Religion, Faith and Dogma

[This paper was first published in the on-line edition of Witness Magazine, which has since ceased publication. My attempts to locate it in various archives were unsuccessful, and I thought it worth re-publishing here.]



INTRODUCTION

In December 2004, Bill Moyers received an award from The Center of Health and the Global Environment at Harvard. In his speech of thanks he addressed some of the difficulties that face a journalist reporting on environmental matters. The most difficult challenge, he noted, is “the ideology that governs official policy today. One of the biggest changes in politics in my lifetime is that the delusional is no longer marginal. It has come in from the fringe, to sit in the seat of power in the oval office and in Congress. For the first time in our history, ideology and theology hold a monopoly of power in Washington. Theology asserts propositions that cannot be proven true; ideologues hold stoutly to a world view despite being contradicted by what is generally accepted as reality”.

The cast of mind that is portrayed here is strongly conservative, particularly in matters of religion and doctrine. Both theses words are frequently used inter-changeably, and both have different shades of meaning. The common assertion of conservative theology that doctrine and practice are a ‘given’, and are immutable, needs careful examination. Doubtless, its proponents will defend the position quite as strongly as their predecessors in the mid-nineteenth century insisted on the immutability of the species in spite of the clear evidence of the fossil record, but some attempt to clarify the usage of the words and the connected issues is worth pursuing.

RELIGION

Reasonably reliable statistics repeatedly tell us that the USA is one of the most religious of the western industrialized nations with a vast majority of those polled affirming some kind of belief in God (or, perhaps, god(s)). In contemporary American English, the word religion is used in so many ways that fundamental distinctions are frequently blurred. It covers personal piety, public forms of worship (or rejection of any forms), attitudes to social questions, running day-care centers, and assertions about God, heaven, purgatory and hell, and, more recently, crystals, labyrinths and ley-lines.
Since the Enlightenment, repeated attempts have been made to produce a definition of religion. Very broadly, they fall into two groups: those which have some theological base (stating or implying the objective existence of a Transcendent, or, at least, transcendence), and those which have anthropological, sociological or psychological bases.

Definitions of Religion

In the first group are absolutist theories, propounded by a religious body: the only ‘true’ religion is this organization, and to be a member is strictly to adhere to all its requirements, (e.g. worship, doctrine(s), discipline, patterns of behavior). Usually it is quite explicit that these requirements are the revealed will of God by holy books, holy men or special visions. This, it would seem, is the position of the relatively new Pope.
Still in the first category, theories shade off into a more relativist approach. Religion is envisioned as the human search for some transcendent reality, but taking many forms. Such theories imply that there is a universal longing for the “Ultimate”. Some suggest that their particular religion is the best way to God, or is the way God has most clearly revealed true religion, while allowing that other religions all have some of the truth. Finally, other theories suggest all religions are ways to the transcendent, the vast array of differences resulting from cultural and linguistic factors.

In general, all the other theories of religion, give up any premises of theology, and, in the light of anthropological study and a more accurate appraisal of world religions, commonly hold that religion in some form or other seems to have been universal in human behavior. Barbara Smith-Morgan in an interview in Science & Spirit said, “I believe that as a species we are religious by nature, just as we are musical by nature”.

Religion: A human activity

Karl Barth gave a theological reading of the view that religion is a natural human activity of (fallen) humanity:
“Religion is unbelief....it is the one great concern of godless man”. And again, “Religion is never true in itself and as such”. On the other hand, religion can be redeemed and sanctified; “like justified man, true religion is a creature of grace”. (Church Dogmatics, quoted in McGrath, The Christian Theology Reader, p. 323)
As always, Barth seems extreme and paradoxical, but his remarks resonate with contemporary experience. Certainly, religion does not seem to be a very good influence in many parts of the world: in its name, people in Ireland have been killing one another for centuries. In the Middle East, religion lies behind terrible, continuing and bloody conflicts, and the genocide in Bosnia and Kosovo was fueled by religion; and in the US, as Bill Moyers points out, religion is a powerful force for a political polarization that threatens paralysis.

In spite of the great diversity of the religious scene in the USA, it seems that there is a kind of national religion, or, perhaps, more accurately, a religiosity, and it may well be that the fierce polarization over the ethics of sexual behavior and issues of birth and death are much more the result of cultural/religious positions, than of theological ones.

FAITH

The confusions in the uses of “religion” are compounded when we consider how the word and concept of faith are used. In Roman Catholic usage, ‘the faith’ signifies rational assent to the authoritative teaching of the church enshrined in creeds, dogmas, authoritative statements of Councils and Popes, and, ultimately, in assent to unchangeable propositions. The epicenter of the Reformation earthquake was a powerful rejection of this view and an attempt to understand anew the biblical meaning of faith. Luther’s re-presentation of the Pauline teaching has continued to influence much modern biblical study with its emphasis on faith in the gracious God, rather than faith that dogmas enshrine what we need to know of God.
The emergence and continuing growth of historical criticism has made it increasingly difficult to base faith on undeniable “facts” of history and the conviction that absolute truths had been transmitted to us. Anselm’s credo ut intellegam , “I believe in order to understand”, may sound as though faith in, commitment to, the living God is primary. But Anselm was a rationalist and the content of belief in his adaptation of Augustine’s original statement was supplied by the dogmas of the Roman church, understood to be the distillation of an ancient faith.

Absence of ‘propositions in earliest Christianity

Before there were any Christian writings there was a handful of followers who recalled the words of Jesus and tried to make sense of what had happened to him, who believed that they had a real and continuing relationship with the one they now called Messiah. In this situation, faith must have seemed a very risky business, much more like a Kierkegaardian leap in the dark than a rational assent to propositional doctrines; even some versions of the Reformation “faith alone” removed much of the element of risk with the other bank reassuringly delineated; the faith needed to make the leap seems like an offering as a condition for forgiveness.

DOGMA

It is hardly surprising that the confusions in talk about religion and faith are not found in the case of dogma, for the very word suggests absolute clarity and order; perhaps used less than at one time, ‘dogmatic’ is often applied pejoratively to those with whom one disagrees. It is, however, still quite central to Roman Catholic discussions of church teaching, and its Protestant equivalent, the Confession. In conservative Evangelical circles, confessionalism is very much alive. The dissenting group within the American Episcopal church, for example, aims to make itself a “replacement jurisdiction with confessional standards, maintaining the historic faith of our [Anglican] Communion”. (Mr. Chapman writing on behalf of the American Anglican Council – Washington Post 1.14.04. My italics). This is revealing since one of the great differences in the English Reformation was that the C. of E. has avoided Confessions of the Lutheran or Calvinist kind.

George Lindbeck & the status of Doctrine

The precise status of doctrines and confessions is at the center of the divisions and crossed lines of communication between various branches of the Christian church: doctrines develop, but how much can they change and can they become obsolete? Can ‘new’ ones, such as the Assumption of the BVM, emerge? How is teaching about central beliefs connected to teaching about practice? For example, does the earliest church’s absolute pacifism – no soldier could even be baptized – have the same status as the later statements about orthodox Trinitarian belief?
A land-mark book by George Lindbeck, The Nature of Doctrine (Philadelphia, 1984), provided new and clarifying insights. He outlines the two major ways in which doctrine has been understood:
(a) a cognitive approach which emphasizes that doctrines function as propositions giving us information about God, the world and our place within it;
(b) an approach that treats doctrines as expressions of deep religious experience. This assumes a basic religious experience common to humanity that can be expressed in endless ways, closely parallel to an understanding of religion noted at the beginning.

A new paradigm

Lindbeck offers an alternative which might give hope of rapprochement between many diverse traditions. He suggests that the form of a given religion (belief/practice system) is what structures our experience, rather than the experience producing the belief/practice.

"[R]eligions are seen as comprehensive interpretive schemes, usually embodied in myths or narratives and heavily ritualized, which structure human experience and understanding of self and world" (Lindbeck, 32). The fundamental paradigm for this approach emerges from the work of linguistic philosophers, and a comparison is made between the way in which a language shapes a particular culture and the way in which Religion provides a frame-work that gives shape to experience.
Religion "is a communal phenomenon that shapes the subjectivities of individuals rather than being primarily a manifestation of those subjectivities" (p.33). Just as one learns a language by being exposed to it and practicing over and over again, so with religion, one internalizes the experience of the living community which one joins: what one learns, or perhaps, more accurately is "conformed to" is a tradition deeper and richer than could possibly be articulated in propositions. "Sometimes”, writes Lindbeck, “explicitly formulated statements of the beliefs or behavioral norms of a religion may be helpful in the learning process, but by no means always. Ritual, prayer, and example are normally much more important." (p.35).

Responding to new contexts

Among the many advantages of this approach, one is that it facilitates consideration of change and development in doctrinal positions in response to changing situations. In the midst of current tensions and controversies surrounding ethical issues of sexuality, life and death, what Lindbeck has to say is worth attending to:
“Religious traditions are not transformed, abandoned, or replaced because of an upwelling of new or different ways of feeling about the self, the world, or God, but because a religious interpretive scheme (embodied, as it always is, in religious belief and practice) develops anomalies in its application in new contexts”. (p.39, italics added).

He goes on to point out that faithfulness to a doctrine does not require slavish adherence to a fourth or fifth century formula; rather, it calls for new formulations within the guide-lines of the old. Traditionally, a grammar book gives the form of a basic ‘regular’ verb or noun. This is a paradigm one then applies to new vocabulary. It will get you nowhere endlessly to repeat the paradigm unchanged. Lindbeck comments, “amo, amas, amat " operates as a paradigm when one says, e.g., "rogo, rogas, rogat," not when one insists on parroting the original." (p.81).

CONCLUSION

The reasons why an absolutist, politicized kind of religion is becoming dominant in the USA are complex and need treating at length, but it is clear that a great deal of ‘parroting’ is going on be it of biblical verses wrenched from the context, dogmatic Trinitarian and Christological formulae or disciplinary rules of antiquity. The great majority of lay Christians are unlikely to know or care about Chalcedon or about the details of a particular theory of atonement, but specific, and usually anachronistic, formulations of Christology or Atonement can be made into rigid, immutable requirements for membership in a church and also into offensive weapons with which to fight “heretics”.

Limitations of Doctrine

Lindbeck’s approach might make us more aware of the limitations of doctrine. The absolutist position (RC - Fundamentalist) assumes that doctrine is perfect, final and all-surveying. On the contrary, it is frequently imperfect and inevitably culturally colored. It is also clear that faith positions have changed. Luke’s early chapters of Acts can plausibly said to reflect an 'adoptionist' type theology: Jesus is not the eternal Word, as in the Fourth Gospel, but God’s chosen son/servant (pais), a highly unorthodox teaching judged by the standards of Nicaea and Chalcedon. In a living language, vocabulary certainly changes and grammar gets modified. If we are to have a living faith and religion, not tied to Aristotelian categories, but underpinned by teaching that makes sense in the light of an entirely changed world-view, doctrine must be re-stated and faith must be strong enough to make some blind leaps, leaps where the precise location of the other bank may not be at all clear.

Sermon for Christmas Day - 2007

This sermon was delivered at All Saints Episcopal Church, Rehoboth, Delaware
on Christmas morning 2007

Something happens today that most people in this United States of America would, I think, be very surprised to hear about, something that they would find very hard to believe. It is the simple fact that Christmas began about ten hours ago. What has been going on for weeks with a relentlessness that probably only a cash till can demand has not been Christmas.

Much of what we have heard in the weeks since Thanksgiving has not been Christmas. It was a time, when we within the community of faith have been meditating deeply on what it means to say that "the Word became flesh and dwelt among us"; we have been listening to the stern words of Jesus about judgment. In the world around us, though, this has hardly been the case; rather, we have had to listen to the tinkling of electronic parodies of deeply mystical and spiritual poetry full of deep theological import. And an objective view of the last few weeks must suggest that in a society in which it is said a vast majority believe in God, there is a complete failure to understand the nature of that God, and the significance of the divine presence that was unveiled to world on the first Christmas.

Had the world been in an Advent mood instead of an artificially engendered festive mood, it might have listened to the staggering theological statements of the carols, (all sung four weeks too soon). "God and sinners reconciled"; "Late in time (notice that, the end of the ages is upon us) behold him come, off-spring of the Virgin's womb. Veiled in flesh the Godhead see;” "Yet with the woes of sin and strife, the world has suffered long". The carols of Christmas move naturally out of the themes of Advent with its twin emphasis on God's judgment on all human sin, coupled, nevertheless, with a vibrant hope that we shall not be left in the throes of the mess we have made of God's creation, because the Messiah, God's servant will come to us. They move from Advent to focus on the wonder of God’s saving work, but the best of the carols of Christmas, do not forget the realities of human sin and suffering, and they do not melt down into sentimental mush. They sing of the offering of real hope to a human race that is really lost.

Some words of (then) Bishop Rowan Williams as he preached a Christmas sermon some years ago, suggest the superficiality of the pseudo Festival that has been imposed on us. He writes, "The tightly swaddled baby is a gift-wrapped object; passive and docile for use in our business, our transactions; a lucky mascot; the sleeping partner in the firm (the little Lord Jesus asleep on the hay)." (A Ray of Darkness, p. 27).

Something happens today that most people in this United States of America would, I think, be very surprised to hear about, something that they would find very hard to believe. Something is recalled and celebrated today that does not fit with the common assumptions of our culture and our national religion. It is not only that Christmas is only just beginning: it is that God has come into the human situation. “Veiled in flesh, the Godhead see” we sing as though this were a routine affair; as though the coming into the very fabric of human life and, therefore into human pain and sin as well as into human greatness and joy were something we could glance at and then return to the time-consuming business of getting the last parcel wrapped; get back to all the hassle of the cultural Christmas that has dominated us for weeks.

Christmas, the Christian celebration, begins here today. Certainly it is about a baby, one born in less than a salubrious situation; but it is also, and primarily about the God who created each one of us and gave us life. And it is about the mysterious way that God chose to put right the mess that the human race finds itself in. How we understand this saving work of God in Christ is fundamental to the way in which we shall live our lives, fundamental to our understanding of what we mean by living a life committed to God and to one another.

I think that it is because we often do not take seriously all the implications of just what it is we are celebrating in this Christmas Liturgy, that we all too often have unsatisfactory notions about God and the way God works to save us. Too easily we slip into the notion that God is the ultimate, celestial Mr. Fixit. Intellectually we would probably deny this, but if we examine the way we pray when faced with pain and loss, we may discover that we are addressing God as the celestial doctor who will always cure; or the celestial conflict resolver who will settle our family, church, national and international power conflicts which quickly escalate to disastrous proportions.

Christmas tells us of the reality of God incarnate, tells us that God’s power works in the weak things of this world. It tells us that God comes to us in the helplessness of a baby. Rowan Williams whom I quoted earlier points out that if God is with us in a real child, he is not so neatly gift wrapped for us to use for our own ends. A real baby is a mystery, needing care and compassion, but, nevertheless, with a will and a voice of its own; and what a voice. Which parent among us does not recall that insistent and continuous crying that disturbs a night or interrupts a meal? Rowan reminds us that here we have “the inarticulate crying of God in the stable”, which looks forward to the cry from the Cross. This is not a fanciful idea; it is firmly there in the text of the gospel narratives. St. Luke who tells us the story of the stable birth, very soon records the words of Simeon to Mary, “This child is destined for the rising and falling of many, and a sign that will be opposed ..... and a sword will pierce your own soul too.” (2.33).

So what all this tells us is that God’s saving work among us is not to be understood as some great success story; on the contrary, it overturns the glorification of power, which is the norm of the world. Jesus is not the one who comes to exercise that kind of power; does not come with advanced organizational skills, or with fiats that undo the stupidity and sinfulness of generations upon generation of self-willed humans. Jesus, who is the very presence of God, comes to be born with us, to be fretful and colicky with us; to grow up through the embarrassments and frustrations of adolescence with us; to experience misunderstandings and rejections with us, and in the end to die with us. This is something deeply mysterious and wonderful; something that electronic carols can never capture, but it is what the Christmas Liturgy proclaims.

And it is wonderful news; it is indeed, the Good News, the Evangel, the Gospel. It tells us we are not alone, shut up in the hatreds and divisions of humanity. It tells us that whatever we go through, God, in Christ will go through with us, for God, in Jesus has gone through the process of birth, and growth and death. And that is why today we sing Gloria in excelsis Deo, Glory to God in the highest. Amen.

Sermon for Thanksgiving Day - 2007

Harvest Festival

When I first came to live in the US, I assumed that Thanksgiving was the kind of harvest festival I knew from the village church to which I was reluctantly and uncomprehendingly taken for “high” days: Christmas, Easter and Harvest Festival. The 17th century building was aglow: the pulpit ledge piled high with local produce, several outsize sheaves of wheat leaned against the Choir Screen and the back of the church was filled with heaps of vegetables. This was not, of course, a national holiday, and vast numbers of the UK population had long been torn from their agricultural roots by the Industrial Revolution, and although some of their great, great grand children would probably say, “I am, C of E” (i.e. Church of England) they never crossed the portals of churches that are to be found in every city, town and village. In other words, Thanksgiving was very much a religious affair, and was always on a Sunday.

My First Thanksgiving in the US

So what did I make of the scene here? My first impression was that the holiday was about food, family and the pre-eminence of the USA, and I was struck by the feeling that this was as much a secular, national holiday as a religious festival. When I came to do a bit of reading I noticed several things. That it was, at the very beginning, the harvest festival of the old England transplanted to New England and lasted three days seemed historically accurate, but that its first celebrants were paragons of free choice and religious freedom suggested by a recent writer on the Web who says: “Thanks to the Pilgrims, we have greater freedom in religion & government today” struck me as wildly off target historically.
As so often happens, a persecuted minority became persecutors almost as soon as they established authority over others, displaying typical Puritan attitudes: rigid control of private and familial behavior; devaluation of other faiths; interpreting misfortune and sickness as divine judgment, all these soon became mandatory in the earliest colonies.
I learned that it was not until 1863, Lincoln proclaimed the final Thursday in November to be kept as a national holiday, and I concluded that the evolution of Thanksgiving as a national holiday displayed many of the ambiguities of the emerging doctrine of separation of Church and State.
While no particular form of religion (various brands of Christianity and, in the last half century, other religions than Christianity) has been connected to any established or State church, a generally diffused and somewhat vague belief in God has remained a potent force in our society. It is that, I think, that has produced a festival that has clear overtones of national greatness mingled with religious sentiments.
I would suggest that an antidote to all this ambiguity is to draw a distinction on the one hand between a biblical understanding of just how central thanksgiving is in Christian theology and practice, and, on the other, the perfectly laudable festival of Thanksgiving, established by Presidential decree with its emphasis on the greatness of America and the importance of family cohesion.

Thanking In the Bible

The Bible is permeated with a sense of our human dependence on and our total debt to God for simply everything we have or can do. In the O.T. there are two places, however, where this sense is particularly striking: the first is the Book of Deuteronomy. This is a fairly late re-write of the earlier traditions and it stresses again and again that it was Yahweh alone who made the Hebrews a nation and gave them their own land. It is interesting to note that the authors foresaw the dangers of jingoism: in ch.7 .7 we read, “It was not because you were more numerous (therefore stronger & greater) than other people that Yahweh…chose you – for you were the fewest of all peoples. It was because Yahweh loved you…that [He] has brought you out with a mighty hand.” This is not the only time the authors express this idea, and it is always followed with an exhortation to remember Yahweh and give thanks.
The other place where thanksgiving is prominent is in the Psalms, some of which, like Ps. 136 are entirely a Hymn of thanksgiving; today’s gradual Psalm is typical of many others.

The New Testament

The note of thanksgiving is even more pervasive in the N.T. Paul frequently begins a letter with profound thanks to God for the growth of commitment to Jesus, the gift of whom is the focus of all Christian thanksgiving. C.B.E. Cranfield, writes, “Thanksgiving is not meant to be merely words, but the very mainspring of Christian living, the right motive of all service”. (Theol. Word Bk. Bib p. 254). There are very few recorded sayings of Jesus in which he explicitly says “thank you” to God, but the whole tone of Jesus’ teaching exemplifies the attitude of thanksgiving. In everything he does, Jesus looks to God. He does not claim to heal by his own power, but acting as the agent of the loving Father; he says that he casts out demons “by the finger of God”. All the accounts of his praying imply an attitude of complete dependence on God, most strikingly in Gethsemane: “your will be done”.

The Essence of Thanksgiving

This sense of utter dependence on God is at the heart of thanksgiving, which is to be the central attitude of the Christian towards God, and this is of central importance, it is also to be our attitude towards others who, as members of the body of Christ, share with us total indebtedness to God. All this is brilliantly summed up in the General Thanksgiving, composed for the 1662 Book of Common Prayer, and found in our present PB at the end of Morning Prayer. We give “humble thanks” to God “for our creation, preservation and all the blessings of this life; but above all for [the] immeasurable love in the redemption of the world by our Lord Jesus Christ”. (BCP, 1979, p. 101).

Two Closing Points

The placing of thanksgiving at the center both of the Christian life and of prayer, suggests that Thanksgiving Day can be a time to re-evaluate the way we use the personal pronouns “me” and “mine”. “What I do in my own backyard is nobody’s business” is a view frequently expressed, but it is hardly acceptable even on a secular, social level. For a Christian it should be unthinkable, knowing that all I possess is not mine in any final sense, but given me by God as a trust to be used for the divine glory and the common good.
Finally, it is no accident that the gospel for today is a meditation by the author of the Fourth Gospel on the central act of Christian worship, the Eucharist, which, of course, is the Greek word to give thanks. What is central to the Christian life is also central to Christian worship. As Jesus gave thanks over the bread and the wine, so week by week we give thanks as we celebrate the Eucharist which sums up all our thanks to God “for all the blessings of this life” and above all for the life and death of Jesus by which we are re-united with God.

BIBLICAL INSPIRATION

Sermon for St. George’s Chapel, October 21, 2007 – Pentecost XXI (P. 24C)

The scripture readings set for Sunday, October 21 in the American B.C.P are:
Genesis: 32.3-8 & 22-30
II Timothy: 3.14 – 4.5
St. Luke: 18.1-8a

Preliminary Note

The story of the wrestling Jacob is so full of possible sermon themes that I found it hard not to begin work on it. On the other hand, the gospel reading did not seem so promising. It is not one of the more vivid parables relayed to us by Luke, and in light of work on the parables by scholars like C. H. Dodd, Joachim Jeremias and Eta Linnemann one has to wonder whether its original intention was to teach perseverance in prayer; after all, Mt. 6.7 tells us mê battalogêsête, ‘don’t use repetitious prayers’. Moreover, the whole issue of intercessory prayer is skating on thin ice (see my posting of Saturday, July 28 – The Use of Praying), and, so, I turned to the Epistle.

The set reading is a continuation of sections from the Pastoral Epistles, which, though still announced as by St. Paul, are probably not. II Timothy 3.16 together with
II Peter 1.21 have been regarded as key texts by those who have fought for a theory of plenary verbal inspiration. David R. Law in the recently published Christianity: The Complete Guide (Ed. John Bowden, London 2005, pp 629ff.) has an excellent short article on “Inspiration”. He notes that it was in the era of “Protestant orthodoxy” (c. 1600-1750) that this theory received a great deal of attention. Another very busy period was the latter part of the 19th century in the writings of the Princeton Seminary Calvinists. The claim that the doctrine, with particular emphasis on the inerrancy of the text, is taught by the bible seems to be a perfect of example of a circular argument: these key texts say that the words of the bible are inerrant, and since they are written by biblical authors, the key texts themselves must be inerrant. Law writes: “The Protestant concern with the inerrancy of scripture is a consequence of the doctrine of sola scriptura. Since for Protestantism the only legitimate foundation for theology is the Bible, this foundation had to be made absolutely secure”. (p. 630).

Conservative Reaction to Historical Criticism

Another crucial factor in the conservative position, both Protestant and Roman Catholic, was an increasing fear in the latter part of the 19th century of scientific and historical study. In the Roman Catholic sphere this took the form of fierce opposition to democratic movements and the institution of the “anti-Modernist Oath”, required at ordination of all R.C. priests well into the 20th century. In Protestant circles, it led to the issuing of the The Fundamentals: A Testimony to the Truth, a series of booklets published in the U.S. betwen1910 and 1915.

The sermon, which now follows, is over-long, though many members of the congregation assured me that they would have been happy to have another thirty minutes. It is also, inevitably I think, over-simplified. There are, after all, problems with historical method, and alternative ways to think about biblical inspiration that do not involve ideas of plenary verbal inspiration. All this, however, would have added much more than thirty minutes and would have made the sermon even more like a lecture than it already is.

The Sermon

Whenever we open a bible, we are faced by a challenge, but the reading from the Letter to Timothy raises the question about the status and use of scripture quite explicitly.
What precisely is the challenge? Very briefly put it is: How do we understand the biblical message in 2007? How doe we read the accounts that imply a world-view that is, and indeed for several centuries has been, untenable?
The N.T. writers fairly often refer to the sacred books as “the scriptures”, or in Greek, the writings, and it is cleat that they mean the sacred writings of the Hebrews, what we call the O.T. It is clear that the earliest Christians accepted the Rabbinic view that God spoke through the Prophets, and, of course, that included Moses. Today’s epistle speaks of the “writing(s)” and refers to them as “inspired”; a literal rendering of the Greek would be, “breathed by God”.
Within the historical context of the first century C.E., all this made sense. It was the normal view of the divine throughout the world that the gods spoke directly to people, that they directed events in a singularly ‘hands-on’ way and that, furthermore various rituals, prayers and holy people could interact with the divine forces to change the weather, to heal people or to kill them, and, in short, to ameliorate any conceivable divine action. Of course, within Judaism there was a different view of God: for the Jews there was only one God, whose name was Yahweh, and he was not a capricious God. Nevertheless, the principle remained that Yahweh directly orchestrated all the natural phenomena of weather, farming, and human health and wealth.
It is a vast over-simplification, but in the most general sense true, that this view of the world lasted for almost 1500 years. A good example would be the history of what meteorologists call the “little ice age” which lasted for over four hundred years. During the early centuries of the second millennium, famine became endemic in N. Europe, and millions died. Contemporary science suggests three possible causes for the frigid summers and almost arctic winters: a reduction of radiation from the sun; a significant increase in volcanic activity or, paradoxically, the previous warming period that poured vast quantities of fresh water into the Atlantic, cutting off the warming currents. The one explanation that is unacceptable today is the one given at the time based on the world view which the writers of the biblical books shared: the terrible crop losses were the result of the activity of the devil operating through witches, (and of course, passages of the O.T. demanded the death penalty for witches). Perhaps as many as two thousand people were executed as witches accused of causing the withering of crops and the devastation of the herds. It is another aspect of this same world-view that the vast majority of those murdered were women.

Origen & Allegory

Before the 15th century, reading the bible was not without problems. That there were challenges is not in doubt. A very early one was to question why the Hebrew bible was part of the Christian scriptures. It has, after all, a remarkable number of stories that seem to negate the picture of God we find in the teaching of Jesus, for example, the approval of genocide of Canaanite peoples in order for the Hebrews to inherit the promised land, and long lists of forbidden foods; the latter was a particular stumbling block for the early Christians since they knew that Jesus had “declared all foods clean”. (Mk. 7). An early theologian called Origen commented at the beginning of the third century that if the dimensions of Noah’s ark were accurate, there would be room to take onboard only two elephants and their food supply for the duration of the flood. The escape from these conundrums was provided by that same Origen. He stressed the undoubted spiritual nature of the writings, and said that very often the surface, obvious meaning, was not primary; what mattered was the inner, spiritual significance. In short, he claimed that the bible writings were one big Allegory whose hidden meanings we had to tease out. Shell-fish became quite OK for Christians because what the book of Leviticus was really telling us was that sins of the flesh are like limpets that once attached stick hard, and that is what we must avoid. All the early commentators treated the parables in this way: the Priest and the Levite in the story of the Good Samaritan are not there because it is a realistic story, a scene that any traveler might have witnessed. Rather they represent the priestly class of the Hebrews, superseded by Christ. The oil and the wine are not (as , in fact, they were), the normal first-aid kit of the first century, but the sacraments of the Eucharist and anointing.

Changing World-View

About five hundred years ago, the intellectual climate began to change. Long-accepted formulae began to be questioned. It is not necessary to trace out the course of the scientific revolution that began with a new examination of the vast universe around us and moved on to the discover the miniscule universe within us. Parallel to, and closely linked with the scientific revolution was a revolution in how history is to be understood. Sources have to be checked, early MSS have to be examined, and obvious prejudices of the writers have to be taken into account: these factors and many others, it was realized, are essential for understanding the past, rather than merely creating an ideological account of it. Thus as the scientific advances exposed more and more problems with the biblical text, (like the impossibility of the earth’s being a mere 4004 years old), the study of history provided a new way of reading the scriptures. It became clear that the Bible is not a coherent single document. It is a collection of different texts, composed, revised, re-written by dozens of often anonymous authors spanning nine centuries. But it also became clear that we could trace growth in how we might think about God. We were not forced to continue to hold early ideas of a God directing every minute detail of the material universe or as leader in wars of extinction.

Centrality of Rule of God in teaching of Jesus

Above all, we could take a new look at the teaching of Jesus. To take one quite central factor, we were no longer forced to hear the parables as allegories. We understood that they are stories that try to get across a central point. The details are not important in themselves, as, say in Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels; they are there because that is how the story goes. This approach made it clear that Jesus’ teaching centers firmly on the coming of the Kingdom of God, the Rule of God. It was those disciples who heard the teaching and passed it on to the next generation that formed the community within which they believed (and still do believe) that the living Jesus continues to operate. At its best (which has not been all that often) the Church has lived by and held up for the world a view of God as loving and suffering with humanity.

How Envisage God?

This revolution in the understanding of the bible involves abandoning older views of God, and I think that it may well be this factor rather than a slavish insistence on the absolute accuracy of the biblical text that lies behind much contemporary fundamentalism. To have a god who continually manipulates our environment, a god to whom we can send a message asking for a situation to be altered (be it the removal of a terminal disease or the lack of a parking place when shopping), may be much more comforting than having One who is love incarnate, and who, instead of changing things, agrees to suffer along with us giving us new life based on love rather than power.

Inspired how?

Finally, of course, this approach to the bible requires us to abandon the older view of the divine inspiration of the scriptures, which, you may recall, was my starting point. Instead of a mechanical view where God uses the writers as a kind of ventriloquist’s dummy, we need to envisage the writer as a member of a believing community, who as a representative of that community is deeply in touch with the divine and who often in poetry, tries to put into words the meaning of the divine for human life.
We stand within that community and we share the faith that Jesus inspired in those first intimate disciples that the Rule of the God of love is the ultimate reality of the universe. Because of the insights of historical study, we understand the words of Jesus in today’s gospel not as asking God to do things for us that he hadn’t noticed we needed, but as an unshakeable faith that God wills “quickly to grant justice” to all humankind.

Covenants Old & New

The recent turmoil in the loosely affiliated churches that are described as “The Anglican Communion”, has produced or thrown into prominence several new committees and quasi executive bodies. Among them is a group that is called, somewhat quaintly, “The Primates’ Meeting”. These meetings began after the Lambeth Conference of 1978, but only recently have they seemed to mimic some of the organs of the much more tightly hierarchical Roman Catholic Church. Thus, at a fairly recent meeting in Tanzania, they requested (though, directed would seem more accurate) the Bishops of ECUSA, to “make an unequivocal common covenant that the bishops will not authorize any Rite of Blessing for same-sex (they mean, I assume, same-gender) unions in their diocese or through General Convention”. The Primates go on to insist that anyone living in a same-sex (sic) union should not be approved for Episcopal orders. I am not clear whether this means that such a life-style is permissible for deaconal or presbyteral orders.

Déjà Vu

Whatever else can be said about the current imbroglio, as a student of nineteenth century history, I experience an intense sense of déjà vu. One recalls the events of 1840-60: the fuss over Professor Hampton, the Gorham case and the Colenso affair; then, in following decades the rash of litigation over lighted candles, chasubles, thuribles and even vested choirs, and it begins to sound eerily familiar. I had thought that the main parallels lay mainly in the area of challenges to traditional theological formulations and inherited Christian behavior patterns. A recent conversation with the Bishop of Niagara, however, revealed that the conservative evangelical objection to vestments and ceremonial practices is still a potent issue. He reported that at a recent Ordination in (I think) St. Paul’s, almost a dozen candidates refused to wear a stole, and some even a cassock. How many deck chairs can we re-arrange?


The Church of England in the Nineteenth Century

Owen Chadwick’s The Victorian Church is required reading about all this. It might be a good idea, rather along the lines of the story of 70 Rabbis who produced the Greek translation of the Hebrew scriptures (the Septuagint, or LXX) to lock up the bishop of Pittsburgh, his US co-schismatics and the swelling number of African diocesan satellite bishops, with Chadwick’s two volumes, and let them out only when they could complete a searching exam on the history of the Church of England in the 19th century.

Church & State

Chadwick’s account of the attempts to revive the Convocation(s) is revealing.
The Convocation of Canterbury had not been allowed to meet since 1717, except at the call of new Parliament when an address affirming the royal supremacy was made to the King/Queen.
The attempt to re-vivify the Convocation began in the wake of the Gorham case debacle, which started in 1847 and dragged on until 1853; in that year the Judicial Committee of the Privy Council overturned the judgment against Mr. Gorham for departing from the apparent teaching of the Book of Common Prayer (B.C.P.) that infant baptism alone resulted in unconditional regeneration. Evangelicals were not happy with any view of the Sacraments that smacked of ex opere operato, insisting that baptism needed conscious repentance to achieve moral regeneration. The issue was clouded because the B. C. P. and Thirty-nine Articles (XXXIX) are not entirely consistent on the matter, but it was the assertion of State power over Church Doctrine that was at the center of the uproar. It was now the turn of the Tractarians to threaten wholesale departure from an Erastian church. (The Evangelicals had threatened departure should the judgment against Gorham be upheld).

Two Churches

Owen Chadwick has a riveting account of the whole affair, (The Victorian Church - Part 1, pp.309-324). At one point when Lord Aberdeen was, briefly, Prime Minister, it seemed clear that a meeting of Convocation to receive a committee report could not be stopped. The Law Lords so gave their opinion. Aberdeen had searing memories of the split in the Established Scottish Presbyterian Church in 1843 when over the very issue of the power of the State to dictate to the Church, rather more than one third of the ministers seceded to form the Free Church. It is reported that Aberdeen said to his son: “Your friend is right who says the Church of England is two churches only held together by external forces. This unnatural apparent-union cannot last long, but we may as well defer the separation as long as possible.” (p. 319).

The Proposed Covenant

One of the efforts now under way to hold the Anglican Communion together (no longer, be it noted, merely the Church of England) is the establishment of a Covenant to which all the autonomous churches of the Communion must assent.
In the Church Times last year, David Edwards, the retired Provost of Southwark wrote:
“[T]he new Anglican Covenant is not likely to provide a permanent identity…. it avoids any clear statement of the reasons for Anglican diversity or disunity. Thus it does not mention the controversy about homosexuality, in which biblically derived morality is in tension with the modern knowledge that this condition is natural for an important minority of humankind, as created by God through evolution.”
Here Edwards puts his finger on a central facet of the Conservative Evangelical position. Not only does it insist on the inerrancy (not necessarily, be it noted, a literal reading) of the text, but it does this, by and large, by an anti-intellectual stance that puts ideology before the results of careful empirical science. The force of scattered texts in the Book of Leviticus whose interpretation is tentative at best is opposed to the growing evidence that homosexuality is a “condition natural” for many people.
The problem of setting up ‘confessional’ standards for the whole Church of England, let alone the whole Anglican Communion in its post-imperial, and now, even post-Commonwealth mode of operation, is well illustrated by a consideration of the Thirty-nine Articles

The Thirty-nine Articles

Soon after he was appointed Archbishop of Canterbury in 1942, it is reported that William Temple while chatting to Winston Churchill complained about the problems of maintaining Lambeth Palace in war time: there are, he moaned forty bedrooms in the place; to which Churchill is said to have replied, “How inconvenient when you have only Thirty-nine articles”. Whether Winston consciously equated that strange document, the XXXIX Articles, with chamber pots is not clear, but he certainly was not alone in wanting them to be pushed securely out of sight under a bed.
Apart from a very brief period, they had never represented the actual spectrum of belief allowed in the post Henrician church. This mishmash of Lutheranism, Patrological references, virulent anti-papalism mixed with lacings of Calvinism certainly did not get the Articles into the league of the great Continental Reformation Confessions. Indeed, following the failures of various Puritan efforts, e.g. the Savoy Conference, the document remained rather like an inactivated bank account: remained that way, that is, until the very end of the 18th century.

A Very Brief History

Strictly, the XXXIX Articles are not part of the Book of Common Prayer, but have been printed with it, in the U K, since the 1662 B.C.P., and on and off since the 1800s in the US Episcopal book. The history of their development is long and, not surprisingly, given the contentiousness of the times, convoluted. I am indebted to Marion Hatchett - Commentary on the American Prayer Book, pp. 583ff for a succinct summary of some tiresome history. In the Background are the Continental Confessions, particularly Augsburg (1530) and Württemberg (1552), both of which focused on controversial questions. On the way to the XXXIX Articles we pass through the Ten Articles under Henry, and the Forty-two, set out in 1553: written largely by Cranmer, all beneficed clergy were required to sign on pain of deprivation. Naturally, no one was too concerned about Protestant Confessions (or Covenants, which once again seem to be hovering over us in a menacing way) during the reign of Mary Tudor. The Thirty-nine finally emerged after the accession of Elizabeth I, the result of many deletions, emendations and substitutions. (For details, see Hatchett 587). In the seventeenth century, the Puritans refused to subscribe to them because they had not rooted out noisome papist elements like episcopacy and baptismal regeneration: in the eighteenth century, they made the Latitudinarians very unhappy because of narrow atonement theology and Augustinian-like original sin statements. During the nineteenth century they were partly the cause of several high profile cases that went to the Judicial Committee of the Privy Council, and by the twentieth, I suspect, that they were only mentioned in the Evangelical Theological
Colleges like Clifton, Bristol and Wycliffe Hall.

The American Book

The newly autonomous Episcopal Church of the United States of America havered for quite while. After all, Article 38 read, “The King’s Majesty hath the chief power in this realm of England, and other his dominions….and is not, nor ought to be subject to any foreign jurisdiction". Other changes can be found by reading the miniscule italic print in the Articles as printed in the Historical Documents of the Church in our 1979 P.C.B. (pp. 867 ff.).
The Deputies held back the Bishops from including a revised version of the Articles in a proposed Prayer Book in 1789, and consideration was twice more postponed in 1792 and 1795. It was not until 1801 that “both houses approved a resolution that the Articles… be set forth”. (Hatchett 587). In their revised form they were placed between the Psalter and the Ordinal; in 1886 they began their journey to their present status as an “historical document”, being removed to the end of the Prayer Book. In the present (1979) book they share the dubious distinction of being in the same section as the Athanasian Creed, of which it has been aptly said “it is neither by Athanasius nor a Creed”.

Some Reflections on a Covenant

This somewhat truncated account of the XXXIX Articles does not inspire confidence in the future of an Anglican Covenant. To take two specific examples:

Atonement Theory
1) Is it conceivable that consensus can be achieved on the theology of the atonement? Many conservatives will insist on an Anselmian “penal substitution” theory. I personally find it quite unacceptable, but would be able to live with those for whom it is “the gospel truth” so long as I could turn to Abelard, Aulen and many others for enlightenment; unhappily it seems, conservatives cannot live with what they designate as “heretical” views.

The Inerrancy of Scripture
2) A much more intractable subject would be the interpretation of scripture and the understanding of the nature of Christian Doctrine (Dogma).

Here are two absolutely central issues:

A) How do we read the biblical texts, taking into account the MSS studies, the archeological finds, the historical researches, the critical studies and, above all, the results of careful empirical scientific investigation of the past three centuries?

B) How do we shake off the habit of treating doctrinal statements (Dogmas) as though they are a direct communication from God, totally immune from linguistic, cultural, economic and political conditions current at the time of the original formulation?

The drift to an inerrant reading of the biblical texts is quite obvious in the US and also in many of the Anglican autonomous churches that have sprung from the Colonial era. I also suspect it is quite a prevalent in the Church of England; even a scholar like Tom Wright seems, since assuming the cloak of Durham, to have moved away from his original conservative critical positions, (as when I knew him as Chaplain of Worcester College, Oxford),and only the other day, the New Yorker reported that the bishop of Carlisle attributed the dreadful weather this summer to divine retribution for the moral slide of the UK: surely the kind of opinion that springs from a pre-critical reading of the bible and a totally outworn dogmatic view of divine providence.
From the time of Essays and Reviews, on through the writings of the likes of Gore, Headlam, R.H Lightfoot, Hebert, Michael Ramsey and countless others, the Anglican tradition has been able to absorb the best of critical scholarship which a conservative statement of plenary biblical inspiration would surely not embrace.


Conclusion – What is the Anglican Communion?

The all-pervasive lack of clarity about the nature of this conglomerate body no doubt reflects the fuzziness of the “good old Church of England”, a fuzziness that has enabled the two (or more) churches to hold together in some recognizable form.
Some helpful notes on the legal status of the Church of England can be found on the Web site of the History Department of the University of Botswana. The author points out that the Church of England “is not a voluntary society with rules made by compact. Instead, its laws are part of the English legal system”. It was not until 1919 that Parliament gave the church some limited authority by setting up the Church Assembly. Even so, its limitations were made glaringly obvious when Parliament refused to pass into law the revised B.C.P. of 1928. The note continues, “In the 1970s the Church Assembly was replaced by the General Synod, but the basic procedure remains”.

A contemporary conundrum for the Church of England is what to do about the Parliamentary approval of a covenant between same gender couples, in effect, recognizing a form of civil union.

Autonomous Churches – Not Provinces of the Church of England

Perhaps more problematic is what to do about the so-called Anglican Communion. One small pointer to the confusion is, I think, the use of the term “Province” for what is clearly now an autonomous church, which once had very close links to the Church of England. So, the Church in S. Africa was regarded as a kind of extension of the Church of England, a kind of addition to the traditional Provinces of Canterbury ad York. That the Province of S. Africa was so regarded is surely validated by the fact that J.W. Colenso, Bishop of Natal, having been deposed by a synod of African Bishops (1862), successfully appealed to the Privy Council. “On 20 March 1856 the judicial committee [of the Privy Council] held that the proceedings of the synod were null and void.” (Chadwick Part II, p. 9).
Clearly, the Anglican Church in S. Africa is no longer a “province” in the 1862 sense, though it continues to be called so, as do other affiliated Anglican bodies. The issue of nomenclature may be a small matter, but it cloaks a great deal of confusion, the sort of confusion seen when the Primates in Tanzania assumed that the ECUSA bishops alone, with no reference to the General Convention, could give them the assurances they demanded.
Perhaps we might most helpfully see the Anglican Communion as a kind of spiritual analog of the Commonwealth, which emerged, it seems, to perpetuate a shade of the dissolving empire. Having served its purpose, the Commonwealth is hardly seen any longer as a functioning organization; even its symbolic aspects are slowly slipping away. Perhaps the Anglican Communion could discreetly join the cortege? Or, maybe, it already has.

Study Course on the Book Of Revelation - Part 2

Ch. 1. 1-8 Introduction and 1.9-3.22, The First 'Week'

1) Before we move into the text, it might be well to consider briefly the sort of imagery, or metaphorical language which is such a striking characteristic of Revelation.
Right at the beginning, before John records his letters to the Seven churches, we get a “description” of the Son of Man. But what do we make of eyes like a flame of fire and feet like polished bronze? What can we do with a city that has gates that are pearls (21.21), or horses that have human-like faces, but women’s hair, and scorpions where one might expect a tail (9.7f)? Is the author asking us to visualize these creatures?

2) A consideration of the way Hebrew writers regularly describe things and people is of immense help here. In a book called Hebrew Thought Compared with Greek, T. Bowman makes some helpful points. He notes that few ‘realistic’ descriptions (in our photographic sense) are found in the O. T. Rather, the writers give us “impressions of the thing perceived” (p.74). The descriptions of buildings are much more concerned with their use than with how they would look in an architectural drawing. In the case of people, he notes how few complete descriptions we have (note this also of the gospel writers in the case of Jesus); what references we do have, are there because the detail is very important to get across the character of the person (e.g. I Sam. 9.2; 16..12).

One of the most descriptive books in the O.T. is the Song of Solomon, originally a secular love poem that was made into an allegory of Yahweh’s love. The “portrait” of the beloved is anything but a photograph, or even a fairly impressionistic painting.
In 4.4 her neck is like a tower. Look at 4.1 ff. and 7.2f. This is not a picture of her outward appearance but of her character. She is seen as inaccessible, pure, but surrendering the “stronghold” (of her virginity) to the lover. She also has promise of child-bearing (of great importance in Hebrew culture); see 7.2 and 4.2. When we apply this insight to Revelation, we may be helped to understand some of the extravagant language. The visions are, in a sense, mis-named, because we are not asked to see them with our eyes but with our minds. They are “conceptualizations”, a word I do not like all that much but which is more accurate than ‘visions’

3) Chapter 1, vv1-8

The first three verses are a formal preface; cf. Jer. 1.1-3 The source of the ‘revelation’ is God, but mediated through Jesus and a further “angel”, and so, though there is a definite air of the Prophets, there are also immediately apocalyptic elements (angel; “time is near”)

vv 4-6 are parallel to the beginning of the letters we find in the NT., and show that the author is firmly in the Christian tradition. (cf. Rev. 1. 5b & 6 with Gal. 1.3-5). The theology, too, is firmly main-line N.T. with its emphasis on the resurrection of Jesus and the priestly nature of the church (cf. I Cor. 15; I Pe.2.9).

vv 7-8 however, move to the main theme of the book, but even here John is not producing new radical teaching. The idea of Christ coming “on the clouds” is found in Mt. 24.30; 26.64; Mk.13.26 & 14.62. The words go back, ultimately, to Dan. 7.13, and there is a great deal of discussion among scholars about the original use of them in the gospel narratives. Were they actually used by Jesus, or did the earliest Christians introduce them to explain their faith in the final victory of Christ? In any case, by the time John the Seer wrote, they were firmly embedded in the Christian tradition.

John’s imaginative grasp of the O.T. is indicated by his use of Zech. 12.10 in v. 7. It is a profound thought. The victory has been won, God’s reign is inaugurated, but “the tribes of the earth” do not acknowledge it. They continue every-day life, “eating, drinking, buying, selling”; (Lk.17.26ff). In the interim, the Saints alone, (i.e. Christians) know that the only valid rule is God’s rule. In the end, insists John, all will be forced to acknowledge that fact. This exclusivism is fairly typical of The Book of Revelation, in line with much in first century Judaic Apocalypses, except that there, the saved were pious keeper of the Torah. It is not, however, the predominant view of the N.T. (e.g. the Synoptic traditions of Jesus’ table fellowship; Paul’s “in Christ there is neither Jew nor Greek).

v.8 The emphatic voice of God ends the introduction. The statement is the shortest possible statement of the process of creation, history and the end.

4) Chapter 1 vv 9 - 20

The First section (week) begins with the appearance of the Risen and Ascended Christ. (Tech. name for this is Christophany).

The Lord’s Day; Christians now keep the first day of the week, not the seventh (Sabbath). An indication of the late date of this book. Church and synagogue are now quite separated. “Son of Man” Jesus’ title for himself; very frequent in Mk. See Dan. 7.13; 10.5,16).
We are introduced to the Seven churches to whom letters are to go.
For the seven lamp stands look up Ex. 27.20-21; they are ‘menorahs’.

For the sword as a metaphor for the Word of God, see Isa.49.2, and in the N.T., Heb. 4.12 and Eph. 6.17.
His face shines because he is the risen one, but it shone also at the Transfiguration (Mk ch. 9);. the whole passage is a kind of mediation on the person and work of Christ, ending with a magnificent statement of the central belief of Christianity. There is a tension in the N.T. between, on the one hand, the Man of Nazareth transfigured, and on the other, the Glorious God "personalized"


5) The Seven Letters (chs 2 & 3)

Each one consists of (i) a description of Christ taken from the opening vision; (ii) a commendation and or (iii) a warning; (iv) a promise to those who “overcome” (the power of evil).
Although the book opens with a typical Letter introduction, these seven messages do not; they are more like “the edicts and decrees issued by....Roman Emperors” (Note in HarperCollins Study Bible p. 2311). The same source comments that the messages are full of moral exhortation, which is not a usual feature of apocalyptic.
The seven churches were all within a hundred miles of Ephesus, the chief city of the Roman Province of Asia Minor (roughly modern Turkey).

First Message: to Ephesus

The church founded by St. Paul is commended for its faithfulness, but its first love seems to have cooled. The presence of conflicting views and divisions in the church have been with us for too long. There are several references to sects which are otherwise unknown to us (e.g. vv.6 and 14) Commentators in the 3rd-4th centuries made guesses which have no more validity than the ones we can make. The unfortunate convert called Nicolaus in Acts 6.5 is accused with no evidence of being the founder of the sect in v. 6.
The first message parallels the opening section and has Christ in glory, a kind of Sunday.

Second Message: to Smyrna

The city was a center of the Emperor cult and that may explain the references to coming suffering. They are financially poor, but spiritually rich.
An interesting link between this second message and the second Week is to be seen. Here coming martyrdom is predicted, but those who persevere will gain the “crown of Life”.
Compare chs 6-8 where the whole theme is judgment and the ‘sealing’ of those who have “come out of the great ordeal” (7.14)

Third Message: to Pergamum

Another important center for Emperor worship and this may explain the reference to ‘Satan’s throne’. Yet another unorthodox group is named. Several late sources refer to the “error of Balaam” (see Num. 22-24; 31.16; II Pe. 2.15-15 & Jude 11). Probably idolatry and fertility cult practices were involved.
The reference to a specific martyr (Antipas) may connect this third message with the third Week where we find the witnesses killed for their preaching in the wicked city; here it is not Rome, but Jerusalem where Jesus was crucified (11.3; 7-8).

Fourth Message: to Thyatira

Jezebel was regarded by the O.T. writers as a disaster, perverting the true religion of Yahweh and leading the king astray. (I K 18-19 & II K 9) The very ancient religion of the Middle East (Canaan, Asia Minor, Greece) was agricultural/fertility. The King & Queen were regarded as divine. Sexual rituals were a normal part of the fertility cults.
A parallel with the fourth Week is that there the opposite of Jezebel appears - the mother of the Messiah. Later in the chapter (14.8) the “great whore” Babylon is cast down. Note also there are those in Thyatira who are said not to have known” the deep things of Satan”, (which are revealed in chs 13 & 14) and deep satanic mysteries are hinted at in the fateful number of the beast.


Fifth Message: to Sardis

A harsh judgment, and again the main problem seems to be the pervasive influence of the old religion (cf. “soiled their clothes”, a fairly common metaphor for sexual impurity). For the “book of life”, see 13.8; 17.8; 20.12; 21.27; Dan. 12.1; Lk. 10.20; Phil. 4.3).
The fifth Week is taken up with a series of apocalyptic judgments - the seven last plagues, and one might suppose there is no parallel to be found in the fifth message, but in fact, it is one of the more striking ones. In the midst of the din of apocalyptic battle, the author puts in parenthesis a word of Jesus, “See I am coming like a thief” (16.15) which is also quoted here (3.3) cf. also Mt 24.42-44; I Thess. 5.2.

Sixth Message: to Philadelphia

This message concentrates on an Advent theme; it anticipates the final end, the Sabbath day’s rest when God’s plan shall be completed. It looks forward to the final bliss of the New Jerusalem (Rev chs 19-210 The sixth day is, of course, Friday, the day of Christ’s death, and victory, the day when the veil of the Temple was torn open for all to enter. We hear promises of joining in that victory in the message and in the sixth Week.
“My new name” may be an allusion to Isa 62.2 &65.15).

Seventh Message: to Laodicea

There is no full “Week” at the end of Revelation, but the end of the book points forward to eternal life with God, and this message gives the title of Jesus as the “Amen”. Moreover, it has clear allusions to the Eucharist where Jesus comes to join his faithful people, and it calls the faithful to become part of the final rule of heaven (“sit with me on my throne”). It is worth comparing vv 20-22 with 22.12-17.


As we look at the conditions of the church revealed in the seven messages, what parallels can we see with the contemporary Church? Do they speak of opportunities? What do the titles of Jesus suggest for Christians today?

A Study Course on the Book of Revelation - Part 1

1) Introduction:

(a) The Book of Revelation is, and from the beginning has been, regarded as one of the strangest pieces of writing in the NT. As we shall see, it had a very chequered early history before it became established as an acceptable part of the canonical (i.e. “official) collection of Christian texts. Moreover it is a book that has tended to be popular in the less “established” parts of the church. Revivalist movements, Adventist movements and a whole host of groups varying from enthusiastic to lunatic have made this one book a center-piece of their preaching. The briefest skim reading of this text will suggest why this has been the case. It is clearly written in highly metaphorical language and abounds with a kaleidoscopic array of images Unhappily, experience suggests that many people are not attuned to metaphor and symbolism, which suggests why the book has always been the happy hunting ground of the literal minded.

(b) The oddness of this book, however, may be more apparent than real, and this becomes clear when it is put in its literary and historical contexts. Indeed, a study of this book, I think, provides abundant validation of such an approach to the biblical texts: without the context, the book, and individual texts from it, can be used for almost any dogmatic purpose one’s program calls for.

2) Apocalyptic Writing

(a) The Book of Revelation may seem odd in the New Testament; however, it is but one example of a very large body of Hebrew/Christian literature that is described as apocalyptic. The term needs some explanation. It is made up of two Greek words, apo (from) and kalupto (to cover or put a veil over). So the two together indicate the removal of a veil. The name is given to a whole series of writings beginning around 200 B.C. and continuing into the second century A.D. whose central theme is the coming of the end of history and the final triumph of Yahweh (Jewish) or God, the Almighty Father (Christian). Not surprisingly, one big difference is that in the Christian version, Jesus and the Holy Spirit have a prominent part. It might be worth noting another word that is frequently used in connection with these writings, and which has a central place in the theology of the 20th century; it is eschatology, coming from the Greek word for “the end”. This, too, is used in texts that deal with the ultimate climax of human history, but it is important to note that there is a great deal of eschatological writing (e.g. in the Prophetic books of the O.T.) that is not apocalyptic. There is, though, no apocalyptic writing that is not eschatological.

(b) The apocalyptic writings seem to have arisen in Judaism after the disappearance of active Prophets who were, above all, preachers. True, their words came down to the Jews of the Second Temple in written form, but the original message was a spoken message. The apocalyptic message, on the other hand, was written from the first, and it seems to have been written in times of great distress and persecution as an aid to faith and to encourage Jews not to deny that faith in the face of persecution. To do this, the writers emphasized several accepted positions of Judaism. Yahweh is stronger than any of the great imperial powers, like Babylon, Persia or Rome; these empires have power (God-given), but for a limited time only, and they misuse that power at their own peril. Secondly, the trials of the present age point to a time, soon to come, when Yahweh will assert his power to judge the wicked and reward the just. This belief appears as early as the Prophet Amos who speaks of the coming “Day of Yahweh”, and foresees it as a time judgment on Israel.

The Book of Daniel is the only example of a complete Apocalypse in the O.T., though there are sections of other books which suggest a move to the style; they are all post exilic, and among the final bits of the OT to be produced; moreover, they by no means exhibit the full blown and extravagant content and style of the apocalypses which are counted pseudepigraphal or "other". (See, Isa. chs 24-27 ("the Apocalypse of Isaiah", almost certainly a late addition to the work; Ezk. chs 38-39; Joel ch 2 and Zech. chs 9-12). Clearly, however, the genre was popular in the two centuries before Christ and had considerable influence on the development of the New Testament, if not directly on the teaching of Jesus himself. The level of this influence on the teaching of Jesus is a matter of a continuing debate: at one extreme, Jesus is a hell-fire preacher of imminent doom, at the other, he is a kind of new and better Socrates counseling patience and peace.

3) Salient features of Apocalyptic

(a) The style is easy to identify. A book often is set in an historical period many centuries earlier than the one in which the author lives. Thus the author of the biblical book Daniel, written some time around 160 BCE, sets the book in the time of the Babylonian empire. A preview of history is given which looks like amazingly accurate prophecy, understandably, being written after the events! The point of this historical concern is to lead up to a culminating point of history, the Day of Yahweh, the End, in Greek the eschaton, which is soon to happen. In the denouement of history, the writers see the Jewish people vindicated against their oppressors and offer proliferating pictures of the punishment of enemies and the joys of the vindicated people of God.

(b) One of the striking features of apocalyptic, and one that most distinguishes it from the theological emphases of the Rabbinic OT Canon, is a pervading sense of dualism. Good and evil are emphasized and set in strict opposition; things are either light or they are dark, angelic or demonic. In the end most of these writings do not embrace an absolute dualism for Yahweh is to emerge in the last great battle, Armageddon, as the victor. Other features abound. The writers use extravagant images: the scenarios are as varied as the imaginations of the writers, but some common symbols emerged.

Legions of angels, led by Michael, fight with Satan and his evil demons. Animal and bird symbols derived from myth and astrology acquire more or less fixed referents; the beasts of Daniel and other Apocalypses go back to the basic creation myths of the middle east. Already within the OT the "chaos monster" idea had emerged (cf. Isa. 51.9; 40.21-26; 45.18; Ps 89.10) and in the hands of the Apocalyptists it burgeoned. The cosmic powers of chaos and evil are seen incarnated in the evil empires that have oppressed Israel. (Eerie echoes of this notion are frequently heard nowadays because of the osmotic effect of fundamentalist Christianity on conservative politicians).

(c) Another striking characteristic of the style is a near-obsession with numbers. Numbers had always been important for the Hebrews. The most obvious one is seven, the final day of creation and a day of rest: the word Sabbath is derived from the Hebrew verb ‘to cease’, shabbat. Within the OT the scheme of creation is structured with a symbolism of a seven-day week, a schema that is found in other mid-eastern texts. The number five is also clearly important in some writings and the idea of a “half week” is found in Daniel ch. 9. One commentator thinks that this device is crucial for the pattern of the Book of Revelation. In apocalyptic writing the number seven is used in many configurations: we have a “week of weeks”, a “half week of years” and the feast of Pentecost to be held when a week of weeks has passed after Passover. The idea of six "eras" of history followed by an eternal Sabbath becomes a commonplace (in the NT cf. Heb. 4.9), but the numbers three and twelve also figure prominently.

(d) Finally, the lively development of the idea of a Messiah should be noted. The earlier OT idea of a new king (messiach = 'anointed one') descended from David is enlarged with Prophetic and Priestly figures.

4) Background information for the Book of Revelation

(a) In ch 1.4 & 9 and 22.8 the author’s name is given as John. In uncritical circles this is often been taken to be the Apostle to whom the 4th gospel is attributed. As early as the mid third century, however, this identification was questioned, and modern analysis of the style and content of the two books points strongly against such an identification. Complicating the issue is the fact that most modern scholars doubt that the 4th gospel can be the work of someone who was one of the original Twelve Disciples. It may be that the writer was a disciple of the Apostle John and that is how the tradition arose.

(b) Almost as difficult is dating the time when the book was written. Most of the earliest traditions suggest somewhere around 85-90, but a passage like 17.10-11 suggests the Emperor Vespasian (69-79 AD, 6th Emperor after Augustus). It is, of course, possible that the author used pieces of various dates, or, indeed, himself wrote over a period of several decades. In any case, the general background of 75-95 A.D. does seem to make sense of ‘floating’ references in the book. In the last century, a great deal has been learned about the Roman Empire of this period. We know that by the 60s of the first century, the “Emperor Cult” was in place and taken seriously by many. Thus, a loyal citizen would be expected to join in ceremonies that implied the divinity of the Emperor, and this, naturally, Christians absolutely could not do. It seems that by the time the book was being written persecution had began, though it was sporadic and local. Passages like 6.9-11, & 7.9-17 show the author recognizes that Christians may be called to give their lives for the faith and that the conflict between God and the Devil, Good and Evil, is going to center on the claims of the State to demand worship of it. Those who regard the Book of Revelation as marginal, might mediate on the history of the 20th century in this regard.

(c) The story of how this book was accepted in the church is interesting and suggests that we are not alone in finding it strange and difficult to interpret. Probably within 75 years of its writing, the historical references were lost and were given symbolic meanings. (Or more accurately, since the references to actual historical events were already hidden in symbols, the reference point of the symbols was changed from a more or less present and immediate future into a far future - at the millennium or whenever). It was not until the 4th century that the Book of Revelation was fully accepted in the Eastern church. For example, Cyril of Jerusalem (260-340) excluded it from the official list of that Diocese and forbade its use in church. By the time it was fully accepted, it was also accepted that it had to be read as a kind of allegorical prophecy of the course of world history. It is this kind of approach that finds in the “number of the beast” (13.18) one’s current public enemy (Kaiser, Pope, Hitler, - - - -?)

5) The Major Themes of Revelation

The book springs out of a profoundly Christian understanding of God and Redemption. It is a God-centered (Theo centric) book, but God is not the ‘unitary’ God, Yahweh, of the Old Testament. Here we meet a “proto-Trinitarian God, (or, perhaps a Binitarian one), surrounded by the worshipping hosts of spirits and redeemed humanity. It may well be that some of the imagery comes from the Liturgy of the church in Ephesus where the Elders might stand round the Altar at which the death of the Lamb of God is recalled, and to which the Son, as “a Lamb that was slain” comes to share the meal with his brothers and sisters.

Note, in particular, the following emphases:

(a) The glory of God, the LORD & the worship of the saints. Ch 4; 5.13 7.15; chs 19, 21 & 22

(b) The Person of the Christ; the Son of Man (1.8ff); Lamb (5.6,12; 6.1 and about 20 other references; the Risen One (1.18; 12.5; 14.14ff etc.) One with the Father, having the prerogatives of God (22.1, 3; 2.23; 5.13; 11.15 etc.)

(c) The Church, subject to trials and temptations, attacked by the forces of evil (chs 2, 3, & 13)., but victorious through the Blood of the Lamb (12. 11, etc.)

(d) The Spirit (1.10, ch. 2 passim; 14.13; Read in 19.10 “the spirit of prophecy witnesses to Jesus”.

(e) Evil in the created order engaged in a battle to the death with God and His Christ. (12.4; chs 13 & 18)
(f) Advent of God’s final victory. 1.7; 20.6; 20.11-15.

6) Is there A Pattern to the Book of Revelation?

The book has seemed to some commentators to be almost a random collection of Apocalyptic sayings. “Archbishop Benson relates that in answer to the question, ‘What is the form the book presents to you?’, the reply of an intelligent and devout reader was, ‘It is chaos’”. (Commentary by B.H. Swete p. xli). Even so, as one reads, there does seem to be some sort of scheme and some development. The one I have found most interesting was suggested by Austin M. Farrer in a book called A Rebirth of Images; his later Commentary on the book significantly amended details of the fist effort, but left in place the overall approach.

Farrer's Scheme

i) He begins by pointing out that one of the characteristics of apocalyptic writing is to see history as a series of "ages". Several such books see the whole of history as a great "week", following the pattern of the creation story in Genesis. This begins with creation on day one, and concludes with the Sabbath rest. Within the early Christian tradition (coming from Judaism), the idea of a "week of weeks" is found as the interval between Passover and Pentecost. A particularly significant precedent is a non-canonical book called Jubilees. Its basic scheme is a survey of the history of the world "divided into 'jubilee' periods of seven times seven (see Lev. 25. 8-12)" (Interpreters Dict. Bib. vol. II p. 1003).

ii) John the Seer has adapted this old convention to express a Christian understanding of the drama of redemption and the certainty of the final victory of God. The book, says Farrer, divides into six main sections, each with seven interior sections, the whole thing based on the week of creation in Genesis. The first day is both the day of creation and the day of re-creation, Easter. The sixth day is the day of the death of Christ. What we have is an exposition of a "week of divine action" dealing with the last things, based on the Genesis account. There are only six sections because the seventh is, indeed, the Sabbath Rest, the completion of God's plan; that is how the book ends, "I saw a new heaven and a new earth", and "he showed me the river of the water of life" (chs 21 & 22).

iii) There are endless conjunctions of parallels, but one striking one is to compare the first day of Creation (Gen.) with the beginning of section 1 of Revelation, (the letters to the seven Churches), and the sixth day of creation (Gen.) with the beginning of section 6 of Revelation (19.11). One both "days" we have manifestations of Christ (Christophanies); the Risen Christ among the burning lights of the churches, and the Triumphant Christ returning on the White horse for the Second Advent. In Genesis, we read of the creation of human beings, the first Adam (though, of course, the adamic concept comes from the earlier creation account that follows in ch. 2, one with significantly different emphases). Still, one has to consider whether the juxtaposition of the first Adam with the Second is just accidental.

Here is the Shema Farrer suggest in his first book; later on we will look at his modification in, The Revelation of St. John the Divine – A Commentary.

Introduction 1.1-8 Week/Day 1 1.9 - 3.22

Week/Day 2 4.1 - 8.6

Week/Day 3 8.7 - 11.19

Week/Day 4 12.1 - 15.8

Week/Day 5 16.1 - 19.10

Week/Day 6 19.11 - 21.8

Eve of Day 7 21.9 - 22.

Epilogue 22.6 - end

7) Initial Discussion prompt

Read the Book of Daniel chapter 2 (note 2.5, and recall that Joseph was fetched out of prison to interpret Pharaoh's dream, - Ex. 41.14 & 25ff.). Daniel is portrayed as even greater than Joseph; not only can he interpret the dream, he can recall it for the King (Dan. 25 28ff), a rather typical apocalyptic ploy to present a larger than life hero. Note how the writer uses the symbolism. What does the Statue represent? What is the significance of the materials used? The four kingdoms are Babylon, Media, Persia, Greek (Alexander). What is the fourth? Note Ex. 20.25.

[These notes are intended for a study group that will begin to meet in about a month's time, but I thought they might be of wider interest].

The Use of Praying

Neville Ward, an English Methodist Minister, published The Use of Praying in 1967; my copy is of the Thirteenth impression, dated 1985, and it must be about then that I first read the book. Over the years, I have from time to time dipped into it again, but only recently, acting as a Facilitator of a group at All Saints’ Episcopal church in Rehoboth, Delaware, have I re-read it, probably more thoroughly than on my first reading years ago. This exercise confirmed my earlier view that this is one of the most sensible books on prayer written in the 20th century. I have been informed that the book was re-issued in 1998 and is available at Amazon.com.

[After one use of [sic], in order to avoid a wearying repetition, I will note here that Ward is, as almost everyone was so short a time ago as the 1960s, quite blind to the gender issue. God is always H/he, people are always man or mankind and interactions are between “God and man”. I sometimes come across a sermon or lecture I produced before 1970 and find, to my total embarrassment, the identical phenomenon. I have no doubt that Ward would phrase things differently today.]

Down-to-earth

High on my list of approval is its refreshingly unpious approach, a striking down-to-earth quality. Here are a few examples:
“If prayer is regarded simply, without qualification, as a request to God to do certain things he would not do if we did not ask him and will do simply because we ask him, we are wasting our time” (p.85). Ward notes that such a view of prayer is extremely common, and my observations of the contemporary American religious scene suggest that it is even more prevalent here today than when Ward wrote. A few minutes tuned in to a Televangelist will provide ample instances, as, indeed, do clips on News programs: someone standing in front of an intact house surrounded by flattened neighbors’ dwellings intones: “It was only our prayers that saved us”.

Then, on bible reading: “Much of the bible is second-rate literature, which we would not dream of reading if it were, for example, part of the literature of classical Greece or Rome”. (p. 110). Students reading classics at University may be required “to read such second-rate authors as Menander, Plautus and Ennius” and students of theology, archeology or Semitic languages need to read vast tracts of the Old Testament which will hardly help the average Christian to pray. He goes on, “The book of Genesis, the Joseph and David sagas, the Psalms, the book of Job, and some of the visions of Isaiah, Jeremiah and Ezekiel are enough for the average believer who is reading the Old Testament in the attempt to increase his (sic) knowledge of God and to advance in the life of love”. (p. 111).

Here is a final example, which not only exemplifies this refreshingly frank dealing with a practice that is all too often coated with saccharine (or its contemporary equivalent), but which also suggests that Ward is setting the practice of prayer in a much larger context of theology. He writes: “The answer to prayer that matters most is the general result which prayer is expected and intended to achieve, the purpose for which prayer is used; and this is the expression and deepening of our faith in God, our desire for the coming of his rule in our perplexing world, and our love for him, and his created world of infinitely interesting persons and things. If prayer does not do this for us, after a reasonable trial, it is a waste of time and should be abandoned for more fruitful activities. Life is just too short to waste time praying if praying does not help one to love life and enjoy it more”. (p.99). I think this is more than a breath of fresh air; it is a rush of fresh air that might be enough to drown out the cries of anguish from pious Anglo-Catholics and Conservative Evangelicals alike; (though, on second thoughts, are there any A-Cs left?).

The Eucharist

This down-to-earth quality is striking, but it should not suggest that Ward is not serious about prayer and the Christian life: he repeatedly stresses the centrality of Thanksgiving for both, and not surprisingly considers that the Eucharist underpins the whole enterprise of living a Christian calling. “[I]t is in the Eucharist that one sees most clearly what prayer really is in the Christian tradition… Private prayer is a secondary thing. That is not to say that it is not important but simply that it is derivative”. (p.13f). And later on he writes, “It is far more important that young Christians should be taught that Christianity is a religion dominated by thankfulness than that ‘he died to make us good’”. (p. 24). Each chapter has practical, helpful and sometimes pungent things to say about many other aspects of prayer. The two chapters on “Resenting” and “Fearing” are, I think, particularly good.

Wider Theology

Beyond all these excellent qualities of this remarkable book which flooded back as I re-read it and discussed it with the Study Group, something else emerged: more and more I felt that this work, although centered on the subject of prayer, is, in effect, a wide-ranging theological excursus, the central theme of which is the nature of God and the manner of divine activity in the created order. This is not a theme that is in any way systematically worked out and, indeed, is hardly explicit, but it provides a substantial infrastructure to the work as a whole.

David Jenkins on Divine Providence

As a starting point, I take a small book by David Jenkins produced while he was Bishop of Durham. It has the somewhat quirky title of God, Miracle and the Church of England. I say “produced” because the book is put together from several sermons, an address to Synod and parts of two Lecture series; as a result, it is somewhat uneven, but it courageously faces pressing issues and its central theme is clear enough: a consideration of divine providence. How does God interact with the created order?

God and the Chalcedonian Definition

Jenkins has fun with a ‘thought experiment’ about the death of the emperor Theodosius, which had significant repercussions at the Council of Chalcedon: his successor, the Empress Pulcheria, first of all deposed Bishop Chrysaphius, the political intriguer who had been protecting Eutyches; she then married a Thracian army officer, Marcian, who was a firm supporter of Pope Leo. Thus Theodosius’ fatal fall from his horse, “ensured” that the Greek tradition based on the Nicene settlement of “speaking of the ‘one nature’ (=one Person) of Jesus Christ” was trumped by the Western tradition. This had been defined first by Tertullian in the terms that “Jesus Christ is one Person, and that in him are two natures of Godhead and manhood” (R.V Sellers, The Council of Chalcedon, P.96f., quoted in Jenkins, P.45). So, presto! Theodosius falls of is horse and the Definition of Chalcedon emerges. As David Jenkins points out, this has been, and still is, frequently used as ‘proof’ that the Definition is a kind of hot line from God; by this rather circuitous route, God has given us final and definitive information about the Incarnation; so, let no one question.

Meddle with the Molecules

The question, then, for the thought experiment is, “Did God push the Emperor Theodosius off his horse on 28 July 450?” (p. 61). Not surprisingly, Jenkins returns a resounding “no”, but points out, as I just noted, that many discussions about current happenings in the church often seem to imply an affirmative answer. In summing up this section David Jenkins writes, “Unless we can be clear that between the scientific and historical causalities of the universe and of the world on the one hand and the actions and transactions of God with persons on the other there is a space, then the problem of evil is absolutely overwhelming. I personally would sympathize with those who find evil overwhelming in any case. But as a Christian who believes that there is a real and basic sense in which God interacts with the world as he is in Jesus, I do not believe this. Nonetheless I am increasingly clear that God is not an arbitrary meddler nor an occasional fixer.” (p.63). Then with what must be an allusion to a form of process theology, the section concludes: God is “a God of open personal transactions who insists and persists in a self-giving way of risk, and self- denying way of invitation that has not yet established anything like a total persuasive sway over or in a universe which – to borrow Austin Farrer’s phrase – God has made so that it has to make itself.” (p. 64) (I have a strong feeling that Farrer wrote, “can create itself”, but perhaps the difference is only of interest to philosophers).

Back to Ward

All this may seem an over-long introduction to, even a digression from, the issue of prayer, but I do not think so. Ward, as I have pointed out, is quite clear that prayer cannot be thought of as sending a message to “out there” to get God to effect something “back here”. It is quite natural, perhaps inevitable, that on the way to get the results of an X-ray, one finds oneself praying that it be a clear picture. Are we hoping that God will have crept into the Lab with some white-out to cover up a suspicious shadow, or that even before the picture was taken God had intervened to remove a growth or kill off some bacteria? One has to agree with both Ward and Jenkins that such thinking about God and God’s dealings with the created order are distressingly common, and may well lie behind a great deal of the acrimony surrounding practical courses of action within the church since the way in which we envisage the divine action is crucial.

Divine Action in the World

In The Use of Praying, this factor is, I feel, never far away. Ward writes: “God has nothing whatever to give anyone but himself, some share in what he is taking such a long time doing with man, the strain of the infinity of questions his action in the world raises, and a much-attested deposit of love, joy and peace in the mind.” (p. 100). If this is not ‘process theology’, it is a very good imitation of it, and in some degree it echoes (though written two decades earlier) Jenkins’ insistence that we must differentiate God’s inter-acting with people from the divine activity in created order of electrons, atoms and molecules, in which God does not “meddle”.

Implicit view of God

What picture of God emerges as Ward writes? As I have noted, he does not deal with this in any systematic way, but there are many asides almost that suggest the outlines of a portrait (with the proviso, of course, that it is not even possible to talk about God , let alone paint a portrait of her).
Ward quotes approvingly, “All our word must be ‘given a bath’ (Luther)… they must go through the cross. For it is at the cross of Jesus that his disciples and with them the Church must first learn how sovereignty, the kingdom, the love, the righteousness of God are actualized.” (H. Gollwitzer, Ward, p. 27). In this context, it is clear that we are to think of revelation as something going on, a process, not a divine package once and for all delivered. Ward never quite explicitly says we can never know God directly; we can in some sense ‘know’ Jesus and that is sufficient. This echoes his final chapter, The Night of Faith, is a pellucidly clear exposition of the mysticism of St. John of the Cross: “there is nothing in God on which our senses can operate”. One of the reasons for St. John’s choice of the metaphor of the dark night is “that our ignorance of God is stupendous”, yet, “Jesus Christ, we believe, (note, believe, not know) has humanized God for us, so that it is much easier for people who have ‘seen’ Jesus to love God… but there is a mystery about Jesus too. No one seems to understand him in any final and complete way.” (p. 149)

Christology

It is clear, too, that Ward suggests a Christology that takes Jesus’ humanity very seriously and is far removed from the typical 19th century view that, for example, insisted that the critics must be wrong about the Davidic authorship of the Psalms since, according to Mark, Jesus says David composed Ps. 110. He points to the typical Messianic longings of first century Judaism for a time “when all doubt and uncertainty is over and it is as clear as the day that we were right all along and the others were wrong. This longing was part of the outlook Jesus inherited as a Jew. It is of course an unsatisfactory way of thinking; one suspects here that it is already disintegrating for [Jesus], that he wants to put it all very differently. New thoughts are already taking shape in his mind.” (p. 39).

Hints of Process Theology

I will close with two examples that suggest at least a substratum of process theology. In the excellent chapter on Suffering Ward relies heavily on the idea that God is deeply involved in human suffering and at one point suggests that God ‘nervously’ and ‘hopefully’ asks us to do his will, (does that imply, suffer with God?) (p. 82). A nervous God seems light years away from and omnipotent, omniscient and impassible God of many dogmatic formulations.

Finally a long quotation from the book that needs no comment:

"The prayer that is mere request, without self-offering, is not prayer ‘in his name’ and is not worth the time it takes to say. This throws some light on the delays of providence. There must be many problems (the unity of the Church, the peace of the world) whose solutions must wait because God intends the answers to our prayers for these matters to come through persons willing to be bearers of the answer. [cf. Farrer’s ‘created a universe that can create itself’]. To bring the world before God in prayer is to stand where you can hear most clearly the most tragic voice in the universe, God’s despair of man, ‘Whom shall I send and who will go for us?’” (p. 84).

Footnote:
I know of two other books by Neville Ward, both excellent:
Friday Afternoon and Following the Plough
Both were originally published by the Epworth Press, 1976 & 1978