Archive for June 2006
This (below) is why it makes no sense to say, “I like certain parts of the Bible” or “Jesus was a very nice teacher and I like this particular passage because it really speaks to me.” Why do you like that part of the Bible? Why was Jesus a good teacher? Why does it speak to you? The questions loop back around to an underlying, fundamental truth. When it comes to religion nowadays, the concept of “whole” is nonexistent while “parts” are the only operable idea. Strangely, this concept is both irrational and utterly useless in every other sphere.
- “Religious claims are always total — all-encompassing. If Christ is not the Lord of all, then He is not the Lord at all. To claim that a particular religious dogma is not total is tantamount to the claim that it is not really religious. In short, such limitations are always a denial of the faith in principle, and they make room for another claim from another faith. This other claim is truly religious, and can be identified as such because the claim is total” (The Case for Classical Christian Education, p. 67).
Practicing
Donald Miller wrote Blue Like Jazz. It’s a book about “Nonreligious Thoughts on Christian Spirituality,” as the subtitle says, but also about practicing authentic, genuine Christianity.
Clearly, it’s a bit of a gamble to say someone is not being authentic in their Christian lives — which Miller does say about certain groups — but it still can be a valid point. While only God judges our hearts, an exhortation to be genuine in our worship is crucial.
So what does it mean to be an authentic Christian? Basically and obviously, it means that you believe that Jesus is the Son of God, that He alone can save us from God’s wrath, and that you repent of your sins. The fundamentals of the Gospel. Often this is exhibited by a verbal declaration, or even a silent, inner, personal acknowledgement in your head. But while no man can ever say, “Your heart is not right before God” (unless it’s clearly obvious), real, authentic, genuine belief isn’t always there. Or perhaps it’s even often not there.
Matthew 28:19 was not written just for kicks. “Go therefore, and make disciples of all nations” is a way of demonstrating our verbally acknowledged faith. Similarly, John 14:15: “If you love Me, keep My commandments.” This is where authenticity starts to kick in. As we’ve all heard, it just won’t do to be a Sunday Christian, and then Monday thru Saturday act as much as we can like normal people and hope that we won’t have to pray for things, and certainly try to avoid actually articulating the fact that “God was merciful to me this week” or “What are the Biblical ramifications of this idea of yours, Bob?” Often (and don’t deny it), it is actually painful to mention God, the Bible, or Christianity if we’re not in the Church sanctuary, even to our Christian friends.
But then we try to go and convert non-Christians; we do our Christian duty and witness to them. Or at least, we feel as though we should and feel guilty if we don’t. While this is a good and necessary component of Christianity (Matthew 28:19), it doesn’t work very well if the Authenticity factor is missing. It’s a very transparent form of Christianity. As Miller says in Blue Like Jazz, non-Christians don’t want to feel as though you’re selling Jesus to them. They want to see a real relationship. They want to see your desire for God, not the straight why’s and how’s and “you-must-do’s” and “or-else-you’ll-go-to-hell’s”. They want to see belief.
God knows this. He was being smart in a God-sort-of-way when he wired people like this. It is called Accountability. Our goal is the purity and authenticity of our own hearts. Then come others. This is why Paul says in 1 Timothy 3:5, “for if a man does not know how to rule his own house, how will he take care of the church of God?” Probably also why all airlines instruct, “Please secure your own oxygen mask before assisting others.”
This in no way discounts rational argument, logic, and Biblical debate with non-Christians. “Come now, and let us reason together,” exhorts Isaiah 1:18. But logic often acts as unfortunate enemy against emotion and authenticity.
Opinions vs. Worldview
“A Christian worldview is not a matter of having an opinion about everything, with all those opinions being interconnected or, as some might say, entangled. Our lives are supposed to go together a certain way. Parents who have labored over assembling a child’s Christmas present, one with multiple parts, know that it is not sufficient to throw all the parts together into a box and call it a tricycle. Neither is it adequate to throw all our opinions into a box and call it a worldview” (The Case for Classical Christian Education, p. 64).
The Depth and Breadth of Postmodernism
“Postmoderns live on the surface, not in the depths, and theirs is a despair to be tossed off lightly and which might even be alleviated by nothing more serious than a sitcom” [David Wells, Above All Earthly Pow’rs (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2005), p. 177].
Jaroslav Pelikan
Jaroslav Pelikan died last month. He was completely devoted to his vocation, to Christianity, to history, and to language. His life, work, and mind are a great testament to God-glorifying dedication.
From a Christianity Today article by Mark Noll:
The office of Jaroslav Pelikan holds few clues to explain what has made him what he is: perhaps the foremost living student of church history. In his old, high-ceilinged office, an open semicircular arrangement of chairs suggests friendliness and availability to students. On the wall is a painting of a pelican, and around the edges of the room are an old briefcase, cardboard boxes, and piles of books laid in convenient stacks. But telltale signs of hobbies or outside interests (like an old clarinet or a tennis racket in the corner) are absent. Two computers one a laptop on his desk are the only obvious concessions to modernity.<!– D(["mb","
\n
It is just as hard to tell much about the Sterling Professor of \nHistory at Yale University from the way he looks. He wears standard-issue \nacademic garb: a gray flannel jacket with a charcoal suede vest, and \nrubber-and-leather boots from L. L. Bean. He is congenial, and as he talks he \nmakes occasional eye contact with his interviewers, but just as often peers at \nthe ceiling and the book shelves around him as he swivels and rocks back and \nforth in his desk chair.
\n
None of these things provide the key to Jaroslav Pelikan, for \nhe is nothing more nor less than what he is advertised to be�a scholar and \nteacher of church history. Many think he is the best there is. He has chronicled \nthe history of Christian doctrine (in a recently completed five-volume work) on \na scale no one has attempted in the twentieth century. To understand what you \nsee, you have to keep in mind Pelikan\'s singular commitment to his vocation.
\n
Even when Pelikan talks about his early life, the stories and \nanecdotes all relate to his preparation for the tasks of a scholar.
\n
Pelikan will tell you, for instance, about the problem he \ncreated for his parents, Anna and Jaroslav Jan Pelikan, in the summer of 1926, \nwhen he was two-and-a-half-years old, growing up in Akron, Ohio. He had, his \nmother\'s memoirs recorded, taught himself to read and now wanted to write. But \nhe could not yet manage a pen or pencil. "My father," recalls Pelikan, "took me \nover to a typewriter and showed me how it worked." The result, much to the later \nconsternation of his teachers, was a child who could type better than he could \nwrite.
\n
By the time Pelikan started school, his parents had given him \nmore than an introduction to the typewriter. The home was a veritable hothouse \nof languages, an environment guaranteed to give the young Jaroslav Pelikan what \nhe needed to develop prodigious linguistic skills. Slovak and English were \nspoken in his home, as was German, which his father taught the young Pelikan \nbefore he was six years old. His mother, in turn, introduced him to Serbian. "My \nmother learned Serbian," Pelikan recalls, "growing up in Serbian-speaking \nterritories [what is now Yugoslavia]. That meant that I learned the Cyrillic \nalphabet. From that, learning to read Russian was not hard. I started doing that \nat fifteen or so." And in the Lutheran parsonage of his childhood (his father \nwas a Slovak Evangelical Lutheran pastor), there were texts of ancient \nlanguages�Latin, Greek, and Hebrew�that Jaroslav, Jr., began to study as a young \nadolescent.”,1] ); //–>
It is just as hard to tell much about the Sterling Professor of History at Yale University from the way he looks. He wears standard-issue academic garb: a gray flannel jacket with a charcoal suede vest, and rubber-and-leather boots from L. L. Bean. He is congenial, and as he talks he makes occasional eye contact with his interviewers, but just as often peers at the ceiling and the book shelves around him as he swivels and rocks back and forth in his desk chair.
None of these things provide the key to Jaroslav Pelikan, for he is nothing more nor less than what he is advertised to be a scholar and teacher of church history. Many think he is the best there is. He has chronicled the history of Christian doctrine (in a recently completed five-volume work) on a scale no one has attempted in the twentieth century. To understand what you see, you have to keep in mind Pelikan’s singular commitment to his vocation.
Even when Pelikan talks about his early life, the stories and anecdotes all relate to his preparation for the tasks of a scholar.
Pelikan will tell you, for instance, about the problem he created for his parents, Anna and Jaroslav Jan Pelikan, in the summer of 1926, when he was two-and-a-half-years old, growing up in Akron, Ohio. He had, his mother’s memoirs recorded, taught himself to read and now wanted to write. But he could not yet manage a pen or pencil. “My father,” recalls Pelikan, “took me over to a typewriter and showed me how it worked.” The result, much to the later consternation of his teachers, was a child who could type better than he could write.
By the time Pelikan started school, his parents had given him more than an introduction to the typewriter. The home was a veritable hothouse of languages, an environment guaranteed to give the young Jaroslav Pelikan what he needed to develop prodigious linguistic skills. Slovak and English were spoken in his home, as was German, which his father taught the young Pelikan before he was six years old. His mother, in turn, introduced him to Serbian. “My mother learned Serbian,” Pelikan recalls, “growing up in Serbian-speaking territories [what is now Yugoslavia]. That meant that I learned the Cyrillic alphabet. From that, learning to read Russian was not hard. I started doing that at fifteen or so.” And in the Lutheran parsonage of his childhood (his father was a Slovak Evangelical Lutheran pastor), there were texts of ancient languages Latin, Greek, and Hebrew that Jaroslav, Jr., began to study as a young adolescent.<!– D(["mb","
\n
The household\'s religious environment also shaped Jaroslav\'s \nlater scholarly focus. He remembers both his father and grandfather as "orthodox \nLutherans, in one way or another," firmly committed to the classical teachings \non the Trinity, justification by faith, and the sacramental presence of Christ \nin the Lord\'s Supper as articulated by the Lutherans\' Augsburg Confession. Both \nwere energetic pastors, the grandfather an early president of the Slovak \nEvangelical Lutheran Church (which came to have close ties with the Lutheran \nChurch-Missouri Synod). Pelikan remembers his father as "an Easter Christian, an \nenabler, a man whose enthusiasms were contagious, and a great preacher in \nseveral languages."
\n
Pelikan breezed through school, finding a "tonic" in his \nschoolwork at Lutheran Church-Missouri Synod parochial schools. His childhood \nintroduction to languages gave him what he calls "a fantastic early start" in \nhis scholarly pursuits. Indeed, he completed a bachelor of divinity degree from \nthe Missouri Synod\'s Concordia Theological Seminary and a Ph.D. from the \nUniversity of Chicago before he was 23. Even by then he had intimations of his \nlife\'s work, and a growing sense of personal destiny.
\n
By the time he was 30, Pelikan had published his first book, \nFrom Luther to Kierkegaard, and was well launched on a \ndistinguished teaching career that has taken him from Valparaiso University in \nIndiana and Concordia Theological Seminary in Missouri to the University of \nChicago and then, in 1962, to .Yale. In addition to his teaching, Pelikan read \nomnivorously, wrote constantly, and lectured widely. As editor, he helped \nproduce editions of Luther, Chrysostom, Augustine, and Erasmus and advised in \nthe production of several large-scale religious encyclopedias. As author he \nwrote several books on Luther, and he turned lectures into books on Augustine, \nBach, and several ancient fathers. His Jesus Through the Centuries, richly \nillustrated with reproductions of paintings and icons of Jesus, has been his \nmost popular.",1] ); //–>
The household’s religious environment also shaped Jaroslav’s later scholarly focus. He remembers both his father and grandfather as “orthodox Lutherans, in one way or another,” firmly committed to the classical teachings on the Trinity, justification by faith, and the sacramental presence of Christ in the Lord’s Supper as articulated by the Lutherans’ Augsburg Confession. Both were energetic pastors, the grandfather an early president of the Slovak Evangelical Lutheran Church (which came to have close ties with the Lutheran Church-Missouri Synod). Pelikan remembers his father as “an Easter Christian, an enabler, a man whose enthusiasms were contagious, and a great preacher in several languages.”
Pelikan breezed through school, finding a “tonic” in his schoolwork at Lutheran Church-Missouri Synod parochial schools. His childhood introduction to languages gave him what he calls “a fantastic early start” in his scholarly pursuits. Indeed, he completed a bachelor of divinity degree from the Missouri Synod’s Concordia Theological Seminary and a Ph.D. from the University of Chicago before he was 23. Even by then he had intimations of his life’s work, and a growing sense of personal destiny.
By the time he was 30, Pelikan had published his first book, From Luther to Kierkegaard, and was well launched on a distinguished teaching career that has taken him from Valparaiso University in Indiana and Concordia Theological Seminary in Missouri to the University of Chicago and then, in 1962, to .Yale. In addition to his teaching, Pelikan read omnivorously, wrote constantly, and lectured widely. As editor, he helped produce editions of Luther, Chrysostom, Augustine, and Erasmus and advised in the production of several large-scale religious encyclopedias. As author he wrote several books on Luther, and he turned lectures into books on Augustine, Bach, and several ancient fathers. His Jesus Through the Centuries, richly illustrated with reproductions of paintings and icons of Jesus, has been his most popular.<!– D(["mb","
\n
All the while, Pelikan never lost sight of the ultimate goal of \nwriting a history of doctrine on a grand scale. "There was never a day I didn\'t \nthink about it�whether I was fishing or whatever."
\n
Even family life was affected. Pelikan recently wrote sons \nMartin and Michael, both of whom work at local outlets of National Public Radio, \nand daughter Miriam, a classics student at Berkeley. "I wrote to thank them," he \nsays, "not just for being there [through the long years of my writing], but for \ntheir understanding and forgiveness along the way. They admitted that there were \ntimes when they wished I had been more available than I was. But they also said \nthey believed that it meant something to them that their father was engaged in a \nmission important beyond the personal gratification. One of my sons said, \’If \nyou had spent those years making lots of money, it would have been something \ndifferent.\’"
\n
In 1989 the University of Chicago Press issued the fifth and \nfinal volume of Pelikan\’s epic work, The Christian \nTradition: A History of the Development of Doctrine. The first of its four \npredecessors, The Emergence of the Catholic Tradition \n(100-600), had been published nearly two decades before. The five volumes \n(dedicated to his wife, Sylvia) were devoted to an apparently simple subject�the \nhistory of what, in its 20 centuries, "the church of Jesus Christ has believed, \ntaught, and confessed on the basis of the word of God."
\n
Doing that, however, took Pelikan more than 2,100 pages, 80 \npages of references to modern authorities, and another 100 pages for "authors \nand texts" in their original languages (Latin, Greek, German, French, Russian, \nDanish, Czech, and Swedish, for starters). The volumes treat the whole sweep of \ndoctrinal history, from early Catholicism and Eastern Orthodoxy to the \nReformation and modern era. There has been nothing like it since the \ncontroversial German church historian Adolf von Harnack published his \nmultivolume history of Christian dogma in the 1880s.”,1] ); //–>
All the while, Pelikan never lost sight of the ultimate goal of writing a history of doctrine on a grand scale. “There was never a day I didn’t think about it whether I was fishing or whatever.”
Even family life was affected. Pelikan recently wrote sons Martin and Michael, both of whom work at local outlets of National Public Radio, and daughter Miriam, a classics student at Berkeley. “I wrote to thank them,” he says, “not just for being there [through the long years of my writing], but for their understanding and forgiveness along the way. They admitted that there were times when they wished I had been more available than I was. But they also said they believed that it meant something to them that their father was engaged in a mission important beyond the personal gratification. One of my sons said, ‘If you had spent those years making lots of money, it would have been something different.’”
In 1989 the University of Chicago Press issued the fifth and final volume of Pelikan’s epic work, The Christian Tradition: A History of the Development of Doctrine. The first of its four predecessors, The Emergence of the Catholic Tradition (100-600), had been published nearly two decades before. The five volumes (dedicated to his wife, Sylvia) were devoted to an apparently simple subject the history of what, in its 20 centuries, “the church of Jesus Christ has believed, taught, and confessed on the basis of the word of God.”
Doing that, however, took Pelikan more than 2,100 pages, 80 pages of references to modern authorities, and another 100 pages for “authors and texts” in their original languages (Latin, Greek, German, French, Russian, Danish, Czech, and Swedish, for starters). The volumes treat the whole sweep of doctrinal history, from early Catholicism and Eastern Orthodoxy to the Reformation and modern era. There has been nothing like it since the controversial German church historian Adolf von Harnack published his multivolume history of Christian dogma in the 1880s.<!– D(["mb","
\n
"For those who believe that you don\'t need tradition because \nyou have the Bible," he reflects, "The Christian \nTradition has sought to say, \'You are not entitled to the beliefs you \ncherish about such things as the Holy Trinity without a sense of what you owe to \nthose who worked this out for you.\' To circumvent Saint Athanasius on the \nassumption that if you put me alone in a room with the New Testament, I will \ncome up with the doctrine of the Trinity, is nave. So for these readers I have \ntried to provide a degree of historical sophistication, which is, I believe, \ncompatible with an affirmation of the central doctrines of Christian faith.
\n
"And then, partly because of how I earn my groceries, but also \nbecause of my sense of where the gaps are in our contemporary world, I\'ve \nwritten it for those who may not believe much of Christianity, and who are \nignorant. I want them at least not to be ignorant, whatever they end up \nbelieving."
\n
The concern that others understand what he is saying is central \nto Pelikan\'s life. For several years he has taught Yale freshmen in a special \nseminar designed to introduce them to the treasures of great books and the \nrewards of careful writing. "I write for people like these students," Pelikan \nsays, "who love language, who love ideas, who don\'t know a great deal, but who \nare willing to learn and work hard."
\n
Could Pelikan have accomplished what he has done if he had \nstayed in Christian institutions? Most churches or seminaries, Pelikan reflects, \nremain fundamentally ambiguous about scholarship. Many are eager to use it when \nit reinforces their settled positions, but they become skittish when it moves \ninto uncharted areas. "You have to give the church what it needs, not what it \nwants. And in order to do that you may have to leave its payroll. It hurts me to \nsay this because I want to be part of a church where that doesn\'t have to be \nsaid. But show me one where it is not true."",1] ); //–>
“For those who believe that you don’t need tradition because you have the Bible,” he reflects, “The Christian Tradition has sought to say, ‘You are not entitled to the beliefs you cherish about such things as the Holy Trinity without a sense of what you owe to those who worked this out for you.’ To circumvent Saint Athanasius on the assumption that if you put me alone in a room with the New Testament, I will come up with the doctrine of the Trinity, is nave. So for these readers I have tried to provide a degree of historical sophistication, which is, I believe, compatible with an affirmation of the central doctrines of Christian faith.
“And then, partly because of how I earn my groceries, but also because of my sense of where the gaps are in our contemporary world, I’ve written it for those who may not believe much of Christianity, and who are ignorant. I want them at least not to be ignorant, whatever they end up believing.”
The concern that others understand what he is saying is central to Pelikan’s life. For several years he has taught Yale freshmen in a special seminar designed to introduce them to the treasures of great books and the rewards of careful writing. “I write for people like these students,” Pelikan says, “who love language, who love ideas, who don’t know a great deal, but who are willing to learn and work hard.”
Could Pelikan have accomplished what he has done if he had stayed in Christian institutions? Most churches or seminaries, Pelikan reflects, remain fundamentally ambiguous about scholarship. Many are eager to use it when it reinforces their settled positions, but they become skittish when it moves into uncharted areas. “You have to give the church what it needs, not what it wants. And in order to do that you may have to leave its payroll. It hurts me to say this because I want to be part of a church where that doesn’t have to be said. But show me one where it is not true.”<!– D(["mb","
\n
Yet Pelikan\'s academic career, carried on largely outside of \nChristian institutions, has not lessened his commitment to the faith. Although \nhe has long worked in the precincts of the secular university, he continues to \nuphold, as the title of one of his earlier books puts it, The Finality of Jesus Christ in an Age o f Universal \nHistory.
\n
Pelikan\'s life work has given him a way to combine his \nscholarly passion with just such convictions about the enduring reality of \nChristian orthodoxy. "I came to think that the same historical study which \nrelativized absolute claims at the hands of Harnack could also reintroduce the \nnext generation to the valid and continuing affirmations of the Christian \ntradition. Historical study became for Harnack the bridge by which he crossed \nfrom the orthodox Christian tradition to a kind of reductionist liberalism. At \nsome point I discovered the bridge was a two-way street. As someone who had come \nfrom the tradition and lived in the tradition and never really seriously \ncontemplated believing any other way, I became not just a curiosity in a museum \nbut a spokesman for what was still a living reality."
\n
The road for Jaroslav Pelikan from the manse of a \nSlovak-American Lutheran minister to his professor\'s office at Yale has been a \nlong one, full of hard work and high honor. But it has been a straight road. At \nits beginning, and now, at perhaps its summit, the road has led Pelikan from \nwords to the Word and back again.
\n
This article first appeared in the September 10, 1990 issue of \nChristianity \nToday.
\n\n
