Simul Justus et Peccator: ‘Simultaneously Justified and Sinner’

ā€œHe delivered us from the power of darkness and transferred us to the kingdom of the Son he loves, . . .ā€ –Colossians 1.13 (NET)

į½ƒĻ‚ į¼ĻĻį½»ĻƒĪ±Ļ„Īæ ἔμᾶς ἐκ τῆς į¼Ī¾ĪæĻ…Ļƒį½·Ī±Ļ‚ τοῦ ĻƒĪŗį½¹Ļ„ĪæĻ…Ļ‚ καὶ Ī¼ĪµĻ„į½³ĻƒĻ„Ī·ĻƒĪµĪ½ εἰς τὓν βασιλείαν τοῦ υἱοῦ τῆς ἀγάπης αὐτοῦ, –Colossians 1.13 (GNT)

Simul justus et peccator–Martin Luther

As Christians in Christ we are simultaneously inhabitants of the kingdom of God in Jesus Christ, and at the same time we continue to dwell in a world full of the darkness we have been redeemed from; this world is yet present in our old hearts, and in the bodies of death we continuously inhabit. This seems paradoxical, dialectical even; it is. Sin no longer has its filthy grip on our lives / instead the righteousness of Christ does. In this we have the freedom of God to live in the holiness He has always already inhabited in the perichoresis of His Triune Life as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; we have become ā€˜partakers of the divine nature’ by the adoption of God’s Grace; been made co-heirs with Jesus Christ as we are now in union with the life that He has always had by nature with the Father in the Holy bond of matrimony provided for by the Holy Spirit. As Christians we paradoxically live in-between two ages; even as we inhabit both of them, yet in asymmetrical ways. We are citizens of the heavenly Kingdom, seated in the heavenly places with Christ; yet we are still in this world, in these bodies. Helmut Thielicke explains these things in the language of  æon, which is the Latin transliteration of the classical and Koine Greek, Ī±į¼°ĻŽĪ½; the word simply means: ā€˜age.’ He writes:

In the second form the question runs, ā€œHow do I move from faith to action?ā€ That is, how do I make my Christianity concrete? What is life in the new aeon to be like? For to be baptized is, after all, to let oneself be called into God’s salvation history, and hence out of the old aeon. But to be called out in this way can mean only that we are delivered from the ruling powers of this aeon and set under the dominion of a new and different Lord. It means, for example, to acquire a new relation to the god Mammon, and to the powers of property and possession (Matt. 6:24; Luke 16:13; 12:16-20; Mark 10:21, 24 f.). It means also that I have to revise my relationship to my body (I Cor. 6:19) and its passions (Phil. 3:19; I Cor. 6:16), to the things of this world (I Cor. 7:29 ff.) and anxiety concerning them (Matt. 6:25 ff.), to the Thou of my neighbor and to the groups to which I belong. It implies, in fact, the total revision of my existence in all its dimensions, since Christ is ruler of the entire cosmos and not just Lord of my inwardness. The orientation of my existence—and this means concretely my life in the plenitude of its relationships—is completely transformed because I am now the member of another history and of another aeon.

On the other hand I am simultaneously—by virtue of a mysterious simul—a member of the old aeon. For Christ did not pray the Father that he should take his own out of the world, but that he should keep them alliance with wickedness (John 17:15). After all, they are no more ā€œof the worldā€ (in terms of origin and destiny) than is Christ who, even though he walks in it, still is not ā€œofā€ the world (John 17:16).

Hence believers in Christ stand to the old aeon in a relationship of both continuity and discontinuity. The relationship is one of continuity insofar as they eat and drink, marry and are given in marriage, laugh and cry, stand under authorities and within orders, etc. It is one of discontinuity because they no longer receive their orientation from all of this. Their relation to that which is relative can no longer be something absolute (to put it in Kierkegaardain terms). They live ā€œin the fleshā€ to be sure, but no longer ā€œaccording to the flesh.ā€ We shall see later to what degree Luther’s well-known phrase ā€œat once righteous and sinfulā€ [simul justus et peccator] reflects this relationship to the two aeons, especially when it is seen to involve an interrelating of res and spes, of present and future, of this aeon and the coming aeon: ā€˜sinful in fact, righteous in hopeā€ [peccator in re, justus in spe].[1]

What a glorious, yet precarious status we inhabit. We are redeemed, and indwell, in and through the mediatorial humanity of Jesus Christ, the Holy of Holies of God’s inner and triune Life. Yet, we remain in the far country of this groaning world, and the bodies that inhabit it, until we fully realize the beatifico visio in the consummation of all things yet to come at the shout of the coming Son of Man.

I long to be saved from my ā€˜body of death.’

ā€œWretched man that I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death?ā€ā€“Romans 7.24 (NET)

[1] Helmut Thielicke,Ā Theological Ethics: Volume 1: Foundations, edited by William H. Lazarus (Philadelphia: Fortess Press, 1966), 40-1.

What is Christian Faith: Contra Christian Secularisms

The modern person has a variety of conceptions of what ā€œfaithā€ entails; this includes the modern Christian person as well. It is common, among large swaths of evangelical Christianity, to hear people refer to saving faith as something that is seemingly inherent to the person; as if it’s a self-generative ā€˜thing.’ But this is not what biblical faith entails. John Calvin emphasized ā€˜faith as knowledge of God’; Thomas Torrance and Karl Barth think faith from God’s Self-revelation in Jesus Christ, as a reality that co-inheres between the Father and Son by the Holy Spirit—as a notion of intimate trust that characterizes the eternal bond of the triune life. The point: contrary to modern conceptions of faith, biblical faith is a reality that is extra nos (outside of us). It is not something that we have inherent to ourselves. Instead, faith is a reality that is gifted to us and for us in the ā€˜faith of Christ’ (pistis Christou). In other words, a right and biblical understanding of faith entails the idea that humanity is not born with it as an inherent capacity. Faith, in the biblical understanding, is a supranatural miraculous reality that only God has capacity to bring for us in His believing and trusting for us in His humanity in Christ. If we don’t think this way, we end up conniving an independent factor or concept or ontology of faith that is somehow abstract and non-contingent upon God; a tertium quid, that ultimately would be in a competitive relationship with God vis-Ć -vis human agency.

Helmut Thielicke agrees, and says it this way:

Faith too is susceptible of interpretation in terms of immanent categories, such as those of psychology for example. With the help of secular history men have been able to reduce the figure of Jesus of Nazareth to the level of general religious history. In the same secular way, with the help of psychology it is possible to reduce faith to the level of the spiritual processes inside a man. It is characteristic of those who thus view Christian faith as only a subjective, psychological matter that they employ many expressions which receive their stamp from secularization. For example, the [sic] typically employ the term ā€œcredulityā€ in order to suggest that faith does not primarily refer to and receive its character from its object, but is simply one of the many products of man’s creative subjectivity. Credulity as a property or disposition [habitus] of subjectivity is primary. Instead of being determined by its object, credulity itself determines on its own the object to which it wishes to refer, e.g., a certain world view of a particular religious confession.

It was Schleiermacher who in his book On Religion: Speeches to its Cultured Despisers developed in a classic way this notion of a creative credulity which fashions is own object. He held that those things which religion cherishes in the way of objective elements, and in which religion has set down a record of itself, e.g., as ā€œWordā€ (in such things as holy scriptures, dogmas, or doctrines), are not things which encounter human subjectivity from without or from above, addressing and claiming it. On the contrary, it is this subjectivity itself which is the source of all these things. Religious feeling, because it is so powerful, produces a need to communicate: ā€œOut of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaksā€ (Luke 6:45). This means, however, that there is a need for verbal expression, since this is the medium of communication. It is thus that the ā€œmusicā€ of the heart is transposed into verbal form; it is—to use the famous phrase of Rudolf Ottoā€”ā€œschematizedā€ by the Word. Dogma and doctrine are thus nothing but ossified religious feeling. It is of course possible that the record of this feeling may have a stimulating effect on the subjectivity of others, especially when what is recorded is such classical music as that of prophetic charismatics. But even here what is involved is solely and exclusively the outward-streaming subjectivity, the habitus of credulity.[1]

If the reader is familiar with Thomas Torrance’s concept of kata physin (according to the thing’s nature); Thielicke’s thinking on faith as an extramental reality will make sense. Torrance’s thinking, from the influence that science had on his theological endeavor, maintained that the object under consideration ought to be allowed to determine its own categories and emphases. We see this same sort of thinking in what Thielicke is telling us about faith; i.e. that faith ought to be thought from its reality as that is given to us in Godself in the humanity of Jesus Christ. That is, there isn’t an abstract psychology of faith towards God that can be thought apart from its givenness in Jesus Christ. This is the nexus, the [hypostatic] union between God and humanity/humanity and God wherein the ā€˜pipeline’ of faith as a relational correspondence between God and humanity, as that is first actualized in the faith of Christ for us, comes to fruition. There is a psychology to faith, but it isn’t, as Thielicke underscores vis-Ć -vis Schleiermacher, an immanence that is determined by an innate human capacity; instead, and again, it is a relational reality that inheres for us as that first inheres in the existential reality of the Father-Son bond in the Pneumatic Triune life. And we might want to avoid the language of ā€˜psychology’ altogether, insofar as that is derived from below rather than above.

In conclusion, this ought to confront the common and secular ways Christians, many Christians, think of ā€˜faith.’ It is prevalent, currently, in a certain theological movement currently underway on YouTube. Its purveyor, unfortunately, is making in-roads with many, and he is teaching them to think about soteriological issues in non-confessional and non-Dogmatic ways. Indeed, his conception of faith mirrors something like what Thielicke describes with reference to Schleiermacher; but it is even less ā€œtheological,ā€ and more secular yet, than that.

 

[1] Helmut Thielicke,Ā Theological Ethics: Volume 1: Foundations, edited by William H. Lazarus (Philadelphia: Fortess Press, 1966), 15-16.

No Compartment Complexes in the Christian Life: Contra Christian Apoliticism

There is a sentiment out there, among Christians, that Christians should not be involved in politics. But Christians aren’t on-again/off-again beings; we are either for Christ, all the way down, or we are against Him all the way down. The point: there are no abstract compartments in the Christian life. When this is applied to politics, or any realm, this means that it is not possible, if we are in fact political animals, to not be involved in politics. We can pretend like we aren’t involved in politics, but the reality will always be that we are inescapably embedded within them. As such, since there are no compartments available in the Christian complex, it is not possible to live this life as a Christian and not involve ourselves in this world. We will necessarily bring all of who we are [in Christ] to all aspects of this life; all the aspects we are inescapably related to as creatures with space and extension into the creaturely and concrete reality. Helmut Thielicke says it this way:

If the liberating significance of justification for all these dimensions of life is not indicated, the Christian is in danger of succumbing to schizophrenia. For he will live a life that is divided into different compartments. In his private life he will be a believer living, as it were, supernaturally in a kind of superworld. But as a man of the world he will follow the laws of the world. We know very well that highly unsatisfactory forms that such a divided, half-Christian humanity can take. We often refer to them—and not without cause—in terms of ā€œhypocrisy.ā€ The very same man who comes away from the solemnity of the divine worship on Sunday forgets it, or regards it as irrelevant, when he sits at his desk on Monday. His motto now is, ā€œBusiness is business.ā€ The heart may beat for God, it may honestly feel it is a redeemed heart, but it does not pump blood into the extremities. There are limbs which are cold and clammy, not yet connected to the heart.[1]

Clearly, this applies to more facets than politics; but politics seems to represent the most pressing application of this in our current moment. This is where the battle happens: i.e. when we attempt to be who we actually are in front of the world, not just the church. This is where witness for Jesus Christ obtains, as it is given friction through pressing up against the world that is not for Christ but against Him.

When we apply this to the political sphere there are Christians who are so sick of that whole enchilada that they simply want to shrink back and deny that their Christian life has anything to do with such evils. While this does represent the path of least resistance (for a moment), the reality remains that as humans we are inextricably related to politics. Like I have noted previously, the statement, Jesus is Lord!, is an undeniable political statement that forces the Christian to negotiate with His kingship; often in opposition to the kings and lords of this world.

In my view: Christians are well advised to constructively engage with politics in a way wherein the sanctity of human life is magnified above all else. Since I take all of human life to be grounded in the vicarious humanity of Jesus Christ, it makes sense that I would see the sanctity of human life, and all its implications, as the primary point of political contact that a Christian can have in the world. It wouldn’t make sense, then, to promote political parties, no matter what country, that denigrates and have a low view (by way of policy) of human life. Since we live in a fallen world we will never find a perfect match between the Christian witness and the secular politik; but, in my view, we must do our best to support the parties that do indeed represent this sort of Christian witness in regard to the holiness of human life vis-Ć -vis the vicarious humanity of Christ.

[1] Helmut Thielicke, Theological Ethics: Volume 1: Foundations, edited by William H. Lazarus (Philadelphia: Fortess Press, 1966), xiv.

A Christmastide Theo-Anthropology: What Christmas Tells Us About What It Means To Be Human

Christmas time, for the Christian, is an intensity of time to reflect on the season of advent, and what it means for God’s Son to become human for us. At a surface level we don’t often ponder the deeper theological ramifications of what the incarnation of God entails for humankind. In this post we will get into the deeper thinking of Christmas’s implications with particular reference to the theological-anthropological import of the incarnation. Maybe you have never thought of Christmas from this perspective, but it is the sine qua non of what Christmas is all about. Christmas is about what Irenaeus writes: ā€œThe Word of God, our Lord Jesus Christ, who did, through His transcendent love, become what we are, that He might bring us to be even what He is Himself.ā€[1] Do you see the implicit questions in Irenaeus’s statement? When he writes ā€˜what we are’ and ā€˜what He is Himself,’ these are the questions of theological-anthropology; points of reference that press us into asking what in fact we are as humans, and who Christ is as the human that we might become through union with Him.

Rene Descartes famously is known for his cogito ergo sum, ā€˜I think, therefore I am.’ Helmut Thielicke, among others, notices that Descartes was among the very first to start thinking what it means to be human in abstraction from God. In other words, as Thielicke argues, prior to Descartes humanity was never thought of as a singular ā€œI,ā€ or in abstraction from relationship with God. In the ā€œpre-criticalā€ period, prior to Descartes’ turn to the subject, Thielicke notes that humanity, for the Christian, was only and always thought in and through its fellowship with God; indeed, this ā€˜ground of being’ was taken for granted, according to Thielicke. In order to grasp this seriously important point we will read along, at length, with Thielicke, as he sketches what it meant to be human pre-Descartes and post-Descartes. Following, we will apply some of the implications of Thielicke’s thinking towards Christmastide, and what it means to be human as found in concreto in Christ.

Second, concentration on the ā€œIā€ and the ā€œI thinkā€ tells us more. In the Middle Ages, as in Aquinas or Luther, self-knowledge means knowledge of the relationship to God. The nature of the self cannot be abstracted from the fact that it is created by God, that it has guiltily broken free from him, and that it is visited and redeemed by him. We are those who have a history with God. This is the point of our existence. The point is not to be found—primarily—in ontic qualities, e.g., the possession of reason or the upright stance. If the history with God constitutes our being, this being can only be defined relationally. It is a being under judgment and grace. Our worth is also relational. Ours is an alien dignity.

We can thus know who we are only as we know who and what God is. But we learn about God only as he reveals himself in Jesus Christ. We can know ourselves, therefore, only as we relate ourselves to this self-revelation. We find our humanity in the humanity of Jesus Christ. We see in him the original of humanity. We perceive our goal in a living person. We cannot say of ourselves who we are, for we cannot say of ourselves who God is. In this sense anthropology is always for Christians a part of theology.

Epigrammatically, one might say that we learn our nature through revelation. We are ourselves an object of faith. To try to know our nature by listing ontic qualities is thus pointless. As Norbert Wiener says bluntly and ironically, it leads us only to the definition of ourselves as ā€œfeatherless bipeds,ā€ puts us in the same category as plucked hens, kangaroos, and jerboas, and does not seize on anything specific to us. In contrast, Augustine’s Confessions is the classical expression of a Christian anthropology. This biography is in fact a history of divine leading. The underlying relationship finds formal expression in the fact that it conceived of as a prayer.[2]

In this instance we might as well be reading Karl Barth or Thomas Torrance; Thielicke like the Swissman and Scotsman, has a significant notion of the vicarious humanity of Christ as the fund of what it means to be human before God. What is significant for our purposes is to simply notice, along with Thielicke, that prior to Descartes’ turn to the subject anthropology, humanity could never be thought apart but only from Christ’s humanity for us. As an aside: Barth (and Torrance) is singled out as a modern theologian. But at the very base of Barth’s theology, in particular, his infamous doctrine of election is this return to the pre-modern theological anthropology that Thielicke is referring us to.

Even so, the joy of Christmas is that God has become human that we might become genuinely human before God; human in and through the vicarious humanity of Jesus Christ. This is the Good News of Christmas: we were plunged into sub-humanity at the Fall (cf. Gen 3), but elevated to the ultimacy of what it means to be human as that is understood through the archetypal humanity of Jesus Christ. We have been elevated from the straw of the manger’s bed, to the Kingly throne-room of the Almighty. Christmas, as understood through this theological-anthropological lens, tells us that the sanctity and nobility of what it means to be human only comes as that is refracted in the light of God’s light in the face of Jesus Christ. He has invited us to partake of His humanity so we might feast with Him at the banqueting table of the Father. He has called us into relationship with Him; this is the pinnacle of what it means to be human according to the analogy of the incarnation: viz. we are thoroughly relational beings insofar as what it means to be human is to be participants in the eternally relational life of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. We have been brought into this eternal life; this is the good news of Christmastide. Maranatha.

 

[1] Irenaeus, ā€œPreface,ā€ in Against Heresies, book 5.

[2] Helmut Thielicke, Modern Faith&Thought (Grand Rapids, Michigan: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 1990), 53.

The Logos is Greater than the Greek: The Resurrection of Language

This builds on my last post, and continues to reference Helmut Thielicke. As we had occasion to notice in the last post, Thielicke helped us understand how the New Testament writers, and early Christian theologians (at their best) ā€˜used’ Greek philosophical grammar in order to help articulate the invisible God made visible in the mystery of the Incarnation. We came to a better understanding, I hope, of just how world-breaking and category smashing the sui generis nature of the Incarnation was (and is) for the world’s trajectory and telos at large. We came to understand how the profane categories of the pagan world could be utilized in a way, under the recreative pressure of God become human, that reifies or redefines the original meaning of said categories and words to the point that they now have a heavenly rather than secular meaning. If we are to think from the analogy of the Incarnation, and we should, it would be something like this: people often confuse Jesus as a simple man (and not the God-man) because He clearly was and is a man; so He looks profane like the rest of us. But He clearly is not profane; He is Holy God come in the flesh. He has made what was once sub-human, human, by re-conciling profane humanity with His Holy resurrected humanity; the sort of humanity that now can eternally and fully abide in peace with God. Likewise, this sort of thing happens with profane language. It can be ā€˜resurrected’ under the pressurized meaning that comes from ā€˜above’ in God’s Self-revelation, such that the profane language, say of the philosophers, can be commandeered, and given a completely new context and referent point for its meaning.

Thielicke, sticking with his previous example of the Stoic concept of Logos found reanimated in the Gospel of John 1.1 writes this:

before the Johannine Prologue could formulate the statement that the Word was made flesh, Greek philosophy, especially Stoicism, had played with the logos concept and given it cosmological significance as world reason or the subjective ratio that is analogous to the cosmic logos. When the Prologue adopts the term to describe the mystery of the incarnation, John strips it of its ideological content and uses it as an empty shell, as mere synonym for the Word of God. He thus avoids defining the phenomenon of Christ by the Stoic concept and in this way integrating Christ into the sphere of Greek thought. The reverse happens. What Logos means in John’s Gospel is defined by Christ, i.e., by what follows in the ensuing chapters. In second-century Apologists like Justin Martyr, however, we find the very opposite. To make Christianity understandable to those stamped by the Greek tradition, to bring it closer to them, an attempt was made to show that the Greek philosophers were in a sense precursors of Christ. What they said about the logos contained serious particles of truth and indications of what Christ would reveal in fulness and perfection as the manifestation of the world logos. The apologetic aim was that those influenced by Greek thought should not find in Christ something absolutely new and hence scandalous and offensive (1 Cor. 1:23), but a confirmation of their own thinking and a transcending and completing of their own fragmentary knowledge. This missionary view presupposed the need to accommodate the Christian message to Greek thought and hence to define Christ by the Greek logos, in contradistinction from John’s Gospel. Clearly, many essentials of the gospel, e.g., the folly of the cross (1 Cor. 1:18; 2:6ff) or miracles, fell by the wayside with this procedure. The logos concept loses its servant role as a conceptual instrument and takes on a normative and governing role. Christ is subsumed under the concept and becomes a mere illustration. We thus have here a classical example of the revolt of the conceptual means. In such cases it is impossible to extract the mere form of the term and cast off the material intention. The form becomes the content. This is the hermeneutical difficulty we constantly encounter.[1]

This reality, what Helmut is referring us to, is pretty much what has animated me for my whole blogging career. People’s failure to properly reify theological language and conceptuality UNDER God’s Self-revelation results in the sort of example Thielicke gives us with reference to the imposition of the Greek over the Revelation. I believe much of classical theism’s heritage, particularly the kind that developed in the Aristotelian mediaeval period, and what was unloaded into much of so called classical Calvinism (post reformed orthodoxy) [and Arminianism, and much of Lutheranism] went awry at just the point where this ā€˜translation’ process has unfortunately favored the Greek over the Revelation of God. The intention, in the best of cases, has been to not allow the Greek undo weight; but the reality is that the Greek has often been given undo weight. When the theologian’s conversation about God has language like simplicity, impassibility, immutability, eternality so on and so forth constantly attending and framing it—before language like Father-Son, triune Love, Incarnation etc.—we know almost immediately that we have fallen prey to what Thielicke identifies as a negative.

[1] Helmut Thielicke,Ā Modern Faith & Thought,Ā trans. by Geoffrey Bromiley (Grand Rapids, Michigan: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 1990), 11-12.

God’s Revelation Not Man’s Discovery as the Norm for Christian Theological Reflection

Something that has always been important to me in the realm of the theological task is understanding how God’s Self-revelation pressures the language used to explicate His-revelation. Peter Leithart in his book on Athanasius describes this usage of language, often of philosophical and metaphysical origin, as ā€˜evangelizing metaphysics.’ There is often confusion here: because the philosophical language/conceptual matter is pressed into more than the revelation itself. In the best of the history of Christian theological development what takes place is reification of philosophical language, such that the language is used but with completely different conceptual and referential matter. In other words, the philosophical symbol or word is used, but the conceptual matter making usage of that word or phrase gives it a completely new contextual and conceptual frame of reference for its meaning and purpose in the string of God’s intention and meaning for the world.

Helmut Thielicke, an underappreciated German theologian of the early to mid 20th century offers some really helpful thinking on how philosophical words come to be used in a way that has nothing to do with their original origination, and everything to do with the revelation of God in Christ that commandeers such words for its own otherworldly, but thisworldly purpose. He writes:

Theological reflection arises when the message—the primary event—finds forms and figures of thought in which the people of a particular time reflect. The message comes first. It cannot be fused into the forms and figures. It is always in tension and competition with them. But if it prevails, if it leads on to faith, the paradoxical state arises that we have to state and express it in our time-bound categories if we are not to relapse into dumbness and silence. The tension between the eternal that is present and the time-bound means of appropriation is always noticeable. Concepts begin to flicker when they have to express something that does not conform to their previous ideological content but transcends it. When John’s prologue speaks about the incarnation of the Logos, it uses Stoic or Gnostic terms. But it only ā€œusesā€ them. For the term Logos, to express the mystery of the incarnation, has to shed its previous meaning as a symbol for the cosmic principle and fill itself with a content that is basically alien to it.

Thus language reaches its limit and the vessels of words are shattered by their contents. A sign of this is that paradox is unavoidable. Paul, Luther, and later Kierkegaard all take refuge in paradox, and Karl Barth could refer to the ā€œimpossible possibilityā€ of speaking God’s Word in our human words.[1]

To grasp this, in my view, is to grasp one of the most fundamental aspects of the Christian theological task. To engage in this task improperly, though, can result in egregious theological error; to the point that who God is is hybridized into a god that has no concrete correlation to the God revealed in Christ. This is what I am constantly pushing against when I offer critique of classical theism, in general, and classical Calvinism’s appropriation of classical theism’s mode of synthesizing Aristotelian substance metaphysics with Christic revelation. This is the primary rub, in fact, between my opponents and me; I maintain that they operate in a tradition that has done rather poorly in the work Thielicke has described for us. In other words, I contend that, by and large, classical theism, particularly its mediaeval iteration, has allowed the conceptual matter of the philosophical words they use to explicate God, to intrude into the revelation itself; that in fact the philosophical message has come to take precedence ā€˜over’ the revelation.

This is why I have deliberately chosen to work in the After Barth tradition of things. I think Barth offers a corrective to orthodox theologizing in the main. He pushes the theological task back to grounding its raison d’ĆŖtre in the overriding all consuming reality of God’s Self-revelation rather than allowing the philosophical verbiage to intrude unwanted. This will always, probably, be the rub between me and those who have simply received the ā€˜Great Tradition’ as if it comes, for the most part, in unerring ways from the Apostles (i.e. Apostolic Succession) of the Church. Theology is always a matter of translating the kerygmatic reality into the language ā€˜of the day.’ Often I think theologians forget this most basic of realities when it comes to the task of the theologian. Theologians, at least in my Western 21st century evangelical and Reformed context, seem to think that the task of the theologian is to simply receive (even if they claim it to be constructive) the Great Tradition as normative, and translate that Trad into the terms of the day. But in fact what is to be translated is not the Great Tradition, but God’s Self-revelation itself. This is not to suggest that the theologian must recreate the wheel, but it is to recognize that what is normative, and not just in word only, is God’s Self-revelation in Christ and not the Trad that has ostensibly risen up over the centuries in order to help the Church to understand this revelation in its own contexts and periods. There is quite a bit of confusion about all of this, I think.

[1] Helmut Thielicke, Modern Faith & Thought, trans. by Geoffrey Bromiley (Grand Rapids, Michigan: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 1990), 4-5.