, are so often angry— angry with ourselves, angry with each other, angry with the world that we find at our feet?

What then are we to do? Are we to allow our anger to immobilize us? Are

we to resolve our frustration by giving up our preaching of the gospel in favor of our ministering to the needs of the world? Or are we to resolve our frus- tration the other way, by ignoring the cries of human need in our determi- nation to preach the gospel? If the min- istry of Jesus is our norm, the answer must be: None of the above. Jesus calls us to a ministry in which the focus and the tacit dimension are integrated.

Many of you will recognize that I am borrowing here the language of Mi- chael Polanyi. Polanyi was a scientist who turned philosopher and struggled with the problem of human knowl- edge. His insight was that knowledge is the product of a process of integra- tion. When we focus our attention upon something, we are also aware of other things within our field of vision. Knowledge arises when we perceive the connections and the relationships be- tween our focus and this tacit dimen- sion. The integration of our focus and the tacit dimension of our awareness produces knowledge.

I believe that what is true of knowl- edge is equally true of Christian min- istry. Our focus is proclaiming the gos- pel of God. But within our field of vision is the tacit dimension of genuine hu- man need. Ministry is formed when we integrate the focus with the tacit di- mension. Such an integration is not easy to achieve. It comes only by a concerted effort, and even then there will be great frustration and perhaps some anger. But Jesus trees us for that by his own anger and frustration. Yet his encounter with the leper encourages us to believe and to hope that our touching the needs of the world will not divert us from our mission. On the contrary, touching the needy may just be the way of fulfilling our task.

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Presbyterian missionaries in Thai- land have learned over the past hundred years that the most effective way of preaching the gospel is by addressing the felt needs of the Thai people. It is no accident that the gospel has been heard and believed more among the lepers than among any other social

group. There is more at McKean than a hospital and a village. There is a church. And the church was created by the preaching of the gospel, the preach- ing of the gospel by ministers and doc- tors and nurses who became credible witnesses to Jesus Christ by their will- ingness to touch the lepers.

Paul A. Crow, Jr., has had a long friendship with Princeton Seminary. While serving as Director of the Consultation on Church Union, with its national offices in Princeton, he was also a Visiting faculty member at the Semi- nary. This sermon has been made available to the Bulletin and these introductory para- graphs are printed here to set forth the context in which the sermon was preached. Dr. Crow is currently President of the Council on Chris- tian Unity of the Christian Church ( Disciples of Christ) and Visiting Professor of Church History at Christian Theological Seminary in Indianapolis.

May Day Sunday 1983 at St. Paul’s Cathedral in London was planned as a two-event celebration of the church’s mission and unity. Anglican bishop Desmond Tutu, General Secretary of the South African Council of Churches, had agreed to preach at Matins that day on Christian Witness; I was scheduled to be the preacher at Evensong on the theme of Christian unity. Instead, what transpired was a far more dramatic encounter between the spirituality of that historic cathedral and the racist government of South Africa.

Twelve months before this Sunday, Bishop Tutu accepted an invitation to preach at St. Paul’s on May 1, to lecture at his alma mater — King’s College, London — on May 3, and the next day to deliver the annual Drawbridge Lecture on Christian Evidence at St. Paul’s. The Dean and the Chapter, as well as British and American diplomats, had given the South African government longtime notice and made clear that this was a pastoral and not a political visit. Such invitations are nevertheless always surrounded by uncertainty, since the South African government fears Tutu’s preaching and the lively way in which he brings the Biblical message to bear upon today’s world.

On Thursday, April 28, Bishop Kenneth Woollcombe, formerly Anglican bishop at Oxford and now the Canon at St. Paul’s who had set up this special day, received word that Bishop Tutu, as often before, had been denied travel papers to leave his country. On Friday, the Paris edition of The Herald Tribune published the story. Strangely, the English newspapers delayed any word. At this point it was decided that Bishop Woollcombe would preach in Tutu’s place at the morning service. When a BBC radio operator came to interview Dean Allen Webster, he asked if St. Paul’s invitation had not from the beginning been a political gesture. Dean Webster’s reply was, “Bishop Tutu’s invitation was to preach the Word of God and to celebrate the Eucharist. But even so, when Christians witness to God’s justice and love it is not politics but spirituality at its deepest level.” Later Dean Webster read a public statement at St. Paul’s protesting the decision of the South African government to prevent Desmond Tutu from flying to London. In part, the statement said:

To prevent a responsible South African church leader who is invited to speak on academic and Christian occasions reveals an extraordinary failure to un-

Christian Unity in a Wounded World

by Paul A. Crow, Jr.

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derstand the need for British understanding of South Africa. . . . The flow of ideas especially from those who are denied the right to vote or address meetings in their own country is vital for human understanding. . . . To deny the possibility of responsible, moderate leadership from Bishop Tutu, who has worldwide support, is tragic and foolish.

The Dean ended his public statement by saying, “May God bless Bishop Tutu and may God keep him safe, keep him safe.”

The procession for Matins began with a sense of unusual drama even for historic St. Paul’s. Before the service, Bishop Woollcombe placed the Queen’s chair in the main aisle between the lectern and pulpit, symbolizing Desmond Tutu’s presence even though he was physically absent. (This idea came from the Disciples of Christ General Assembly at Anaheim in 1981, when Tutu was supposed to speak but was denied a travel visa.) In the red velvet chair usually reserved for a royal visit sat the Book of Modern Martyrs which normally is on display in a side chapel. It was open to the page which commemorates Steve Biko, a thirty-one-year-old black South African Christian whose work for free- dom led to his 1977 murder in a South African prison. The empty chair, the open martyrs book, and the nearby wooden crucifix above the high pulpit in St. Paul’s — where Bishop Tutu was to have preached — were for me symbols of the suffering of thousands of Christians whose faith and quest for freedom put them at odds with the oppressive governments. These three were symbols of the power of the powerless. When will the South African government and all other powers realize that when the Spirit is present, an empty chair is as powerful, if not more powerful, than a Bishop in the pulpit?

SERMON

Text: 11 He [God] has made known to us his hidden purpose-such was his will and pleasure determined beforehand in Christ — to be put into effect when the time was ripe: namely, that the universe, all in heaven and on earth, might be brought into a unity in Christ .” (Ephesians 1:9-10)

The British novelist J. B. Priestly was once invited to write an article about his theological beliefs. He declined the invitation, confessing that at the mo- ment he was “perhaps better able to deny than to affirm.” Then thought- fully he added: “I regret this, because now is the time for gigantic affirma- tions.”

Priestly’s words are therapy these days for the movement towards Christian unity, a movement which in certain places is caught in moods of disillu-

sionment, anger, uncertainty, and leth- argy. Some church leaders might de- scribe these as times when we are “perhaps better able to deny Christian unity than to affirm.” There are mem- ories of broken covenants among the churches, delayed theological consen- sus, bruised egos, rejected love. But at just this moment the Apostle Paul makes his most “gigantic affirmation.” From his prison cell Paul saw a tragically di- vided and disordered world in which the whole fabric of life was threatened.

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He saw walls of hostility dividing per- sons of different races, cultures, nations, and traditions. He saw alienation be- tween persons and God, an alienation which had to be healed before any of the other divisions could be reconciled.

At that very moment, claims Paul, God chose to make known “the mys- tery of his will,” “his hidden purpose for all humanity.” Through Christ, God is fulfilling his original purpose, now made clear, to overcome all rivalries, all animosities, all divisions, and in their place to establish unity. His design is “to unite all things in him, things in heaven and things on earth.” Paul’s phrase of reconciling “all things” ( ta panta) means literally the reconciling of the whole of creation as well as of all personal relationships. Despite what many say, disunity is not God’s way. Reconciliation and unity are God’s pur- pose for humanity.

I

In this gigantic affirmation we hear the voice of apostolic confidence. The phrase “in the fullness of time” or “when the time was ripe” is not lightly spoken by Paul. Nor is it to be understood as a time of glowing success or victorious ecumenical campaigns. When many doomsayers felt the new Israel was de- feated, Paul wrote to those first-century Christians: “Look! Now is the right time for unity! Now is the day of rec- onciliation!"

To work for Christian unity is to learn about the weaknesses of Chris- tians and churches. We are feeble, hu- man, vulnerable vessels of God. Our designs are not always the design of God. Our achievements seem fragile and short-lived. But this is the assumption of the Gospel. Precisely at the moment when we are most human, most vul-

nerable, most divided — when the power of sin is so terribly strong — Christians discover the hidden depths of their unity and common faith. We discover that the distances between us are being lifted by grace in order that new intimacies can grow. What a sign of God’s grace! Despite our failures as Christians — our disobedience and comfortable disuni- ties— the Holy Spirit is still at work in the church gathering its members and ministers for common service in the world. Despite our lack of love as churches, God is at work in the world raising up sons and daughters who cou- rageously witness to peace and unity.

Christian unity is not just a dream to be realized when church synods and assemblies are inclined to do so. Unity is the goal of all history, made possible by the Cross and Resurrection of Jesus Christ. For us, whether we be bishops, clergy, or laity, to stand before a broken and divided world and be silent or dis- couraged about church unity is the same as if we stood before the empty tomb that first Easter morning and had noth- ing to say but to express anger, disil- lusionment, and tiredness. Today is the fullness of time. We are empowered to begin again the search for visible unity because the reconciling power of Christ unites all things, things in heaven and things on earth.

II

Through Paul’s gigantic affirmation we hear the voice of a divided, wounded world. Disunity is the most dramatic single fact of our world. This has been illustrated in our midst at St. Paul’s today when the racist government of South Africa did not allow Bishop Des- mond Tutu to come to this day of cel- ebration. He and millions of others are denied their human rights by govern-

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ments and parties which fragment the people of God. When Paul joyously said elsewhere, “God was in Christ recon- ciling the world to himself and en- trusting to us the ministry of reconcil- iation” (II Corinthians 5:19), he was saying something profound about God’s love for this world of hurting people.

Whenever the call to visible unity is taken so lightly these days or treated as if it were dependent on the preferences of different traditions, I believe we mis- understand the relation between God’s church and God’s world. The ecumen- ical question is not whether we can dis- cover a united church that pleases An- glicans, Methodists, United Reformed, or Roman Catholics. The ecumenical question which the Gospel poses is how we can be a church which manifests the unity of God’s purpose to a frag- mented, dying world.

The world is the creation of God’s goodness entrusted to humanity for its completion. The world is the object of God’s deepest love. The world is the place where sin and forgiveness, bro- kenness and new beginnings are signs of salvation. But where do warring na- tions, classes in conflict, distrusting races learn that God has made them one? Where do persons whose differences have led to alienation and hatred learn that they are no longer strangers or those outside love, but rather are common citizens with the saints and members of God’s household?

Such is the true calling of the church. The church, according to God’s pur- pose, is a sign of the coming unity of all humanity. The church is the voice of God’s “no” to the disunities of so- ciety— the quarrels, the unhealthy na- tionalism, the ancient biases which di- vide. We are called to be those who allow God’s love to shine through us

in such a way that the divisions between peoples are overcome, and through whom women and men of all sorts and conditions are drawn together.

Ill

The apostle gave a clue to church unity when he said: “If anyone is in Christ he [or she] is a new creation” (I Cor. 5:17), a new person. Unity is pos- sible because persons are recreated in the image of their own common Lord Jesus Christ, who is the image of God.

Garfield Todd, the former prime minister of Rhodesia/Zimbabwe, was asked several years ago what he thought of the witness of the World Council of Churches against apartheid and racism. This Christian statesman replied: “Be- cause of that witness Jesus Christ again walks the villages of Zimbabwe.” That’s what it means to be a sign against di- vision. Whenever the churches together bridge the divisions and bind up the wounds, whenever we empower other human beings to see the image of God in themselves, then the oneness of the people of God can be celebrated.

There is therefore a profound rela- tion between the unity of the church and the unity of humanity. As Pope John Paul II said in his 1982 address at Liverpool:

As Christians today strive to be sources of reconciliation in the world, they feel the need, perhaps more than ever before, to be fully reconciled them- selves.

Nowhere is this relation between the unity of the Church and the brokenness of the world more critical than in the search for world peace. The reality of a nuclear war makes clear that we will become one Body of Christ or we will become one destroyed earth. Who will

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announce that judgment? Who will live out the reconciling love which is nec- essary for peace? Two weeks ago I at- tended a Christian World Conference on Life and Peace at Uppsala, Sweden. In their message, church leaders from thirty countries confessed the divine link between unity and peace. “The poten- tial causes of war,” said a Reformed bishop from Hungary, “are supported by a divided church.” Such a spiritual insight led the Uppsala Conference to celebrate all the movements toward Christian unity as “a good sign of hope” and to say: “At this precise moment in history when division threatens the very survival of the human race the Holy Spirit is driving [God’s] people to dis- cover and demonstrate a unity that transcends all divisions.” If the churches could recover the biblical symbol of one living fellowship in Christ, they might become a promise to nations and in- ternational societies of that ancient vi- sion of a New Earth where all nations

come together peacefully before the Lord God and where hunger, hurt, and sor- row are no more. Church unity is a foundation of global peace because God has united all things in Christ, things in heaven and things on earth.

Towards the end of his life, Nathan Soderblom, a Swedish Lutheran arch- bishop and an architect of the modern ecumenical movement, wrote:

In the Spirit I have seen a glimpse of the united church, a distant goal from which [the churches] cannot turn away, and which [they] may not neg- lect without thereby denying the Christian faith” (Sundkler, p. 413).

So the Gospel speaks to the churches of this land and elsewhere of their ecu- menical pilgrimage. Because it is a pil- grimage made during God’s f{ airos , a pilgrimage of a healing community in the midst of a wounded world, we can- not leave it or neglect it without en- dangering our salvation. Amen.

Spirituality of the Struggle

by John W. de Gruchy

Dr. John W. de Gruchy, a native of South Africa, served at Princeton Theological Sem- inary as a Visiting Lecturer in Theology dur- ing the spring and fall semesters of 1983. He is a senior lecturer and head of the Department of Religious Studies at the University of Cape Town. Dr. de Gruchy is an ordained minister in the United Congregational Church of South Africa. The author o/The Church Struggle in South Africa, he is also editor of Apart- heid is a Heresy (1983). This sermon is an expanded version of one preached in the Chapel of Princeton Seminary in spring 1983.

Text: “ Come to me and listen to my words, hear me, and you shall have life." (Isaiah

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On passing through the security check at Heathrow Airport in London several years ago, my hand luggage produced that suspicious “peep” which suggests that you are trying to smuggle a handgun on board. The security per- son proceeded to examine my bag and eventually pulled out a book, a book with a zipper. “That,” he proclaimed, “is the offending article.” “But that,” I replied, “is only my Bible.” “Indeed, sir,” he snapped back, “that can be a very dangerous book!” Indeed, it can.

I thank God for all that we have learned as a result of Biblical critical study. As a student I started off rather worried that such study would destroy my confidence in the Bible. I knew that this did happen, and still does, though I suspect less frequently. But I increas- ingly discovered as a student and as a pastor, and still do today, that such study properly done is an aid which helps us to discover what God is saying to us in the scriptures today. In any case, if it does nothing else, proper critical study prevents us from misusing the Bible to support notions and ideologies which in fact distort and undermine Christian faith and witness. So I give thanks to God for Biblical scholarship.

But I also know that sometimes our study of the Bible ends up with us con- trolling it instead of it challenging us. This is true as much for those funda- mentalists who reject critical study as for anyone else. Biblical literalism is often a way of manipulating scripture. But it is true of all of us. How often we render the Bible ineffective by boxing it up in our own packages; domesticating it; homogenizing it; yes, desensitizing it because it has become a security risk!

Why is the Bible a “dangerous book?” It is a “dangerous book” because it re- minds us of those formative events in our Judaeo-Christian tradition which “turned the world upside down.” It is full of what Johannes Metz has called “dangerous memories.” Those liberat- ing and prophetic deeds and words which transformed slaves into the peo- ple of God, and time and again called them back to faithful obedience to the righteousness and justice of God. But it is a “dangerous book” especially be- cause it constantly confronts us with the “dangerous memory” of the “Word be- come flesh,” the crucified and risen Lord, who upsets the thrones of the mighty and exalts the humble and meek of the earth. It is a “dangerous book” because

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it proclaims a “Kingdom not of this world,” that rule and reign of God in this world, in the midst of this world, which does not derive its authority or power from the “principalities and powers of this world.” One of my fa- vorite texts comes at the end of chapter 12 of the Acts of the Apostles. Herod, we are told, “was eaten by worms and died. But the Word of God grew and multiplied!”

The church in South Africa is en- gaged in an intense struggle, a struggle within itself, and a struggle against an unchristian ideology and political sys- tem. It is a struggle for its own soul; a struggle against racism, exploitation, militarism; a struggle against the her- esy of apartheid; a struggle against compromising the Lordship of Christ over the church; a struggle for the true unity of the church which transcends human barriers; a struggle for social justice and peace.

But is that not the same for the church in every part of the world? Is the church struggle in South Africa as unique as it seems, or is it but one example of what is universally true? Indeed, could it not be said that the church is only being the church if it is engaged in struggle — the struggle to be faithful to the gospel of the kingdom in each and every historical situation? A black American student interrupted a lecture of mine on the church struggle in South Africa earlier this year, saying that I was in fact describing his situation. Per- haps the best way you can help the church in South Africa is by being more faithfully the church here in the United States!

It is precisely when the church seeks to do and be this that it soon discovers the inadequacy of its own programs, resources, and strengths. It discovers that

it is in fact quite impotent to make any difference. It is precisely then, indeed, only then that the church is able to “hear the Word of God” and discover the resources of God, the empowering of the Spirit, which alone give life. There is that awesome experience of the si- lence of God to which many bear wit- ness. The experience of Job and the Holocaust. But quite differently there is what some have called “the strange silence of the Bible in the church” which results from the church presuming it can, in its own strength, with its own resources, manage very well, thank you! It feels no need to listen; it therefore does not hear. Thank God, time and again the Word, like a “two edged sword” (Hebrews 4: 1 if.), cuts through our guff, through our categories, through our carefully designed plans and pre- tense, and brings us through repent- ance to life.

For that is what the Word of God is about. It is the “Word of life,” the Word which bears witness to Jesus Christ who gives life even in the midst of death. Our gospel reading reminds us that the scriptures are testimonies to Jesus; their whole purpose is to enable us to dis- cover life in him. This is what the Word does when we allow it to break into our lives, and the life of our congre- gation. The Word about which we speak is not one which puts an intolerable burden upon us. It is one which meets our deep needs; it is a Word which sustains and supports us once we have set out in our weakness and impotence and unrighteousness, to believe, to struggle, to do justice.

But it is also a Word w'hich comes to us in the midst of our lives wrhen we have everything but are empty. I re- member a young man from my first congregation who, through hard work

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and considerable effort, had acquired wealth and civic power by the time he was thirty. One night he told me, as we played pool in his spacious home, that he had decided to apply for the ordained ministry. “You understand,” I remarked, “that you will take a cut in your salary!” “Yes, indeed,” was his reply, “now that I have all I want, and more, I realize that I have not got what I really need.”

Come, all who are thirsty, come, fetch water; come, you who have no food, buy corn and eat; come and buy, not for money, not for price. Why spend money and get what is not bread, why give the price of your labor and go unsatisfied? . . . Come to me and listen to my words, hear me, and you shall have life.

These ancient words of Isaiah are surely appropriate in our materialistic culture — a culture which puts a pre- mium on possessions, and seeks to sat- isfy its soul on the abundance of things which can be gathered and stored into barns, barns which have to be enlarged, and enlarged once again, because things never satisfy. We find it awfully diffi- cult to accept this lesson; I certainly do. For many in our modern world, life has no meaning because they have no bread; for many of us, life has no mean- ing because we have too much “bread,” but have never really tasted the “bread of life.”

But these ancient words apply not only to those of us who try to satisfy our souls on the abundance of the things we possess, or the successes we are able to achieve. It applies also to those of us who are very busy trying to serve God. How often ordained ministers discover that they have been so busy “minister- ing” that they have been closed to the

ministry of Christ. There is no greater tragedy in the ministry. Busy about pre- paring sermons, we fail to hear the life- giving Word. The same is true for all who seek to minister in the name of Christ; all who bear office in the life of the church. Spiritually inept or ex- hausted, we remain closed to the em- powering of the Spirit.

But it is not only true for such; it is also true for all Christians struggling to be faithful in the midst of the world. How often have we not become in- volved in the struggle for justice, and discovered not only the paucity of our resources, but also the emptiness of our lives. Like Mary we have been busy, intensely active, perhaps, but unlike Martha we have failed to discover that which gives life its meaning and service its power. That anonymous 14th cen- tury classic of the spiritual life, The Cloud of Unknowing, reminds us that a person “cannot be fully active except he be partly contemplative, nor fully contemplative without being partly active.”

Spirituality, it is true, can so easily, as it does so often, degenerate into something egocentric, where we mas- sage our own souls in order to develop our spiritual potential; or it can be a way of escape from the challenge of life in the world, the struggle for justice, the struggle to be a good neighbor. The spirituality of which we speak is the spirituality which derives from silence before the living Word in the midst of the struggle, that spirituality which lis- tens in order to live, that spirituality which is a gift of grace, a gift of the Spirit, not the product of a technique, but the spirituality which is knowing, trusting, and obeying Jesus Christ. It is the spirituality of those, who in the midst of the struggles of life, the struggles of discipleship, study the scriptures, that

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“dangerous book” in order to discover the sustenance which Jesus Christ alone can give.

It is indeed a “dangerous book” which has been entrusted into our hands. But it is more dangerous not to hear and obey it, than to listen and obey. For the gracious demands and challenge of the Word are not intended to destroy us, but to set us free to discover God’s grace in the midst of life; to set us free for that costly yet joyous discipleship in which alone we discover the One who gives meaning to life. To be deaf to the

Word which God speaks means being unable to hear the music which makes sense of our experience and universe, that music which alone gives us cause to hope beyond hope and so live in trust.

“There is a prophecy in Amos,” wrote R. D. Laing, “that there will be a fam- ine in the land, not a famine for bread, not a thirst for water, but for hearing the words of the Lord. That time has now come. It is the present age.” “Come to me and listen to my Words, hear me, and you shall have life.” Amen.

Bible Study on Peace: Ephesians 2:11-3:21

by Cullen I K Story

In biblical history, the “gospel of peace” appears as a most fitting rubric for God’s good news. Witness, for in- stance, how — to an oppressed people — the great prophet of Israel’s exile por- trayed vividly a messenger moving across the mountains announcing the good news of peace (shalom, cf. Isa. 52:7 with 52:4-5). Or again, consider that, in the face of the reign of a cruel Edomite king whose value for human life was sub-zero, the angelic evangel sang of peace on earth (Luke 2:14). Two pow- erful paradigms soliciting our reflection today. Not only do they cry out in op- position to a nuclear arms race threat- ening the world with a holocaust that defies description, but they also issue a clarion call for evangelical messengers who will proclaim preeminently Christ’s peace.

Peace on earth was incarnation’s first word for the world (Luke 2:14) and what a word it was! It encompassed the entire ministry of Jesus, for as he moved in and out among all levels of society, his word of peace implied wholeness for the one who was sick (Mark 5:34), forgiveness for the one who had sinned (Luke 7:47, 50), restoration for the one who had failed (John 20:19, 21, 26), and confidence in God’s ulti- mate saving purpose for the one who faced death (Luke 2:29-30). The im-

A native of Iowa, Dr. Cullen I K Story is an alumnus of Johns Hopkins University, Dal- las Theological Seminary, and Princeton The- ological Seminary. He has been a member of the New Testament faculty at Princeton for over 20 years and is also Director of the Bib- lical Language Program. His most recent pub- lication is Greek to Me, which he co-authored with his son. For eight years Dr. Story served in Lebanon for the Board of Foreign Missions; the need for peace is something he has wit- nessed firsthand.

plication is clear. Twentieth-century Christians are to join hands with Chris- tians of the first century in that invisible yet indissoluble bond of the gospel of peace (Eph. 6:15; cf. Isa. 52:7).

In such confidence, we approach our Bible study in Ephesians with its theme of peace, a theme that permeates the pivotal section of the letter (Eph. 2:11- 3:21). The passage is divided by a num- ber of printed texts into two main di- visions (2:11-22 and 3:1-21). I suggest that the movement of Paul’s thought in the two divisions is comparable to the second and third parts of Handel’s Messiah. Part two of the Messiah opens with what may be termed the “golden passional,”1 i.e., the chorus, “Behold the Lamb of God.” It continues with a de- scription of messengers on the moun- tain who bring with them the gospel of peace, and concludes with the “Hal- lelujah Chorus.” Part three highlights the triumph of Christ’s resurrection and the resurrection ot his people, conclud- ing with the “Amen” chorus. So, in Ephesians — similar to the chorus, “Be- hold the Lamb of God” — we find a portrayal of Christ’s passion (2:13-15), then a description of the messengers of Christ’s peace (3:1-12), followed by a

1 The term is used by F. Delitzsch of Isa. 52:I3'53:I2-

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proclamation of Christ’s victory (3: 13- 17). Then, commensurable to the “Hal- lelujah Chorus,” is Paul’s praise offered tor the incomprehensible dimensions of Christ’s love — its length and breadth and its depth and height (3:18-19). Fi- nally, similar to the concluding “Amen" chorus of Handel, Paul also ends with his own “Amen” following his ascrip- tion of praise to God (3:20-21).

The letter to the so-called “Ephe- sian” church is quite evenly balanced between what “amazing grace” has done for the people of God (chapters 1-3) and what grace can do through them (chap- ters 4-6). One feature that distinguishes the two parts is the extensive use of the indicative mood in chapters 1-3 over against the imperative mood in chap- ters 4-6. Chapters 4-6 are full of ex- hortations or demands laid upon the Christian body for a well-ordered life among its own members as well as in society. For example, the writer urges readers to “put on the new nature” (4:24), “speak the truth” (4:25), “be imitators of God” (5:1), “walk in love” (5:2), “be strong in the Lord” (6:10), and “put on the whole armor of God” (6:1 1). There are almost forty of these “imperatives” in chapters 4-6, all indicating what the people of God are to do.

In contrast, chapters 1-3 are char- acterized by the “indicative” mood, i.e., what God has done. There is one im- perative only — in 2:11, “remember.” It relates to the past: remember what you were and the change which God has wrought in you. But as the lone im- perative in the first three chapters, it is one of the important keys for under- standing the letter. It points us to the basic need of the church today and like- wise directs us to the heart of our con- cern for “peace” in this study. For, the apostle says, in remembering what you

were — strangers, alienated persons, without hope, and without God — while you remember all of these things, re- member most of all, that

(a) Christ Jesus is our peace (2:14),

(b) He made peace through his cross (2:15-16), and

(c) He came preaching the good news of peace (2:17) — peace to those who are far off and peace to those who are near.

Remember. The verb — ever so impor- tant in the Bible — is the word which Israel needed to hear. Remember that you were slaves and that the Lord brought you out of Egypt; remember the days of old; remember what won- ders the Lord performed on your be- half. And how well Jesus knew that — like the butler who did not remember Joseph but forgot him (Gen. 40:23) — His disciples and His church could and would forget, and so He instituted the holy supper, saying, “This do in re- membrance of me.”

And now, two “pegs” may help us to grasp the breadth of our passage:

Peace — the provision of Christ for the world — Eph. 2:11-21.

Peace — the purpose of God in Christ for the world, to be channeled to the world through the church — Eph. 3:1-21.

(1) Peace — The Provision of Christ for the World. Christ breaks down the mid- dle wall of separation between one peo- ple and another, between one culture and another, between one race and an- other (2:14). In a succinct way, Robert Frost’s poem “Mending Wall” has cap- tured the meaning of barriers between people. He describes a scene where he and his neighbor, at an appointed time each spring, walk down on either side of the stone wall that marks the bound-

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ary between their respective properties. They cut and bruise their hands as they replace the stones that have fallen down through the winter months. When his neighbor blandly states, “Good fences make good neighbors,’’ the poet rebels. He says to himself, “Why do we need fences? My neighbor has pine trees and I have apple trees. Surely my apples will not cross the wall and eat the pine cones under my neighbor’s trees.” Then come the famous lines:

Before I built a wall, I’d ask to know what I was walling in or walling out, and to whom I was like to give of- fense. Something there is that doesn’t love a wall, that wants it down.

Does Frost, unconsciously, capture something of Ephesians 2? Does Paul suggest that the “wall” is that which divided the court of the Gentiles from the Temple proper? Possibly. Over a hundred years ago, the French archae- ologist, Clermont-Ganneau, uncovered an inscription that had once been writ- ten on the temple wall, an inscription that in clear, crisp terms forbade any Gentile to enter the sanctuary under penalty of death. Yet, by the “wall” of Ephesians 2, Paul may provide us with a flashback to the curtain of the holy place in the temple — which curtain, at Jesus’ death, was torn in two from top to bottom (Mark 15:38). Whether either of these ideas be Paul’s specific refer- ence, the text summons us to face the painful barriers of racial animosities that have plagued the church from its very inception. There was a sharp almost impenetrable wall that separated Jew from Gentile in the first century. We are aware of the prayer of the Pharisee in Paul’s day, “God, I thank thee that I am not a Gentile” — a prayer echoed pointedly, according to Jesus, by the

Pharisee in the temple: “God, I thank thee that I am not like the rest ... or even like this tax-collector” (Luke 18:11). Think what it took to get Peter to go to the home of the Gentile centurion (Acts 10). Or consider the anxiety and sleepless nights that Barnabas and Paul must have had prior to the Jerusalem council where they contended vigor- ously for the equal standing and status of Gentile and Jewish Christians in the church of Jesus Christ (Acts 15). Today, we remember that it was racial hatred that ignited the fearful holocaust of so many millions of Jews. We remember too the fearless stand of Martin Luther King, Jr., who aroused the conscience of church and society alike to a re- sponsible commitment to human rights and human dignity for all races. The tragedy of racism drives us back re- lentlessly to Ephesians 2, where there unfolds before our very eyes the soci- ological miracle of the first century with all of its tremendous implications for the twentieth century. Jew and Gentile are placed in one body in Christ. The passage reverberates with the numeral one.

He made us both one . . . that He might create in himself one new per- son in place of two . . . and might reconcile us both to God in one body . . . for through Him we both have access in one Spirit to the Father (2:14- 18).

The church is called, not to mount a peace “bandwagon,” but to some- thing far more serious. The word “re- member” (2:11) summons the church away from a theological amnesia to a renewed awareness of a peace that is full and profound, rooted indelibly in Christ’s cross. In essence, peace is the provision of Christ for the world, for

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He is the one who breaks down the wall of hostility, who creates one new person, thereby making peace.

Today, peace and the broken wall, in the words of Markus Barth, mean “the end of separation and segregation, the end of enmity and contempt, and the end of every sort of ghetto!” (The Broken Wall , p. 43). But beyond what Barth has said, there is a frank confes- sional nature to our Scripture, “For he himself is our peace ... so [he was] making peace” (2:14-15). It is confes- sional in the sense of Mark 8:29, “You are the Christ,” or in the sense of 1 Cor. 12:3, “Jesus is Lord.”

“Christ himself is our peace.” The confession is both clear and revealing.

First, it is comparable to the confes- sions in Second Isaiah and in the Fourth Gospel that express respectively the self- revelation and self-declaration of God and of the God-Man, Jesus:

I am he, I am he who blots out your transgressions (Isa. 43:25).

I am the bread of life (John 6:35).

I am the way, the truth, and the life (John 14:6).

And so if we should put the confession of Eph. 2:14 on the lips of the risen Jesus, it would be, “I myself am your peace” (cf. John 20:19-23, 26) — imply- ing that our own plans and programs for peace must always be subject to our confession of Jesus as our peace.

John Bunyan has described the point so well in his other masterpiece, The Holy War. The Prince of Peace, Em- manuel, successfully conquers the town of ManSoul and establishes his rule of peace within. At first the inhabitants visit the prince regularly and take de- light in his love feasts. But then, be- cause of the craftiness of a Mr. Carnal Security, they begin to think of them-

selves— how impregnable is their town, how' great are their heroic leaders — and they take to feasting and sporting and grow cold in their love for Emmanuel until He withdraws from their town and they do not even miss him. There is, however, one ray of hope, the con- tinued presence in ManSoul of a Mr. Godly Fear wrho probes and warns and preaches. Like a thorn in their side, he calls to remembrance who they are and who is the center of their lives. “I my- self am your peace,” says the risen Jesus. Armed with this assurance, as com- mitted Christians we too are to probe and warn, to proclaim to our people and nation that Christ is our peace.

Second, there is a breadth to the confession for the first century church but no less for the church today. It is a confession of Christians, but of Jewish Christians and of Gentile Christians alike. He himself is our peace who has made the two one. The terms Jew and Gentile in the first century embraced all people, for if you were not a Jew you were a Gentile and vice versa. For us today, the confession is ecumenical. I doubt seriously if we have begun to explore its potential power in the worldwide church — Malaysian Chris- tians, Christians in Indonesia, China, and India, in East and West Germany, in Kenya, Lebanon, and Brazil, in Ar- gentina and Great Britain, in El Sal- vador and the United States. For Chris- tians everywhere to recover or to discover for the first time the timely meaning of the confession — this may be our most important task for the day.

Third, the confession ends with a unique expression, “making peace.” Ephesians finds its parallel so often in Colossians, where we read similar words, “he made peace through the blood of his cross” (Col. 1 :2o). Apart from a brief

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reference in James (3:18), a comparable declaration is found only in the beati- tudes of Jesus, from the sermon on the mount: “Blessed are the peacemakers for they shall be called the children of God” (Matt. 5:9). As far as we know, there was no written Gospel of Mat- thew in circulation at the time Ephe- sians was written. But can it be that Paul was acquainted with the tradition of the beatitudes and can it be that he is consciously reflecting the seventh beatitude in Ephesians 2? You are to stretch your minds just a wee bit now as you see the two similar expressions in transliterated Greek and as you sense the similar “ring” which they have.

poion eirenen

Eph. 2:14, “making peace” eirenopoioi

Matt. 5:9, “peacemakers” cf. eirenopoiesas

Col. 1:20, “having made peace”

A link between the texts would imply two things:

(a) It would imply that the one who gave his special blessing to peacemakers demonstrated in himself that peace- making involved great personal sacri- fice, for the peace that he made came by way of the cross, as Eph. 2:16 affirms (cf. Col. 1:20). That is to say, real hon- est-to-goodness peacemakers who re- ceive Jesus’ blessing, according to Matt. 5:9, are led in Ephesians 2 not only to Jesus’ sacrificial example of peacemak- ing but to the unique nature of his “peacemaking” as well. His was indeed the solitary sacrifice, the sacrifice of the sinless one for us the sinners. He, the just one, suffered for us the unjust that he might bring us to God. He in his own person bore our sins in his own body on the tree. Our life in Christ is

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completely dependent on his life that was poured out for us. There is, in brief, a deep indelible substitutionary quality about the peace that Jesus made through the blood of his cross. I say “made,” and yet the verb tense used in Ephe- sians is not past but present, as though to describe what it is that Jesus contin- ues to be about in the world. Unique it is, then, yet Ephesians 2 suggests that Jesus’ sacrifice is also exemplary. It means that Paul’s word linked to Jesus’ saying affirms that peacemakers who receive the blessing of Jesus must be ready for personal sacrifice — even to the extent of death.

(b) A second implication emerges as we join Eph. 2:15 to the beatitude in Matthew 5. The peace that Jesus made through his cross is far more than a personal peace which you and I may claim to have with God. It is more than the peace that the church receives through the preaching of the word or the celebration of holy communion. The blessing of Jesus on peacemakers, in Matthew 5, does not mean a blessing on those who merely claim to receive and celebrate the peace and wholeness that Jesus brings. No, it means a bless- ing on those who are reconcilers wher- ever there may be enmity, hostility, hatred, and warfare. What Jesus preached He practiced. He proclaimed, “Blessed are the peacemakers,” and “He made peace through the blood of his cross.” Peace in Eph. 2:14-16, therefore, has global consequences. Jesus be- stowed his blessing on peacemakers. If he were here, he would bestow no blessing on our government which spends more than a million dollars an hour on military arms, a nation whose peacetime military budget has escalated to an all-time high. Whether it is known or not, Ground Zero Week and the

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clarion call that is being sounded in many sectors of our nation for a halt to nuclear arms production possess a biblical base in Ephesians 2 that is lucid and compelling. The agonizing ques- tion presses in on us on every side, a question that refuses to go away and get lost: “To a nation that we love, whose heritage we have appropriated and much of whose heritage we ap- preciate, how do we, as Christ’s wit- nesses, bear effective and sacrificial wit- ness to the Christ who made peace through his cross and hence calls on us to be peacemakers?” The question brings us appropriately to the second part of our study. Peace is not only the pro- vision of Christ for the world, but —

(2) Peace is the Purpose of God in Christ for the World, to be Channeled to the World through the Church. The word “peace” itself does not actually occur in chapter 3 but, given the way in which chapter 2 flows into chapter 3, we are to understand, I believe, that to preach the good news of peace (2:17) means to proclaim “the mystery of Christ” (3:4), and the “wisdom of God” (3:10) is nothing less than the peace which comes through Christ’s cross (2:15-16) or the confession, “Christ Jesus is our peace” (2:14).

The indication that Eph. 3:1-12 con- stitutes one extended sentence2 points to the difficulty we face in grasping adequately the thought of the apostle. Apparently, Paul’s intent is both to un- fold the special stewardship of God’s grace with which he was entrusted (3:1- 9) and to show no less the awesome responsibility that is laid upon the church to proclaim divine grace (3:10-12). Much like the pretentious wrapping around a gift that gives an aura of mystery to the quality of the gift within, so, when 1 Thus the Westcott-Hort Greek text.

Paul mentions “the mystery of Christ,” we wait in expectancy for him to unfold the mysterious nature of the gracious gift. He does so by using three rare expressions that affirm the singular re- lationship of Gentile Christians with Jewish Christians: fellow-heirs, fellow- members, and fellow-sharers of the promise of Christ through the gospel (3:6). If peace means a broken barrier (Eph. 2), it also means a bridge built between hostile peoples (Eph. 3). Jew and Gentile come to realize that they have become siblings, heirs of all that their Father offers, that their life is or- ganically and socially intricately inter- twined much like the interrelatedness of members of the human body, and that they share in the promised Spirit and thus experience the power that is inherent in the good news of Christ (cf. Acts 2:39).

But we dare not forget two other items of great importance. First, the very existence of this interracial body of Christians springs from God’s pur- pose of peace through Christ. That is to say, Christ’s body, his church, ap- pears in the text nestled between “the mystery of Christ” on the one hand (3:4) and “the free gift of God’s grace" on the other (3:7). And second, it is through this body as w'ell as through Paul that God plans to carry the peace of Christ to the world.

Paul stands in awe and amazement before the gift of God’s grace (“less than the least of all saints”), yet he moves irresistibly to proclaim and interpret that grace to all (3:7-9). Far more than his own individual task, however, he is concerned with the task of the churchd It is through the church that God’s ul- timate purpose of peace may be realized

3 The hina clause in 3:10 (“in order that”) makes this clear.

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in the world (3:10-11). I say “in the world,” though Paul speaks of the ob- ject of God’s peace as “the principalities and powers in the heavenly realm” (3:10). The terms “principalities and powers” occur in three places in the letter. They are said to be, ultimately, under the control of the risen Christ (1:21, cf. 1 Cor. 15:24), to be the adversaries of the Christian church (6:12) and at the same time to be the objects of her witness (3:10). It is extremely doubtful that, by these terms, Paul reflects a gnostic or mythical view, as some have imagined. After all, he uses one of these two terms (i.e., “powers”) to describe the very mundane Roman government of his own day (Rom. 13:1-2). Given his own com- mitment to evangelism of men and women in all walks of life (cf. Acts 26:22), it cannot be that he encouraged any less of a commitment for the church. Yet it is indeed curious that the goal of his own mission is “the nations” (3:8) while the mission of the church is to “principalities and powers” (3:10). Is there indicated here part of the great- ness of Paul in that he can sense that the corporate witness of the church ex- ceeds by far his own individual wit- ness? But the basic question is whether the church of Christ has caught the vision of God’s goal that is indicated in 3:10. The phrase “principalities and powers in the heavenly places” suggests both demonic persons behind these rul- ing forces (cf. 6:12-16) as well as the pervasive nature of the power which they wield (cf. 1 Cor. 15:24, “when he shall render ineffective every princi- pality and every authority and power”). Markus Barth seems to be right on tar- get when he explains:

Paul means by principalities and

powers those institutions and struc-

tures by which earthly matters and invisible realms are administered, and without which no human life is pos- sible. The superior power of nature epitomized by life and death; the ups and downs of historic processes; the nature and impact of favored pro- totypes or the catastrophic burdens of the past; the hope or threat offered to the present by the future; the might of capitalists, rulers, judges; the ben- efit and onus of laws of tradition and custom; the distinction and similar- ity of political and religious prac- tices; the weight of ideologies and prejudices; the conditions under which all authority, labor, parent- hood, etc., thrive or are crushed — these structures and institutions are in Paul’s mind ( Ephesians , 1-3, p. 174).

There will be times when we sense that these structures or powers are of God (Romans 13), but, on the other hand, we may often find them to be inspired by the evil one. Ephesians 6 tells us of the real spiritual warfare which men and women of God are to wage against principalities and powers, against the world-rulers of this present darkness. And, by the way, these Christian men and women not only are to wear the breastplate of righteousness but to have their feet shod with the equipment of the gospel of peace (Eph. 6:15). Appro- priately now, as we come to the close of our study, we discover that the wit- ness of the church to the world (3:10- 12) is buttressed by Paul’s prayer that the church be gripped and held (“rooted” and “grounded”) in Christ’s measure- less love (3:13-19). And, as a fitting con- clusion to the passage, Paul ascribes all praise to God (3:20-21). And so, enmity between nations and the militarism of any one nation can be countered effec-

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tively only by a people who are rooted and grounded in the love of Christ (3:17) demonstrated in his cross. A friend of mine put it this way:

The cross is a declaration that there is no violence so horrid, no despair so comprehensive, no mindless bru- tality so thorough-going that it is be- yond the pale of God’s peace. The cross is “the more excellent way.” The cross with all its horror becomes in fact our hope. God wills his peace and the world cannot contradict it. The cross — irony of ironies — is the consummation of the angelic song, “peace on earth” (Dr. John McCoy).

Here then, my brothers and sisters, in Eph. 2:1 1-3:21, is the message of peace which, I believe, God would give to the world through the church today. Ours is a world of which God has a purpose, a world of axioms, of religion, of pol- itics, of history, and of culture. And what is that purpose? It is that the wis- dom of God be made known to this very world through the church. God’s wisdom is nothing other than the peace of Christ that comes through the cross, for 1 Cor. 1:23 tells us, “We preach Christ crucified . . . Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God.”

The Revised Standard Version af-

firms that the wisdom of God is “man- ifold” (3:10). The word occurs only here in the whole New Testament. Does it mean many-faceted, variegated, many- sided? How would Paul intend for us to describe it in English? The picture which comes to my mind is the kalei- doscope with its small cardboard tele- scope. With each successive shake of the hand you peer through the tele- scope only to see ever-succeeding scenes of ornamental beauty and arrangement which point to some imaginative cre- ator who put it all together. And so the kaleidoscopic wisdom of God, the many- faceted peace of God, is to be channeled through the church to the principalities and powers of our own day whose growing stockpiles of weapons of de- struction are designed to wipe out cities and people en masse. To confess that Christ Jesus is our peace in the face of the devious and demonic militarism of our day demands from us far greater wisdom than you and I possess. And yet to be called sons and daughters of God means that we are inevitably peacemakers who follow in the path of Him who made peace and makes peace through the blood of his cross for, through us, God deigns to make known his variegated wisdom which implies, preeminently, his global peace through Christ.

BOOK REVIEWS

The Faith of the Old Testament: A History , by Werner H. Schmidt, translated by John Sturdy. Westminster Press, Philadelphia, PA, 1983. Pp. x + 302. $24.95.

One of the more interesting debates in con- temporary Old Testament scholarship concerns the perspective from which that body of liter- ature should be described. The debate normally centers on the problem of reconciling histori- cally oriented descriptions with the religious or theological interests that most Old Testament scholars have, either explicitly or implicitly, in studying just this collection of texts. Werner H. Schmidt, one of the more interesting of the younger generation of German scholars, is among those who believe that, at least in the case of the Old Testament, historical and theological interests tend to converge. Thus, according to the foreword by J. R. Porter, Schmidt intends this book to stand midway between a “history of Old Testament religion” and a “theology of the Old Testament.” I presume that this is the reason for the somewhat awkward title, The Faith of the Old Testament. People may have faith (or a faith), but books cannot. Schmidt intends his book to be a description of Israel’s faith for our knowledge, of which the Old Testament is the principal source.

Schmidt is careful to emphasize that he is interested in Israel’s faith, and not only its re- ligion. This means for him that a great deal of attention is given to an account of what Israel believed, on the presumption that its religion was an expression of its beliefs and that Israel’s beliefs, on the other hand, exercised a critical control on the forms that its religion could take. According to Schmidt the critical norm of Is- rael’s faith is provided by the first two com- mandments, with the first commandment pro- viding the “integrating center” of the Old Testament (p. 278). He argues not that the Dec- alogue is early or that the first commandment came to independent expression at the begin- ning of Israel’s history, but that it is impossible to conceive of Israel’s faith apart from Yahweh’s exclusive role within it. At the same time Schmidt recognizes that the way Yahweh was conceived, and particularly the way Yahweh’s relation to Israel and the world was conceived, changed in important ways during the course of Israel’s history. For that reason any adequate account of Israel’s faith will have to be historical in ori-

entation, and will at the same time be theological to the extent that it shows the way in which the first commandment functioned to limit the kinds of historical development which Israel could permit.

The theological nature of this task is em- phasized by Schmidt in the claim that the his- tory of Israel’s faith is at the same time the history of God. This is true not only because Yahweh is conceived differently in different his- torical circumstances, but because these histor- ical circumstances are in part definitive of who Yahweh is. Thus history becomes, together with the first and second commandments, a critical norm for Israel’s faith. Schmidt is careful to explain that no one event can be picked out which grounds these three norms. They are not part of a description of Israel’s faith. Rather, they are the antecedent conditions which make such a faith possible and a description of this faith must show how they functioned to give Israel’s religion the character which distin- guishes it from its environment.

The bulk of the book carries out this assign- ment. Schmidt shows consistently how Israel’s religion appropriated religious practices and conceptions from its neighbors, particularly Ca- naan, but also Egypt and Mesopotamia, and modified them in accordance with the demands of the first two commandments and Yahweh’s involvement in Israel’s history. The book is es- pecially helpful in that it does not present the religion of Canaan, for example, as the negative foil against which to portray Israel. Rather, Schmidt shows how Israel accommodated a va- riety of religious conceptions and imagery to its own purposes which can be understood only if Israel is considered in terms of the larger reli- gious and historical milieu. Thus constant ref- erence is made to texts from the environment which Israel shared with its neighbors.

The book is divided into four parts corre- sponding to four historical epochs: the period before the conquest, the period prior to the mon- archy, the monarchy, and “the late period.” The largest of these sections is the first, which Schmidt calls “Nomadic Prehistory.” He is in agreement with traditional scholarship in explaining the patriarchs as nomads who yearn for a settled life in the land and who, having attained it, combine their nomadic religion with the El cult of Canaan. The appeal to nomadic origins, which appears throughout the book, is particularly in need of revision. Schmidt does not interact with

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scholarship outside of Europe on this or any other question, and it is a marked deficiency of the book. Still, there is much that is worthwhile in his discussion, particularly for students.

The most useful part of his treatment of the pre-monarchic period is the discussion of “cov- enant,” which is a subject still hotly debated among scholars. Schmidt is skeptical of com- parisons between Israelite “covenant” texts and Hittite and other treaties. He argues that any such comparisons must be preceded by tradi- tional-historical investigation, and that such in- vestigation shows that the covenant form ex- hibited, for example, in Exodus 19-24 is the product of later redaction of originally inde- pendent traditions. In this conclusion he is surely correct. He argues further that the form of Is- raelite covenant texts can be explained more profitably in terms of their own situation of legal proclamation than in terms of borrowing from international treaty forms. In fact, he claims, such borrowing in later periods may have arisen from the covenant character of Israel’s relation to Yahweh. These points will continue to be debated, but the debate will have to take into account the points Schmidt makes persuasively.

Schmidt’s description of Israel’s faith in the monarchic period is particularly concerned with the changes that the transition to kingship brought about. In my estimation this is the strongest portion of the book. Particularly notable is his discussion of prophecy in which he argues that stronger connections should be seen among all Israel’s prophets. Prophecy, he suggests, may constitute a coherent tradition or institution of its own and that future research should concern itself more with establishing continuities among the various prophets, rather than considering prophets merely as individual spokesmen for particular theological traditions. This is an ex- tremely valuable suggestion.

The chapter on wisdom, which concludes the section on the monarchy, is not particularly helpful. Indeed, this chapter and the concluding section on the late period, concerned especially with apocalyptic, are the weakest parts of the book. It is clear that Schmidt’s real interest lies in the earlier periods of Israel’s history and the later chapters often devolve into mere sum- maries of the material. It is interesting that so little attention is given to the period after the monarchy, which produced such a large portion of Israel’s literature, while the dubitable “no- madic” period receives the greatest attention.

For the most part the book is clearly written and well translated. There are, however, indi-

cations of hasty editing. In several places Schmidt’s points are confused by the translation, and I can make no sense whatever of the middle of page 139. Since the book is intended for students more ample documentation of sources would be especially helpful, as would references to works in English translation — or even works written by English speaking scholars! In spite of these remarks I would highly recommend this work to those interested in the Old Testament. Schmidt displays an unusual degree of theological sen- sitivity, exemplified especially in the eight ex- curses on various subjects scattered throughout the book. The book has gone through four edi- tions in German; may it be as successful in Eng- lish.

Ben C. Ollenburcer Princeton Theological Seminary

Women Recounted: Narrative Thinking and the God of Israel , by James G. Williams. (Bible and Literature Series, No. 6, ed. David M. Gunn.) Almond Press, Sheffield, Eng- land, 1982. Pp. 150. $10.95 (paper).

Women Recounted is the second study by Wil- liams to be published in the Bible and Literature Series by Almond Press. His earlier work. Those Who Ponder Proverbs (1981), examined aphoristic discourse in biblical literature. In the present volume he turns his attention to the narrative mode of thinking, focusing specifically upon biblical narratives that involve significant female characters. The purpose of this study, he de- clares, is both literary and theological. On one front, he proposes to show that biblical narrative represents a dynamic mode of thinking and at- taining knowledge. On the other, he is con- cerned to show the function of the feminine and its theological significance.

Williams accomplishes his dual purpose with limited success. His work shows greatest strength when he is directly engaged in literary analysis of the text. He reads the selected narratives with special attention to key words, typic scenes, and the nuances of dialogue. The methodology he applies to the text closely follows that of Robert Alter in his book. The Art of Biblical Narrative (Basic Books, 1981). Indeed, much ot Williams’ work serves to reiterate or elaborate upon the observations of Alter.

The biblical narratives that involve the arche- mothers of Israel serve as the starting point of Williams’ study. By “arche-mother” he means

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not only the wives and mothers of the patriarchs, but all those women who affect the genesis and destiny of Israel. These include the mother of Moses, Pharaoh’s daughter, Zipporah, Hannah, and the mother of Samson, as well as Sarah, Rebecca, and Rachel. Williams examines the narratives in which these women appear and finds in them a series of typic scenes. These involve scenes of betrothal, wife-sister ruses, the struggles of the barren woman, and the birth of a promised son. Within the context of these scenes Williams demonstrates the role of the arche-mother as a mediating agent who stands between the chosen male and a frequently hos- tile world. Her primary function in the biblical narrative is to provide nurture and continuity within the compass of the divine covenant with Israel.

The paradigm of the arche-mother is not, however, the only feminine role found in bib- lical narrative. Williams also examines the sto- ries of women who deviate to varying degrees from the matriarchal model. Deborah and Ju- dith are honored as leaders in Israel while Esther and Ruth are held in esteem as heroines of less militant action. Yet even in the characters of these women Williams discovers traces of the arche-mother’s role. Deborah, the warrior woman, is also described as “a mother in Israel” while Ruth, the Moabite woman, is named as the ancestress of King David. So pervasive is this matriarchal model that its imprint may be discerned in reverse in the biblical figure of the temptress, personified by Delilah and the wife of Potiphar. These women represent counter- order in that they turn their sexuality to de- structive rather than generative purposes. They thereby become a threat to the hero rather than a source of nurture and protection.

Williams’ analysis of the narratives in which these women appear does not attempt to deny the patriarchal bias of the text. He readily ac- knowledges that the arche-mother is not as closely related to God as the chosen male, even though she functions as life-giver to the elect one. Her role is defined primarily in terms of her rela- tionship to the male as wife and mother. When she has performed her function vis-a-vis the hero of the story, she disappears from the nar- rative, not to be mentioned again unless it is to note her death. Williams admits, furthermore, that when women move beyond the confines of the family to take up leadership roles within Israel, their actions are frequently viewed as contrary to the natural order. He argues that the narrative of Judges is based upon the as-

sumption that the prominence of a woman such as Deborah is intrinsically related to the social upheaval of that period. The biblical writer im- plies that women are in a position to affect the course of history only when the times are out of joint. Their positions of prominence within Israel function as a divine reminder to men that they do not rule by their own power or au- thority.

Despite the patriarchal perspective from which biblical history is narrated, Williams wants to find in the stories of women some theological truth that can transcend the cultural context in which it is embedded. The radical difference between the roles assigned to Israelite women and those that are open to contemporary women prohibits a simplistic appropriation of biblical models. Unfortunately, Williams’ proposal for drawing theological meaning across this vast cultural gap provides few significant results. He suggests that biblical interpreters proceed aphoristically, drawing out of the culturally- conditioned narratives some fragment of speech or action that can transcend its context and speak directly to the contemporary reader. By means of this methodology, Williams claims that we can comprehend and communicate something about God and humankind. He admits, how- ever, that the results may be limited; just how limited is immediately apparent from Williams’ own application of the aphoristic method he espouses. The results, which consume the space of less than one page, may be judged meager at best. If, as Williams maintains, he is not engaged in literary analysis for its own sake but is seri- ously concerned with the theological import of biblical narratives about women, he is under obligation to demonstrate the application of his method at greater length. Although he has pro- vided new insights into the literary motifs that recur in biblical narrative, he has failed to con- tribute to our understanding of the theological significance of women's stories. Readers who come to this book in hope of finding fresh the- ological reflection upon the subject will find themselves disappointed.

Elizabeth Gaines Princeton Theological Seminary

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Colossians, Philemon, by Peter T. O’Brien. (Word Biblical Commentary, 44, ed. by Ralph P. Martin.) Word Books, Waco, TX, 1982. Pp. liv + 328. $18.95.

If Ernest Best is right that commentaries are basic in a minister’s library, then Peter T. O’Brien's volume represents a worthy addition. O’Brien, who is professor of New Testament at Moore Theological College, Newton, New South Wales, Australia, trained at the University of London and of Manchester. His previous pub- lications include Introductory Thanksgivings in the Letters of Paul (1977). This new work, cov- ering well trodden ground, invites comparison with other commentaries available in English. O’Brien’s book is far longer than the neat little work of C. F. D. Moule (1957); less homiletical and less theologically directed than E. Schweizer (1981); and less interested in the abundance of Hellenistic literature than E. Lohse (1971). Yet he uses them all and more in developing an extensive bibliographical base. The result is of sizeable proportions, reminding the reader in a quantitative sense of the Kaesemann, Commen- tary on Romans , but treating Colossians from a very different point of view, as one would expect of a commentary in a series organized at Fuller Theological Seminary.

Consistent with the best side of the conser- vative tradition, primary attention is given to the Greek text, supplemented by abundant ref- erences to recent scholarly discussions of the text itself. While O’Brien has his own positions, he gives extensive reports of other possible inter- pretations.

Fifty-four pages are devoted to discussion of general topics on Colossians, followed by 261 pages of tightly packed commentary. In the in- troductory pages he makes frequent use of F. O. Francis and W. A. Meeks, Conflict at Colossae (1975), a book, by the way, dedicated to Paul W. Meyer of the Princeton Seminary faculty.

O’Brien makes a case for Pauline authorship of Colossians. He finds many parallels with other letters of Paul as to language and style, sum- moning W. Kuemmel for support (xliv, xlix). He differs with E. Lohse, who centered the christology of Colossians in 1:15-20. O’Brien contends that the letter as a whole supports the universal lordship of Christ, Paul’s theme in I Cor. 12:12-27, Romans 12:4-5. Colossians con- tains a realized eschatology, a position to which Paul gradually moved late in his life (p. 171).

He rejects the view of Kaesemann that 1:15-20 is a pre-Christian Gnostic hymn, taken over by the Christians for a baptismal liturgy. He denies that Colossians is part of a post-Pauline tradition when the apostolic office functioned as the guardian of truth, a position shared by Lohse and Kaesemann. For O’Brien, Colossians is clearly an occasional letter written to address a specific need in the church (xlvii). The wording of 3:22f. and 4:9f. looks toward a relationship with the letter to Philemon. Both are prison letters, writ- ten not from Caesarea, but preferably from Rome, since Colossians reflects the thinking of the later Paul, which would rule out Ephesus.

The commentary proper follows a definite pattern. Each section discussed opens with a basic bibliography, then a translation, followed by discussion of technical points in a section called: “Form, Structure, Setting,” which is also peppered with bibliographical references, and finally two sections of a more expository nature called “Comment” and “Explanation.” As one might expect from a well schooled conservative a firm foundation is formed by references to works in grammar and lexicography, including appreciation at many points of the work of

B. Metzger. Despite an affection for the works of F. F. Bruce, J. B. Lightfoot, R. P. Martin,

C. F. D. Moule, and F. Zeilinger, O’Brien is not above making use of the thinking of writers whose presuppositions he does not share.

In the discussion of Colossians 3:18-4:1 he would limit the use of Luther’s term “Haus- tafel” to such exhortations as are found in this passage, paralleled in Ephesians, with pairs and reciprocal duties (p. 215). He also amplifies his usual treatment to consider whether the back- ground of this passage was based on a Hellen- istic code, a Christian code, or a Hellenistic Jew- ish code.

The book closes with 43 pages of discussion ot Philemon, more space devoted to that letter than one finds in the work of E. Lohse. O’Brien interrelates the personal references at the close of Colossians with those in Philemon, but he does not accept the theories of John Knox, whose position has been weakened by the almost wholesale rejection of Pauline authorship for Colossians.

Despite this reviewer’s admiration for the enormous effort exerted by O’Brien, a few mi- nor questions can be raised. Is his translation of Colossians 1:5, 6 put in the best possible style of English: “You have heard about this hope before when the word of truth, the gospel, first came to you.” On page 84 there is an error in

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the spelling of the Aramaic word for ‘‘secret.” Is page 216 complete? There appears to be some- thing missing at the bottom of the page. One printing of the book has a mixup in the last pages of the indices, but we are assured by the publisher that this error has been corrected. Fi- nally while there are indices at the close of the book, they could have been somewhat more ex- tensive. After all his hard work, O’Brien de- served the help of an editorial assistant.

Otto Reimherr

Susquehanna University

The Church , by Wolfhart Pannenberg, trans. by Keith Crim. The Westminster Press, Philadelphia, 1983. Pp. 189. $10.95.

This work, which is a translation of the sec- ond half of a book originally published in Ger- man in 1977, Ethi\ und EEklesiologie , is not a fully developed ecclesiology. Rather, it is a col- lection of essays that deals with some of the major themes of ecclesiology in light of a strongly articulated concern for the unity of the church. In fact, all but chapters one and three were previously published in other places. In spite of this, however, these essays hold together very well, mainly because of a consistent focus on theological foundations and resources for unity in the church.

The first essay sets the stage for those that follow by underscoring the vital importance of unity among the churches — its achievement, ac- cording to Pannenberg, is “Christianity’s most important task in our century.” Pannenberg then turns to an examination of the theological foun- dation of the church’s unity, Jesus Christ, and explores how unity is both a reality and a goal. The significance of eschatology for a proper un- derstanding of Christian unity begins to emerge in the next section, in which Pannenberg argues that the common past of the churches has mean- ing to the degree that it has its starting point and final goal in Jesus and his resurrection. And in the following essay this eschatological ori- entation provides a fruitful perspective from which to explore the apostolicity and catholicity of the church. The next three essays deal with denominationalism, the major contribution that the Reformation can offer a unified Christianity, and an ecumenical understanding of church of- fices. These are followed by two rich essays on the Lord’s Supper, the sacrament of Christian unity. And a concluding essay widens the ho-

rizon to examine Christianity’s relation to other religions and to society as a whole.

This book has many fine points, not the least of which is the power with which Pannenberg argues for the necessity of Christian unity. He may have exaggerated the degree to which en- mity between churches has contributed to the secularism of modern society. But he is on the mark when he suggests that our very identity as Christians is threatened by the divided state of Christianity. For, as this book points out so well, the division among the denominations is directly contrary to the church’s nature as a symbol and instrument of the final unity of hu- mankind in the Kingdom of God. A lack of unity, therefore, represents the failure of the church to remain faithful to its calling and to make concrete the unity that God has already created in Jesus Christ. Pannenberg also effec- tively makes the point that the existence of sep- arated denominations signals in a way the fail- ure of the Reformation, since the goal of the Reformers was to reform all of Christianity rather than to create new churches. It indeed the fires of ecumenism are beginning to flicker in some quarters, a consideration of Pannenberg’s ar- guments for the importance of Christian unity should help to rekindle them.

Pannenberg’s discussion of the Lord’s Supper is also good. He is concerned to stress the cen- trality of this sacrament for Christian worship and to highlight its significance as a symbol of Christian unity. He also offers a brief but thoughtful discussion of the concept of sacra- ment itself — which he maintains should be de- veloped only after a careful consideration of the nature of the individual sacraments. And his treatment of the recent interpretations of the Lord’s Supper in terms of the concept of “tran- signification” is lucid and suggestive. But per- haps the most valuable aspect of this discussion is the way in which he makes use of an escha- tological perspective. He argues that, since the Lord’s Supper represents the unity that God has already created but will not bring to full flower until the end, churches need not wait until they have ironed out all of the differences between them, even important differences, to celebrate this sacrament together. On the contrary, such a common celebration would be an expression of faith in what God has done and will do to bring humankind together in spite of its present divisions. The Lord’s Supper would thereby bear witness to a reality that precedes and always transcends our understanding of the faith, a reality that is ahead of us and yet already active among

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us. On the other hand, Pannenberg also roots the Lord’s Supper in |esus‘ practice of sharing table fellowship with tax collectors and sinners. In this way, he provides a solid theological grounding not only for the practice of “open communion” between denominations but also for the admission to the Supper of all who sin- cerely desire to take part in the meal offered by Jesus Christ.

On the other side of the ledger, there are some critical questions that must be raised about what Pannenberg identifies as the core of the Gospel. He rightly insists that every period’s under- standing of the Gospel is limited and provisional and that, nevertheless, the Gospel itself has an enduring validity. In an attempt to identify this enduring core, he turns to the eschatological dimension of Jesus’ message and fate, especially the resurrection and its proleptic disclosure of the end of history. Here, according to Pannen- berg, we have something that moves beyond the age of the apostles, leaving behind features that were conditioned by the times in which they lived. Without denying that there is an enduring truth in the eschatological motif of the apostolic witness, there is reason to doubt that Pannen- berg has actually managed to isolate the core of the Gospel. For it is difficult to see how the message of the coming “Kingdom of God” and of God’s imminent “lordship” over the world is not temporally conditioned. In light of Pan- nenberg’s discussion of such matters in other works, we should no doubt assume that he means that these temporally conditioned images convey a truth that transcends any particular time. The reason for making these images, rather than several other possible candidates, so central is the resurrection of Jesus. But where does the history of Jesus, especially the path to the cross, fit into this schema? It is at this point that a major weakness in Pannenberg’s argument be- comes clear, namely, his inadequate apprecia- tion of the enduring value and meaning of the history of Jesus prior to the resurrection. This history has an impact on the apocalyptic frame- work within which the idea of resurrection has meaning and gives shapes to the church’s mes- sage and mission in a way that the resurrection alone never could. Although Pannenberg does not seem to be unaware of this, his discussion tends to emphasize only the resurrection.

The question of what significance we should accord to the history of Jesus becomes particu- larly important when we speak of the coming Kingdom of peace and justice, as Pannenberg does throughout these essays. For, since peace

and justice are general terms that are easily ma- nipulated, it is necessary to indicate how we are to arrive at an understanding of their meaning for our time. Christian faith affirms that the history ol Jesus is crucial for our definition of these concepts. But Pannenberg is far from clear about how the path of Jesus to the cross should be related to a contemporary Christian under- standing of their implications for our situation.

Finally, Pannenberg’s last essay is disappoint- ing for at least two reasons. First, he never de- fines what he means by religion in his discussion of the relationship between religions, on one hand, and between the religions and contem- porary society, on the other. As a result, this discussion often lacks clarity. Second, his in- sistence that contemporary society needs to draw its values from faith in God never adequately addresses the question of how a truly pluralistic society, in which faith in God can hardly be assumed, can actually have God as the foun- dation of its values.

On the whole, however, Pannenberg’s essays are lucid and well argued. In short, they will reward whoever takes the time to give them careful consideration.

Keith Crim’s translation is clear and readable. However, I did find three places at which the English text did not accurately reflect the Ger- man (in each case it appears to be an error in the printing rather than in the translation): i) on p. 51 of the English text it says that the apostles’ work was not done in the light of God’s eschatological act, whereas the German says not only, 2) on the bottom of p. 86, following the mention of the Augsburg Confession, several lines of the German have fallen out; and 3) on p. 104 one finds the assertion that the Memo- randum of the German University Ecumenical Institutes presents the special offices of the church in isolation from the general priesthood of be- lievers, whereas Pannenberg’s real point is that it does not do this.

David J. Bryant

The Graduate School

Message and Existence: An Introduction to Christian Theology , by Landon Gil key. The Seabury Press, New York, 1979. Pp. 257. $5.95 (paper).

Here is Langdon Gilkey’s "baby systematic,” as he calls it — a mim-summa in which this the- ologian at the University of Chicago Divinity

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School aims to draw each central Christian sym- bol into a coherent interpretation. Readers should not expect from this text the elaborate treatment of issues that Gilkey undertook in Naming the Whirlwind (1969) or Reaping the Whirlwind (1977). This work is “strictly for beginners and not for professionals in theology.” Nor should we view this book as a primer anticipating a later, more massive summation of Gilkey ’s systematic the- ology. An “unavoidable realism” about his own personal interests and capacities limits him to the more modest task of writing this general introduction to Christian theology.

This text introduces readers to “systematic” theology by ordering the Christian symbols ac- cording to four main clauses of the Apostles’ Creed (I believe, in God the Father almighty, in Jesus Christ his only son our Lord, and in the Holy Spirit). Therefore, the symbols of the faith are taken up in Gilkey ’s pages in a roughly traditional order, beginning with doctrines of faith and revelation, continuing on through the doctrines of God, creation, providence, sin, Jesus Christ, the church. Holy Spirit, and Kingdom of God. I will return below to the issue of how Gilkey further structures these symbols.

First, though, I want to stress that the really “systematic” character of Gilkey ’s book rests not so much in the way he relates the traditional symbols to each other, but more in the way that the symbols are correlated with dimensions of human experience. In each of the book’s four major sections based on the Apostles’ Creed, Christian doctrines are correlated with human existence. There are two subsections, then, for each clause of the creed, one dealing with di- mensions of human existence, the other with the Christian symbols that can be correlated with those dimensions. By this structural device, Gilkey offers his portraits of human existence, probing it for its religious dimensions and then moving on to show how Christian symbols “represent” or “thematize” religious dimensions. For ex- ample, Gilkey meditates on human experiences of person, community, and tradition to render more intelligible the Christian doctrine of rev- elation. Gilkey portrays experiences of human dependence and finitude on the way to his dis- cussion of a doctrine of God. So also, "estrange- ment” is discussed in relation to doctrines of sin and of Jesus as the Christ, and then he treats “humanity as communal” in relation to doc- trines of the Holy Spirit and the Kingdom of God. Readers of Gilkey ’s previous works will not be surprised by the persistently correlational aim of this “baby systematic.”

Indeed, precisely because Gilkey’s long- standing interests have been correlational, ne- cessitating reflection in philosophy of religion as well as in theology, we should also not be too surprised that his corpus of personal works will not include an elaborate system of Christian symbols. His own primary focus of scholarship has been and remains the correlation of symbols with human existence — -what Gilkey, and Til- lich before him, term a “theology of culture.”

To identify Tillich’s legacy here is not to say that Gilkey merely works out in this book Til- lich’s “method of correlation.” Gilkey’s own method moves beyond Tillich’s correlation of a questioning human existence with a predomi- nantly “answering” theology. For Gilkey, hu- man experience both questions and posits an- swers, and theology does not only answer but also prompts questions. In this book, Gilkey’s correlations lead him to set theology in a varied conversation with human experience. He pur- sues what David Tracy has helpfully termed a “mutually critical correlation” in which expe- rience is allowed to assess and enrich traditional theology, even as theology may criticize and enrich human experience. What is more, in the conversation between experience and theology that Gilkey creates, each new occasion for cor- relation takes a different form. Gilkey’s method in this little book teaches that there cannot be any predetermined forms of correlational think- ing in theology. Rather, each correlation must allow the particular subject matter or realm of discourse in human experience to shape the cor- relation. That is to say, Gilkey will relate ex- perience to theology a little differently when correlating human finitude with the doctrinal symbol of God than he does when correlating human estrangement with a doctrine of sin. Gilkey’s correlations may come all too quickly for some readers whose specialized disciplines do not incline them to follow Gilkey’s discus- sions of experience as disclosing a religious di- mension with which Christian symbols resonate. This small book does not allow Gilkey to at- tempt a careful hermeneutic analysis of the dif- ferent realms of academic discourse in which theologians might discern religious dimensions.

Allow me now to shift back to the issue of Gilkey’s systematizing of Christian symbols. We cannot in this short review evaluate Gilkey’s stances on various facets of the Christian symbol system — how he understands doctrines of cre- ation, atonement, the Holy Spirit, et al. But conscious as we are now of Gilkey’s rigorous focus on systems of correlation, we may return

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to his view of this symbol system and find there a structure that guides his correlational activity. In other words, we may note how Gilkey’s cor- relational impulse is rooted not just in some contemporary need to be relevant, but rather emerges from a structure that is intrinsic to Christianity’s own traditional system of symbols.

What is this structure? For Gilkey, the unique form of Christian symbolism is present in the historical life and teaching of Jesus and then stamped into almost all of the other symbols. This unique form is a “dialectic of affirmation, of negation, and then of a higher reaffirmation that, in overcoming the negative, also trans- mutes the originating positive” (p. 182). This dialectic, in the Christian symbol system itself, leads Gilkey (as he thinks it should lead all theolo- gians) to a major task of correlation, one that affirms the world of human experience, but that also can renounce and negate that world. The Christian symbol system says an original Yes to the world in its doctrine of creation, says No to it in its doctrines of sin and judgment, but then, ultimately, says Yes again to all creation by way of its doctrine of redemption. Theologians faith- ful to this dialectic will pursue a correlational method, mindful that they must acknowledge the worth and value of human existence, ac- knowledge also the need to negate insights of human existence, in order to fashion a theology that speaks to and renews genuinely human ex- istence. Gilkey’s correlational method, rich in nuances varying with the issues involved, is an attempt to respond as theologian to this dis- tinctively Christian dialectic.

This book, then, invites its readers to study two kinds of systems and the ways they play together: not only the system of coherence that Gilkey fashions out of the diverse traditional doctrines, but also the “system” of correlations that Gilkey seeks between traditional symbols and human experience.

This book is written for “the beginner” and hence may appeal both to theology students and to informed and diligent lay readers. Unfortu- nately, as I think Gilkey himself admits in his preface, the book is not written in a style always accessible to the beginning student. To be sure, Gilkey limits himself here to the basic compo- nents of Christian theologizing, and his text is rich in citing his own personal experiences in ways that may interest the general reader. His writing also, it should be granted, occasionally breaks out with existential flair to stress how Christian doctrines resonate to human experi- ence. When speaking of the doctrines of creation

and providence, for example, he stresses that these speak of the dependency on God of all creatures — of “the nebulae, the amoeba, the di- nosaurs, the early Piets and Scots, the Chinese, the Kremlin, you, me, our two dogs, and even the cat” (p. 87). Generally, however, the sen- tences of this text are long and complex, fash- ioned out of the writer’s sense of long-standing issues that yet cannot be unpacked in this short volume. Hence, the misgiving that Gilkey him- self entertained in his preface, that this text may not be readable and intelligible for the beginning student, may prove accurate. This need not rule out, as I have tried to suggest in this review, the fact that this text is worthy of study for those interested in theology’s dynamics of coherence and correlation.

Mark Kline Taylor Princeton Theological Seminary

Romantic Idealism and Roman Catholi- cism: Schelling and the Theologians, by Thomas F. O’Meara. University of Notre Dame Press, Notre Dame and London, 1982. Pp. 231. $20.00.

Thomas F. O’Meara describes his book as “a history of the interplay between faith and cul- ture in the first half of the nineteenth century” (p. ix). This is an important period for Roman Catholic theology because: “it was a time when the Catholic spirit understood how to live in a historical world and how to be faithful to tra- dition while fashioning a theology that spoke to a particular age” (ibid.).

O’Meara is correct in this assessment. Ger- man Catholic theology in the first half of the nineteenth century had a remarkably modern character. There are many reasons for this, not the least of which is the tact that political cir- cumstances encouraged a new intellectual open- ness. The reorganization of German lands caused by Napoleon’s dissolution of the Holy Roman Empire secularized former legal-religious boundaries in Germany and produced the rel- atively new phenomenon of contessionally mixed states. Catholic and Protestant theologians sud- denly found themselves on the same university faculties. This stimulated thought. It particu- larly benefited Catholic scholars for they were able to explore in a direct way the advances of Protestant theology made during the Enlight- enment.

Fortunately Catholics were not discouraged

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from such exploration by the usual hierarchical control. The papacy did not exert the type of strict authority that it had previously exerted or would come to exert once again later in the century. Free from ecclesiastical pressure, Cath- olic theologians ventured new ideas in the class- room and in print.

And new ideas there were! The Romantic Age was a high point in modern German cul- ture. Goethe, Schiller, Novalis, Hoelderlin, He- gel, and others were at work. It was a time for imagination and intellectual fantasy. As O’Meara rightly observes: “The mystical, the liturgical, the panentheistic, the heroic, the Gothic, the sacramental — these inevitably make Catholic blood rush. Roman Catholicism breathes easy and flourishes when the times are Romantic” (p. 197).

The center of theological renewal was the Catholic faculty at the University of Tuebingen. Theologians such as Johann Sebastian Drey, Jo- hann Adam Moehler, and Johannes E. von Kuhn engaged the problematical question of the re- lation of church tradition to historical change. The Tuebingen theologians understood the sig- nificance of modern historical consciousness. They realized that Protestant scholarship in the En- lightenment had exposed for the first time the undeniable historicity of Christianity. They knew that the aggressive dogmatism of post-tridentine theology was no answer to this problem. They feared, however, as faithful members of the church, that a decline in the normative authority of church tradition threatened to transform rev- elation into a reflection of human self-under- standing.

Attempting to steer a steady course between historicism and dogmatism, the Tuebingen the- ologians drew upon the insights of the Romantic movement and philosophical Idealism. It was a classic case of theology accommodating itself to a dominant cultural milieu and finding advan- tage in doing so. According to O’Meara the most important cultural figure for Catholic theology was Friedrich Wilhelm Joseph von Schelling. Schelling is asserted to be both “a symbol for the culture of his time” and “the mentor of the modern understanding of self and history” for nineteenth-century Catholic intellectuals (p. 5). Tracing Schelling’s development as a philoso- pher and explaining his relevance to theology are the two tasks O’Meara sets for himself. I am uncertain as to how successful he is in either task.

With regard to the task of explaining Schell- ing, O’Meara knows the problem. “One is al-

ways in danger,” he writes, “of getting lost in the mountains of Teutonic systems” (p. 13). Schelling’s philosophy has an irreducibly vague quality about it. This is helped neither by the enormous volume of his writing nor by the am- bitious scope of his various subjects: the self, history, nature, the absolute, will and knowl- edge, art and aesthetics, etc. To add to the prob- lem, Schelling’s style is often aphoristic and hy- perbolic.

O’Meara’s approach seems to be determined by the fact that he wants to mention everything. The problem is, however, that he is unable to go into depth in anything. And the inevitable result is that he leaves the reader with sketchy summaries of Schelhng’s vast range of ideas. The following passage is typical:

In 1800 at the Easter book fair, Schelling’s first system appeared, The System of Tran- scendental Idealism. . . . This system included material from the natural sciences and from painting and sculpture, sections which set it aside from the works of Kant or Fichte. Schelling’s system announced parallel worlds: one of self, the other of nature. Idealism was an objective idealism; the world of nature was not a mental projection; the ideal needs the real just as spirit needs nature for the ultimate synthesis to occur. In this early work the two paralleled histories of spirit and nature seem to be joined by a predetermined harmony and to lack the identity, ground, or godhead that Schelling would later give it (p. 24).

The reader wants to ask: what sections of this work set it aside from Kant and Fichte and in what ways? What does it mean to “announce parallel worlds”? What is their relation to “par- allel histories of spirit and nature”? And so on. O’Meara appears to assume that the reader knows enough about Schelling to be satisfied with a gloss. Yet he himself states that Schelling is little studied in English. Perhaps a better method of procedure might have been to select certain key texts and analyze them in depth.

Second there is a problem with O’Meara’s treatment of the Tuebingen School. I am not sure, as O’Meara seems to be, that the use made of Schelling by the Tuebingen theologians is the essential feature of their various theologies. O’Meara is content to show that these theolo- gians used Schelling — which is certainly true. But this usage clearly leads to some theological problems. Particularly in the theologies of Drey and Moehler, there is the tendency, encouraged by idealistic categories, to identify the church

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with the realization of the Kingdom of God in history. There is also a fundamental lack of clarity concerning the relation of grace to nature which is related to Schelling’s panentheistic mode ot expression. O’Meara tackles none of these issues. And because he does not, he leaves the impression of being uncritical.

Walter Sundberg Como Park Lutheran Church St. Paul, Minnesota

Birth and Death: Bioethical Decision- Making, by Paul D. Simmons. Westminster Press, Philadelphia, 1983. Pp. 276. $13.95 (paper).

Paul Simmons has made a significant con- tribution to the field of medical ethics. His task is to provide a systematic approach for employ- ing the Bible as a means of reflecting on issues involved in bioethical decision-making. Two basic assumptions underlie this study. First, “that the Bible not only is relevant, but is indispensable for Christian ethical understanding.” And sec- ondly, “that there is no irreconcilable tension between the Bible and modern science.”

Simmons is forthright in contending that the Bible must be appropriated in its totality as the primary source for dealing with bioethical is- sues. He warns that the “proof-text” method of using the Bible will always be inadequate. This means that ethical decisions must be based on a central theme within the Bible rather than on specific scriptural references. For Simmons, this theme is personhood. He suggests that the main features in the biblical understanding of per- sonhood are: (1) the person is regarded as ani- mated flesh; (2) the person must bear the image of God, thus distinguishing him or her from the rest of creation; and (3) a person must be able to make moral decisions. To find these three primary characteristics, Simmons need look no further than the first three chapters of Gen- esis. However, he extends his discussion by ex- plaining how Jesus Christ is the paradigm for full personhood in relationship to God.

The concept of Christian personhood or full humanity becomes the focus for understanding how Simmons deals with the bioethical deci- sion-making process. The issues he raises are abortion, euthanasia, biotechnical parenting, and genetic research. In the case of abortion, he sug- gests that it is justifiable in some instances be- cause the fetus is not fully a person. What we

have is a “conceptus” or a stage of life which is “anticipatory personhood.” In a similar way, when Simmons moves to the issue of euthanasia, he sees no reason for sustaining life which no longer meets the criteria of full personhood. He be- lieves that extraordinary or heroic means of pre- serving such a life fly in the face of a Christian understanding of human existence, death, and eternal life. He is not adverse to using the term “sin" to make his point. He presents a case in which a terminally ill patient requests that life support systems be discontinued. The physician refuses. Simmons argues that “the sin in this case is twofold: first, in that the man’s request was disregarded which is a breech of trust in doctor-patient relations, and second, in that too much was done in resisting the coming of death.”

Biotechnical parenting and genetic planning are two closely related areas which are of special concern for Simmons. In developing his posi- tion, he disavows any dependence on “natural law.” In an analysis of the creation stories, he points out that human sexuality was meant as something much more than a means of pro- creation. Therefore, he believes that it is entirely appropriate to assist couples when sexual inter- course does not lead to the bearing of children. In the case of genetic planning, Simmons sees the scientist’s role as being twofold. On the one hand, he or she is working against a potential genetic crisis, and on the other hand, serving to complete what God has set in motion through creation. Protecting that which is human and ensuring that full humanity continues to prosper are not only important concerns for genetic planners, they are areas consistent with the bib- lical witness. Simmons has prepared his cases with great care. In addressing the issues of abor- tion, euthanasia, biotechnical parenting, and ge- netic planning, he draws on the resources of philosophy, theology, and law. The introductory materials in each section serve as useful primers for understanding the particular issues which he is describing. It is only after having provided sufficient historical and contemporary views that Simmons moves to his own position.

This book will be of service for several rea- sons. First, it is an important part of the dialogue between theology and science. Second, it ap- propriates biblical materials in a holistic way and it avoids “proof-text” argumentation. Third, it provides a point ot departure for a systematic approach to using the Bible in analyzing ques- tions in the field of biomedical ethics.

The major weakness in Simmons’ approach is that he is sometimes guilty of overstating his

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position. He not only makes his point about certain medical procedures, he presents his case with the fervor of an evangelist. Thus, while he will open dialogue with many, he may also close off discussions with others who take exception to his conclusions. In addition, some Christian ethicists will not see in the Bible the implicit or explicit warrants for reaching the conclusions Simmons finds unavoidable. Nevertheless, Sim- mons has made a significant contribution. This book should be read by teachers of ethics, pas- tors, and concerned lay people alike. The anal- ysis will be a valuable resource in addressing critical problems in medical ethics.

William DeVeaux The Fund for Theological Education

Christian-Marxist Dialogue in Eastern Eu- rope, by Paul Mojzes. Augsburg, Minne- apolis, 1981. Pp. 336.

Dialogue between Christians and Marxists is usually understood to be primarily a Western activity. In Italy, France, and Spain, where Communist parties are strong but not in power, a great deal of it takes place and both sides are helped by it to clarify their basic points of view. Some people are even converted in the process, and the lines of conflict are softened.

All of this is much rarer and harder, however, in Eastern Europe where Communist govern- ments are in power. How can there be open dialogue when an atheist ideology is official doc- trine, where freedom of speech is curbed, and where Christians face discrimination at every point in public life? Paul Mojzes’ book shows us with a wealth of perceptive detail that the picture is not as simple as this.

Dr. Mojzes is himself the son of a Protestant pastor, raised in Marxist Jugoslavia. He is now a staunch Methodist teaching religion in a Cath- olic college in Pennsylvania. From his childhood he commands Serbo-Croatian, Hungarian, Rus- sian, and German, and with this base can read most of the other Slavic languages in Eastern Europe. With these tools and this experience, he has made the exploration of Christian-Marx- ist relations in Eastern Europe a lifelong schol- arly task. The first fruits of this task are in this book.

Country by country, and type by type, Dr. Mojzes examines the kind of talk that goes on between the politically dominant Marxists and the Christians in their churches, even in those

places where such talk is officially denied and disavowed. Dialogue does take place in Eastern Europe, not only in those few hopeful years of detente before the Russian invasion of Czech- oslovakia in 1968, but continually, despite repression. Mojzes shows how and where this is happening, and how much more of it there is than we in the West have realized. He then reflects upon dialogue itself, and on the chang- ing Marxist and Christian perceptions of each other which result from it, and finally about the major issues which emerge in the encounter.

This story, told in substantial detail, is an important part of the life history of Christianity in Eastern Europe. It also belongs to the life history of Christianity everywhere. North Americans deceive themselves when they dis- miss Marxism as irrelevant to Christian self- understanding. Latin Americans dodge reality when they condemn dialogue as an academic separation of forces that should be working to- gether. Conservative and revolutionary alike have much to learn from the experience of Eastern Europe. Mojzes’ work is an authoritative intro- duction to this experience.

Charles C. West Princeton Theological Seminary

Pastoral Theology , by Thomas C. Oden. Harper & Row, San Francisco, 1983. Pp. xxii + 372. $14.95.

Not long after I began reading Thomas Oden’s Pastoral Theology I visited families in a new housing development and saw the homeowners shoveling away dirt which the contractors had piled against the trunks of trees. Had the owners not removed the dirt, eventually the trees would have died.

In a similar fashion, Oden has exposed the trunk and roots of pastoral theology with the goal of revitalizing our ministries. This book is for students preparing for ministry and those navigating the rapids of pastoral demands and the backwaters of burnout.

Oden, a professor of theology at Drew Uni- versity with extensive parish experience, is aware of the diffused sense of identity which comes with the territory, and the possibility of losing trust in the ground lines and going with the winds. He grounds his analysis of pastoral work in the event of Jesus Christ, in the early pastoral shape of the church, in practical theological rea- soning, and in experience. Throughout the book,

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even as he faces the difficulties of pastoral iden- tity and work, he rejoices in the access which a minister has into human life, and the intimate victories which honest, intelligent, and faithful work brings.

The approach taken is to ask what Jesus did and why, how the church (with special reference to the early church fathers and Luther and Cal- vin) developed its ministry, what is the contem- porary need of each task. This lean approach conveys the essential knowledge directly.

Pastoral Theology is divided into five sections. In the first section, “Becoming a Minister,” the author describes pastoral theology as theological because it “treats the consequences of God’s self- disclosure in history” and as pastoral because it “deals with those consequences as they pertain to the roles, tasks, duties, and work of the pas- tor” (p. x). Then he moves to the question of identity, focusing the minister’s self-esteem in a life centered in Christ. In particular, Oden dif- ferentiates the pastoral ministry from “secular- ized, hedonically oriented, fee-basis ‘pastoral psychotherapists’ who may or may not be com- mitted to the ministry of word and sacrament” (p. 5). Moving to a consideration of the call to ministry, Oden balances the dynamics of the inward call; the evaluation of gifts, health, and character; and the guidance and support of the historic church. He offers biblical evidence of an early attempt by the church at theological education and a rite of ordination which gives us a dynamic sense of our apostolic heritage. Oden closes this section with a chapter on women in ministry, attacking both the Catholic and Protestant opponents on the very grounds of their resistance: continuity in tradition, fitting liturgical representation, and faithful exegesis.

The second section, “The Pastoral Office,” defends the shepherding analogy as still sugges- tive and meaningful for modern, secularized society. He explores the paradox of pastoral au- thority wherein power is set in the context of the servant messiah: “The pattern of authority is that of the incarnate Lord, who expressed in a single, unified ministry the holiness of God amid the alienations of the world, the incom- parable power of God that was surprisingly made known in an unparalleled way amid crucifixion and resurrection” (p. 53). The last chapter of the section is an analysis of the ministerial temp- tation to explain our message in purely human social, or psychological, or political terms; and he warns against so inflating the ministry with an excessive sacerdotalism that human friend- ship in ministry is lost.

In the third section, “What Clergy Do and Why,” Oden uncovers the adventure and inti- macy of ministry, especially as he describes the “five incomparable days in the believer’s life” (p. 85): birth, baptism, confirmation, marriage, and death. His discussion on baptism and eu- charist is solidly grounded in scripture and early tradition. The chapter on equipping the laity for ministry clarifies the purpose of administra- tion, but its brevity regarding the various parts of administration leave the reader wishing a fuller treatment had been given.

At this point, a comment can be made about the bibliographies at the end of each chapter. The references cited are useful for the working pastor who is not at home with the early fathers of the church, or even with the pertinent sections of Luther and Calvin, and Oden’s notes make the references accessible. However, his refer- ences to contemporary studies on church admin- istration and the equipping of the laity are thin.

He summarizes the third section, “Preaching can help shape the vision of the organization. Worship grounds it in hope. Counsel enables individual growth. Pastoral teaching can pro- vide perspective and direction for members of the body at various stages along life’s way. Pas- toral leadership wants to show how faith can become active in love. All these tasks intermesh in the challenging work of ‘managing well,’ or active governance (kudernesis), of the Christian community” (p. 164).

The fourth section, “Pastoral Counsel,” be- gins by addressing the opportunities and prob- lems of visitation, grounding this task in Jesus' ministry, exploring the obstacles, reviewing the apostolic patterns, offering practical advice, and emphasizing the duty and privilege of such ac- cess to human life. In his chapter on the “care of souls,” he rescues that concept from the me- dieval dualism and helps pastors see the unique- ness of their role. A long-needed review is given of the role of the pastor in offering comfort, admonition, and discipline. Since the turn ot the century, mainline or middle sector pastors have needed a dynamic and relevant way of working for the “purity of the church."

The fifth section, “Crisis Ministry,” begins with a theodicy, or vindication of the “divine attributes, especially justice, mercy, and love, in relation to the continuing existence of evil” (jj. 223). What pastor hasn’t been stunned into si- lence by unwarranted suffering, and hasn't wished for theological resources for his own spirit that could be translated into pastoral use? Oden gives ten thoughtful, classical yet contemporary pas-

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toral “consolations” for our thought and work. Concluding chapters about ministry to the sick, to the poor, and to the dying contain in brief fashion excellent counsel from the field. In his chapter regarding the poor, he summarizes Richard Baxter’s penetrating counsels for the rich, which is more applicable for most of us than we like to admit. I did feel that he could have developed more fully the need for a min- istry to the poor which mobilized the congre- gation to alter the institutional causes of poverty.

The reader will find the book easy to read as an overview of pastoral theology, or as a resource for re-thinking the particular tasks of ministry. It is truly ecumenical in scope and Catholics and Protestants of all traditions will find an exciting commonality of ministry.

H. Dana Fearon III Lawrenceville Presbyterian Church Lawrenceville, New Jersey

Discovering the Church , by Barbara Brown Zikmund. (Library of Living Faith). The Westminster Press, Philadelphia, 1983. Pp.

1 16. $5.95 (paper).

What is the church? The answer depends on one’s perspective. Dr. Zikmund, dean of Pacific School of Religion, guides the reader through six different ways of looking at the church. She begins by looking at the church as it appears within popular culture, then proceeds to con- sider the church as seen through personal tes- timony, within biblical and theological tradi- tions, from historical perspectives, in institutional forms, and as disturbing promise.

Zikmund insists that all of these perspectives are necessary to a full understanding of the church. As she writes at the end of her chapter describ- ing the church as it is seen in popular culture, “Theologians do not like to admit the signifi- cance of these perspectives on the church, but they cannot be ignored. Indeed, it might be ar- gued that only when a theology of the church, or ecclesiology, begins to recognize the ways in which average people understand the church will it have an adequate foundation. Biblical, historical, and theological factors aside, we fail to understand something very basic about the church unless we begin with these popular un- derstandings held by many Americans.”

While this quotation makes an important the- ological point, Zikmund is not writing for other theologians — at least not for other “profes-

sional” theologians. Like the other authors in The Library of Living Faith, she writes believ- ing that lay people can be assisted to do some theological thinking themselves. Zikmund ap- pears to have achieved her objective, for this book should guide lay people to a deeper un- derstanding of the church.

In the chapter on the institutional forms of the church, Zikmund gives the best brief de- scription of the sources of denominationalism I have ever read, using an outline of “theological, political, cultural, and practical reasons” for di- vision in the church. While some ecumenists might challenge her largely positive evaluation of denominationalism (“Why are there so many churches? Because people experience the love of God in Christ in different ways and in different places”), she does not close her eyes to the dan- gers of division, and she certainly helps people get some grasp of how it all came about.

This is not, of course, a full-scale ecclesiology. In places it is sketchy. While treating the images and metaphors for the church, Zikmund limits herself to the images of the church as the people of God, the body of Christ, and a community of the Spirit. This drastically reduces the rich tapestry of biblical imagery for the church, but it would be hard to think of a better way of treating the subject in fifteen pages.

Brevity hurts some chapters more than others. Zikmund’s treatment of the church’s history is simply too sketchy to be of much help to most readers, I am afraid. Her choice of themes is interesting: “the adaptability of the church to the changing political order, the ways in which the church continually supports human creativ- ity, the capacity of the church to reform itself, and the drive of the church to witness to the world.” Unfortunately, she simply doesn’t have enough space to do them justice.

There are discussion questions and sugges- tions for further reading for each chapter. These make the book well adapted for adult study groups in the church. The lists of suggested readings are good, but they could have been improved by brief notes about each book. For example, in the list for the chapter on church history, the first two books are Sydney Ahl- strom’s A Religious History of the American Peo- ple, and Roland Bainton’s The Church of Our Fathers. The reader is given no hint that Bain- ton’s book was written for children, nor is he or she informed that Ahlstrom’s book is nearly one thousand pages longer than Bainton’s.

Despite such quibbles, Zikmund has written a book which deserves to be read and studied

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by church people. Few could read it without coming to understand their church better. Moreover, the church itself might be better if more of its members come to share Zikmund’s conviction, “Unless the church disturbs us and invites us into God’s future, we have failed to discover the most important dimension of the church.”

William D. Howden Princeton Theological Seminary

The Twentieth Century Pulpit, Vol. II, ed. by James W. Cox. Abingdon Press, Nash- ville, 1981. Pp. 238. $8.95.

With the first volume of this two-part sym- posium of sermons, James W. Cox had put us all in his debt by providing us with a cross section of the preaching of the twentieth-century pulpit of the western world. This second volume is intended (i) to introduce us to “a younger generation of preachers”; (ii) to focus “more sharply on social and ethical issues”; and (iii) to include “worthy sermons” the editor was not aware of when the first volume was published. An anthology of this kind receives inevitably some “off-the-cuff’ evaluations, chiefly — why was so-and-so omitted, and this more often than why was so-and-so included. Certainly a volume of discrete selections is bound also to be uneven both in form and quality. The editor, however, is an experienced and competent homiletician whose services as professor of preaching at Southern Baptist Theological Seminary, editor of the Ministers Manual and of the Pulpit Digest, author and translator, qualify him uniquely to execute this enterprise for us.

With the exception of merely several names, all of these younger contributors are known to this reviewer (incidentally several of these — Til- lich, Ford, and Robinson are scarcely youthful; if he were alive today Tillich would be 97!). The selection covers a reasonably wide spec- trum, although it is predominantly Baptist (nine out of twenty-seven). The score is as follows: Baptist (9), Presbyterian (3), United Church of Christ (3), Roman Catholic (1), Disciples (1), Lutheran (1), Church of God (1), Anglican/ Episcopalian (1), and Reformed (2). All this aside, the advantage of a pulpit anthology represent- ative of an era is not discerned immediately; it must be seen in the long run as a contribution to the literature of the history of preaching to which research students will turn some day for

indications of how mid-twentieth-century Christian preachers handled critical issues in their own generation.

It would be careless and unfair to evaluate these sermons comparatively or to single out the strengths and weaknesses of any one of them in particular. More appropriate is it to make some general observations as follows: (i) One is pleased with the wide range of themes — many of them with a basic theological focus — and the attempt of these preachers to handle them contempo- raneously. (ii) Their analyses and perceptions of the nature of our humanity are generally ex- cellent, although sometimes their prescriptions for the way out are lacking either in positive practicability of the Gospel or even downright reality, (iii) Some of the sermons espouse a strong evangelical thrust and most of them are marked by a living-ness that is healthy. Wherever there is dullness it is created by or is the result of abstract idioms and the lack of concrete human allusions. There are surprisingly few illustra- tions and fortunately an absence of anecdotal ones, (iv) If a third volume is projected, care should be taken to include pulpit representatives from Scotland, Ireland, Canada, Australia, the Orient, and South America. Moreover, in this new era of a globe-trotting Pope, maybe one of his homilies could be secured as he passes by.

Donald Macleod Princeton Theological Seminary

Biblical Preaching: An Expositor’s Treas- ury, ed. by James W. Cox. Westminster Press, Philadelphia, 1983. Pp. 372.

The phrase “biblical preaching” is both du- rable and elastic. It is durable in the sense that it periodically reappears with renewed power whenever new developments in preaching and biblical studies cause the romance between those two fields to re-ignite. The phrase is also elastic, however, in the sense that it has been used so often in so many settings and to cover so many different assumptions about the nature of both the Bible and preaching that one can never be exactly sure what is meant by it.

Biblical Preaching: An Expositor's Treasury, ed- ited by James Cox, is one of several recent books which have attempted to grapple anew with the phrase. The volume stands both as an encour- aging indication that yet another renewal of bib- lical preaching is in progress and as a reminder of the fact that the concept of biblical preaching

THE PRINCETON SEMINARY BULLETIN

can be stretched to the breaking point over a variety of sometimes competing, sometimes complementary, perspectives, styles, and meth- ods.

The volume contains twenty assorted chap- ters by eighteen authors. The chapters cover a spectrum of biblical topics and categories, some concerned with broad literary groupings (e.g., wisdom literature, minor prophets, Pauline epistles), others with specific genres (e.g., par- ables, miracle stories, eschatological texts), and still others with personalities (e.g., the patri- archs) and events (e.g., the Exodus, the Resur- rection). Although the format differs somewhat from chapter to chapter, the basic chapter design includes a brief essay on the exegetical and her- meneutical issues involved in preaching on the material at hand followed by some homiletical notes and sermon ideas for several representa- tive texts.

It is clear that the contributors share a sense of the importance of the Bible for preaching and a commitment to the methods of critical exegesis as the means for encountering the claims of biblical texts. Indeed it is exciting to see the ways in which the authors combine historical, literary, and sociological approaches to the biblical doc- uments with sophistication and imagination.

It is also clear that the contributors, once they have done their exegetical homework, do mark- edly different things with the results, which is to say that contrasting understandings of the nature of biblical preaching are at work. Some move toward sermons carrying central ideas, doctrines, and themes from the biblical texts, while others, Henry Mitchell and Dwight Stevenson for example, are more attentive to the rhetorical and literary forms of the texts and their power to govern the form of sermons. Some contrib- utors find in the Bible a radical and theocentric word which gives an urgency to biblical preach- ing, while others find there a more gentle, less exigent “wisdom for living.” Krister Stendahl, in his chapter, includes a helpful discussion of the danger in setting up, in sermons, overdrawn analogies between the text’s world and our world, and he holds out tor analogies which are looser, more creative and artful. Others in the volume, however, seem to be searching for quite precise correlations between text and contemporary sit- uation, even pushing at times beyond analogy to allegory. These and other differences are not bad, of course, indeed they are potentially en- riching. Consensus on this is neither attainable nor perhaps desirable. It’s just that the reader longs for the issues to be placed on top of the

table, for the several voices speaking in this book to become aware of each other and of their harmonies and discords. Otherwise the very concept of “biblical preaching” tends to lose its definitive power as it is stretched out of rec- ognizable shape and draped over first this set of methods, then that set of methods, in an attempt to make “one size fit all.”

One of the stated purposes of the collection is to provide provocative sermon ideas and sug- gestions, and on that score the contributors surely deliver. Some of the authors go so far as to provide sermon outlines, “starters,” and ideas for sermon series. Far more helpful and credible are those contributors who work imaginatively with the sample texts, building bridges toward sermons, but who do not feel compelled to do all the work for the reader. In the long run this work “between” text and sermon — more than a commentary but less than a sermon — is far more stimulating to the preacher than some pre- fabricated sermon requiring only touch-up fin- ish.

There is a little uncertainty in this anthology about the intended readership. Are they users of the lectionary? Some contributors assume so, some do not. Where do they stand on higher criticism? Some writers exercise the kind of cau- tion due a reader just minutes out of funda- mentalism, while others toss out terms like “T rito- Isaiah” and “history of tradition” without qualm or apology. In the final analysis, this blurred picture image of the “typical” reader is probably a tribute to the diversity of people interested in serious biblical preaching and to the editor’s laudable goal of comprehensiveness. In short, however elastic the scope of this book may be, most readers will find enough here of value to give the book some durability.

Thomas G. Long Princeton Theological Seminary

The Light Within You , by John R. Clay- pool. Word Books, Waco, TX, 1983. Pp. 216. $9.95.

The title of one chapter in this book, “What Jesus Believes about You,” could almost have served as the title of the whole. In this book of sermons, revised to be devotional literature, Baptist minister John Claypool writes power- fully of God’s love for humanity and of the dignity and worth of each person. In Claypool’s words, “The wonder of the Christian gospel is

82

THE PRINCETON SEMINARY BULLETIN

summed up in this primal fact — God’s will and our joy are synonymous. All he wants for us is that we become all he meant for us to be, and to enjoy this forever.”

As devotional literature, this book has much to commend it. Claypool’s recurrent themes, God’s love and human worth, are indeed good news, good news that many people desperately need to hear. In the first chapter, Claypool re- flects on the story of the fall in Genesis 3. He interprets this account as a shift in the basic assumptions of the first humans regarding the nature of God and God’s creation. He correctly notes that many folk today have wrong as- sumptions about God and about themselves, as- sumptions not shaped by the loving nature of God as revealed in Christ. His purpose in this book is to correct those wrong assumptions.

One must ask, however, if Claypool’s book accurately reflects “what Jesus believes about you.” The Christ of scripture preaches repent- ance as well as comfort, and does not speak of human potential without speaking of human sin. Claypool says little of sin and repentance. He writes of comfort and encouragement, but says little of challenge and justice. There is a chapter/sermon entitled, “A Ministry of Lib- eration.” The text is the parable of the last judg- ment from Matthew 25, specifically the sentence, “I was in prison, and ye came unto me.” Lib- eration theologians would be less than pleased with this chapter; it is precisely the type of bib- lical exposition they abhor. Claypool writes, “At its deepest level . . . imprisonment occurs any time an individual is stifled or prevented from actualizing his or her potential.” As Claypool tells the parable, one could please Jesus without ever setting foot outside a country club.

As devotional literature, then, this book could be very helpful for people who have trouble believing that God loves them. It will do noth- ing, however, to challenge the beliefs of those people who are already altogether too sure that God loves them just the way they are.

Despite that flaw, however, preachers who read this as a book of sermons can learn much from Claypool. A skilled craftsman is at work. His approach is generally topical, rather than expository. He seeks to probe beneath the sur- face of life, and beneath the surface of scripture, to raise up and discuss “one of life’s primary concerns”; he is not satisfied with preachers who just “moralize around the edges.” Often he is quite insightful and provocative, as in the first sermon when he uses the account of the fall in

Genesis 3 to raise the issue of our basic as- sumptions about God and about life.

At other times, his interpretation of scripture is open to question. Is it valid to use the miracle story about feeding the five thousand to present Jesus as an example of how to cope with problem situations in three easy steps? Here, one must ask if Claypool is probing beneath the surface of scripture to find the basic issues in question, or if he is reading into scripture what is not really there.

Hermeneutics is not the only area in which Claypool provides both positive and negative examples for the preacher. Many a preacher, after reading a helpful book, tries to distill the book into a sermon. Such distillations are sel- dom successful, but Claypool shows how it can be done. In “Exiles in Time,” the preacher en- ters into a conversation with a book he has read, trying to see how the book fits with his own faith and with scripture. It makes for a good sermon. However, Claypool also shows how not to use a book in a sermon. In “Walking in the Light,” he claims I John 1:5-7 as his text, but the real text for the sermon seems to be Eric Berne’s Games People Play. (I hardly think John’s injunction to walk in the light as God is in the light means simply that we don’t play games in our personal relationships, but that is what Clay- pool claims.) Claypool doesn’t converse with the book; he just repeats what it says. The latest book the preacher has read can be a useful tool for the preacher, but the preacher can never be merely the tool of the book.

Claypool includes several biographical ser- mons, sketches of characters from the Bible. His treatment of Saul reveals two weaknesses com- mon to such sermons: it lacks unity, and some ot the interpretation of scripture seems forced. On the other hand, his sermon on Thomas, “The Presumption of Despair,” shows just how perceptive and moving biographical sermons can be.

Nearly every introduction is of superior qual- ity. They are interesting, and quickly let the reader or hearer know what the sermon is about. The illustrations are equally good.

In some ways, this is a mixed bag of sermons. I have discussed several with major flaws. On the whole, however, most of the sermons in the mix are good, and there is an explanation for the others. Good preaching is always imagina- tive. Imagination involves risks. Claypool is willing to take the risks, and sometimes his gam- bles tail. In a couple of sermons, he may have

THE PRINCETON SEMINARY BULLETIN

83

taken risks which were irresponsible. Far more often, however, the gamble pays off, imagina- tion leads the reader/hearer into new insights, and good preaching occurs.

William D. Howden

Stained Glass from Medieval Times to the Present, by James L. Sturm and James Cho- tas. E. P. Dutton, Inc., New York, 1982. Pp. 152.

This is a beautiful and scholarly book, com- piled and edited by two experienced and profes- sional persons who combine artistry and au- thority in an exceptional way. A professor of history at the City University of New York, Sturm became conscious of the neglect of glass art in America, a discovery he made interest- ingly enough in his research into economic and sociological movements of the nineteenth cen- tury. He gained practical experience and aes- thetic appreciation of the craft as a glass artist for some time in San Francisco. A free-lance

writer, editor, and photographer, Chotas served with Bantam Books, New American Library, and has contributed articles to fine arts journals and other publications. He has become recog- nized as a specialist in the color photography of stained glass.

The focus of this volume is upon the treasury of stained glass in the City of New York. These authors indicate that there have been two great ages of stained glass: the Middle Ages and the Nineteenth Century. The latter period is of par- ticular interest to us because through imports from Europe and the activity of American im- itators, New York City has become the world center of stained glass art, an accomplishment which owed much to the names of Tiffany and La Farge. There are seven main chapters, in- cluding such themes as “New York’s Medieval and Renaissance Glass,” “The Gothic Revival,” and “The Opalescent Era: Tiffany and La Farge." The appendices include an annotated bibliog- raphy, descriptive and identification notes for every picture and diagram, and a complete index for handy reference. The photography, how- ever, is extraordinary and makes this volume a gift to be treasured, studied, and admired.

Donald Macleod

THE SUMMER SCHOOL and

BIBLICAL LANGUAGE PROGRAM 1984

JUNE 4— JULY 27 Biblical Hebrew New Testament Greek

JUNE 4-22

J. J. M. Roberts, The Book of Job * Charles Ryerson, Eastern Paths and Christian Explorations * Edward Dowey, Four Reformers: Erasmus,

Luther, Miintzer, Calvin * Thomas Long, Preaching the Gospel of Mark * Manford Saunders, Sexuality Ed. and the Faith Community * Peggy Way, Theological Contributions of the Local Pastor.

JUNE 25-JULY 13

David Dorsey, Land of the Bible * Henry Bowden, Main Themes in Amer- ican Church History * Mark Taylor, Theology of Schleiermacher * William Carl, Preaching Christian Doctrine * Martin L. Harkey, Developing Leader- ship in the Local Church * Donald Capps, The Bible in Pastoral Care.

JULY 16-AUGUST 3 David Balch, The Book of Acts * Eduard Wildbolz, Reformed Theology and Its Impact on Society * Marvin Mc- Mickle, From Decision, To Design, To Delivery: Approaches to Preaching * David Weadon, Hymnology: Grego- rian Chant to 20th Century * John Savage, Lab I — Encountering the In- active Church Member and Lab II — Development of Trainers for Lab I.

JULY 16-27

Freda Gardner and Robert Jacks,

Drama in Worship and Education.

JULY 30-AUGUST 3

Charles Willard, Tools for Theolog- ical Study * Maria Harris, Teaching and Religious Imagination.

Each summer school course carries credit for three semester hours (each language course, six semester hours) in M.Div., M.A., and Th.M. programs. Provision is also made for unclassified students.

For full information write to Summer School Office, Princeton Theological Sem- inary, CN821 , Princeton, NJ 08542 or phone (609) 921-8252.

Princeton Theological Seminary admits qualified students of any race, color and national or ethnic origin and without regard to handicap or sex.

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