Ati Vol1 No1

AMERICAN
THEOLOGICAL
INQUIRY
A BIANNUAL JOURNAL
OF
Theology, Culture & History
A p o s t o l o r u m , N i c æ n o ,
Q u i c u n q u e , C h a l c e d o n e n s e
Volume 1, No. 1.
ST. PAUL, MINNESOTA

2008.
AMERICAN THEOLOGICAL INQUIRY
A Biannual Journal
of
Theology, Culture & History
ISBN: 978-1556357831 (Print)

ISSN: 1941-7624 (Online)
General Editor
Gannon Murphy, PhD
Associate Editor
Stephen Patrick, PhD
Book Review Editor, Theology

Ken Deusterman, MA
PURPOSE STATEMENT
To provide an inter-tradition forum for scholars who affirm the historic Ecumenical Creeds
of Christendom (Apostles’, Athanasian, Nicæno-Constantinopolitan, and Chalcedonian) to
constructively communicate contemporary theologies, developments, ideas, commentaries,
insights, and affirmations pertaining to theology, culture, and history, toward reforming and
elevating American Christianity. ATI seeks a critical function as much or more so as a quasi-
ecumenical one. The purpose is not, per se, to erase or weaken the distinctions or
distinctives of the various ecclesial traditions, but to widen the dialogue and increase inter-
tradition understanding while mutually affirming Christ’s power to transform culture and the
importance of strengthening American Christianity with special reference to Her historic
roots.
ABOUT
American Theological Inquiry (ATI) was formed in 2007 by Drs. S. Gannon Murphy (PhD,
St. David’s College, Univ. Wales, Theology; Presbyterian/Reformed) and Stephen Patrick
(PhD, Univ. Illinois, Philosophy; Eastern Orthodox) to open up space for diverse Christian
academicians, who affirm the Ecumenical Creeds, to share research throughout the broader
Christian scholarly community in America.
ATI reaches thousands of Christian scholars throughout the United States, particularly
specialists in theology. Though ATI is a new journal, scholars who publish with ATI benefit
from exposure to a vast, non-insular network of one of the broadest Christian academic
communities possible.
Distribution. ATI is distributed to over 4200 Christian scholars, primarily in the U.S. It is
distributed via email to subscribers free of charge in a PDF format, or, for purchase in a
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print and bound edition through Wipf and Stock Publishers. To order a print copy of ATI,
contact Wipf and Stock through one of the following means:
Online: www.wipfandstock.com
Email: orders [at] wipfandstock [dot] com
Fax: 541-344-1506
Phone: 541-344-1528
Subscriptions, cancellations, and changes of address. To be added, removed, or to

make a change to your email address, send a request to subscriptions [at] atijournal [dot] org.
Each issue of ATI is also available through www.atijournal.org.
Manuscript submissions and communications should be addressed to the General

Editor. Emailed submissions are acceptable (gmurphy [at] atijournal [dot] org). ATI is open
to diverse submissions concerning theology, culture, and history from the perspective of
historic Creedal Christianity. Particular topics of interest, however, generally include:
• Orthodox, Catholic, Protestant, Reformed, or Evangelical perspectives on the current

state of American Christianity.
• Theological, philosophical, ecclesial trends in the Western world.
• Cultural/philosophical apologetics.
• Ecumenism and/or criticism of other traditions within the scope of ancient orthodoxy
(Creedal Christianity).
• Systematic theology.
• Perspectives on history/historical events from an orthodox viewpoint.
• Engaging contemporary culture with the gospel.
• Engagement with the Patristical literature.
Book reviews should be submitted to: bookreviews [at] atijournal [dot] org
Requirements. Submissions should conform to the following standards:
1. The writer fully affirms the tenets of the historic Ecumenical Creeds of Christendom,
(Apostles’, Athanasian, Nicæno-Constantinopolitan, Chalcedonian). The only exceptions
permitted to this affirmation are the filioque clauses in the Nicene and Athanasian
Creeds, and the anathemas in the Athanasian (though it is equally acceptable to affirm
these exceptions!).
2. The submitted material, both MSS and book reviews, must pertain to theology, culture,
or history from a historic (creedal) Christian viewpoint.
3. Though exceptions are occasionally made, the writer preferably holds a doctorate, is a
doctoral student, or a member of the clergy.
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4. The work has not been submitted elsewhere, or, permissory documentation is provided
by the previous publisher indicating approval for publication in ATI.
5. Submit MSS or book reviews in a Microsoft Word, RTF, or text format. Please include
your full name, title and/or affiliation, and a brief (i.e., one sentence) statement affirming
the tenets of the four Ecumenical Creeds as described in Item 1 above.
Volume 1, No. 1., January 15, 2008

Copyright © American Theological Inquiry, All Rights Reserved
St. Paul, Minnesota
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AMERICAN THEOLOGICAL INQUIRY
January 15, 2008
Volume 1, No. 1
CONTENTS
FROM THE EDITOR 1
Patristic Reading: “Exposition of the Present State of the Churches” 3

St. Basil
ARTICLES
Why Ask The Fathers? The Dynamics of a Living Tradition 6

Thomas Weinandy, O.F.M. Cap
Panentheism, the Other ‘God of the Philosophers’ 11

John W. Cooper
The Openness of God and the Historical Jesus 25

Samuel Lamerson
Same As It Ever Was: The Future of Protestantism in the Global North 39

D. G. Hart
A Case of Mistaken Identity: The Harlot and the Church (1 Corinthians 5-6) 55
Tom Holland
A Recent History of the Ordinary Universal Magisterium 69

Raymond W. Belair
Praxis Theologies and the Project Welcome Sudanese Refugee Community 79

Joan Mueller, OSC
BOOK REVIEWS
Schniedewind, William M., How the Bible Became a Book 95

Stephen G. Dempster
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BOOK REVIEWS (con…)
Roberts, Mark D., Can We Trust the Gospels? Investigating the Reliability of Matthew, Mark, 97
Luke, and John
Sam Storms
Keillor, Steven, God’s Judgments: Interpreting History and the Christian Faith 100
Bill Muehlenberg
Kerr, Fergus, Twentieth-Century Catholic Theologians: From Neoscholasticism to Nuptial 102

Mysticism
Benjamin Myers
Lindsay, Mark R., Barth, Israel, and Jesus: Karl Barth’s Theology of Israel 103
Benjamin Myers
Helm, Paul, John Calvin’s Ideas 105

Benjamin Myers
THE ECUMENICAL CREEDS 110
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American Theological Inquiry
FROM THE EDITOR1

I am very pleased to introduce to you, the reader, this first issue of American Theological
Inquiry (ATI). When plans for ATI were first hatched in late 2006, the incipient aim was,
and remains, to provide an inter-tradition forum for scholars who affirm the historic
Ecumenical Creeds to constructively communicate contemporary theologies, developments,
ideas, commentaries, and insights pertaining to theology, culture, and history, toward
reforming and elevating American Christianity. I am delighted by the favorable response we
have received from the Christian scholarly community toward making this aim a—now
present—reality.
The lineup of articles in this current volume reflect some of the finest Christian thinking
from leading lights in Christian scholarship, spanning multiple traditions. Following a
Patristical reading (which we intend to make a staple part of each issue of ATI), we begin
with Thomas Weinandy’s wonderful essay, “Why Ask The Fathers? The Dynamics of a
Living Tradition.” Dr. Weinandy is currently Executive Director of the Secretariat for
Doctrine and Pastoral Practices of the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops
(USCCB). The essay is the print version of a recent address he delivered to the USCCB. I am
confident you will find, as we have, what a fine piece it is concerning the richness of the
early church Fathers, and the inestimable benefit they still impart on thoughtful Christians if
only we avail ourselves of this vital inheritance.
Next, we move to Reformed scholar, John Cooper’s, excellent piece concerning
panentheism. Cooper’s recent book concerning this oft-overlooked philosophical substrata,
and the manner in which it appears to have crept into numerous theologies, is easily the best
work on the topic to date. Indeed, it is probably the only scholarly text devoted to
panentheism and its impact on Christian systematics. I trust that ATI’s readers will be as
interested and as stimulated as we were after reading Cooper’s piece.
Evangelical scholar, Sam Lamerson, then offers us an article concerning the “openness
of God” (aka “open theism”) movement, with a critique of the movement in the context of
historical-Jesus research. Having done extensive work myself concerning open theism, I was
delighted to receive this article and its calculated approach in addressing this movement
which has increasingly spread its tentacles in both American and British churches.
Well known Reformed scholar, D. G. Hart, next offers us an analysis of Protestant
ecclesiology and praxis (especially along liturgical and/or aliturgical lines). In keeping with
most of what I have seen by Dr. Hart, the article is both insightful, demanding, and often
humorous. ATI’s Protestant readers are likely to be challenged by this piece, while our
Catholic and Orthodox readers will appreciate an insider’s view into some of the history and
dynamics that have been affecting Protestant worship in America for many decades.
Tom Holland of the Wales Evangelical School of Theology then offers us a timely
exegesis of 1 Corinthians 5-6. I came to know Dr. Holland while doing research in Wales
1 Gannon Murphy, PhD, is General Editor of American Theological Inquiry and author of Voices of
Reason in Christian History: The Great Apologists; Consuming Glory A Classical Defense of Divine-Human
Relationality Against Open Theism; and the forthcoming, Seeking God in the 21st Century: Reasons for the
Christian Hope.
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and am confident that ATI’s readers will find this sample of his continued rigor in New
Testament studies both edifying and incisive and, perhaps, will spurn you on to explore
Holland’s broader corpus of NT scholarship and Pauline studies.
In keeping with ATI’s axiomatic interest in history, Raymond W. Belair, an attorney and
Roman Catholic doctoral student in theology, supplies us with a terrific recent history of the
Ordinary Universal Magisterium, an often misunderstood strand of the Roman church’s
teaching authority. There is a great deal to be learned from Belair’s piece and I am sure that
ATI’s readers, no matter what tradition they represent, will greatly benefit from it.
Lastly, but far from least, Dr. Joan Mueller, OSC, offers us an important cultural piece
concerning the Project Welcome Sudanese Community (PWSC). This growing charitable
and missional organization is expending prodigious energies in Omaha, Nebraska to
minister—both physically and spiritually—to that area’s significant influx of Sudanese
refugees (often persecuted), many of whom are Christians, who are now struggling to
overcome a new set of challenges here in the States. Mueller’s article will both touch your
heart and inform your understanding of practical theology as she relates her experiences as
the founder and director of PWSC toward various praxis models.
Each of us on the editorial staff at ATI wish our readers a blessed New Year and hope
you will keep in touch with us. We invite your feedback and suggestions, as well as your
article submissions and book reviews for our July issue and beyond.
Soli Deo Gloria.
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PATRISTIC READING
EXPOSITION OF THE PRESENT STATE OF THE CHURCHES
ST. BASIL1
Chp. 30, De Spiritu Sancto
To what then shall I liken our present condition? It may be compared, I think, to some
naval battle which has arisen out of time old quarrels, and is fought by men who cherish a
deadly hate against one another, of long experience in naval warfare, and eager for the fight.
Look, I beg you, at the picture thus raised before your eyes. See the rival fleets rushing in
dread array to the attack. With a burst of uncontrollable fury they engage and fight it out.
Fancy, if you like, the ships driven to and fro by a raging tempest, while thick darkness falls
from the clouds and blackens all the scenes so that watchwords are indistinguishable in the
confusion, and all distinction between friend and foe is lost. To fill up the details of the
imaginary picture, suppose the sea swollen with billows and whirled up from the deep, while
a vehement torrent of rain pours down from the clouds and the terrible waves rise high.
From every quarter of heaven the winds beat upon one point, where both the fleets are
dashed one against the other. Of the combatants some are turning traitors; some are
deserting in the very thick of the fight; some have at one and the same moment to urge on
their boats, all beaten by the gale, and to advance against their assailants. Jealousy of
authority and the lust of individual mastery splits the sailors into parties which deal mutual
death to one another. Think, besides all this, of the confused and unmeaning roar sounding
over all the sea, from howling winds, from crashing vessels, from boiling surf, from the yells
of the combatants as they express their varying emotions in every kind of noise, so that not a
word from admiral or pilot can be heard. The disorder and confusion is tremendous, for the
extremity of misfortune, when life is despaired of, gives men license for every kind of
wickedness. Suppose, too, that the men are all smitten with the incurable plague of mad love
of glory, so that they do not cease from their struggle each to get the better of the other,
while their ship is actually settling down into the deep.
Turn now I beg you from this figurative description to the unhappy reality. Did it not at
one time appear that the Arian schism, after its separation into a sect opposed to the Church
of God, stood itself alone in hostile array? But when the attitude of our foes against us was
changed from one of long standing and bitter strife to one of open warfare, then, as is well
known, the war was split up in more ways than I can tell into many subdivisions, so that all
men were stirred to a state of inveterate hatred alike by common party spirit and individual
suspicion. But what storm at sea was ever so fierce and wild as this tempest of the Churches?
In it every landmark of the Fathers has been moved; every foundation, every bulwark of
opinion has been shaken: everything buoyed up on the unsound is dashed about and shaken
down. We attack one another. We are overthrown by one another. If our enemy is not the
first to strike us, we are wounded by the comrade at our side. If a foeman is stricken and
falls, his fellow soldier tramples him down. There is at least this bond of union between us
that we hate our common foes, but no sooner have the enemy gone by than we find enemies
1 St. Basil (c. 329-379), one of the great Cappadocian Fathers, founded several monasteries before
becoming Bishop of Caesarea in 370. Among his varied works and writings are his De Spiritu Sancto and
On the Hexaemeron.
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in one another. And who could make a complete list of all the wrecks? Some have gone to
the bottom on the attack of the enemy, some through the unsuspected treachery of their
allies, some from the blundering of their own officers. We see, as it were, whole churches,
crews and all, dashed and shattered upon the sunken reefs of disingenuous heresy, while
others of the enemies of the Spirit of Salvation have seized the helm and made shipwreck of
the faith. And then the disturbances wrought by the princes of the world have caused the
downfall of the people with a violence unmatched by that of hurricane or whirlwind. The
luminaries of the world, which God set to give light to the souls of the people, have been
driven from their homes, and a darkness verily gloomy and disheartening has settled on the
Churches. The terror of universal ruin is already imminent, and yet their mutual rivalry is so
unbounded as to blunt all sense of danger. Individual hatred is of more importance than the
general and common warfare, for men by whom the immediate gratification of ambition is
esteemed more highly than the rewards that await us in a time to come, prefer the glory of
getting the better of their opponents to securing the common welfare of mankind. So all
men alike, each as best he can, lift the hand of murder against one another. Harsh rises the
cry of the combatants encountering one another in dispute; already all the Church is almost
full of the inarticulate screams, the unintelligible noises, rising from the ceaseless agitations
that divert the right rule of the doctrine of true religion, now in the direction of excess, now
in that of defect. On the one hand are they who confound the Persons and are carried away
into Judaism; on the other hand are they that, through the opposition of the natures, pass
into heathenism. Between these opposite parties inspired Scripture is powerless to mediate;
the traditions of the apostles cannot suggest terms of arbitration. Plain speaking is fatal to
friendship, and disagreement in opinion all the ground that is wanted for a quarrel. No oaths
of confederacy are so efficacious in keeping men true to sedition as their likeness in error.
Every one is a theologue though he have his soul branded with more spots than can be
counted. The result is that innovators find a plentiful supply of men ripe for faction, while
self-appointed scions of the house of place-hunters reject the government of the Holy Spirit
and divide the chief dignities of the Churches. The institutions of the Gospel have now
everywhere been thrown into confusion by want of discipline; there is an indescribable
pushing for the chief places while every self-advertiser tries to force himself into high office.
The result of this lust for ordering is that our people are in a state of wild confusion for lack
of being ordered; the exhortations of those in authority are rendered wholly purposeless and
void, because there is not a man but, out of his ignorant impudence, thinks that it is just as
much his duty to give orders to other people, as it is to obey any one else.
So, since no human voice is strong enough to be heard in such a disturbance, I reckon
silence more profitable than speech, for if there is any truth in the words of the Preacher,
“The words of wise men are heard in quiet,” in the present condition of things any
discussion of them must be anything but becoming. I am moreover restrained by the
Prophet’s saying, “Therefore the prudent shall keep silence in that time, for it is an evil
time,” a time when some trip up their neighbour’s heels, some stamp on a man when he is
down, and others clap their hands with joy, but there is not one to feel for the fallen and
hold out a helping hand, although according to the ancient law he is not uncondemned, who
passes by even his enemy’s beast of burden fallen under his load. This is not the state of
things now. Why not? The love of many has waxed cold; brotherly concord is destroyed, the
very name of unity is ignored, brotherly admonitions are heard no more, nowhere is there
Christian pity, nowhere falls the tear of sympathy. Now there is no one to receive “the weak
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in faith,” but mutual hatred has blazed so high among fellow clansmen that they are more
delighted at a neighbour’s fall than at their own success. Just as in a plague, men of the most
regular lives suffer from the same sickness as the rest, because they catch the disease by
communication with the infected, so nowadays by the evil rivalry which possesses our souls
we are carried away to an emulation in wickedness, and are all of us each as bad as the
others. Hence merciless and sour sit the judges of the erring; unfeeling and hostile are the
critics of the well disposed. And to such a depth is this evil rooted among us that we have
become more brutish than the brutes; they do at least herd with their fellows, but our most
savage warfare is with our own people.
For all these reasons I ought to have kept silence, but I was drawn in the other direction
by love, which “seeketh not her own,” and desires to overcome every difficulty put in her
way by time and circumstance. I was taught too by the children at Babylon, that, when there
is no one to support the cause of true religion, we ought alone and all unaided to do our
duty. They from out of the midst of the flame lifted up their voices in hymns and praise to
God, reeking not of the host that set the truth at naught, but sufficient, three only that they
were, with one another. Wherefore we too are undismayed at the cloud of our enemies, and,
resting our hope on the aid of the Spirit, have, with all boldness, proclaimed the truth. Had I
not so done, it would truly have been terrible that the blasphemers of the Spirit should so
easily be emboldened in their attack upon true religion, and that we, with so mighty an ally
and supporter at our side, should shrink from the service of that doctrine, which by the
tradition of the Fathers has been preserved by an unbroken sequence of memory to our own
day. A further powerful incentive to my undertaking was the warm fervour of your “love
unfeigned,” and the seriousness and taciturnity of your disposition; a guarantee that you
would not publish what I was about to say to all the world,—not because it would not be
worth making known, but to avoid casting pearls before swine. My task is now done. If you
find what I have said satisfactory, let this make an end to our discussion of these matters. If
you think any point requires further elucidation, pray do not hesitate to pursue the
investigation with all diligence, and to add to your information by putting any
uncontroversial question. Either through me or through others the Lord will grant full
explanation on matters which have yet to be made clear, according to the knowledge
supplied to the worthy by the Holy Spirit. Amen.
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WHY ASK THE FATHERS?

THE DYNAMICS OF A LIVING TRADITION
Thomas Weinandy, O.F.M. Cap 1
I have been asked to address the question of why we should study the Fathers of the
Church. It might seem to some that they are somewhat irrelevant since they lived so long
ago and thus their culture and intellectual milieu would appear to be much different from
our own. Our interest in them might be purely an historical, antiquarian curiosity. Moreover,
they are often not easy to read. It is not merely that their theological and philosophical
concepts are at times difficult to grasp and comprehend, but maybe even more so their
theological approach is often unsystematic. They are notorious for being repetitious
ramblers, taking forever to make a point. Further, while their ad hominem arguments may at
times amuse, they often appear to lack objectivity if not Christian charity.
Nonetheless, I believe that if one wants to take theology seriously, it is absolutely
essential to possess a good grasp of the Fathers of the Church, particularly the manner in
which they undertook the theological enterprise, the issues that they confronted and
clarified, and the answers they provided. Only with such a patristic background can one
undertake, in an intelligible and fecund manner, the study of contemporary theology. Indeed,
it is only if one has some sense of the patristic tradition that one can truly and fully
appreciate the truth of the Gospel and the wealth of wisdom and life it contains. To be
ignorant of the Fathers is to be ignorant of one‘s own Christian and Catholic patrimony.
What I would like to do in this short essay is offer what I consider to be some of the internal
and external ingredients, both positive and negative, that cultivated the patristic manner of
doing theology. These ingredients and forces, I believe, are still very relevant for
contemporary theology and church life.
The Economy of Salvation
In the aftermath of the Enlightenment that still lingers to the present under
contemporary postmodernism, Christian theology continues to labor under the intellectual
and cultural prejudice of a closed universe. That is, God does not (cannot) intervene by word
and action in time and history in a manner that is singularly his own and so in a manner that
cannot be accounted for by the “laws of nature.” What has been traditionally referred to as
“the supernatural” has been completely ruled out.
In contrast to this contemporary anti-supernatural predisposition, the Fathers of the
Church took as philosophically and theologically axiomatic the premise that God does act
within time and history. For the Fathers, the whole history of the Old Testament was the
grand history of God’s action and this history found its awesome completion in the person
and work of Jesus Christ. This revelation, was not merely God speaking His word and so
informing us about something to which we had no previous knowledge. Rather, the actions
of God are revelatory in that, through these divine actions in time and history, He reveals
1 Thomas Weinandy, PhD, O.F.M. Cap, is Executive Director of the Secretariat for Doctrine and
Pastoral Practices of the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops. He is the author of Jesus the
Christ and Does God Suffer?
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who He is and simultaneously alters man’s relation to him. Therefore, the subsequent
meaning of time and history are equally altered. For the Fathers, the words of the Old and
New Testaments are inspired and holy words, precisely because they interpret the actions of
God and so explain their divine significance for us.
For example, the Fathers knew that Jesus did not reveal the Trinity by merely telling his
disciples that there are three persons in one God. Rather, the whole revelatory process was
much more dynamic and exciting. The Fathers instinctively grasped that the distinct persons
of the Trinity were revealed primarily through their own distinctive actions and that these
same actions contributed to our salvation. Thus the Father revealed that He is the Father in
the sending of His Son. The Son revealed that He is the Son in becoming man and as man
obediently doing the will of His Father. In performing these works, the Son as man brought
about our salvation. The Holy Spirit revealed that He is the Holy Spirit in that, by being sent
by the Father through the Son, He performs all the actions which sanctify believers and so
gives rise to the body of Christ, the Church. Thus, these actions of the persons of the Trinity
not only reveal who they are, but these same actions are also the distinct contributions of the
persons of the Trinity through which a whole new salvific order is established within time
and history. The actions by which the persons of the Trinity are revealed are the very same
actions by which we are saved.
The Fathers, as early as Ignatius of Antioch (d. 107), came to refer to these Divine
salvific interventions as God‘s “economy,” that is, His providential care and beneficent
governing of human life and history. Moreover, because God intervenes in time and history,
the Fathers recognized that the content of their faith was not merely philosophical insight
into the eternal nature or order of things. The Gospel was not of human making. The
economy of salvation narrates the history of God’s actions within time and history by which
man‘s relationship has been altered. It is through faith that one seizes the new and eternal
benefits that are now possible due to God’s salvific actions.
Furthermore, God’s economy of salvation—what the Father brought to completion
through the work of his Son and their mutual sending of the Spirit—was “the given.”. The
content of this revelation is where one begins. The content of faith was not something that
the Fathers speculated on as if it needed to be found and established. They knew from the
onset what they were to believe for they had received it from the Apostles. It was embodied
in what came to be known as the New Testament, and these sacred writings must be
understood and interpreted, as Irenaeus knew very well, from within the light of the
apostolic tradition and from within the life of the apostolic church.
I believe this is one of the foremost reasons for reading and studying the Fathers today.
One enters a faith world that is so unlike our own and yet a faith world that we need to
make our own. We too must be nurtured on the truth that God does act in time and history
and so has changed time and history. We too must be confident that we truly know in faith
the content of our faith. The Fathers held with tenacity their knowledge of the divine
mysteries which they understood resided within their apostolic understanding of scripture,
an understanding that they inherited and kept alive in all of its purity and power. These same
mysteries can be known today through that same apostolic tradition from which scripture is
read and interpreted. We need to ask now what were the causes that compelled the Fathers,
being grounded in the faith, to develop their apostolic theology?
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Faith and the Holy Spirit

The first and foremost ingredient that compelled the Fathers to do theology was faith
itself. The Fathers realized that faith contained an inherent impetus compelling believers to a
deeper understanding and a clearer expression of what is believed. The Holy Spirit resided
within the content of faith and He also dwelt within each believer, and it was this mingling
of the faith and the Spirit within the believer that ignited and kept alight patristic theology.
The Fathers knew well from the start the principle later articulated by St. Anselm: Fides
quaerens intellectum—Faith seeking understanding. While the Fathers knew well that they were
seeking to understand their faith and not some human philosophy, yet they equally knew
that if they did not intellectually seek to understand their faith, it would be a sign that they
did not truly believe. Theological “seeking” is the mark of a faith spiritually alive and healthy.
To know in faith the Gospel mysteries, for example, that God is a Trinity of persons or that
the Son of God came to exist as a man, compels the believer both to contemplate them in
awe and to desire to know them more deeply.
In contrast today, the theological enterprise is often done apart from faith. It at times
appears that the goal of theology is to find and so establish what it is that is to be believed.
Within the contemporary situation, the Fathers can teach us anew that the Gospel mysteries
are already known and proclaimed from within the apostolic understanding of scripture and it is
from this apostolic faith that theology begins. However, it must be admitted as well that the
Fathers equally held that theology is not something static or lifeless, as if all is known
perfectly. Rather, to believe truly is to possess an intellectual inquisitiveness that can only be
satisfied with the beatific vision, but even then it does not come to an end but lasts an
eternity.
For the Fathers, then, theology is more than an abstract intellectual business. True
theology can only be done properly by a mind and heart steeped in prayer. It is only as the
believer becomes more conformed to the likeness of Christ, the Truth of the Father,
through the Spirit of Truth that he or she is able to penetrate the truth of the divine
mysteries. The Fathers often made reference to the principle that like is known only by like.
Thus, for the Fathers, a true theologian must be a saint, for only a saint is truly in
communion with the mysteries he is seeking to understand. Again, this patristic manner of
doing theology, a manner that is nurtured on faith and the interior working of the Holy
Spirit, is often absent within today’s theological academy. I would argue that only as one
reads and studies the Fathers within the context of one’s own prayer and liturgical practice
does one imbibe their sense of holy awe and wonder in the face of the Gospel mysteries.
Evangelism and Teaching
Patristic theology developed not only from within the faith life of the Fathers, but also
from within their own ministries. The Fathers were pastoral men. Almost all of them were
bishops. They were often evangelists and teachers. If one has ever attempted to bring
someone to faith or has ever stood in a classroom and attempted to explain to a group of
students the meaning of the Incarnation or the Eucharist, one realizes that such activity
elicits many questions, questions to which one often does not have immediate answers.
Patristic theology originated from within an evangelistic and catechetical milieu. It is not
surprising that some of the first great theologians were teachers. Clement of Alexandria and
Origen, for example, were both teachers in the great catechetical school at Alexandria.
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Moreover, as teachers, the Fathers became great apologists. Their theology not only
attempted to explain the Gospel to fledgling believers, but also to clarify and defend the faith
in the midst of a social and cultural environment that was often politically, religiously, and
philosophically hostile and antagonistic towards the Gospel.
Christian theology was born within the climate of many competing intellectual and
religious options: Gnosticism, Manichaeism, Platonism, Stoicism, the Mystery Religions, and
so on. Often the Fathers needed to sort out, especially within the competing philosophies of
their day, which bits and pieces were valid and could actually be employed to the Gospel’s
advantage. Justin Martyr argued that anything that is true, no matter what its source, actually
belongs to Christians, for all truth comes ultimately from the Logos, the Word of God, who
became man in the person of Jesus Christ.
It is to our advantage to read and study the Fathers because the questions that
confronted them are not so different from the questions that confront us—questions from
catechumens, from parishioners, from people of other faiths, from intellectuals, from
politicians, and from atheists. How can Christianity claim to be the only true religion? Is not
Buddha just as good as Jesus? Why do Christians think they have the right to legislate their
morality? How can Jesus be God? What evidence is there that miracles actually happen? Is it
not irrational and even disgusting to think one is eating and drinking someone’s body and
blood? How can Jesus, the Father, and the Holy Spirit all be one and the same God?
Individual Fathers did not always have full and complete answers to all of these questions.
Sometimes fully satisfactory answers fermented for years and even centuries within body of
Christ. However, as we watch the Fathers struggling to find the answers for the questions of
their day, our minds become one with their minds and we too struggle to ferret out the
answers for our day. In so doing, with the aid of the Fathers, our thoughts become more
clear and our answers more precise.
Heresy
One of the greatest impetuses for developing Patristic theology was also the issue of
heresy. There is nothing like a good heresy to get everyone thinking. The first thing to note
about heresy is that while it always denies something that the Church holds to be true, such a
denial never causes the Church to doubt what it has believed. For example, Arius’ denial of
the Divinity of the Son did not undermine the early Church’s belief that the Son was fully
God. The Fathers knew that this was always proclaimed and believed. The majority of the
Fathers went to the Council of Nicaea with no doubt as to what the Church believed and so
with confident assurance upheld the full Divinity of the Christ.
This is important for us to grasp today when so many Christian doctrines are questioned
or denied. Because of such questioning or denial, one can get the impression that the Church
no longer really knows what to teach or believe. This is a false impression. The Church
knows what is to be believed and the present pope and those bishops and theologians in
union with him have made it clear.
However, heresy does raise other difficulties. For example, Arius’ denial of the Divinity
of the Son did raise two interrelated problems for the early Church. The first was that the
Church had to state clearly, in the face of Arius’ denial, what is to be believed so as to leave
no doubt as to what is to be believed. The second concern that Nicaea confronted was how
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to proclaim the full divinity of the Son without falling into one of the heresies that Arius said
could not be avoided if one did believe that the Son is truly God. Arius argued that it was
impossible for God to be one and for the Father and the Son to be both equally God. Thus,
the Council of Nicaea (and subsequently Athanasius) had to express the nature of the Son’s
divinity in such a manner as to leave no doubt that the Church does believe the Son to be
truly God and equally to express this belief without undermining the oneness of God.
The Council Fathers, by the light of the Holy Spirit, employed the term homoousion to
ensure the proper understanding of the Son’s divinity as well as to ensure the oneness of
God. Firstly, the Son is one in being with the Father and so He is God as the Father is God.
Secondly, since the Son is one in being with the Father, the Father and the Son are the one
God. What the one nature of God is, is the Father begetting the Son. Unlike Arius who, in
his denial, dissolved the mystery of the Trinity, the Council of Nicaea and the subsequent
Nicene Fathers, especially Athanasius, conceived the mystery of the Trinity in such a manner
as to make the mystery itself more clear. Heresy, then, always forces the Church to conceive
and express more clearly what it has always believed. Moreover, by conceiving and
expressing the mysteries of the faith more clearly, these mysteries become more luminous
and awe inspiring.
If one reads the Fathers as they confront various heresies, one will always find this same
pattern. They possessed an assurance of faith and it was that assurance of faith that allowed
them to conceive and articulate more clearly the truths of the faith in the face of various
heretical denials. One finds this, for example, with Cyril of Alexandria in regard to the
Incarnation, or Augustine in regard to the relationship between grace and free will. In the
midst of controversy, their faith sought understanding. After the example of the Fathers,
today it is our assurance of faith that allows us to newly conceive and so more clearly
articulate the mysteries of faith in the midst of contemporary questioning and denials.
Conclusion
I hope I have presented some vital and important reasons for why we should study the
Fathers of the Church. They illustrate the Spirit in which Christian theology should be done,
and in so doing they deepen our own understanding of the great Christian mysteries. They
treated the Gospel with reverence and awe and because of this Spirit-filled veneration they
were compelled to ponder it ever more deeply in order to proclaim it ever more clearly. In so
doing the Fathers allowed the Gospel to become ever more brilliant and glorious. Today,
each of us is called, by our Christian vocation, to undertake this same noble task. We do so
humbly because of the grandeur of the Gospel, but equally we do it with pride to the glory
of Jesus Christ.
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PANENTHEISM: THE OTHER “GOD OF THE

PHILOSOPHERS”: AN OVERVIEW1
John W. Cooper2
Classical Theism, Relational Theology, and “the God of the Philosophers”

When Pascal penned his famous warning against substituting the God of the
philosophers for the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob,3 he was addressing the enlightened
intellectuals of his time who rejected biblical revelation and the supernatural God of the
Judeo-Christian tradition. The early deists and Spinoza are prime examples. They
constructed theologies based on reason alone, not on supernatural revelation. They either
ignored Holy Scripture or reinterpreted it so that it makes no claims about God and
salvation that an intelligent human could not discover merely by thinking clearly. The gods
of these philosophers are at odds with the God of Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and Jesus Christ.
They conflict with core Judeo-Christian beliefs about the particularity and supernatural
character of God’s redemptive dealings with humanity through Israel and Jesus Christ.
Pascal was not criticizing traditional Christian theology so long as it is an expression of
genuine devotion to God.
When theologians of the last two centuries warn against the God of the philosophers,
however, they are targeting something else. For them the God of the philosophers is the
God of classical theism, the standard mainstream doctrine of God in the Christian tradition
from earliest times until the twentieth century. In brief, classical theism asserts that God is
transcendent, self-sufficient, eternal, and immutable in relation to the world; thus he does
not change through time and is not affected by his relation to his creatures.4 A large majority
of recent theologians—non-Christians, modernist Christians, and even traditional
Christians—agree that the classical doctrine of God is neither biblical nor philosophically
coherent. So they warn theology students and thoughtful believers away from “the God of
the philosophers.” It is important for us to consider classical theism and these criticisms
more fully.
Classical theism is a complex doctrine of God with variations and nuances on specific
issues. It has been worked out over centuries in the Western Church by such preeminent
Christian teachers as Augustine, Anselm, Aquinas, and Scotus, and carried on after the
Reformation by Roman Catholic and Protestant theologians alike. Eastern Christianity
1 This article is largely an adapted version of the first chapter my book, Panentheism—The Other God of
the Philosophers: From Plato to the Present (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2006). I am grateful to
Baker Publishing Company for permission to present it in this form.
2 John W. Cooper, PhD, is Professor of Philosophical Theology at Calvin Theological Seminary and
an ordained minister in the Christian Reformed Church. In addition to his recent book, Panentheism: The
Other God of the Philosophers, he is the author of Body, Soul, and Life Everlasting: Biblical Anthropology and the
Monism-Dualism Debate and Our Father in Heaven: Christian Faith and Inclusive Language for God.
3 Blaise Pascal, “The Memorial,” Pensees and Other Writings, trans. Honor Levi (New York: Oxford
University Press, 1995), 178.

4 Thomas Morris, “The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Anselm,” Anselmian Explorations: Essays in
Philosophical Theology (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1987), 10-25, defines classical
theism and its modifications in response to contemporary criticisms.
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embraces a slightly different version shaped by John Chrysostom, Basil, Gregory of Nyssa,
and Gregory of Nazianzus. Christian classical theism intends to represent God as
supernaturally revealed, not merely as known by reason. But it has borrowed philosophical
and theological ideas from Greek philosophers, especially Plato and the Neoplatonists, to
state clearly what it understands Scripture to teach about God. Many modern theologians
believe that this use of Greek philosophy has distorted the biblical presentation of God.
That is why they label classical theism negatively as “the God of the philosophers.”
Western classical theism asserts that God in himself is the Greatest Being—absolutely
self-sufficient, eternal, immutable, omnipotent, omniscient, completely active, and most
excellent in every way.5 Although he does not need the world, God eternally and freely
chooses to create it from nothing and sustain it through time. He is immanent in the sense
that he is supernaturally present to all beings and events at all times and places throughout
the history of the world, empowering creatures and effectuating his eternal knowledge and
will by sustaining their natural existence and free actions and occasionally by supernatural
miracles. But God in himself is utterly transcendent, all-determining, and changeless. The
world is no part of his nature or existence. He does not exist in time or as part of the cause
and effect networks in terms of which creatures exist and relate within the world order.
Nothing temporal affects his existence, knowledge, or will. In other words, classical theism
affirms that God is eternal and immutable even in his perpetual and active relationship with
his creation.
Classical theism is not the exclusive property of historic Christianity. Traditional Jewish
and Islamic theologians endorsed it as well.6 Most deists at the time of Pascal still professed
it even though they did not accept the distinctive doctrines of Christianity. Spinoza actually
used it to argue for his kind of pantheism: because God is eternal, immutable, perfect, and
all-determining, he necessarily generates the world precisely as it is. Schleiermacher still held
a fairly classical view of God in the first third of the nineteenth century.
Since then, however, an increasing number of thinkers have challenged the God of the
philosophers—classical theism’s eternal, immutable God—and presented dynamic
alternatives.7 The philosophers Hegel, Schelling, James, Bergson, and Whitehead developed
theologies of divine development in nature and history. So did the Roman Catholic priest
Teilhard de Chardin and the Jewish rabbi Martin Buber in first half of the twentieth century.
During the second half it has become commonplace for Christians and non-Christians alike
to affirm a “relational God,” a God who is involved in time, interacts with creatures, and is
affected by them. Traditional Christians, such as Richard Swinburne, Nicholas Wolterstorff,
5 Eastern theology, following Neoplatonism, affirms that God in himself is eternal, immutable, and
wholly transcendent of creation because he is beyond Being. We will note the differences between
Eastern and Western classical theism and panentheism when relevant.
6 Philo, a contemporary of Jesus, used Platonic philosophy to articulate Jewish theology. The Jewish
rabbi, Moses Maimonides, and the Islamic theologians, Avicenna and Averroes, were medieval classical
theists addressed in the writings of Thomas Aquinas.
7 The atheist Ludwig Feuerbach in The Essence of Christianity (1841) drives the wedge between the God
of the philosophers and the God of popular religion in order to reject both. Adolf von Harnack’s
seminal History of Dogma, (3 vols., 1886-89) is a prolonged attack on classical Christian theism as Greek
philosophy disguised in biblical language.
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and William Craig affirm that God is involved in time.8 The recent debate among
Evangelicals about “open” or “free-will theism” is whether God knows what people will
choose to do in the future, taking for granted that he interacts with creatures in time.9 In the
twenty-first century, relational views of God are endorsed by a large majority of theologians
along a broad spectrum from religious pluralism on one end to Evangelical Christianity on
the other.
These challenges to classical theism have been made for biblical, theological, and
philosophical reasons. Let’s note the key criticisms in each category.
Critics of classical theism point out that the Bible portrays God as a Great Person (or
persons) who acts, interacts, and responds to the creatures he has made. The God of the
Bible is dynamic and involved. Scripture does not present what classical theism seems to
infer—a mysterious parallelism between God’s eternal actuality and the temporal sequence
of events that count as his acts in the world. Contemporary theologians claim to preserve the
personal-relational character of the biblical God. If God is relational as Scripture presents
him, they argue, then he is to some extent involved in time and change. A final point is that
biblical Christianity emphasizes God’s saving activity in this world as well as his future
Kingdom. Many contemporary theologians charge that traditional theology, following Greek
philosophy, is too supernaturalistic, spiritualized, and otherworldly in its view of salvation
and the Christian life.
An important theological issue is the relation of God, freedom, and evil. If God knows
and wills everything in the world from all eternity, critics argue, then creatures do not have
genuine freedom. Whatever they choose is known and determined from all eternity,
including all the evil they do. Thus God is the cause of evil. Most contemporary theologians
assign humans more freedom and God less determination, thereby shifting responsibility for
evil away from God. This is a major motivation of theologians as diverse as Whitehead and
free-will theists.
A second theological issue for Christians is the incarnation. In traditional orthodoxy,
Jesus Christ is truly God and truly human, which implies that the eternal God has entered
time. This is a conundrum for classical theism. Many defenders of historic orthodoxy believe
that a relational view of God does a better job of accounting for the temporality of the
incarnation.
Philosophical coherence is a third reason for criticizing classical theism. One issue,
already raised, is the logic of eternity and time. If God is wholly eternal, critics charge, it is
8 See Richard Swinburne, The Coherence of Theism and The Christian God (Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 1993 and 1994), affirms temporal involvement of God; also God and Time: Four Views, ed.
Gregory Ganssle (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 2001), in which Alan Padgett, Craig, and
Wolterstorff affirm God’s involvement in time. Paul Helm defends the classical view of eternity.
9 See, for example, Richard Rice, The Openness of God: The Relationship between Divine Foreknowledge and
Human Free Will (Washington, DC: Review and Herald, 1980; revised edition, Minneapolis: Bethany
House, 1985); William Hasker, God, Time, and Knowledge (Ithaca, NY: Cornell, 1989); Clark Pinnock et
al., The Openness of God: A Biblical Challenge to the Traditional Understanding of God (Downers Grove, IL:
InterVarsity, 1994); David Basinger, The Case for Freewill Theism (Downers Grove: InterVarsity, 1996);
John Sanders, The God Who Risks (Downer’s Grove: InterVarsity, 1998); and Gregory Boyd, God of the
Possible (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2000).
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incoherent to claim that he performs individual acts that begin, end, and are in sequence,
which are characteristics of temporality. Another alleged incoherence is the claim that
although God eternally knows human actions, humans are free to choose among alternative
possible actions. If God eternally knows that I choose eggs for breakfast tomorrow, then
inevitably I do choose eggs, however freely I make the choice. Freedom and omniscience do
not seem to be compatible.
In sum, contemporary theologians of many religious and philosophical perspectives are
critical of “the God of the philosophers,” that is, the God of classical theism, for biblical,
theological, and philosophical reasons. They offer a variety of relational alternatives, from
minor modifications of classical theism, to major revisions of classical theism, to varieties of
panentheism, to new versions of naturalistic pantheism.10
The Other God of the Philosophers: The Panentheistic Tradition
Many of these theologians take rhetorical advantage of identifying classical theism with
“the God of the philosophers.” Dismissing classical theism in this way allows them to claim
the high ground with “the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.” Now that the God of the
philosophers has been exposed and dismissed, they suggest, we can get on with theology that
is fresh, biblical, and intellectually adequate. But notice that the force of this rhetoric
depends on an unstated premise, an exclusive disjunction: Theology is either philosophical-
classical or biblical-relational. To reject the former is to endorse the latter.
But any suggestion that the modern alternatives to classical theism are free of philosophy
is entirely false and misleading. Every contemporary theology has parallels and philosophical
sources deep in history. Consider free-will theism, for example, which argues that God does
not know the future actions of free creatures because his knowledge of them is temporal and
those actions are not yet determined. This position was articulated in detail already by
Faustus Socinus (1539-1604) just a generation after Luther and Calvin, and it adopts
Aristotle’s debatable view about future propositions.11 Contemporary relational theologies all
have deep historical roots that go back to the Greeks. In this sense they all represent “Gods
of the philosophers.”
These roots are not numerous, diverse, or hard to locate. Most contemporary alternatives
to classical theism are branches of a single family tree with roots in Plato and Neoplatonism.
10 Richard Swinburne, Nicholas Wolterstorff, William Craig, and many other conservative Christians
are modified classical theists. Open or free-will theism is a major revision of classical theism. A variety
of contemporary panentheists is surveyed in this article. Naturalistic pantheism is behind Einstein’s
quip, “God does not roll dice,” and Carl Sagan’s quasi-religious view of the Life-giving Cosmos.
11 See Charles Hartshorne and William Reese, Philosophers Speak of God (Chicago: University of Chicago
Press, 1953), Ch. VI: “Temporalistic Theism,” which presents Socinus as a forerunner of process
theology.
Free-will theism asserts that propositions about contingent future events have no present truth-value.
“John goes home at 6 PM” is neither true nor false until John acts at 6 PM. Correct or incorrect, this
position was argued by Aristotle. But Aristotle’s purely rational God knows only itself, not temporal
things, whereas the classical Christian God eternally knows all temporal things completely. Socinus and
free-will theists think that God knows temporal things only as they happen. In other words, whether
one thinks that future propositions have truth value may depend on one’s view of God’s knowledge. In
any case, the point is that all contemporary theology has philosophical roots and assumptions.
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Broadly speaking, this is the ancient tradition of panentheism, the topic of this article. Those
theologies, such as neo-orthodoxy and naturalistic pantheism, which are not in this family
have been its neighbors and conversation partners. In brief, panentheism affirms that
although God and the world are ontologically distinct, and God transcends the world, the
world is “in” God ontologically. In contrast, classical theism posits an unqualified distinction
between God and the world: although intimately related, God and creatures are always and
entirely other than one another. Ironically, panentheism shares important roots with classical
theism, which also borrowed from Plato and Neoplatonism. That is why they make some
common affirmations about God.
The crucial difference is how God relates to the world, and that reflects different aspects
of Plato’s theology. In his dialogue Timaeus, Plato presents a complex, somewhat ambiguous
view of the Divine. God is the eternal transcendent Father, Mind, and Craftsman who makes
the universe from matter. More precisely, God makes the universe as a World-Soul, which
he calls “a god,” with the material world as its body. For Plato, the world is “in” the World-
Soul just as the human body is “in” the soul. This is the seed of the notion that the world is
“in” the Divine.
Broadly speaking, the difference between classical theism and panentheism is what they
appropriated from Plato and Neoplatonism. To articulate the biblical doctrine of creation,
the Christian church fathers adapted Plato’s eternal transcendent God, the Father, Mind, and
Craftsman, who is wholly other than the world he makes. They modified it to fit the doctrine
of the Trinity: the entirely transcendent Father, the Son as the Word who includes the Ideas,
and the Holy Spirit as Creator but not as World-Soul.
The panentheist tradition found two options in Plato. Most followed Plotinus, the
Neoplatonist who reframed Plato’s theological cosmology as a divine hierarchy, a “Great
Chain of Being:”12 The One God generates the Mind, which generates the World-Soul,
which generates the world, which exists in the World-Soul, which exists in the Mind, which
exists in the One. Neoplatonism is panentheistic because everything exists within God in a
series of concentric emanations. In Neoplatonism God is both the wholly transcendent One,
the Mind, and the World-Soul immanent in the world. Thus the Divine is both transcendent
and immanent, eternal and temporal, changeless and changing, and so forth. This notion of
Deity becomes the panentheist tradition that is still expressed by the process theologians
Whitehead and Hartshorne in their concept of dipolarity, that God has two natures. This
tradition has an unbroken history from Plato to Whitehead, who once observed that
Western philosophy is “a series of footnotes to Plato.”13 He could have made the same
comment about theology. Much panentheism carries on the transcendent-immanent
theology of Neoplatonism.
The other branch of panentheism with roots in Plato identifies God primarily as the
World-Soul. It assimilates the transcendent aspects of the Neoplatonic Divinity—the One
and the Mind— into the World-Soul. Thus it views God as the Life-Force, the dynamic
Spirit that generates life, intelligent order, and unity/community in the universe. This version
12 The term is from Arthur O. Lovejoy, The Great Chain of Being: The History of an Idea (Cambridge, MA:
Harvard University Press, 1936, 1964).

13 Whitehead, Process and Reality: An Essay in Cosmology (New York: Macmillan, 1929; Free Press, 1978),
39.
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of panentheism is found, for example, in Romanticism, Schleiermacher’s Living God, New

England Transcendentalism’s Over-Soul, Bergson’s Elan Vital (“Spark of Life”), in the
ecological feminism of Ruether and McFague, and in Wiccan neopaganism.
The development and proliferation of the different branches of panentheism in the
twenty-first century can be traced from their roots in Plato and Neoplatonism. Almost all the
modern alternatives to classical theism are part of this family history or influenced by it.
There are three reasons why it is not possible simply to equate Neoplatonism and
panentheism, however. First, both the Western and Eastern Christian traditions appropriated
aspects of Neoplatonism without panentheism. Augustine in the West and Basil in the East
are examples. Second, a few philosophical influences on panentheism are not Neoplatonic.
The ancient Stoics, Giordano Bruno, and Spinoza, for instance, are naturalistic pantheists
who influenced the German Romantic panentheists. Jacob Boehme’s triadic deity reflects
Gnosticism. Third, panentheism is also found in religions beyond the range of
Neoplatonism. For example, some Hindus, Buddhists, and animists who are familiar with
Western thought identify their traditions as panentheistic.
With these qualifications, however, it is accurate to say that the history of panentheism is
largely the history of Neoplatonism. Virtually all contemporary alternatives to classical
theism stem from this tradition or have been shaped by it. If classical theism represents “the
God of the philosophers,” then panentheism counters with “the other God of the
philosophers.”
Historical Overview14
The first phase of classical panentheism extends from Plato through Christian
Neoplatonism. (Modern panentheism begins with the developing God of Hegel and
Schelling.) During its pre-Christian period, Plotinus recasts Plato’s God-world dualism into
the Neoplatonic Great Chain of Being: the One emanates Mind, which emanates the World-
Soul, which contains the world. Plotinus’ student, Proclus, works out in detail the dialectical
process by which the world emanates and returns to God. Dialectic remains important in
most kinds of panentheism, most famously in Hegel’s.
Pseudo-Dionysius blends Neoplatonism with Christian theology and is the original
source of Christian panentheism. John Scotus Eriugena, Meister Eckhart, and Nicholas
Cusanus are medieval Christian panentheists who work directly from Dionysius. Eriugena
stands close to pantheism when he claims that Natura—ultimate reality—consists of God
and what emanates and returns to God. God creates and knows himself in creating and
knowing the world. Eckhart, a mystical preacher, regards the individual human soul as
generated and participating in the depths of the divine nature. Cusanus elaborates a system
of theology which concludes that God is the infinite unity of all dialectical opposition. But
he also asserts that humans cannot explain this unity in God. The post-Reformation mystic
Jacob Boehme boldly explains what Cusanus cannot. He posits that God is the eternal
dialectical unity of oppositional potencies—Groundlessness and Ground, Negative and
Positive, Nothingness and Being, Chaos and Order, Wrath and Love, etc.—and that the
14 This overview is elaborated in Chapters 2-13 of Cooper, Panentheism. Some chapters survey entire
periods; others are devoted to specific movements or single figures.
- 16 -
world is the temporal outflow of this eternal dialectic. Boehme is the original source for
those theologians, such as Hegel, Tillich, and Moltmann, who understand the Trinity
dialectically and view history as the dialectical unification of the Trinity and the world.
The modern phase of classical panentheism develops from the Renaissance to
Romanticism. The Cambridge Platonism of English Deism is actually Neoplatonic in its
view of the God-world relation and its adaptation to the 17th-century science of Kepler and
Newton. The famous American preacher, Jonathan Edwards, is Calvinist in his theology, but
his philosophy is panentheistic. Like Spinoza, he affirms that God is the only Substance, and
his view of the God-world relation reflects English Neoplatonism, including the notion that
the world is essential to the greatness of God. Although they are pantheists, Giordano Bruno
and Baruch Spinoza are significant because of their influence on subsequent panentheists. In
Germany, early Romantics such as Lessing and Herder transform Spinoza’s doctrine of God
as Absolute Substance into the Living Spirit or Vital Force, much like Plato’s World-Soul.
This dynamic, all-inclusive concept of the Living God is definitive in Schleiermacher’s
romantic philosophy and in his theology, The Christian Faith.
Schelling and Hegel are the two most important figures in panentheism between Plotinus
and the present. They are the first modern panentheists because they hold that God himself
develops in and through the world. Up to their time, Plotinus’ Great Chain of Being
remained vertical and hierarchical: the divine One is the highest reality and remains utterly
transcendent while emanating a series of beings downward and drawing all things back
toward itself. God is eternally dynamic and productive but does not change. Schelling and
Hegel correlate the actual existence of the One God within nature and history, and they tip
the hierarchy of being horizontally so that God’s full actuality is future. God’s essence is
changeless but his existence develops in and through the world, progressively generating and
encompassing the many within the One. The whole process is dialectical. Both Schelling and
Hegel adapt Boehme’s dialectical ontology of God and the world. This general idea of the
Trinity actualizing itself within world-history until it completely includes the world is still
promoted by Moltmann and Pannenberg.
There is a crucial difference between Schelling and Hegel, however. Hegel’s dialectic is
rational, deterministic, and closed. Schelling’s is personal, free, and open to the future: God
actualizes himself in and through the free self-actualization of the human race in nature and
history; thus divine-human cooperation forges a common destiny as we strive to realize our
true essences. Schelling’s personalism is more appealing to many post-Enlightenment
panentheists, among them Coleridge, Peirce, James, Heidegger, Tillich, Macquarrie,
Moltmann, and Clayton.
Panentheism proliferates and diversifies during the later nineteenth century, adapting to
the development of the natural and human sciences. In Germany it is first named by Karl
Krause and is embraced by philosophers Rudolf Lotze and Gustav Fechner, as well as such
eminent theologians as Isaac Dorner and Ernst Troeltsch. In Britain are Samuel Taylor
Coleridge, philosophers Thomas Hill Green, John and Edward Caird, Andrew Pringle-
Pattison, Samuel Alexander, and theologian William Inge, Dean of St. Paul’s Cathedral.
Ralph Waldo Emerson and the Transcendentalists, as well as philosophers Charles Sanders
Peirce and William James are prominent American panentheists. The French philosopher
Henri Bergson regards the Divine as the Vital Force (Elan Vital) that evolves the human race
- 17 -
in the universe in order to have mystical communion with itself. These thinkers modify the
theologies of Hegel, Schelling, and Enlightenment Neoplatonism to fit modern science, and
they pass their syntheses on to twentieth century panentheists.
Teilhard de Chardin is an early 20th-century scientist and priest who adapts the
evolutionary philosophy of Bergson to fit Roman Catholic theology. Teilhard explains the
evolution of the universe toward human existence as the interplay of radial (physical, static)
and tangential (spiritual, purposive) energy, which is guided by the Spirit of God and
progressively incarnates the Logos, the cosmic Christ—God in the world. The incarnation is
fully explicit in the divine-human, Jesus Christ. Cosmic evolution culminates in an
eschatological Omega point, where God and the human race, which will evolve into a
completely spiritual mode of existence, reach full communion in the cosmic Christ.
Teilhard’s vision remains world-famous and has influenced postmodern spirituality far
beyond Vatican II and the Roman Catholic Church.
Process Theology is the main American brand of panentheism. It is based on the
philosophy of Alfred North Whitehead, who drew from 19th-century English panentheism,
especially Samuel Alexander. According to Whitehead, reality is a process by which the
entities that exist—molecules, physical objects, humans, the heavenly bodies—constitute
themselves as complex societies of instantaneously occurring atomic bits of experience called
“actual occasions”. Each actual occasion both appropriates its immediate past and actualizes
a future possibility. Entities subsist over time because the actual occasions of which they
consist continue to occur in structured patterns. Entities change because actual occasions
can select novel possibilities. God is not an exception to this process but is the most
comprehensive actual occasion. The universe could not exist unless God includes all other
entities and all the ideal possibilities (cf. Plato’s Ideas) they can exemplify. Thus God is
dipolar—he has two natures: potential and actual, changeless and changing, transcendent and
immanent, eternal and temporal, and so forth. Charles Hartshorne modifies Whitehead’s
theology by conceiving of God as necessarily existent in all possible worlds and as a complex
being—a person whose body is the universe. John Cobb and David Griffin are two leading
Christian process theologians who apply the process categories of Whitehead and
Hartshorne to the doctrines of God, Jesus Christ, creation, salvation, and ethics. It is worth
noting that, despite some similarities and common affirmations, evangelical open or free-will
theism is not a form of process theology but a major revision of classical Christian theism.
Paul Tillich’s theology is an existential panentheism that is largely Schelling’s theology,
modernized in terms of Heidegger’s philosophy, and stated in the language of Christianity.
Tillich argues that the tension between being and non-being at the core of human existence
arises primordially within the divine nature itself. God is the Ground of Being that essentially
involves and asserts itself against Non-being or Nothingness. Thus the human quest for
authentic existence—“the courage to be” in Tillich’s popular phrase—is actual participation
in God. Authentic participation in God makes “new being”—Jesus Christ’s ultimately
affirmative mode of life—possible for humans, and this is Tillich’s doctrine of salvation.
Tillich’s existential panentheism has deeply impressed a subsequent generation of
theologians—John Robinson, John Macquarrie, James Cone, and Rosemary Ruether among
them.
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The breadth and diversity of panentheism in the twentieth century is suggested by noting
a few representative philosophers, theologians, and religious thinkers from within and
beyond the Christian tradition who imply or endorse it. Even if their names are well-known,
the fact that they are panentheists is not. Among philosophers, Martin Heidegger works
from the Roman Catholic tradition, Hans-Georg Gadamer from the Protestant tradition, and
Nicholas Berdyaev from Russian Orthodoxy. Christian theologians William Temple, John
Robinson, and John Macquarrie are Anglican; Karl Rahner and Hans Küng are Roman
Catholic. Beyond the Christian tradition, Martin Buber is a Hasidic Jewish rabbi, Muhammed
Iqbal a Sufi Muslim, Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan is Hindu, Alan Watts and Masao Abe are Zen
Buddhists, and Miriam Starhawk is Wiccan. In spite of many differences on specific issues,
all affirm that the world is ontologically within the Divine as they define it.
Various kinds of panentheism inform much liberation, feminist, and ecological theology.
In different ways, these theologies emphasize the liberation of specific groups of people as
part of the reconciliation and communion of the whole cosmos in God. James Cone’s Black
Theology applies key panentheistic themes from Tillich’s doctrines of God and salvation.
The Latin American liberation theologians Gustavo Gutierrez, Juan Luis Segundo, and
Leonardo Boff draw significantly from Teilhard, and Boff from Moltmann as well. The
ecological feminists Ruether and McFague combine aspects of Teilhard, Tillich, and process
thought into theologies of the (maternal) Divine Life-Force reminiscent of the embodied
World-Soul. Matthew Fox’s Creation Spirituality is Teilhardian in flavor and explicitly
endorses panentheism.
Jürgen Moltmann is a currently popular theologian who explicitly endorses “Christian
panentheism.” He continues to elaborate the broadly dialectical view of the Trinity and the
world inherited from Boehme, Hegel, Schelling, and Berdyaev. In The Crucified God
Moltmann begins from the interaction of Father, Son, and Spirit during the crucifixion of
Jesus, the historical event which fully actualizes the Trinity and incorporates the suffering of
the world into God. In The Trinity and the Kingdom he expands the work of the Trinity to
encompass the whole history of the world from creation through reconciliation to
consummation, when it is fully included in the triune life. Moltmann’s subsequent works
elaborate and refine this vision of Christianity. His panentheism is perichoretic. In traditional
theology, perichoresis refers to the relationship of complete communion among the persons of
the Trinity. Moltmann makes perichoresis his fundamental ontology, applying it not only to the
Trinity but also to relations among creatures and to the relationship between the world and
the triune God.
Wolfhart Pannenberg, possibly the most broadly erudite theologian of the late twentieth
century, appears to be an implicit panentheist in spite of his denial. His philosophy reflects
Hegel’s system in structure and scope, although his method is hermeneutical and much more
open-ended than Hegel’s. Like Hegel, Schelling, and Moltmann, Pannenberg understands
nature, humanity, history, and religion to embody God’s progressive self-actualization and
self-revelation aimed at the eschatological fulfillment of all things in God. God is truly and
uniquely present in Jesus Christ, whose resurrection is a proleptic realization of the future of
the universe. Pannenberg’s theology is like Plotinus’ Great Chain of Being tipped
horizontally so that the full reality of the transcendent One is not above the world but in the
future. The world is grounded in, emerges from, and is drawn toward the reality of the
future. Unlike Plotinus, Pannenberg is explicitly biblical, Christian, and Trinitarian. He is a
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panentheist because he models God as the infinite triune force-field within which the universe
is created, develops, is reconciled, and consummated. The world is within God ontologically.
Among current panentheists are experts in scientific cosmology and theology, including
Ian Barbour, Brian Davies, Arthur Peacocke, Philip Clayton, and John Polkinghorne. All
affirm the contemporary scientific world-picture—that the universe is an evolving system of
increasingly complex levels and modes of existence. They argue that this world-picture
points to God as its source, and (all except Polkinghorne) that panentheism is the most
reasonable synthesis of science and theology. There are interesting differences among them
as well. Barbour favors process theology, whereas most others prefer the perspectives of
Moltmann and Pannenberg. Clayton identifies with Schelling’s later theology as well.
Polkinghorne stands apart because he affirms panentheism for the world to come but
prefers “dialectical theology” for the present world. It is possible to think of his dialectical
theology as a kind of panentheism, however.
In sum, the most interesting and fruitful discussions of panentheism currently involve the
theological cosmologies just mentioned and the theologies of Pannenberg, Moltmann, and
process thought. Recent attempts by traditional Christian theologians to link panentheism
with Western and Eastern strands of patristic theology are also illuminating.
Some Basic Issues and Distinctions in Panentheism
Like classical theism, panentheism is not a single, monolithic theological consensus but a
group of related views with common basic affirmations as well as variations and internal
debates on a number of issues. After surveying the history of panentheism, it is important to
identify the common affirmations and introduce the issues on which there is variation and
debate.
Panentheism literally means “all-in-God-ism.” This is the Greek and English translation of
the German term, Allingottlehre, “the doctrine that all is in God.” It was coined by Karl
Krause (1781-1832), a contemporary of Schleiermacher, Schelling, and Hegel, to distinguish
his own theology both from classical theism and pantheism.15 However, the term panentheism
did not come into common usage until it was popularized by Charles Hartshorne in the mid-
twentieth century.16 Since then it has acquired a commonly-accepted generic definition: “the
Being of God includes and penetrates the whole universe, so that every part exists in Him,
but His Being is more than, and not exhausted by, the universe.”17 In other words, God and
the world are ontologically distinct, and God transcends the world, but the world is in God
ontologically.
15 See the section on Krause in Panentheism, Chapter 5.

16 See Charles Hartshorne, “Preface,” The Divine Relativity: A Social Conception of God (New Haven: Yale,
1948), where he labels his view “surrelativism or panentheism.” See also Hartshorne and Charles
Reese, “Introduction: The Standpoint of Panentheism,” Philosophers Speak of God (Chicago: University
of Chicago Press, 1953, 1969). Also Hartshorne, “Pantheism and Panentheism,” The Encyclopedia of
Religion, Vol. 11, ed. Mircea Eliade (New York: Macmillan, 1987), 165-71; Michael Brierley, “Naming a
Quiet Revolution: The Panentheistic Turn in Modern Theology,” In Whom We Live, ed. Peacocke and
Clayton, 1-18, details the history of the term.
17 F. L. Cross and E. A. Livingstone, eds., The Oxford Dictionary of the Christian Church, 3rd ed., (New
York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997), 1213; see also E. R. Naughton, “Panentheism,”
Oxford Encyclopedia of the Reformation, Vol. 1 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996), 943-45.
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Like all general terms, there are widely differing ways of understanding panentheism, in
particular what “being in God” means and in what ways Divine Being transcends the
universe.18 As a result, theologians who endorse panentheism do not agree on what it is or
should be. Some virtually identify it with process theology. Some embrace versions much
closer to classical theism than pantheism, while others hold views close to pantheism. Some,
such as Moltmann, gladly embrace the term panentheism. Others, such as Pannenberg, reject
the term even though their theologies seem to fit the definition.
This diversity makes an introduction to panentheism more complicated. For the sake of
clarity it is important to identify five distinctions on basic issues that recur throughout its
history: explicit and implicit panentheism; personal and non-personal panentheism; part-
whole and relational panentheism; voluntary and/or natural panentheism; and classical
(divine determinist) or modern (cooperative) panentheism.
It is important to distinguish between explicit and implicit panentheism. There are many
thinkers whose theologies imply panentheism, that is, they meet the definition of
panentheism even though they do not explicitly use the term. Obviously this is true of all
who wrote before the word was coined. Thus we call Plotinus, Cusanus, and Hegel
panentheists because their theologies meet the qualifications, not because they owned the
label. Strictly speaking, it is anachronistic to call them panentheists. But they are implicit
panentheists. Recent refinement of the distinction between panentheism and pantheism
enables us to discern implicit panentheism more precisely. Theologies that we now call
panentheistic have traditionally been classified as species of pantheism.19 In fact,
Schleiermacher, Schelling, and Teilhard de Chardin endorse positions that they label
pantheism. Some contemporary panentheists, such as Hartshorne and Moltmann, explicitly
identify themselves as such. But others, such as Whitehead and Tillich, do not. A few, such
as Pannenberg and perhaps Polkinghorne, criticize panentheism despite the fact that their
theologies meet the standard definition.
Clarity of definition and analysis is therefore crucial. All thinkers who meet the
conditions of panentheism without adopting the term can be considered implicit panentheists.
However, it is the responsibility of those who make this judgment to show precisely whether
and to what extent a theologian meets the conditions. With respect to some, it may be
possible to conclude no more than that they are probable or virtual panentheists because their
positions are not detailed or explicit enough to allow definite identification.
18 Again I recommend In Whom We Live, ed. Peacocke and Clayton, because it includes essays by
panentheists of different kinds and several essays attempting to identify the core beliefs common to all
kinds of panentheism. There is no consensus on more refined technical issues.
19 C. A. Beckwith, “Pantheism,” New Schaff-Herzog Encyclopedia of Religious Knowledge, Vol. 8 (Grand
Rapids: Baker, 1953; reprint of Funk and Wagnalls 1910 edition) and Alasdair Macintyre, “Pantheism,”
Encyclopedia of Philosophy, vols. 5-6 (New York: Macmillan, 1967) include panentheism and panentheists
such as Hegel and Schelling within pantheism. Paul Feinberg, “Pantheism,” Concise Evangelical Dictionary
of Theology (Grand Rapids: Baker Books, 1991), 369, still identifies the notion of the World-Soul as
“relativistic monistic pantheism.”
Similarly, the term pantheism is anachronistic when applied to Spinoza and the Stoics because it was not
coined until John Toland’s Socinianism Truly Stated (1705) and Pantheisticon (1720). Pantheism holds that
the world is divine, although God may also transcend the world in some way. It does not necessarily
identify all of God with the world, but the world is an aspect or manifestation of God.
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A second important distinction throughout this history is between personal and non-personal
or ground-of-being panentheism. For Plotinus, Fichte, Tillich, Ruether, Radhakrishnan, and Watts,
the Divine is the Ground—the ultimate cause, source, and power—of personhood and
interpersonal communion, but it is not itself personal in any straightforward sense. However,
for Schelling, Teilhard, Buber, Hartshorne, and Moltmann, God is ultimately personal and
creates for the sake of love and interpersonal relationship. Christians such as Berdyaev and
Moltmann use (inter-)personal panentheism as a basis for affirming the Trinity.
A third major issue is the meaning of “being in God” or “participating in God.” Some
panentheists view the world as part of the Divine Nature—an essential constituent of God’s
Mind apart from creation and an explicit emanation of the divine Mind’s Idea of the world
when creation is actual. Others view “being in God” more relationally or existentially, so that
the mutual interaction and affect between God and creatures in history involves them so
totally and intimately that they are or become one ontologically, analogous to mind and body
or symbiotic organisms. The basic distinction between part-whole and relational panentheism
underlies variations of both positions throughout the history of this tradition.20
“Being in God” raises a fourth distinction: voluntary and/or natural panentheism. Is the
world in God by his choice or by the necessity of his nature? Could God exist without a
world? Could he have chosen to create another world or no world at all? Some panentheists
unabashedly assert the necessity of the world for God. Neoplatonism readily asserts that
God naturally “overflows” or emanates into lesser kinds of being. Hartshorne insists that
God must have some world or other. It is the divine nature to include a world. However,
most Christian panentheists affirm God’s freedom and deny the necessity of the world.
The issue is more complicated, however. Almost all panentheists, including Christians,
ultimately imply that a world is inevitable for God in spite of affirming that he freely
creates.21 The reason is this: These theologians affirm that God is love and that creation is
the free expression of his love, not the necessity of his nature. But they also affirm that love
cannot be actual without something other than oneself to love. The implication is that God
cannot be God without creating something.
Those who state or imply this argument are adopting a compatibilist view of divine
freedom. Compatibilism asserts the compatibility of freedom and necessity. An act is free if
it is a self-determined expression of one’s nature that is neither coerced by anything other
than oneself or involuntarily compelled by anything within oneself (for example, a muscle
spasm or psychological compulsion). According to this definition, God is self-determining
and freely creates to express his loving nature. By implication, however, it is impossible for
God not to create a world to love. Thus the world is both voluntary and natural for God.
With rare exceptions, this is the standard position throughout the history of panentheism.
The fifth issue, the freedom of creatures to interact with and affect God, divides classical
from modern panentheism. Panentheism from Plotinus through Schleiermacher, like classical
20 Philip Clayton, “Panentheism Today: A Constructive Systematic Evaluation,” in In Whom We Live,
252-54 identifies more precisely several meanings of “in God” held by panentheists. My distinction is a
useful generalization for present purposes.
21 Some current theological cosmologists, such as Peacocke and Clayton, are exceptions, affirming that
God could have refrained from creating anything.
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theism, affirms divine omnipotence and impassibility. It does not allow that creatures affect
God even though they exist in him. Schelling is the first to posit that human freedom is
essential to and correlative with divine freedom, and thus that God’s existence is affected by
human action. Almost all modern panentheists affirm divine-human cooperation in shaping
world history. In fact Hartshorne makes creaturely autonomy the test of true panentheism: If
ultimately God is the only determiner, then pantheism is true.22 The libertarian freedom of
creatures to act, shape history, and affect God is a basic principle of modern panentheism.
Those panentheists, such as Pannenberg, who do not affirm it without qualification are
roundly challenged by their fellows.
These five pairs of basic distinctions within panentheism—implicit or explicit, personal or
non-personal ground, part-whole or relational, voluntary and/or natural, and classical (divine determinist) or
modern (cooperative) panentheism—reflect issues that endure throughout the long, continuing
history of this theological tradition. Thus they provide some framework for classifying
branches of the family tree.
A Brief Response by a Classical Christian Theist
Understanding panentheism is necessary for anyone who is theologically literate. But to
understand it is not necessarily to approve it. An important reason for my own interest is
apologetic—to defend classical Christian theism from the challenges of panentheism and
relational (divine-creature interaction) theology. I am persuaded that nuanced classical
Christian theism is more biblically faithful, theologically adequate, and philosophically
tenable than any kind of panentheism or relational theology. I am at home in classical
orthodoxy as articulated in the theological tradition of the Reformed confessions of the 16th
and 17th centuries. I am convinced that classical Christian theism can stand its ground in
debate with its modern critics. It can deal with divine action and interaction in time, human
freedom, and the problem of evil in ways that are consistent with Scripture, experience, and
God’s maximal greatness. The current unpopularity of traditional orthodoxy is due more to
misunderstanding, changing fashion, and abandonment than religious or intellectual
inadequacy. I remain a classical Christian theist.
Nevertheless, I acknowledge the significant biblical, theological, and philosophical
challenges to classical theism that critics raise. I agree that Christian theology must provide a
coherent account of Scripture’s narration of God’s interpersonal, interactive ways in the
world and its assertion that we creatures are “in Him [God].” Positively, I respect relational
and panentheistic theologies as authentically Christian provided that they are committed to
and consistent with the teaching of Scripture and the historic ecumenical creeds regarding
the identity and work of the Triune God in the creation, redemption, and consummation of
God’s people in his Kingdom. In my view, the most illuminating current discussions of
panentheism are with theologians who embrace versions of it because of their commitment
to the ancient Christian faith and not primarily to the philosophies of Hegel, Schelling,
Whitehead, or emergent evolutionism. Dialogue of this sort within ecumenical Christianity
has much potential for better understanding and mutual correction that will bear fruit with
God’s blessing.
22 Hartshorne, “Pantheism and Panentheism,” Encyclopedia of Religion, Vol. 11, 165-71.
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THE OPENNESS OF GOD AND THE HISTORICAL JESUS

Samuel Lamerson1
Everyone wants to have Jesus on his side. The problem is that many begin to think “of
Christ in their own image—as a martyr, or a theologian, or a mystic, or an ascetic, or an
ecclesiastic. . .”2 Every historical Jesus scholar must be careful that he does not look into the
well at his own face instead of the face of Jesus. With that caveat in mind, one wonders what
Jesus would have thought of the current controversy surrounding God’s openness?3 The
purpose of this paper is to examine two sub-questions that may help clarify the answer to
the question of Jesus’ own view of the openness of God: What did Jesus think of the nature
and extent of his Father’s foreknowledge? What did Jesus think and teach about his own
foreknowledge? Before endeavoring to find an answer to these two questions from the
Gospels, let us make some preliminary observations.
Observations
First, I presuppose that the Gospels authentically portray Jesus. Were this paper to be
delivered in a different arena, I would construct criteria which would support the
authenticity of the sayings that I will be using. However, in this context, I believe we can
proceed with the assumption that the sayings are authentic.
Second, this paper is self-consciously theological rather than philosophical. While I do
not mean to draw a false distinction, neither do I intend to venture into the briar patch of
philosophy for the tar-baby of free will. My argument is from the Gospel’s, not the
philosopher’s, understanding of God (though I do not intend to convey that the two must
always be different).4
1 Sam Lamerson, PhD, is Associate Professor of New Testament at Knox Theological Seminary in Ft.
Lauderdale, FL. He is the author of English Grammar To Ace New Testament Greek.
2 H. J. Cadbury, The Peril of Modernizing Jesus (New York: MacMillan, 1937), 17. Cadbury offers several
criteria to help avoid reading the Gospels in an anachronistic fashion.

3 The “openness of God” or “open theism” is the view that genuine human freedom cannot coexist
with exhaustive Divine foreknowledge of future free human decisions. Therefore, God does not
possess exhaustive foreknowledge. The view assumes contra-causal, libertarian human freedom to be
the only acceptable understanding of the human will. The openness view was first made popular in
Evangelical circles with the publication of The Openness of God: A Biblical Challenge to the Traditional
Understanding of God, coauthored by Richard Rice, John Sanders, Clark H. Pinnock, and William Hasker
(Downer’s Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 1994). Since then, several other works have appeared
defending the view including Gregory Boyd, God of the Possible: A Biblical Introduction to the Open View of
God (Grand Rapids, Baker, 2000) and Clark Pinnock, Most Moved Mover: A Theology of Gods Openness
(Grand Rapids, Baker, 2001).
4 For a philosophical examination of the issue from an incompatibilist prospective see W. Hasker, God,
Time, and Knowledge (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1989), 64-74. For a philosophical treatment from
the compatibilist position see R. Nash, The Concept of God (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1983), chapters
four and five. For a Biblical defense of compatibilism see J. Frame, No Other God: A Response to Open
Theism (Phillipsburg, NJ: P&R, 2001), 119-141. It should be noted here that one of the fundamental
difficulties in the debate is the problem of definition. If one defines “free will” as essentially having
near total autonomy then one may be driven to incompatibilism, and perhaps the openness position. If,
on the other hand, one draws a much smaller circle for the definition of free will (as, for example,
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Third, I hope that this paper will not be perceived as unkind. It is necessary that the
debate on this topic be sharp, though it need not be hostile. Ideas must be scrutinized and
defended, though persons need not be.
Fourth, I must explain my decision to select Jesus for this analysis, lest I face the charge
of being too narrow in focus. There are several reasons for choosing Jesus as a lens through
which to view this controversy. First, Jesus is, in the words of John Sanders, “the ultimate
anthropomorphism.”5 Thus an attempt to determine Jesus’ view of his own, and his
Father’s, foreknowledge is very important for this debate. Second, historical Jesus research
has exploded in the recent past, making this examination timely not just on the openness
side, but from the perspective of historical Jesus studies as well. Third, some of the recent
openness work in the area of New Testament research has focused on Jesus. For example,
Sanders’s chapter on New Testament materials focuses on the person and work of Jesus.6 In
addition, much of Sanders’s book stands on the shoulders of E. Frank Tupper’s work which
examines a number of episodes in the life of Jesus.7 A final reason for examining the
historical Jesus in this context is that some of the most troublesome prophecies (specific
prophecies about the future actions of free and responsible moral agents) take place in the
Gospels.
Fifth, this controversy largely centers on hermeneutics. Everyone in the debate would
agree that there are passages that seem to present God as knowing the future infallibly, as
well as passages that seem to present God as changing his mind, repenting, learning, and
being surprised. The question, of course, is which set of passages will be used to interpret
the other. As Sanders notes, “there is no simple way to establish one view or the other, since
proponents of each view disagree as to how certain passages of Scripture should be
interpreted.”8 While this impasse is difficult to overcome, I believe that the study of the
historical Jesus can be of help here. If the exegete can determine the view of Jesus on divine
foreknowledge, she may then have strong warrant for her hermeneutical conclusions.
Sixth, lest I be accused of constructing a straw man, I must point out that at least some
openness proponents will agree that there are a limited number of future events which are
certain. This is set forth by Greg Boyd, who writes that “[o]pen theists, by contrast, hold that
the future consists partly of settled realities and partly of unsettled realities.”9 Thus,
Jonathan Edwards does in his A Careful and Strict Inquiry Into The Modern Prevailing Notions of that Freedom
of the Will, in The Works of Jonathan Edwards (Carlisle: PA, 1974), 1.1-93) then one is driven toward
compatibilism, and thus a more classic approach. For an analogy which helps to clearly set forth the
difference between these two views of free will see M. Cohen, 101 Philosophy Problems (New York:
Routledge, 1999), 69.
5 J. Sanders, The God Who Risks: A Theology of Providence ( Downer’s Grove, IL: IVP, 1998 ), 90.
6 Ibid., 90-139.
7 E. Frank Tupper, A Scandalous Providence: The Jesus Story of the Compassion of God (Macon, GA: Macon
University Press, 1995).

8 Sanders, Risks, 307, n. 150.
9 G. Boyd, The God of the Possible: A Biblical Introduction to the Open View of God (Grand Rapids: Baker,
2000), 16. This seems to be the same sort of position held by Richard Rice, who says, “ . . . it may be
true that God occasionally acts by fiat and directly causes something to happen.” R. Rice, “Biblical
Support for a New Perspective,” in The Openness of God: A Biblical Challenge to the Traditional Understanding
- 26 -
presumably, Boyd would respond that proving that certain events have been predicted or
preordained does not defeat his position. One would have to prove that all events were
preordained, or at least foreknown, to overthrow this theory. However, later in the book
Boyd seems to nuance this position when he states that, “future free decisions do not exist
(except as possibilities) for God to know until free agents make them.”10 Thus it seems that
if one can show one event in which God or Jesus clearly and unambiguously had knowledge
of a person’s future action or actions, then open theism’s position (at least as it is set forth
by Boyd) is undermined. In this paper I hope to show not just one, but several instances in
which this clear and unambiguous knowledge is demonstrated.
Seventh, it should be observed that the openness debate is about much more than
foreknowledge and free will.11 Pinnock states, “[l]ove and not freedom was our central
concern because it was God’s desire for loving relationships which required freedom.”12
Underlying this view of love and freedom is the belief that in order to have real relationships
there must be real choices on the part of free agents. Because openness proponents define
free will in such a way as to disallow compatibilism between foreknowledge and free will,
God’s foreknowledge is a very important hinge in the debate. It should be noted, however,
that there are other serious theological issues (i.e., in addition to the question of God’s
foreknowledge) that arise out of the openness view.
With these opening observations circumspect, it is now important to set forth exactly
what I hope to prove in this paper. The argument is relatively simple: If Jesus believed that
either his Father knew the future or he himself knew the future about any particular issue
that involves free human choices, then one is forced to either construct a theology that
allows for error on the part of Jesus, or admit that God cannot be said to have been “open”
on those issues. In defense of the idea that Jesus views both his Father and himself as
knowing inerrantly certain future actions (actions that hinge upon the free choices of
humans), I will unpack several specific passages from the Gospels.
I. Does Jesus Believe That His Father Knows The Future?
A. Matthew 6:8
Perhaps the most obvious passage with regard to Jesus’ view of the Father is found in
Matthew 6:8b (pericope 62) in which Jesus proclaims that “your Father knows what you
need before you ask him” (. . . oi=den ga.r o` path.r u`mw/n w-n crei,an e;cete pro. tou/ u`ma/j
aivth/sai auvto,n). Because this passage has been dealt with at length by another paper13, my
comments will be brief. It is important to note at the outset that this chapter in Matthew’s
of God by C. Pinnock, R. Rice, J. Sanders, W. Hasker, and D. Basinger (Downer’s Grove, IL: IVP,
1994), 56
10 Boyd, Possible, 120.
11 Although there are other issues, I agree with Frame who states that the question of the
compatibilism of God’s foreknowledge and man’s free will is “the central issue in the debate
concerning open theism.” Frame, No Other God, 119.
12 C. Pinnock, Most Moved Mover: A Theology of God’s Openness (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2001), 3. Pinnock
does not explain how it might be possible to have loving relationships in heaven, yet have no sin.
13 See Stephen C. Roy, How Much Does God Foreknow? A Comprehensive Biblical Study (Downers Grove,
IL: IVP Academic, 2006), 88-92.
- 27 -
gospel “focuses now on Israel’s perception of her god as ‘father’.”14 Thus this passage is
important because Matthew is endeavoring to give his readers a clear picture of both who
the Father is and how he can be expected to act.
First, to see this text as stating that God knows perfectly the present but does not know
the future seems to be a case of reading the text in an anachronistic fashion. I have found
nothing in second-temple literature which would lead me to believe that a first-century Jew
listening to this saying of Jesus would have thought anything but that God knows the
future.15 This is not to say the evidence does not exist, but only that the burden of proof
must rest upon the openness proponents to provide second-temple evidence that points to a
belief in a limited knowledge of the future on the part of God.16
Second, the exegete should note that many of the requests in the model prayer that
follows look toward the future (Kingdom come, keep us from the evil one) and involve, on
some level, the actions of free human wills. Boyd argues that this passage indicates that we
should “pray that our Father’s will would be done (Matt 6:10), not accept things as though his
will was already being done!”17 The problem, of course, is that one does not negate the other.
Simply praying that God’s will be done in the future does not imply that his will is not being
done in the present.
Third, there is a possible parallel to the Matthean passage in the Gospel of Thomas. In
saying six, in answer to the question of fasting, Jesus is reported as saying “Do not tell lies,
and do not do what you hate, for all things are plain in the sight of heaven. . . .”18 Taking the
phrase “all things” at face value, the words seem to refer to the past, the present, and the
future.
14 N. T. Wright, Jesus and the Victory of God (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1996), 291. Note that Wright has
chosen to deliberately use the small letter ‘g’ when referring to God. His justification for this is found
in The New Testament and the People of God (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1992), xiv.
15 I am aware of the difficulties and dangers of speaking of “second-temple Judaism” as if it were
some sort of homogenous group. On these dangers see G. Boccaccini, Middle Judaism: Jewish Thought
300 B.C.E. To 200 C. E. (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1991) pp.7-25; G. W. E. Nickelsburg and R. A. Kraft,
"The Modern Study of Early Judaism," in Early Judaism and Its Modern Interpreters, ed. G. W. E.
Nickelsburg and R. A. Kraft (Atlanta: SBL, 1986), pp. 9-20; as well as G. G. Porton, "Diversity in
Postbiblical Judaism," in Kraft and Nickelsburg, Early Judaism, 57-80. Boccaccini rightly states that
Judaism “is to be seen not as an ideologically homogeneous unit but, in today’s world as well as in the
past, as a set of different ideological systems in competition with one another” (p. 13). Because of this
diversity one would expect to see some non-canonical writing from this period that points to God’s
knowledge of the future as open. I am aware of no such work.
16 Note that I am not including here the Hebrew Bible texts (on either side of the issue) because it is
precisely the meaning of these texts that is at the heart of the question.
17 G. Boyd, Possible, 102 (Italics in original).
18 J. M. Robinson, ed., The Nag Hammadi Library (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1978), 118. It should
be noted here that I am not arguing that The Gospel of Thomas is a first-century document, but only that
it might shed some light on how this passage was perceived within the first few hundred years after it
was written. I agree with Wolfgang Schrage, Das Verhältnis des Thomas-Evangeliums zur synoptischen
Tradition und zu den koptischen Evangelienübersetzungen (Berlin: Töpelmann, 1964), that most of the parallels
with Thomas are best explained by a dependence of Thomas on the Synoptics, rather than the other way
around.
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Fourth, Jesus sees the fact that God knows what we need before we ask as an
encouragement to pray, not as a discouragement.19 Davies and Allison note, “prayer . . . does
not inform or remind God of anything; it is instead worship, and it serves to cleanse the
mind, purify the heart, and align one’s will with God’s will.”20 Early comments on this
passage point in the same direction. Chrysostom, for example, in his Homily on Matthew
(19.5), asks, “Wherefore must we pray? Not to instruct him, but to prevail with him; to be
made intimate with him . . .”21 From very early on, this passage was seen to speak very
clearly about Jesus’ view of his Father’s omniscient knowledge of future prayer requests, yet
this knowledge should cause us to want to pray, not to stop praying (as some openness
proponents have claimed).22 Frank Tupper observes that this passage teaches that prayer
“does not inform God.”23 Thus this passage seems to teach that Jesus believed that his
Father had knowledge of the future.
The openness proponent might argue that this passage simply teaches that God knows
the present thoughts of man. Therefore, he would know what a petitioner was about to ask,
because he knows the present, not the future. The problem is that this works against the
argument that God’s openness gives incentive to prayer.24 Bruce Ware shows this quite
succinctly when he points out that not just in the classic view, but even the in the open view,
“[i]t is strictly speaking impossible for human beings to inform God of their thoughts,
concerns, longings, feelings and requests” (because all these things exist in the present).25
B. Matthew 10: 26-33
A second passage that gives weight to the view that Jesus believed that his Father had
knowledge of the future is found in Matthew 10:26-33 (pericope 101). Here Jesus again
speaks very specifically about the nature and breadth of his Father’s knowledge. He states
that a sparrow does not fall to the ground (or land on the earth, depending upon how one
translates pesei/tai) without the knowledge of the Father. He then goes on to argue from the
lesser (the sparrow) to the greater (the human person). The argument is simply this: If God
takes care of sparrows, he will take care of his children. Does this passage indicate future
knowledge on the part of God, or only perfect knowledge of the present? Sanders seems to
argue that this passage does not teach that the Father has accurate foreknowledge of such
incidents. About this passage he asks, does it mean that no sparrow dies and no hair falls out
without God specifically decreeing that it be so? Although some take it in this sense, it does
19 On God’s foreknowledge as a discouragement to prayer see Sanders, Risks, 268-271; Boyd, Possible,
95.
20 Davies and Allison, Matthew (ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1988)1.590. D. Hagner agrees, stating:
“The disciples . . . are to realize that what they need is already known to God. Prayer does not inform
God about their needs.” D. Hagner, Matthew (WBC; Dallas: Word, 1993) 1.147.
21 Cited in Davies and Allison, Matthew, 1.590
22 See for example Boyd, who asks, “[If the future is exhaustively settled] [w]hat real difference could
prayer possibly make?” G. Boyd, Possible, 95. See also D. Basinger, Openness of God, 157-162.
23 E. F. Tupper, Scandalous Providence, 178.
24 For a full critical examination (yet fair enough to be praised by Pinnock) of this aspect of openness
see chapters four and five of T. Tiessen, Providence and Prayer: How Does God Work in the World?
(Downer’s Grove, IL: IVP, 2000).
25 B. Ware, God’s Lesser Glory: The Diminished God of Open Theism (Wheaton: Crossway, 2000), 165.
- 29 -
not seem to be what Jesus meant.26 Sanders goes on to argue that Jesus is essentially stating
that the problems they may face do not imply that they have been separated from the
concern of God. There are, however, a number of factors pointing toward the conclusion
that Jesus meant for this argument to be understood as referring to his Father’s knowledge
of the future.
First, the context of the passage points to a knowledge of the future on the part of the
Father. In Matthew 10, Jesus is sending out disciples. He warns them of a variety of
problems they will face. They will be beaten (10:17), dragged before governors and kings
(10:18), some of them will be killed (10:21). In the face of this promise of persecution, Jesus
tells his disciples not to fear, for God cares more about them than about sparrows.
One could argue that Jesus’ prediction of persecution is not divine foreknowledge but
simply a clear understanding of the political climate of the day. The problem with this view is
that the implication is that God knows what will happen to these men. If the Father is not
sure about what will happen to them it would be exceedingly difficult for Jesus to make the
promises of hope that he offers to the departing disciples. In fact, a syllogism could be
constructed like this: You will face terrors; God knows about the terrors; Therefore, you
need not fear. It seems highly unlikely that Jesus is only guessing about what will happen to
them based on the political climate of the day.
Alternately, one could argue that the hope that Jesus is offering is that of eternal life,
which would require no knowledge of the future, only perfect knowledge of the present state
of human hearts. Thus, the argument could go thusly: Jesus is saying that they need not fear
because ultimately they will be taken to heaven. The problem with this understanding is that
it violates the very understanding of free will that open theists hold to so strongly. What is to
prevent one or more of these men, under the pressure of the threat of death, from denying
his faith? It would be impossible for Jesus to promise them hope without his Father
knowing how they would respond under the upcoming persecution.
A second reason to see this passage as speaking of God’s knowledge of the future lies in
the grammar. Jesus states that “.” Thus
he seems, at least at first glance, to say that God knows about the smallest thing that will
happen (a sparrow falling or landing) and therefore it is reasonable to believe that he knows
about the larger things. The question that we must answer, of course, is this: Does God
know this information before it happens, or does he come to know it at the time of its
happening? Simply pointing out that the verb is in the future tense does not solve the
problem. However, there are several reasons to believe that Jesus means for this passage to
be understood as teaching that God knows at the time he (Jesus) is speaking about the
sparrows that will fall in the future (i.e., his knowledge is now complete, he does not come to
know about sparrows at the time they fall).
One of the problems in the interpretation of this text results from the fact that Matthew
has only tou' patroV" as the object of a[neu in the second part of the phrase. One expects a
further (impersonal) object (e.g., your Father’s will, knowledge, etc.) The literal translation
would be “not one sparrow shall fall on the earth without your Father.” Most English
translations have chosen to add an impersonal object such as “without your Father’s
26 Sanders, Risks, 113.
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knowledge” (see for example KJV, NASV, NIV). Justification for this translation is found in
BDAG27 which cites Matthew 10:29 as an example of a[neu used of a person (i.e., without an
impersonal object). In this case, the word should be taken to mean “without the knowledge
and consent.”28 The question remains as to whether Jesus speaks of the perfect present
knowledge or the knowledge of the future. Does a[neu imply present knowledge of a future
event? If BDAG is correct in asserting that this term, as it is used here, connotes “knowledge
and consent” then the idea of future knowledge is almost certain.29 One gives consent for
activities which are to happen in the future, not those that have already taken place. It would
be impossible for God to give his consent for a sparrow to fall (or land) without having
known about it in advance.
This word occurs in the New Testament only three times (Matt 10:29; 1 Pet 3:1; 4:9). The
other two times a[neu has an impersonal object (without a word and without complaint).30
The word occurs in 24 verses in the canonical books of the LXX.31 The most interesting of
these occurrences, for our purpose, are two of the times that a[neu occurs without an
impersonal object. In Gen 41:44 the LXX reads, “ei=pen de. Faraw tw/| Iwshf evgw. Faraw
a;neu sou/ ouvk evxarei/ ouvqei.j th.n cei/ra auvtou/ evpi. pa,sh| gh/| Aivgu,ptou.” In this case the
object is the second person personal pronoun (referring to Joseph) and both the a;neu and
sou are translated from the Hebrew term ^yd,['l.biW which in this context clearly means
“without your consent.”
The term occurs again without an impersonal object in Isa 36:10. The text here reads,
“kaiV nu'n mhV a[neu kurivou ajnevbhmen ejpiV thVn cwvran tauvthn polemh'sai aujthvn.” Again
the key phrase is translated from the Hebrew terms hw"hy> yde[]l.B;mih.] In this case Rabshakeh is
speaking to Hezekiah and telling him that he did not come into the land without the
“approval of the Lord.”32 The implication is clear, Rabshakeh believes that the Lord knew
what he was planning and gave him permission to carry out those plans.
Thus, in both of these cases, when the word occurs without an impersonal object it
implies the permission of the person to whom it refers. This adds weight to the idea that
Jesus means to imply that no sparrow falls without the approval of the Father, since it is
impossible to grant permission for an act or event that one is ignorant of or that is in the
past. The evidence strongly implies that this passage speaks of God’s foreknowledge. The
very fact that the disciples are supposed to be encouraged by this speech lends credence to
the view that Jesus’ argument is this: God knows all that will happen. The smallest event
does not take place without his permission. Even the death of a sparrow requires the
permission of God. Thus persecution will not mean that God has forgotten, is ignorant, or is
27 BDAG, 78.
28 Ibid.
29 See also Davies and Allison, Matthew, 2. 208 who cite BAGD and posit that the phrase is properly
translated by the RSV who render it “without your Father’s will.” Hagner cites the phrase from BAGD
approvingly as well. D. Hagner, Matthew, 1.286.
30 1 Pet. 3:1b dia. th/j tw/n gunaikw/n avnastrofh/j a;neu lo,gou kerdhqh,sontai (without a word); 4:9
filo,xenoi eivj avllh,louj a;neu goggusmou/ (without complaint).

31 Gen 41:16, 44; Exod 21:11; 1 Sam 6:7; 2 Kgs 18:25; Ps 9:27; 43:13; 58:5; Job 6:6, 8:11, 24:7, 30:28,
31:39, 34:6, 34:32, 39:16; Amos 3:5, Isa 10:15, 28:1, 36:10, 55:1; Jer. 51:19; Dan 2:34, 2:45.
32 NASB.
- 31 -
not in control. Not a sparrow falls, and not a disciple is persecuted without both the
knowledge and permission of God.
Both of these passages seem to give significant weight to the argument that Jesus saw his
Father as having accurate foreknowledge. It will not be enough for openness scholars to
point out other possible options. The openness proponent must engage with the text and
present significant reasons for not hearing these texts as it seems a second-temple Jewish
person, steeped in the LXX, would have.
II. Jesus’ Own View Of His Knowledge Of The Future
A second major question must now be asked. If he believed that his Father knew the
future, did Jesus believe that he had that same knowledge? There are a variety of avenues
open to the exegete in this area. Jesus seems to predict a number of events including his own
death, the destruction of the temple, the betrayal of Judas, and the denial of Peter. Because
these last two deal very directly with the free will of individuals they will be carefully
examined.
A. Jesus’ Prediction About Peter
Jesus makes a very specific prediction about what Peter will do within the next 24 hours.
This prediction is found in all four of the Gospels (Pericope 315; Matt 26:34; Mark 14:30;
Luke 22:34; John13:38). The question that this issue raises is obvious. If God’s inerrant
foreknowledge violates the free will of the object of that knowledge, and if God will not
violate the will of any free creature, how is he able to unerringly predict the actions of one of
those free creatures?
While there have been a variety of answers to this problem, I will deal here with those
offered by Sanders and Boyd. Boyd believes that Jesus knew Peter well enough to predict
these actions based not on his knowledge of the future, but only on his knowledge of Peter’s
personality. He says, “[c]ontrary to the assumption of many, we do not need to believe that
the future is exhaustively settled to explain this prediction. We only need to believe that God
the Father knew and revealed to Jesus one very predictable aspect of Peter’s character.”33
Sanders’s answer, while slightly different from Boyd’s, simply pushes the problem back a
step. He posits that all that God needed to determine “in this case would be to have
someone question Peter three times and a rooster crow.”34 The problem is obvious. How is
it that God can be sure that one or two of those three people will not decide, at the last
minute, not to question Peter? How is it that God can be sure that the particular rooster will
not oversleep, or even be killed by its master? It seems that Sanders’ answer has only made
the problem more difficult rather than less so.
In another context, Sanders makes a very interesting statement about this prediction. He
says that God, in the events that surrounded this prediction about Peter, could have
“orchestrated events in order to drive home a point to someone God intended to be a
leading apostle. In this case the “foreknowledge” is due to foreordination, which is

34 Sanders, “How Did God Know?,” Christianity Today, June 11, 2001, 54.
- 32 -
compatible with presentism”35 One wonders precisely what this means.36 Did God violate
the will of Peter in the course of this “foreordination”? In what sense is foreordination
compatible with presentism? The use of the word “foreordination” seems to point toward a
certainty, yet this act involves the choice of individuals which would seem to place it in the
realm of the “unknowable.” Unfortunately, Sanders’s use of language here is not very clear.
Several problems present themselves immediately with reference to both Sanders’ and
Boyd’s views. First, the prediction is very specific not just concerning action (which might, I
suppose, be only a result of the knowledge of Peter’s personality) but to time as well. How
did Jesus know that these events would take place within the next few hours? This simply
cannot be laid at the feet of Peter’s personality or at the feet of the personalities of the
questioners. It has been countered that the crucifixion is the most important event in the
history of redemption; therefore we might expect to see unusual things happening as God
brings his plan to fruition.37 The problem is that Peter’s denial is in no way integral to the
crucifixion itself. One could argue that Judas’s betrayal was a key event in the passion, but
that same argument cannot be made in reference to Peter.
A second problem can be seen when one realizes that there are only two options open to
Jesus when he makes this statement. He is either sure that this event will take place, or he
believes (but is uncertain) that it will happen. If he is sure, then God has apparently violated
the free will of Peter (on the openness definition of free will).38 If he is not sure, then one
must construct a theology in which Jesus could possibly be mistaken, for just because it
came to pass does not mean (if Jesus was uncertain) that it happened out of any sort of
necessity.39 Thus if Jesus was unsure about the future actions of Peter, then one must face
the possibility that he could have been mistaken. Would Jesus have made such a prediction if
he were not sure about its outcome? The so-called “ignorant son” passages (Matt 24:36;
Mark 13:32) would indicate that Jesus felt no shame in admitting that his knowledge was
limited in at least one area. Yet he makes a very specific prediction here. If Jesus had been
unsure it seems that he would not have made such a prediction. Thus the evidence seems to
point very clearly to the fact that Jesus believed that he could accurately predict the future
actions of a free agent, yet that agent was still responsible for the evil which he committed.
This seriously undermines both the necessity of defining free will as unrestricted in order to
have responsibility for an action, as well as the argument for Jesus’ lack of foreknowledge.

36 On the problem of the lack of sharp definition in some areas of the openness debate see Frame, No
Other God, 20-21.
37 This is the position that Sanders seems to take when he states, “Peter was to have a special role in
God’s forthcoming work, so God works especially with him.” J. Sanders, “How Did God Know?” CT,
June 11 (2001): 54.
38 It should be pointed out that Peter is still held responsible for this act despite the fact that it was not
“free” under the openness definition of freedom. See Frame, No Other God, 202.
39 I mean this “mistake” as a much different and much more serious type than the sort of which Ben
Meyer writes in The Aims of Jesus (London: SCM, 1979), 242-249. This sort of mistake would not be
simply a sharpening of some eschatological understanding, but an out and out error of fact. Note that
Sanders is not hesitant to ascribe a mistake (albeit after a very carefully nuanced definition of mistake)
to God. He admits that God could be mistaken in his beliefs, believing that something was going to
come to pass which did not come to pass. Sanders, Risks, 132-3.
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B. Jesus’ Prediction About Judas

The betrayal of Jesus by Judas creates more problems for those intent on saving some
sort of autonomous free will. The prediction is found in pericope number 310 (Matt 26:20-
25); the action itself is reported in pericope 331 (Matt 26:47-56; Mark 14:43-52; Luke 22: 47-
53; John 18:2-12). Jesus predicts beforehand that Judas will betray him and Judas goes out
and does exactly what Jesus has predicted. If Jesus can predict the actions of Judas
beforehand, how can his choices be said to be free in the autonomous sense? This prediction
by Jesus and action by Judas raise serious questions for the open theist.
While it is true that verses 17-19 of Matthew 26 are “not supposed to display Jesus’
foreknowledge of events to come, what follows certainly does.”40 Jesus speaks very clearly
about being handed over by one of the twelve. In verse 24 Matthew quotes Jesus as saying
“o` me.n ui`o.j tou/ avnqrw,pou u`pa,gei kaqw.j ge,graptai peri. auvtou/”. Davies and Allison see
the term u`pa,gei as a euphemism for dying.41 Thus Jesus is seen very clearly making a
prediction not just about the fact of the betrayal, but about the outcome of the betrayal as
well. While one could argue that Judas had already made up his mind, and that knowledge of
Judas’s present state was open to God, this will not answer the question of how Jesus would
have known the ultimate outcome (death) of the betrayal, nor the question of what might
have occurred had Judas changed his mind.
One of the more serious problems for openness scholars is that, in John’s gospel, Jesus
links his prediction about the actions of Judas to the proof of his own Deity. In John 13:18-
19, Jesus says:
18 "I do not speak of all of you. I know the ones I have chosen; but it is that the
Scripture may be fulfilled, 'HE WHO EATS MY BREAD HAS LIFTED UP HIS
HEEL AGAINST ME.' 19 "From now on I am telling you before it comes to pass, so
that when it does occur, you may believe that I am He. (NASB)
Thus, Jesus is basing his claim to deity on the accuracy of this prophecy. The very fact that
John has reported to us the use of the phrase “I am” (i[na pisteu,shte o[tan ge,nhtai o[ti
evgw, eivmi) is indicative of the seriousness with which Jesus took this prophecy. Sanders
argues that a “risk is involved here, since there is no guarantee which way Judas will
decide.”42 In the prediction, Jesus appears to place a great deal of weight (the proof of his
own Deity) on an event for which there is no guarantee. If Judas had chosen otherwise (as
both Boyd and Sanders say that he could have43), would this have meant that Jesus was not
the Messiah? Would Jesus have risked the proof of his own messianic status on such a rash
and uncontrollable event as this? I think not.44
Another serious problem for open theists is that in Matthew’s gospel the betrayal of
Judas is said to be a fulfillment of prophecy (Matt 26:54-56):
40 Davies and Allison, Matthew, 3.460.

41 Ibid., 3.462.
43 Boyd, Possible, 38; Sanders, Risks, 99.
44 See Ware, God’s Lesser Glory, 127.
- 34 -
54 "How then shall the Scriptures be fulfilled, that it must happen this way?" 55 At that
time Jesus said to the multitudes, "Have you come out with swords and clubs to arrest
Me as against a robber? Every day I used to sit in the temple teaching and you did not
seize Me. 56 "But all this has taken place that the Scriptures of the prophets may be
fulfilled." Then all the disciples left Him and fled. (NASB)
Sanders argues that the use of fulfillment language in Matthew is not about future events but
that Matthew is using the word to imply that what happened in the past is happening again.45
While it is true that Matthew’s use of the term “fulfillment” is very nuanced, this does not
mean that he always uses the term to imply a typological event.46 As Matthew 26:24 seems to
indicate, Jesus was saying that the Scriptures had predicted that the events “must happen this
way.” Thus, it seems that the evidence is very strong in favor of seeing Judas’s action as
having been foreseen by both the Father and Jesus.
C. Counter Evidence
It should be noted here that there is some counter evidence. The most obvious example
is the prayer of Jesus on the night before his death. The openness proponents rightly point
out that Jesus’ prayer seems to point toward uncertainty on his part. His cry of “Pa,ter mou(
eiv dunato,n evstin( parelqa,tw avpV evmou/ to. poth,rion tou/to\ plh.n ouvc w`j evgw. qe,lw avllV
w`j su” (Matt 26:39) seems, prima facie, to add weight to Sanders’s view that on the night that
Jesus prayed, there was still a chance that the crucifixion would not happen. Sanders, in what
is perhaps the greatest understatement of the book, realizes that the “notion that the cross
was not planned prior to creation will seem scandalous to some readers.”47 Yet, despite this
propensity for scandal, Sanders boldly puts forth his view by saying, “although Scripture
attests that the incarnation was planned from the creation of the world, this is not so with
the cross. . . . Until this moment in history other routes were, perhaps, open.48 This prayer is
a passage which classical theists must deal with. It is not enough simply to say that Jesus was
praying “as a man and not as God,” for this will be rightly seen as a case of special pleading.
What then can the classical theist say in response to the analysis of Sanders?
It must be admitted that Jesus, by becoming fully human, “experienced the full human
dread of death.”49 But this does not necessitate an open view of the crucifixion. First,
Blaising has argued that this prayer does not indicate indecision on the part of Jesus. On the
45 Sanders, CT, June 11, 2001, 54.

46 The large bibliography on fulfillment in Matthew includes: N. Hillyer, “Matthew’s Use of the Old
Testament”, EvQ 36 (1964), 12-25; S. E. Johnson, “The Biblical Quotations in Matthew”, HTR 36
(1943), 134-41; Davies and Allison, Matthew, 3.577; K. Stendahl, The School of Matthew and Its Use of the
Old Testament, (Mifflintown, PA: Sigler, 1991); R. H. Gundry, The Use of the Old Testament in St. Matthew’s
Gospel with Special Reference to the Messianic Hope, (Leiden: Brill, 1975); G. N. Stanton, “Matthew’s Use of
the Old Testament” in A Gospel for a New People: Studies in Matthew, (Louisville: Westminster/John
Knox, 1992), 346-363; and R. T. France, Matthew: Evangelist and Teacher, (Grand Rapids: Zondervan,
1989), 166-205.
48 Ibid., 100. It should be noted that Boyd takes a different view of the cross than does Sanders. Boyd
believes that God did “foreknow and foreordained aspects of Christ’s ministry, especially his death.
Boyd, Possible, 27.
49 C. Keener, The Gospel of Matthew (Grand Rapids, Eerdmans, 1999), 639.
- 35 -
contrary, in this prayer, Jesus, knowing that the crucifixion is coming, prays “take this cup
from me after I drink it.”50
Second, the crucifixion is clearly seen as the consummate event for Hebrew prophecy.
The most obvious passages are Psalm 22, Ephesians 1:4, 1 Peter 1:20, and Revelation 13:8.
Sanders does point out that New Testament writers do not make use of Psalm 22 despite the
fact that “the church has made great use of it.”51 The problem with this line of analysis (in
addition to the fact that Jesus quoted a portion of Psalm 22 on the cross) is that New
Testament usage is not the only criterion for recognizing a Hebrew Bible prophecy.
One of the most significant of these passages is found in Revelation 13:8, where the
author states: “ou- ouv ge,graptai to. o;noma auvtou/ evn tw/| bibli,w| th/j zwh/j tou/ avrni,ou tou/
evsfagme,nou avpo. katabolh/j ko,smouÅ” Sanders rightly points out that there is a grammatical
difficulty with this passage. “What was it in particular that happened before the foundation
of the world?”52 Was it the writing of names in the book, or the slaying of the Lamb?
Sanders argues that while God did plan the incarnation from before the creation, he was not
sure of which of the rationales (either as payment for sin or some other rationale) he would
need to depend upon. Thus he says that God knew that Jesus would be incarnate, but not
that he would be crucified. There are several problems with Sanders’s analysis.
First, the two options in the passage are that the Lamb was slain before the foundation of
the world or that there are those whose names were not written in the book before the
foundation of the world. The problem is that either of the two options lands the openness
theologian in trouble. One must admit either that the crucifixion was a fixed event before
the foundation of the world, or that the salvation of those whose names are written in the
book is a fixed event. That is, the writing of names of free agents in the book before the
foundation of the world seems to infringe upon free will as much as the slaying of the
Lamb.53 Neither of these options is open to the consistent open theist.
A second problem comes from the grammar of the passage. Robert Picirilli, in a response
to Sanders, argues that, “[t]he reason it is more natural to take “from the foundation of the
world” with “slain” is fairly obvious. Nearly all the time in Revelation, prepositional phrases
adverbially modifying a written verb or verbal go with the verb or verbal closest to them,
either before or after.54
A third problem with Sanders’s analysis of this passage is his argument that neither camp
interprets this passage literally because Jesus “was not literally slain prior to the creation,
since he was crucified during the reign of Pontius Pilate.”55 Of course this is little more than
50 C. Blaising, “Gethsemane: A Prayer of Faith” JETS 22 (1979): 349

52 Ibid., 102.
53 On the nature of this book see G. Beale, The Book of Revelation (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1999),
701-2.
54 R. Picirilli, “An Arminian Response to John Sanders’s The God Who Risks: A Theology of
Providence” JETS 44 (2001): 481. Picirilli admits that this “should not be understood as proof to any
degree.”
- 36 -
smoke and mirrors, for no one is arguing that the passage teaches that Jesus was literally
killed before the foundation of the world.
It seems Boyd is much closer to classical theism when he agrees that Zechariah 12:10 is
“an apparent reference to Christ’s crucifixion—centuries before crucifixion had been
invented as a form of execution.”56 Thus I see Boyd’s position on the crucifixion (that it was
indeed a fixed event) as more biblical, while Sanders’s is more consistent within the scope of
the claims of open theism.
Suggestions For Further Research
There are obviously a number of areas that still need work. One of the more important, I
think, is finding non-canonical, second-temple Jewish texts that point either toward or away
from what has been called the “classical” view of God. The New Testament was not written
in a vacuum but entered into a world where there were many other books that claimed to
speak about the Hebrew God.
A second area, if I may be so bold as to speak of something good coming from
Nazareth, is that classical theologians must work harder to offer coherent explanations of
those passages that seem to bolster the position of those who hold to openness theology. It
will not do for either side to ignore the work of the other. Careful exegetical work must be
done on the passages themselves. Clark Pinnock sees many classical theologians using what
he calls the “proof-texting method of evangelical rationalism which disregards narrative but
plucks texts out of context in support of traditional notions and a system already in hand.”57
However, I think this criticism can be levied with equal force against openness proponents.
Third, more work should center on the view of Jesus. While one must realize that divine
foreknowledge is enormously complicated by the incarnation, one must also realize that
there is a great deal to be learned from the study of the historical Jesus in the context of this
debate. I hope this brief paper might make some small advance in this area.

57 0C. Pinnock, Most Moved Mover, 20.
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SAME AS IT EVER WAS: THE FUTURE OF PROTESTANTISM IN THE

GLOBAL NORTH
D. G. Hart1
It was the best of times. It was the worst of times. That Dickensian reading of
nineteenth-century London also appears to be the story line for twenty-first-century
journalists covering religion in North America. On the one hand, editors seem to want copy
that reveals the spread and growth of Christianity in the global South like the report filed by
Somini Sengupta and Larry Rohter for the New York Times in the fall of 2003. This article on
“The Changing Church” revealed the remarkable vitality and popularity of Christianity
(particularly Pentecostalism) among Nigerians. The reporters quoted one Lagos lawyer who
said that in countries like the United States “where everything is O.K. . . . people are very
lethargic when it comes to religion and God. . . . They seem to have it all.” The story went
on to editorialize that this was not the case in the developing world like Nigeria “where
Christianity is drawing followers as never before.” This growth, the reporters added, “is
changing the complexion and practice of the Christian faith . . . and causing schisms between
the old Christians of the north and the newer ones of the south.”2
On the other hand, editors also have a certain taste for stories on North American
religion that feature the novel and unconventional practices of Christian churches. Roughly
four months after the piece on Pentecostalism in Nigeria appeared in the Times, another
story on church growth appeared, this time on “emerging” or “postmodern” churches in or
around, of all places, the vicinity of Lake Wobegone, Minnesota. Here in the American
heartland, as the headline for the report had it, “Hip New Churches Pray to a Different
Drummer.” These cutting-edge congregations feature a mix of contemporary and ancient,
rock praise bands and Roman Catholic or Eastern Orthodox rituals with a smattering of
multi-media presentations for the more affluent of the “emerging churches.” Furthermore,
with a website (www.ginkworld.net) listing more than 300 of such congregations, along with
analysis from Northern Baptist Seminary’s Robert Webber about the churches with the best
chance of reaching Generation X, the editors at the Times detected a phenomenon
sufficiently large and growing to merit space among all that is fit to print.3
Although these two sorts of news stories, one on the spread of Christianity in the global
South, the other on the vitality of North American Christianity, appear to be at odds, they
actually reinforce a common rendering of Christian history over the last three decades. These
stories reveal two different attitudes to the contemporary spread of Christianity. The first, on
1 D. G. Hart, PhD, is the Director of Partnered Projects at the Intercollegiate Studies Institute
(www.isi.org). He was previously dean of academic affairs and professor of church history at
Westminster Seminary California where he remains on the adjunct faculty. He is the author of
numerous books, including: Deconstructing Evangelicalism: Conservative Protestantism in the Era of Billy
Graham; The Lost Soul of American Protestantism; and The University Gets Religion: Religious Studies and
American Higher Education. This article is adapted from Hart’s address in 2004 at “The Future of the
Church in a Globalized World,” a conference sponsored by the Center for Christian Study in
Charlottesville, Virginia.
2 Somini Sengupta and Larry Rohter, “Where Faith Grows, Fired by Pentecostalism,” New York Times
(Oct. 14. 2003).

3 John Leland, “Hip New Churches Pray to a Different Drummer,” New York Times (Feb. 18, 2004).
- 39 -
the church in the southern hemisphere, underscores the vitality and growth of Christianity in
non-western or non-European settings. Thanks to the work of a variety of academics,
subsequently reinforced by journalists, the rise of so-called global Christianity has begun to
challenge older notions about the West, the residue of Christendom in Europe and North
America, and whether other parts of the world are in fact more Christian and thus indicate
the direction of Christianity’s future. The second story on innovative churches in the United
States contradicts, at least to some degree, this reading of Christianity’s prominence in the
global South. The “emerging” church movement is simply the latest evidence of American
Christianity’s amazing dynamism and creativity. It also underscores the perception that the
United States is uncannily Christian despite a variety of other political and social
circumstances that make it one of the most secular nations on the planet. As such, while the
growth of Pentecostalism in Nigeria leads to the Christianity-is-dying-in-the-West-and-alive-
in-the-South story line, the rise of “emerging” churches reinforces the narrative of America’s
religious exceptionalism. Such uniqueness, of course, proves that God is indeed dead in the
West except for that most modern and secular of places, the United States.
Despite this apparent tension in journalism about contemporary Christianity, these
stories cohere in one important respect. Both reinforce the notion that the older patterns
and forms of Christian practice, whether Roman Catholic or Protestant, have run out of gas.
For instance, in their report on Nigeria, Sengupta and Rohter observe that Pentecostalism,
not simply in Africa but also in South America, is “bumping up against established Christian
churches . . . chipping away at what has been a virtual Roman Catholic monopoly” at least in
Latin America. They add that these new churches’ appeal has been “seemingly irresistible.
Worship today is a far cry from the rituals once imposed by European missionaries. Services
are conducted in Swahili and Igbo. Most of all, services can be much livelier than their
European antecedents.” According to the Bishop of Nairobi who was recently back from
attending Mass in Rome, “I found the way they celebrate the Eucharist a bit boring.”4 If
historic Christian forms of worship are losing their appeal in the global South, in the upper
mid-West of the United States the piety of boomers has become geriatric. The megachurches
of the 1970s and 1980s, according to the story on the “emerging” church, were too rational,
predictable, and oriented to performance. As the reporter describes the “emerging”
congregations in Minneapolis, “At Spirit Garage . . . in a small theater, congregants can pick
up earplugs at the door in case the Spirit Garage Band is too loud. At Solomon’s Porch
across town, a crowd of about 300 takes weekly communion ‘house party’-style, chatting
with plastic cups of wine and pieces of pastry before one announces, ‘Take and eat the body
of Christ.’“5 Consequently, whether the site of greatest Christian vitality is the southern
hemisphere or the home of Scandinavian-American culture and the Mall of America, the
historic practices and worship of Protestant and Roman Catholic Christians is clearly in
decline, at least by the lights of the Times’ religion reporters.
What follows is an attempt to say an encouraging word on behalf of the old and decrepit,
not a fun assignment but certainly one that could be valuable if it generated better
understanding of the current predicament for Protestant churches. The particular old and
decrepit that I have in mind are the faith and practices that gave rise to Protestantism. The
4 Quoted in Sengupta and Rohter, “Where Faith Grows.”

5 Leland, “Hip New Churches.”
- 40 -
concern here is not so much to defend the sociological phenomenon of denominationalism,

a religious structure bound up with the polity of the United States particularly and the
decline of ecclesiastical establishments in the West more generally. Instead, the aim is to
show that the understanding of Christianity that fueled the formation of such different
communions as Lutheranism, Anglicanism, Presbyterianism, and Reformed, has a future
even if its current prospects look bleak. Although the points to follow almost exclusively
involve Protestantism, they do by implication extend to Roman Catholicism since both older
branches of western Christianity depend upon an understanding of Christianity that features
churchly ways of practicing the faith. To be sure, the ministry of word, sacrament, and
discipline is a topic over which Protestants and Roman Catholics vigorously disagree (or at
least used to). But these older ways of practicing the Christian religion and the debates over
them that ensued in the West for at least two centuries after the Protestant Reformation are
precisely at issue in current discussions about the future of Christianity. As such, to regard
the current Christian situation as a question of either western or southern global hegemony
is to miss a more basic issue of whether ecclesial Christianity is a legitimate, if not normative,
Christian expression. Even if current discussions of religion in the press consider irrelevant
the sort of theological, ecclesiastical, and liturgical questions that divided western Christianity
first into Protestants and Roman Catholics and then into Protestant denominations, my own
conviction is that these ecclesial forms of faith are still crucial to Christian ministry and
witness and so cannot be neglected in any evaluation of Christianity’s vitality.
The Sociological is Spiritual
Two questions are crucial to the argument here. The first addresses the criteria by which
scholars and journalists assess the apparent vitality of contemporary Christianity and the so-
called decline of older Christian practices. How do we evaluate Christian expressions and
what are the standards used to regard one as more dynamic or vigorous than another? For
those who have not spent much time thinking about the way scholars study religion, the
answer to a question about criteria might look amazingly simple: you look and see where the
most is, that is the most people, the most seats, the most excitement, the most energy, the
most difference—in other words, the most religious stuff to count, measure, and analyze.
But such an apparently empirical approach (the one preferred by the modern academy) begs
all sorts of political, social, and religious questions.
For instance, the study of American religion fifty years ago was synonymous with the
study of the most wealthy Protestant denominations in the United States. But what about
groups outside the Protestant mainline: the Reformed Episcopalians, the Nazarenes, the
Orthodox Presbyterians, let alone Mormons, Roman Catholics, and Jews? In other words,
care needs to be given when describing a religious phenomenon as distinctly American, and
scholars finally began to be more cautious coincidently at the same time that the Supreme
Court found mainline Protestant expressions of piety in public schools to be
unconstitutional. So if caution is necessary when describing something as American
religion—it was not simply Protestant—how much more so when using the word Christian?
To conclude that a person, practice, group, or communion is Christian is not merely a
descriptive act but one fraught with a host of normative factors. Rarely, however, do
- 41 -
journalists or scholars writing on contemporary religion show their cards in considerations

of what constitutes real Christianity.6
What then have been the criteria to evaluate the current Christian situation in the global
South? What traits, in other words, tempt observers to conclude that the new forms of
Christianity are establishing patterns for the future? As already mentioned, the first feature
that stands out is numerical. The statistics on Christianity in the world at the beginning of
the twenty-first century are remarkable. In a review of David Barrett’s World Christian
Encyclopedia (2001), the Blue Book as it were of market value in the contemporary church,
church historian Mark Noll summarizes to great effect the statistics that show Christianity
moving from the global North to the South. Barrett’s encyclopedia shows, that “For the
African continent, . . . the number of affiliated Christians is increasing at a rate of more than
eight million per year, with 1.5 million of that number ‘net new converts (converts minus
defections or apostasies)’. . . The numbers in Asia and Latin America are equally dramatic.
The contrast to these numerical gains, however, is almost equally staggering losses in Europe
and North America, where . . . each year nearly three million church members cease
practicing the faith.”7 According to Noll, not since the transfer of Christianity from the
Mediterranean world to Europe during the early Middle Ages has such an unprecedented
transformation occurred. He even refers to the history of Christianity in the twentieth
century as revolutionary because of this shift from Europe and North America to Africa and
South America. In sum, on the basis of these statistics a scholar can say the West is no
longer the homeland of Christianity.
The advantages of new world Christianity are not merely quantitative. It also exhibits
qualities that seem to explain its numerical success. According to Philip Jenkins, in his book,
The Next Christendom, the issue that most divides northern and southern Christianity is the
“matter of spiritual forces and their effects on the everyday human world.”8 One important
manifestation of this difference is the incredible popularity of Pentecostalism in Latin
America, Africa, and Asia. Indeed, two of the most important recent studies of the new
Christian growth in Latin America, David Martin’s Tongues of Fire (1990) and David Stoll’s Is
Latin America Turning Protestant? (1990), feature the tremendous appeal of Spirit-filled
Christianity in regions formerly dominated by Roman Catholicism.
Although easily caricatured by God’s “frozen chosen”—that is, Calvinists like myself—
charismatic and Pentecostal Christianity does in fact display teaching and practices that to
observers accustomed to more routine and measured (read: boring) forms of Christianity, a
faith full of spontaneity, vigor, and excitement. How could it not? Here is a form of faith in
which the miraculous and supernatural are not simply close to the surface but in your face.
Jenkins describes this Pentecostal spirituality as one where exhorters “preach messages that,
to a Westerner, appear simplistically charismatic, visionary and apocalyptic.” He adds that
“in this thought-world, prophecy is an everyday reality, while faith-healing, exorcism, and
6 On the dominance of Protestantism in the academic study of religion in the United States and the
secular turn in religious studies, see D. G. Hart, The University Gets Religion: Religious Studies and American
Higher Education (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1999).
7 Noll, review of Barrett’s World Christian Encyclopedia, Church History 71, no. 2 (2002), 448.
8 Phillip Jenkins, The Next Christendom: The Coming of Global Christianity (New York: Oxford University
Press, 2002), 123.
- 42 -
dream-visions are all basic components of religious sensibility.”9 At several points in his
book on Latin American Protestants, the sociologist David Martin describes Pentecostal
services that follow the pattern of worship that has characterized contemporary Praise &
Worship with an opening period of praise songs and prayer, followed by a long sermon, and
concluding with a time of prayer, testimony, and healing. Martin’s commentary on this kind
of worship is instructive for explaining the perceptions of journalists and scholars from the
North who may be unfamiliar with it. He writes: “Whereas the older Protestant
denominations stressed literacy, which might turn out to involve a longish process of
learning to read, Pentecostals work with the oral tradition, aided sometimes by the visual
icons of religious television and cinema.” It is an exhilarating mixture of fishing “in the deep
waters of the ageless spirit world and, at the same time, [conveying] intimations of
modernity.” Such exotic combinations undoubtedly account for the perception that
something truly new and more importantly spiritual is at work in southern Christianity.10
If the new Christianity presents a more vigorous and spiritual form of worship, its
provision of physical blessings are no less striking, maybe more so. As many scholars have
argued, part of the success of southern Christianity stems from its operating in a universe
parallel to that of animism and spiritualism. Yet, the spiritual access provided by charismatic
and Pentecostal faith is not simply religious in that adherents assume a new identity in Christ
through the transforming work of the Spirit. The Spirit’s presence and power also heals
bodies and generates wealth. Many scholars have observed that the appeal of charismatic
forms of Christianity is strong precisely among those segments of the population on the
front line of urbanization and industrialization. In such conditions, the church becomes a
vehicle for social services yet to emerge from either governmental or community sources.
According to Jenkins, “The churches provide a social network that would otherwise be
lacking, and help teach members the skills they need to survive in a rapidly developing
society.”11
Yet the assistance to come from these new Christian communities is not the complete
story. Undergirding the welfare and communitarian components of these churches is a
theology that regards divine power as a daily and immediate aid in combating the desperate
circumstances of poverty, hunger, and illness. Despite the popular perception that Spirit-
filled Christianity is escapist and otherworldly, Jenkins counters by noting that southern
Christianity is precisely the opposite “since faith is expected to lead to real and observable
results in this world.” The reason is the belief that “God intervenes directly in everyday life,”
thus constituting the antidote to the kind of spiritual evil these Christians believe to be
constantly present.12 In effect, the earthly realities of jobs and education are merely a
platform upon which the contest between the forces of the Spirit and evil are performed.
According to one Brazilian pastor, the new southern churches’ “main appeal is that they
present a God that you can use.” “Most Presbyterians,” he adds, “have a God that’s so great,
so big, that they cannot even talk with him openly, because he is far away. The Pentecostal
9 Ibid., 8.
10 David Martin, Tongues of Fire: The Explosion of Protestantism in Latin America (Oxford: Blackwell, 1990),
167, 168.
11 Jenkins, Next Christendom, 74.
12 Ibid., 77.
- 43 -
groups have the kind of God that will solve my problems today and tomorrow. People today
are looking for solutions, not for eternity.”13
Yet, upon closer inspection the success of this new form of Christianity reveals a
phenomenon with more ties to the past and is less regional than first impressions might
suggest. The apparent vitality and growth of Christianity in Asia, Latin America, and Africa is
actually replaying earlier patterns of Protestantism’s expansion. Several students of southern
Christianity have noted that revivalism accomplished among eighteenth century English
Methodists and nineteenth century American Protestants what Pentecostalism is doing today
in Latin America and other places. Jenkins summarizes this literature well:
What we are now witnessing in the global South is very much what occurred in the
North when it was passing through a comparable stage of social development. We
can trace countless parallels between Pentecostal growth today and the much-
studied story of English Methodism in the century after 1760, the most rapid stage
of British industrialization. Then, as now, popular sects arose to meet the needs
that could be filled neither by secular society, nor by the established churches,
which had scarcely a foothold in the burgeoning cities. The new Dissenting
churches were a triumph of cooperative endeavor, at once providing material
support, mutual cooperation, spiritual comfort, and emotional release in the bleak
wastes of an expanding industrial society.14
What stands out in this comparison is a method of evaluation that tallies up Christian
effectiveness by its churches’ ability to meet real financial and physical needs through
teachings that conceive of divine power not as remote or spiritual but as immediately
accessible and that overcome daily trials and sin. In sum, what northern Christianity used to
possess but lost thanks to its churches’ affluence and power, southern Christianity now has
in dramatic ways: profound and life-changing religious experiences, powerful demonstrations
of divine presence, and churches that build solidarity and minister in a holistic fashion. It is
no wonder that many fear whether European Christianity and its North American
descendent can muster a faith as vibrant, Spirit-filled, relevant, and compassionate.
Them Dry Bones
One of the lessons of church history, whether corporate or individual, is that religious
intensity cools. The very marks of religious success are also usually the ingredients of
religious decline. Here it may be helpful to recall that the best North American parallel to
contemporary southern Christianity, the Spirit-filled revivalism of Methodism and other
pietistic Protestants, became so successful in overcoming Western Christianity that these
Christians became the Protestant mainline or establishment, according to the parlance of an
earlier time. Methodists and Baptists took their experiential faith all over the heartland while
revivalist-friendly Congregationalists and Presbyterians established a myriad of
organizations—educational, welfare, and religious—that constituted the so-called
13 Pastor quoted in ibid.

14 Ibid.
- 44 -
Benevolent Empire.15 These antebellum efforts succeeded in Christianizing the United States
and forming the mainstream American Protestant tradition. By the early twentieth century
this revivalist-inspired faith had lost some of its original religious vitality—how couldn’t it
given its staggering wealth and organizational might? But what William R. Hutchison wrote
of these denominations in their twentieth century opulence, namely, that these churches “felt
responsible for America: for its moral structure, for the religious content of national ideals,
for the educative and welfare functions that government would not . . . carry out,” may also
come to be true of today’s southern Christian churches.16 After all, if both started with
movements of the Spirit that issued in individual stability and community improvement,
what is happening now in the southern churches could well yield the Third World equivalent
of the National Council of Churches.
This might sound like an unpromising basis upon which to defend traditional
Protestantism since it could come across as implying an inevitable decline of vibrant faith
into organizational and bureaucratic torpor. It is also a perspective that could leaven
optimistic predictions about the future of southern Christianity with the yeast of caution.
Nevertheless, pointing out the loss of religious vitality among the older denominations is a
flimsy foundation for establishing the ongoing necessity of historic Protestantism. After all,
some of the most vibrant churches in the global South are Protestant denominations of
western lineage. Moreover, defending one group on the basis of its rival’s possible weakness
does not constitute a vindication. To argue that sixteenth century Protestantism may still
make a valuable contribution to future Christian witness and service will require those
churches to produce real assets; this older faith cannot simply be the default setting for
Christians who prefer their faith less enthusiastic.
But before proceeding with an argument on behalf of traditional Protestantism, an
important conceptual clarification is necessary. As opposed to the common differentiation
between Christianity in the global South and that of Western Europe and North America, a
temporal classification makes better sense than the regional one employed currently by
journalists and scholars. Here the difference has less to do with the contrasts existing on
opposite sides of the equator or even with different patterns of modernization. Instead, a
more fundamental issue concerns the altered state of affairs that emerged after 1740. Prior to
that date, which is roughly the beginning of the First Great Awakening, Protestantism was
an overwhelmingly churchly faith. That is to say, with the exception of the Anabaptists
whose own forms of community encouraged a corporate conception of the Christian faith,
the major branches of the Reformation—Lutheran, Reformed, and Anglican—understood
the fundamental realities of Christianity in relation to the teaching, liturgical, and disciplinary
ministry of pastors and priests. Following the lead ironically of nineteenth-century American
political history, some scholars have referred to this form of Protestantism as
confessionalism or liturgicalism.17 One of the figures who lived during the times these
15 For an older but still informed assessment of this Protestant activism, see Timothy L. Smith,
Revivalism and Social Reform: American Protestantism on the Eve of the Civil War (1957; rev. ed., Baltimore:
Johns Hopkins University Press, 1980).
16 William R. Hutchison, “Preface,” to William R. Hutchison, ed., Between the Times: The Travail of the
Protestant Establishment in America, 1900-1960 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1989), viii.
17 See, for instance, Daniel Walker Howe, “Religion and Politics in the Antebellum North,” and
Robert P. Swierenga, “Ethnoreligious Political Behavior in the Mid-Nineteenth Century: Voting,
- 45 -
political historians analyze was John Williamson Nevin, a high-church German Reformed
theologian best known for the theology that bore the name of the seminary where he and
Philip Schaff taught, Mercersburg. Nevin rendered one of the better definitions of
confessional or historic Protestantism in his autobiographical reflections about the small
Presbyterian church in which he was reared. He wrote:
Being of what is called Scotch-Irish extraction, I was by birth and blood also, a
Presbyterian; and as my parents were both conscientious and exemplary professors
of religion, I was, as a matter of course, carefully brought up in the nurture and
admonition of the Lord, according to the Presbyterian faith as it then stood. . . .
[T]hat the old Presbyterian faith, into which I was born, was based throughout on
the idea of covenant family religion, church membership by God’s holy act in
baptism, and following this a regular catechetical training of the young, with direct
reference to their coming to the Lord’s table. In one word, all proceeded on the
theory of sacramental, educational religion, as it had belonged properly to all the
national branches of the Reformed Church in Europe from the beginning. . . . The
system was churchly, as holding the Church in her visible character to be the
medium of salvation for her baptized children, in the sense of that memorable
declaration of Calvin (Institutes 4.1.4), where, speaking of her title, Mother, he says:
“There is no other entrance into life, save as she may conceive us in her womb,
give us birth, nourish us from her breasts, and embrace us in her loving care to the
end.”18
As this excerpt makes clear, this older Protestant piety revolved around the churchly
activities of word, sacrament, and ordination. To many of Nevin’s peers, his account of
Protestantism sounded Roman Catholic and he received criticisms in kind. But as he also
pointed out effectively, the older forms of Protestantism shared much in common with
Roman Catholics, thus initiating a reform of western Christianity’s churchly piety, not a
revolutionary new form of devotion.
Nevin is a valuable guide to confessionalism because he was astute in sensing an epoch-
making shift in Protestant sensibilities in the wake of revivalism. Although he reserved his
sharpest criticisms for Charles Finney, Nevin came to view the whole turn toward the
subjective experience of individual believers in conversion and personal forms of devotion,
first posited by pietists and some Puritans in the seventeenth century, and then reinforced in
the First Great Awakening of the eighteenth, as a fundamental break with the older
Protestant churchly faith.19 What Nevin recognized, as few American Protestants have, is
that from its eighteenth century iteration down to the present, evangelicalism has had a
fundamental disagreement with other versions of Christianity, Protestantism included.
George Whitefield well captured that conflict in 1739 on one of his first preaching
campaigns in America. After looking at the variety of Protestant denominations he
Values, Culture,” in Mark A. Noll, ed., Religion and American Politics: From the Colonial Period to the 1980s
(New York: Oxford University Press, 1990), 121-71.
18 John Williamson Nevin, My Own Life: The Early Years (Lancaster, PA: Historical Society of the
Evangelical and Reformed Church, 1964), 2-3.

19 For Nevin’s importance as a critic of new Protestantism, see D. G. Hart, John Williamson Nevin: High
Church Calvinist (Phillipsburg, NJ: P&R Publishing, 2005).
- 46 -
concluded that “It was best to preach the new birth, and the power of godliness, and not to
insist so much on the form: for people would never be brought to one mind as to that; nor
did Jesus Christ ever intend it.”20 This characteristic indifference to form was what drove the
new form of Protestantism to oppose nominal Christianity, that is, the idea that people could
simply go through the motions and fake true religion. But a consequence of this anti-
formalism was to teach generations of born-again, Spirit-filled believers that forms do not
matter, only the Spirit does. And so wherever revivalism and its zeal went, out also went the
churchly practices that old-time Protestants identified with true Christianity.
With this distinction between the new and the old forms of Protestantism in mind, a case
for traditional Protestantism can be more concrete and perhaps more useful than one that
simply distinguishes between good and bad forms of revivalism.21 The new Protestantism,
the one achieving significant momentum and adherents during the First Great Awakening,
clearly has a future. As long as modernity continues to dislocate individuals from traditional
communal patterns and create the need for new forms of association, healing, and a direct
encounter with divine power, the new Protestantism will thrive. But this form of
Protestantism does not leave much room for the older Protestant faith. Because religious
experience and practical holy living are so central to new Protestantism, the church is at best
a supplement to real religion, which is a direct encounter between the Spirit and the soul.
And with a reduced role for the church, the sorts of doctrines and practices that define the
older Protestantism appear to be little more than a luxury that SUV-driving, Latte-sipping
North American believers can afford.22
The issue then is whether the pre-revival form of Protestantism has a future and the
answer depends on whether word, sacrament, and discipline have a future. Of course, not
everyone would understand these hallmarks of the church to be the essence of traditional
Protestantism. To be sure, sociologists and political scientists have good reasons for thinking
about the different liturgies, creeds, and polities of the various Protestant churches as either
a way of adjusting to religious liberty after the revolutions of the eighteenth century or as an
expression of different strata within the socio-economic order. Still, the matters that separate
Presbyterians from Lutherans and Episcopalians have much to do not only with the
vicissitudes of Anglo-American politics but also with competing understandings of the
church, its ministry, liturgy, and polity. So the question is whether the churchly matters that
keep Protestants in traditions have a future. More specifically, in light of the dramatic shift of
Christian zeal from the global North to the South, has a Presbyterian or Lutheran way of
ministry become superfluous? What is the point of being an Orthodox Presbyterian when
individual congregations in Africa and Asia by themselves have twenty times the members
that the Orthodox Presbyterian Church does? In other words, can old-fashioned
Protestantism produce religious goods and services comparable to the astonishing results of
the churches in the global South?
20 Whitefield quoted in Mark A. Noll, The Rise of Evangelicalism: The Age of Edwards, Whitefield and the
Wesleys (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 2003), 25.

21 See, for instance, Iain Murray, Revival and Revivalism: The Making and Marring of American Evangelicalism,
1750-1858 (Edinburgh: Banner of Truth, 1994).

22 For an extended discussion of the differences between old and new Protestantism, see D. G. Hart,
The Lost Soul of American Protestantism (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2002).
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These questions pose the real rub for defenders of Protestant traditionalism and
underscore the importance of being clear about the criteria for evaluating Christian faith and
practice. The categories of analysis—whether visible or invisible, economic or doctrinal,
physical or spiritual—determine not simply the answers but the very questions put to
different Christian communions. For, when judged by the obvious success of southern
Christianity, the historic Protestant denominations generally come up short. The older
Protestants do not have the numbers, the transformed lives, amazing stories of healing,
charismatic leaders, or close-knit community. Some might attribute this to the northern
churches’ wealth and status which inevitably quenches the Spirit. Others might look to a
religious formalism that again poses barriers to the free movement of the Spirit. Whatever
the explanation, the older Protestantism lacks vitality to attract large numbers and the power
to make a difference. It may have possessed a dynamic spirituality at one time but its
orthodoxy has died, its heart has grown cold, its practice has become formalistic or nominal.
Before calling for the mortician, perhaps the Protestant denominations need the care of a
different specialist, one who can discern vital signs not obvious to the other spiritual experts.
Here it may be useful to ask if the older Protestants possess benefits and their own stories of
success not as obvious to empirically-oriented scholars and journalists. Interestingly enough,
the Westminster Divines, a northern Christian body if there ever was one, asked just such a
question in the Shorter Catechism that Presbyterians in Scotland, the United States, and
Canada soon adopted as one of the better tools for learning the basic outline of Christian
doctrine. In the thirty-second question of the catechism the teacher asks, “What benefits do
they that are effectually called partake of in this life?” The use of the word benefits here is
arresting if only because it implicitly promises a gospel that is utilitarian, one that works to
give believers certain goods and services. It is a question that suggests northern Christianity
would like to think that it possesses resources that are attractive and may even make the
world a better place.
The answer to question thirty-two of the Shorter Catechism, however, gives a different
impression. It reads: “They that are effectually called do in this life partake of justification,
adoption, and sanctification, and the several benefits which in this life do either accompany
or flow from them.” That response likely disappoints many because it sounds like the same
old issues about which western Christians have been debating and talking and since the
sixteenth century. Such disappointment likely stems from the assumption, the Protestant
modernist one to be specific, that the world situation has changed rather dramatically since
the early modern period and consequently the church needs a new set of teachings for a
different set of circumstances.23
Before commenting on the differences between the benefits available through the new
and old forms of Protestantism, the means by which these advantages described in the
Shorter Catechism are accessible deserve some comment. The Westminster Divines also use
the language of benefits in their discussion of the so-called “outward and ordinary means,”
or more commonly, word and sacrament. In question and answer eighty-five they elaborate
three responses to the gospel required of true believers. The first two, faith and repentance,
23 William R. Hutchison, The Modernist Impulse in American Protestantism (Cambridge, MA: Harvard
University Press, 1976) discusses thoughtfully the modernist assumption that led American Protestants
to revise Christianity to fit modern life.
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are standard fare. But the third, “the diligent use of all the outward means,” is often a
surprise to low-church Protestants of the revival-friendly variety, an unexpected response
because of the new Protestant assumption that genuine belief is virtually independent of the
ministry of the church. What is more important for my purposes here is that answer eighty-
five explains that these outward means of word and sacrament actually become the
instruments by which “Christ communicates . . . the benefits of redemption.” The word
benefits is a reference back to the earlier part of the catechism where the Divines elaborate the
doctrines of justification, adoption, sanctification, assurance, peace of conscience, joy in the
Holy Spirit, increase of grace, and perseverance to the end—all the privileges available to
believers through the gospel. In other words, the benefits that Christ gives believers through
the means of word and sacrament are the spiritual realities described in Calvinist teaching
about justification and sanctification.
So what? So the Westminster Divines were smart enough to weave an understanding of
the benefits of redemption through their Shorter Catechism? Why is this important? One
way to answer is to note that these realities of Christianity, the basic benefits of salvation, are
communicated through the ministry of the church. In other words, word, sacrament, and
discipline (having a lot to do with ordination) are means of salvation. And if that assertion is
plausible then the future of old Protestantism is indeed bright. For, those historic parts of
Christian faith and practice are not mere relics from a bygone age but the power by which
God effects salvation. Or at least that is how the Westminster Divines conceived of it, along
with the officers in the Lutheran churches, and the Church of England. In fact, all
Protestants, no matter how low their view of the church, at one time believed that the
ministry of word, sacrament, and ordination was essential for the salvation of men and
women, boys and girls. If they did not believe such, what was the point of being a
Protestant? As such, if word, sacrament, and ordination have a future, then historic
Protestantism does.
Some may be underwhelmed by such a case for old Protestantism’s future. After all,
preaching, baptism, the Lord’s Supper, and the laying on of hands in the rite of ordination
have been around for a long time and of late appear to be less than vigorous. In fact, ever
since 1800 the most obvious displays of Protestant strength have been in those places, like
the nineteenth-century United States and now the global South, where the Spirit appeared to
use very different means from those older Christian forms. Consequently, isn’t a reiteration
of the importance, if not the necessity, of word, sacrament, and ordination simply a naive
way of ignoring Protestant history over the last quarter of a millennium?
To be sure, questions of this sort have a point. But they also beg another set of
questions, which is why again the criteria for evaluating Christian phenomena is so
significant. Whether they acknowledge it or not, many of the journalists and scholars who
write about modern Protestantism, whether the revivals of the 1820s, the Toronto Blessing
of the 1990s, or the recent explosion of Christianity in the global South assume that the
religious practices and teachings they are observing are genuine. Far be it from me, a white
man of European descent likely to be dead in a few decades, to question the sincerity or
authenticity of southern Christians. Still, the point is simply to observe that to treat revivals,
healings, charismatic experiences, and religious leaders uncritically—to accept these things as
being really spiritual and alive—assumes they are the work of God in some way. In fact, to
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call them Christian is not simply a neutral observation but a judgment perhaps best left to
certain officers in the church.
Even so, the real aim of raising the question of evaluative criteria is to show how much
more difficult it is for the older Protestantism to display religious phenomena that have the
“ring” of a work of God. It is, in other words, to demonstrate how often the analysis of
Christianity in the global South assumes that Christianity in the global North is dead. Ever
since 1740 the expectation has been for divine power to manifest itself in highly visible ways
such as ecstatic experiences, gifted, eloquent and spiritual leaders, powerful demonstrations
of changed lives, and mass meetings of believers. But the sorts of benefits promised by the
older Protestantism, to use again the Westminster Divines as an example, are incredibly hard
to discern and, for that matter, even harder to believe. For instance, how can you spot
someone who has been justified, that is someone who now walks around wearing the
imputed righteousness of Christ (Shorter Catechism Q&A 33)? Or what signs do you look
for when investigating those who have been “received into the number, and have a right to
all the privileges of the sons of God” (Shorter Catechism Q&A 34)? And what about
sanctification? This one may be more visible since it involves dying to sin and living unto
righteousness. But observers should beware because the counterfeits of self-righteousness
and moralism can easily mask the much more difficult feat of discerning who is actually
“renewed in the whole man after the image of God” (Shorter Catechism Q&A 35). Of
course, one response to these sorts of questions is to say that no journalist or religion scholar
would ever pretend to be able to discern justification, adoption, or sanctification, that is,
those older forms of salvific benefits. And if religion scholars and journalists could exhibit
that kind of intellectual modesty, the reporting and analysis of faith might be far better than
it is. The benefits of faith, those otherworldly goods and services, are indeed matters of the
spirit and as such they lay outside the professional competency of journalism, history,
anthropology, and sociology for starters.
But a nagging question persists. Why do journalists and scholars refuse to show a similar
hesitancy or professional reserve when evaluating the new Protestantism? Why do these
forms of religious observance such as healings, speaking in tongues, and revivals—religious
expression no less mysterious or spiritual than justification, adoption or sanctification—
generate descriptions and accounts which take these spiritual phenomena at face value as
dramatic displays of vital Christianity? One obvious reason for the different kinds of
coverage and scholarship on new and old Protestantism is that the former demonstrates its
authenticity precisely through visible means while the latter’s manifestations of spiritual vigor
are largely invisible. The Westminster Divines appeared to be aware of the invisible and
mysterious quality of salvation when they wrote the chapter from their confession on
Christian liberty. Because Protestants in the global North (at least since the seventeenth
century) have assumed that Protestantism, as opposed to Roman Catholicism, was the form
of Christianity on the side of political liberty and democracy, the language the Divines use to
describe Christian freedom is striking, especially since they also explicitly deny that such
liberty has anything to do with political or civil freedom. Christian liberty, they wrote:
. . . consists in [believers’] freedom from the guilt of sin, the condemning wrath of
God, the curse of the moral law; and in their being delivered from this present evil
world, bondage to Satan, and dominion of sin; from the evil of afflictions, the sting
of death, the victory of the grave, and everlasting damnation; as also their free
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access to God, and their yielding obedience unto him, not out of slavish fear, but a
childlike love and willing mind. [20.1]
Again, what is striking about this description of another benefit of redemption is how
spiritual and invisible it is. Yes, it does involve the resurrection of the body, an occurrence
that could generate lots of news stories and scholarly monographs. But otherwise, except for
the possible acquisition of certain virtues—many of which appear to be practiced by those
outside the church—the benefits of salvation from the old Protestant perspective are not
discernible. In this case, old Protestantism could very well be alive, well, and prospering. But
no one would ever know it, nor would its vitality interest either an editor at a news desk or at
a university press.
The Weight of Glory
Nevertheless, a bias toward the observable among journalists and scholars does not
instantly make a case for old Protestantism. The benefits of redemption taught by
Presbyterians, Lutherans, and Anglicans, may be hard to see but the question still remains:
are they truly beneficial? The answer to this question again involves a more fundamental
consideration. Because the benefits described in confessions like that of the Westminster
Divines are articles of faith, not visible effects of religious causes or conclusions of logic,
convincing the skeptic of these blessings’ truly beneficial character will be a hard sell, one
that may even require divine intervention of an illuminating sort. Still, a few comments about
the public discourse employed in analyses of salvation might be useful, by way of conclusion,
to put the question of religious benefits or advantages in perspective.
The differences between the old and new Protestantism are not simply in the realm of
perception, one being invisible or hard to discern, the other being very visible because of its
numbers, intensity, and dramatic displays of divine power. Perhaps a more fundamental
difference is the one between the eternal and the temporal, that is, between the world to
come and the here and now. As the Brazilian pastor quoted in Jenkins’ book put it, “Most
Presbyterians have a God that’s so great, so big, that they cannot even talk with him openly,
because he is far away. The Pentecostal groups have the kind of God that will solve my
problems today and tomorrow. People today are looking for solutions, not for eternity.”24
This assertion may not be representative of most pastors ministering in the context of the
global South. But its bold contrast between the temporal and the eternal, between the South
and the West, does help to illustrate the outlook that has dominated analyses of global
Christianity. Southern Christianity is booming because it daily proves its efficacy by
producing real, tangible relief for those enduring suffering. Western Christianity, by contrast,
offers theological complexity or liturgical precision, but hardly has the goods to make a
difference upon those people most in need here and now.
Without wanting to diminish the difficulties that southern Christians face in their
economic, political, and physical conditions, is it possible to suggest that pastors who
concentrate on these realities are a tad short-sighted? What happens if another political or
economic system takes better care, or if another religion provides more control over the
spiritual forces seemingly causing so much affliction for Latin Americans, Africans, and
Asians? This is more or less a pragmatic question. But the ultimate question is the eternal
24 Quoted in Jenkins, Next Christendom, 77.
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one of death. Will those Christians miraculously healed or even the ones benefitting from
modern medicine still face death? Or how about those believers for whom Christianity has
instilled a work ethic that yields physical comfort, whether it be clothing for children or a
high-definition flat-screen TV? Will these benefits make much of a difference when men and
women, as the prophet says, fade like the grass? And what of the significant manifestations
of the Spirit in the worship of Christians, whether in Lagos or Minneapolis? What will be the
advantages or benefits of these spiritual gifts on judgment day? To be sure, such questions
may strike some as sanctimonious or precious. But if Christianity is at least in part a religion
that promises eternal life, that no matter how difficult the sufferings of this life may be,
believers have hope for relief in the world to come, then questions of eternal significance
have genuine merit in evaluating contemporary Christianity, whether in the global South or
West.
The eternal aspects of Christianity do not necessarily play to the older Protestantism’s
advantage. American churches have contributed their fair share to locating Christianity’s
chief benefits in the here and now, whether through the voluntary associations of the
Second Great Awakening’s Benevolent Empire or through the more ambitious programs of
cooperation and ecumenicity cultivated by the Social Gospel. Even so, the Protestants who
marginalized the eternal in their recognition of significant temporal realities, still affirmed in
their creeds and confessions an understanding of the Christian ministry that regarded the
gospel’s chief purpose as overcoming sin and death. The first question and answer to the
Heidelberg Catechism expresses the otherworldly character of the gospel in a remarkably
simple and yet profound manner. It teaches that my only comfort in life and death is “That I
am not my own, but belong, body and soul, in life and in death, to my faithful Savior Jesus
Christ. He has fully paid for all my sins with his precious blood, and has set me free from the
tyranny of the devil. He also watches over me in such a way that not a hair can fall from my
head without the will of my Father in heaven: in fact, all things must work together for my
salvation. Because I belong to him, Christ, by his Holy Spirit, assures me of eternal life and
makes me wholeheartedly willing and ready from now on to live for him.”
A real temptation for folks who study Christianity or profess it after hearing such an
affirmation of the gospel is to acknowledge its truth and even its poignancy but then add
that the Christian religion involves more than salvation from sin. Such a reaction has merit
since this affirmation from the Heidelberg Catechism is only the first of 129 questions and
answers. Christianity does involve more than a remedy for sin and death. But one of the
important reasons for the decline of Protestantism in the West is that temporal concerns—
overcoming disease, poverty, grief—obscure eternal realities. As the bumper sticker has it,
“Christ is the answer,” and if he is not the answer to all of life’s troubles then Christianity
seems to be a poor contender for the allegiance of the world’s inhabitants. But if older
Protestantism has a future it needs to recover a conviction, once strong in its ministry, that
the church’s role is not to solve this world’s problems, as soul-wrenching as they may be.
Instead, it is to minister through word and sacrament what no other institution on earth can,
namely, the good news of eternal salvation through Jesus Christ.
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Here the example of J. Gresham Machen is instructive.25 A leading New Testament

scholar at Princeton Seminary who emerged as the most articulate spokesman for
Presbyterian conservatives during the modernist-fundamentalist controversy, Machen was
the token conservative for sundry debates, conferences, and roundtables. In 1933 the
American Academy of Political and Social Scientists invited Machen along with
representatives from mainline Protestantism, Roman Catholicism, and Judaism to speak on
the responsibility of the church in the new age. The new conditions that the church needed
to address were fairly obvious to most Americans four years into the Great Depression. But
a failing economy was not the only matter on the minds of social scientists since the nation’s
experiment with Prohibition was just ending and overseas Germany was sending signals of a
new political order. Machen was undeterred, however, in his conviction that the church’s
responsibility in such circumstances was the same as it has always been. He asserted:
The responsibility of the church in the new age is the same as its responsibility in
every age. It is to testify that this world is lost in sin; that the span of human life—
nay, all the length of human history—is an infinitesimal island in the awful depths
of eternity; that there is a mysterious, holy, living God, Creator of all, Upholder of
all, infinitely beyond all; that He has revealed Himself to us in His Word and
offered us communion with Himself through Jesus Christ the Lord; that there is no
other salvation, for individuals or for nations, save this, but that this salvation is full
and free, and that whosoever possesses it has for himself and for all others to
whom he may be the instrument of bringing it a treasure compared with which all
the kingdoms of the earth—nay, all the wonders of the starry heavens—are as the
dust of the street.26
In Machen’s day, fellow Christians objected to such a narrow and otherworldly
conception of the Christian ministry. Similar criticisms could well be imagined today, many
stemming from the sort of perspective that led Protestant modernists like Harry Emerson
Fosdick to accuse fundamentalists like Machen of responding to the world’s difficulties with
the doctrine of verbal inerrancy. In his famous sermon, “Shall the Fundamentalists Win?”
the Baptist provocateur declared, “And now, in the presence of colossal problems, which
must be solved in Christ’s name and for Christ’s sake, the Fundamentalists propose to drive
out from the Christian churches all the consecrated souls who do not agree with their theory
of inspiration. What immeasurable folly!”27 In Machen’s case, Fosdick’s charge had the
correct vowel but the wrong doctrine since the vicarious atonement went far in the
conservative Presbyterian’s understanding of what the world needed to hear from the
church. Even so, Fosdick’s rejoinder about the foolishness of conservative Protestantism is
not far from most people’s sentiments when they encounter Machen’s prescription for the
responsibility of the church no matter what age or region, no matter how colossal the
problem. For Christianity to be truly effective, most moderns think, surely it can do more
25 On Machen, see D. G. Hart, Defending the Faith: J. Gresham Machen and the Crisis of Conservative
Protestantism in Modern America (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1994).

26 Machen, “The Responsibility of the Church in the New Age,” in J. Gresham Machen: Selected Shorter
Writings, ed., D. G. Hart, (Phillipsburg, NJ: P&R Publishing, 2004), 376.

27. Fosdick, “Shall the Fundamentalists Win?” reprinted in William R. Hutchison, ed., American
Protestant Thought in the Liberal Era (Lanham, MD: University Press of America, 1968), 181.
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than offer hope of another world to come. Certainly, if it is truly a powerful faith it can do
something about human misery in this world.
One notable Christian evangelist in the history of Christianity responded to these sorts of
objections in an instructive and provocative way. He conceded that some people looked for
smart and effective ways for Christianity to make a difference, while others were more
interested in powerful displays of Christianity’s ability to transform lives. But in the end
Christianity’s significance consisted exclusively in Christ’s death and resurrection. This
particular evangelist happened to be the apostle Paul who was planting churches and
evangelizing in places where the modern forces of industrialization and urbanization had yet
to surface. But some of the churches to which he wrote were not entirely different from
either Pentecostal congregations in twenty-first-century Lagos or “emerging” churches in the
Twin Cities because first-century Christians, just like contemporary ones, looked for
evidence of the Spirit in powerful displays of faith and devotion. But Paul’s point about
preaching only “Christ and him crucified” was that the matter of spiritual significance were
not so easily discerned. The gospel, in fact, came packaged in “jars of clay” to prove that the
power of Christianity was from God. For this reason he advised the church at Corinth to
“look not to the things that are seen” but instead to the “unseen” because “the things that
are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal” (2 Cor 4:18).
Aside from Paul’s status as an apostle, even on the level of pastoral counsel or academic
analysis his teaching is well worth considering when evaluating the health of either global
Christianity or the historic churches in the West. Some churches today may not possess
statistics, dynamic worship, or obvious social relevance. But to the degree that they minister
Christ through word and sacrament, and to the extent that they offer a remedy for the
eternally weighty matters of sin and death, those churches, along with all others that preach
Christ and him crucified, may have more relevance than journalists or scholars can see. It
might not be the kind of relevance that will attract reporters or inspire academic
conferences. But as Paul counseled the Corinthians, such neglect might be precisely the
result of a religion that to many looks weak and foolish but for those with eyes of faith it
could very well be “the power of God” (1 Cor 1:18).
In The Lost Soul of American Protestantism, D. G. Hart

examines the historical origins of the idea that faith must
be socially useful in order to be valuable. Through
specific episodes in Presbyterian, Lutheran, and
Reformed history, Hart presents a neglected form of
Protestantism, confessionalism, as an alternative to
prevailing religious theory. He deftly argues that the
history of confessional Protestantism is vitally important
to current discussions on the role of religion in American
life.. Hart suggests that, contrary to the legacy of
revivalism, faith may be most vital and influential when it
is not practical.
Lanham MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2004; 232p.
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A CASE OF MISTAKEN IDENTITY: THE HARLOT AND THE

CHURCH (1 CORINTHIANS 5-6)
Tom Holland1
I recall the problems I had as a child with my shoes. I would pull with all my might on
the laces, with the intention of pulling the shoes tight around my feet. Once the laces were
tight, and the shoes were fitting firmly, I would attempt to tie the knots. The problem was
that the laces were already tied, for during the previous wearing, the laces had worked loose,
and I was able to step out of the shoes, leaving the knots in place. The next wearing of the
shoes meant that I would push my feet into the already tied shoes, and pull on the laces.
However, my efforts solely achieved a further tightening of the knots which, in time, became
so tight that no effort on my part could undo them.
The story of the shoes is analogous to prevailing exegeses of 1 Corinthians 5 and 6.
Repeated attempts to pull the text tight to fit the conditions in the Corinthian church, have
not secured the desired fit, but have instead enhanced problems in understanding Paul’s
letter to the church. The text has been left with a number of issues inadequately resolved and
the outcome is that the knots of the text have been left in place.
The aim of this paper is to challenge the traditional reading of the text in question,
helped by a new insight into the mindset of Paul, so that the problems of exegesis can be
removed and textual integrity restored. I would like to develop this paper by examining
traditional arguments under the headings:
1. The Culture of the Argument
2. The Heritage of the Argument
3. The Language of the Argument
4. The Structure of the Argument
1. The Culture of the Argument
It has long been thought that Paul addresses problems which have arisen in the
Corinthian church from the prevailing culture in the city. It is assumed that he goes on to
draw theological lessons from the culture through which he exhorts the church to holiness.
So, for example, it has been assumed that the mention of ‘temple’ in 6:19 (“do you not know
that your body is the temple of the Holy Spirit”) is a link with the temple of Aphrodite, which
was situated on the Acrocorinth overlooking the city. The mention of the Corinthians
becoming members of the harlot was seen to refer to the practice of temple prostitution and
the statement: “shall I take the members of Christ and unite them with a prostitute?” (6:15)
was taken to refer to the horror that Paul felt at the Corinthians bringing the name of Christ
into disrepute through their immorality.
But this traditional reading has been challenged. Recent scholarship has made discoveries
that raise questions over this interpretation. Bruce Winter, in After Paul Left Corinth, says that
1 The Rev. Tom Holland, PhD, is Lecturer in Theology at the Wales Evangelical School of Theology
and author of Contours of Pauline Theology.
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temple prostitution was never a part of the Roman Corinthian scene. On the basis of recent
archaeological surveys of the temple of Aphrodite, Winter2 says that: “Stabbo’s comments
about 1,000 religious prostitutes of Aphrodite and those of Athenaeus are unmistakably
about Greek, and not Roman, Corinth. As temple prostitution was not a Greek
phenomenon, the veracity of his comments on this point has been rightly questioned. The
size of the Roman temple of Aphrodite on the Acrocorinth ruled out such temple
prostitution; and by that time she had become Venus - the venerated mother of the imperial
family and the highly respected patroness of Corinth - and was no longer a sex symbol.”
Winter’s conclusion thus challenges the practice of temple prostitution at Corinth. He
says that the reference to prostitutes in 1 Corinthians 6:16 refers to the behaviour at guild
meetings which took place in the temple. Here, prostitutes were provided, at the end of
deliberations, to fulfill the sexual fantasies of attendees. However, such women, he reasons,
had nothing to do with the temple cult.
In fact, other research has gone further than Winter’s. Baugh3 has presented evidence
which claims to show that there was no such thing as temple prostitution in the Roman
Empire. The belief that there was such widespread practice, Baugh says, depends on one
Greek manuscript that has been badly interpreted. Baugh claims that once this particular text
has been recognised as the only source of the tradition, it will become clear that it was not
part of Corinthian culture as Paul knew it.
If the conclusions of these studies are correct, they challenge the way 1 Corinthians 6:12-
20 has been read. The traditional reading has been determined by the temple context and its
practices. The removal of this widely held context requires that we revisit the text in order to
see if there are previously unnoticed clues which will point us in a different direction.
It is not only the reference to the prostitute that this discovery challenges. We will see
that the supposed temple context has driven the interpretation of other parts of the chapter
as well, and this has resulted in a hermeneutical myth which has bestowed credibility to a
reading not supported by the text.
2. The Heritage of the Argument
The New Perspective on Paul has highlighted Paul’s on-going commitment to Judaism
for those who were born under the law, but his insistence that Gentiles should not be
required to adopt the Jewish law and its lifestyle. I have expressed concerns about the
presuppositions of the New Perspective,4 but what I do note is that commitment to the New
Perspective has tended to be limited to the Law and its immediate concerns. I think this is a
sad situation, as I see evidence of arguments that bear a distinctively Jewish flavour in many
places in Paul’s letters. These need exploration to see if the themes married to the arguments
are better understood from the context of his Jewish heritage, rather than the widely
accepted Greco-Roman context. From my observations, few proponents of the New
2 B. Winter, After Paul Left Corinth. The Influence of Secular Ethics and Social Change (Grand Rapids:
Eerdmans, 200), 87-88.

3 S. M. Baugh, ‘Cultic Prostitution in New Testament Ephesus: A Reappraisal,’ JETS 42/3 (1999),
443-460. who argues for its absence in Ephesus and then extends his argument to cover the whole
Roman Empire.
4 T. Holland, Contours of Pauline Theology (Fearn, Scotland: Christian Focus, 2004), chapter 4.
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Perspective have ventured into these areas to the extent that one might have expected. So, I
propose to consider Paul’s Jewish mindset, to see if there are pointers that suggest a different
conceptual thought-world.
I am going to assume that there is a unity between chapters five and six of 1
Corinthians.5 I want to suggest that, if we approach the two chapters as a whole, we will
discover a dynamic, theological motif that drives the argument, and provides the platform
for the powerful, ethical appeal at the end of chapter 6.
To begin, let us note that in 1 Cor. 5:8 Paul says that “Christ our Passover lamb has been
sacrificed. Therefore, let us keep the Festival.”
Now, it has been noted by a range of authorities, including Jeremias and Cullmann, that
when Paul makes this throw-away statement regarding a Jewish feast, the Gentile
Corinthians will understand the theological implications of the statement. The commentators
suggest that these Gentiles had a familiarity with the Passover that was beyond a superficial
knowledge. Paul assumes that the Gentiles in the Corinthian church were able to appreciate
the theological significance of an event in the history of Israel that few Gentiles outside of
the church would be aware. This fact suggests that they had been educated to such a level of
theological sophistication that they were able to read the OT text in the light of the new
covenant, and then understand how the lessons of the Jewish scriptures applied to the New
Testament church. This, of course, should not surprise us, as Paul uses the same Exodus
events to warn the Corinthians of the danger of falling away (1 Cor 10:1-11). There are other
passages that support this observation but they go beyond the brief of this paper.6
The point that I want to make is this: because the Corinthians are expected to know the
Old Testament background to the statements that Paul makes (i.e. an understanding of Old
Testament events and their typological significance), it would be wise to explore if the
believers could understand chapters five and six in the light of the history of Israel, and to
see if there were events in that history which would better inform the argument that Paul is
making.
We are indebted to Brian Rosner for his work: Paul, Scripture & Ethics7 in which he
identifies the Old Testament as the foundation for Paul’s social ethics, as well as showing the
importance of the Torah in shaping Paul’s thinking and teaching. It is my conviction that the
identification of this background to the apostle’s thinking is crucial, and that most scholars
have not appreciated the full extent of the significance of this discovery. They have
amalgamated this source, i.e. the Old Testament, with what they thought was the practice of
the Corinthian community, i.e. practices rooted in the temple and have, in my opinion, failed
to see the full dimension of the argument Paul is making.
But Rosner’s clarification ought to encourage us to consider if the OT has a greater role
in moulding the wider argument than has previously been recognised. With the emergence
5 So following R. Kempthorne, ‘Incest and the Body of Christ: A Study of 1 Corinthians V1.12-20,’
NTS 14 (1967-68), 568-574.

6 For examples of this see Hays. R.B, Echoes of Scripture in Paul (New Haven: Yale University
Press,1989).
7 Rosner. B., Paul, Scripture & Ethics A Study of 1 Corinthians 5-7 (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1994).
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of the evidence that sacred prostitution did not exist in Corinth, we are forced to rethink
Paul’s argument.
3. The Language of the Argument
In this section, I want to show how the Greek context has shaped the exegesis of the
passage, and has consequently read meaning into the text, violating the grammatical and
theological logic of the apostle.
Firstly, Paul speaks of the Corinthians as having been “bought at a price”.(1 Cor. 6:20).
Sacral manumission, as advocated by Deissmann8 (and generally followed with modification
by most commentators9), reveals exegetical difficulties. Deissmann’s argument is that in 1
Cor. 6:20, Paul focused on the process adopted for the release of a person from slavery. He
points out that in the ANE, a slave could pay a sum of money into the treasury of the local
temple. Through this act, the god of that temple technically purchased him. He was freed
from his old master, because he had become the property of the god.10
The difficulty with this explanation is that it clashes abruptly with other teaching about
salvation written in Paul’s letters. For Paul, man contributes nothing to the process of
salvation; yet this is the inevitable outcome of the explanation offered by Deissmann. It is
this contradiction that tolls the death knell for Deissmann’s argument, rather than the fact
that the term used by Paul for “bought” (avgora,zw) is not used for securing freedom, but for
transfer of ownership. The linguistic concerns are valid, but they are not of the same weight
as the theological ones.
Another problem is the fact that the traditional interpretation, which we have noted
earlier depends on the crucial setting of the temple for identifying the po,rnhj, has guided the
interpretation of 6:19, “Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit?”
The passage is seen to be about sexual sin, where the Corinthian men have broken covenant
faithfulness by taking temple prostitutes. In this context, the argument is that their bodies
must not be used for immorality because they are temples of the Holy Spirit.
The problem with this understanding is that it is individualistic. The Greek text is σωμα
ύμων (your [sing] body [plural] ). Only two textual authorities, A and 33, give σώματα
8 A. Deissmann. Light from the Ancient East (trans. L.R.M. Strachan; London, 1927). p324 followed by
Ernst Käsemann. Perspectives on Paul (The New Testament Library; London: SCM Press, [1971]), 44.
9 So Hans Conzelmann. 1 Corinthians: A Commentary on the First Epistle to the Corinthians (Hermeneia : a
Critical and Historical Commentary; Philadelphia: Fortress Press, [1975])p.112; Gaston Deluz. A Companion
to I Corinthians (London: Darton, Longman, & Todd, 1963)p.76; J. Moffatt, The First Epistle to the
Corinthians, London, 1938, 70; Leon Morris. The First Epistle of Paul to the Corinthians: An Introduction and
Commentary (The Tyndale New Testament Commentaries; 2nd ed; Leicester: Inter-Varsity, 1985)p.104;
Richard B. Hays. First Corinthians (Interpreatation, a Bible Commentary for Teaching and Preaching; Louisville:
John Knox Press, 1997)p.106 and R.J. McKelvey. The New Temple: The Church in the New Testament
(Oxford Theological Monographs; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1969)p.104, contra W. Schrange, Der
erste Brief an die Korinthens. 1. Teilband, 1 Kor 1.1-6.11 (Benziger Verlag, Neukirchener Verlag.
1991).Vo.2:35 note 373.
10 This form of slave purchase, sacral manumission, (rather than purchase from a slave market) is
preferred by most scholars for interpreting the passage (because of the temple context). This is
assumed because of what has been seen to be a reference to the sacred prostitute, referred to as the
harlot. I shall examine this assumption shortly.
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(bodies) and yet almost all commentators have followed this reading, resulting in an
understanding that the temple of the Holy Spirit is the believer’s body.
Clearly, any argument must be suspect if it overrides the clear meaning of the text, and
this is what all the prevailing Greco-Roman interpretations do. If the statement is about the
individual’s body being the temple of the Holy Spirit, then it is the only text in the whole of
the Bible that says this.11 There is, of course, one apparent exception and that is in John 2,
where Jesus says: “Destroy this temple, and I will raise it again in three days.” However, it
does not refer to any man, but to the body of the Son of Man.
In the light of the Greek construction, Paul is not referring to the body of the individual
Corinthian believer, but to the corporate body, to which all the believers belong, i.e. the
Corinthian church. It, as a collection of believers, is the temple of the Holy Spirit.
The corporate perspective is repeatedly over-ridden. This observation ought to alert us to
the way we read these texts, so that we read them with the same understanding as that of the
early church. Also, we must recall that the early church had the letters read to them. The
whole congregation came together to hear the letter and, in that corporate setting, the
message was delivered. What we read as individualistic appeals, because we own the text for
ourselves, would never have occurred to the first century believer. This is true of all the
letters written to churches, not only to the church in Corinth but in Ephesus, Colosse, Rome
and wherever the letters of Paul were taken.
This corporate context brings clarity to another term and the way Paul uses it - the term
σωμα. The debate continues to run as to what meaning should be given to such statements
as “he who sins sexually sins against his own body” (6:18). Inevitably, in the individualistic
setting, it is seen to be about the effects of sexual impurity on the offender. However, when
we begin to see the corporate setting, and recall how the letter would have been received and
heard, another meaning comes into view.
Kempthorne, even though he has argued within the individualistic, Greco-Roman
framework, has claimed that σωμα has an ecclesiastical meaning. Kempthorne was
challenged over this reading by R.H. Gundry in his work, Soma in Biblical Theology.12 He
assesses Kempthorne’s13 argument that ‘soma’ in 1 Cor. 6:18 refers to the Church as the
body of Christ, and says: “But we may suspect over-interpretation in the proposal of a
double meaning. And the precipitous importation of the Church as The Body of Christ, a
theme wholly undiscussed so far in the epistle and presumably unknown to the Corinthians,
once again proves problematic. Moreover, the association of 6:12-30 with chapter 5, by
which an individual reference is supplied, raises a doubt. Although porneia occurs in both
passages, in 6:12-20 the female partner in immorality is pornē , a prostitute, but in chapter 5
the female partner is the wife of the man’s father. An equation between the two, therefore,
11 For other references to the temple see 1 Cor 3.16; 2 Cor 6.16; Eph 2 19-22; 1 Pet 2.5; Rev 21.3 . All
are references to the church being the temple of the Holy Spirit.
12 R. H. Gundry, Soma in Biblical Theolog: With Emphasis on Pauline Anthropology (Monograph Series;
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1976)p.75, so also B. Bryne, “Sinning Against One’s Own
Body: Paul’s Understanding of the Sexual Relationship in 1 Cor 6.18” CBQ 45 (1983) 608-16. 612.
13 R. Kempthorne, “Incest and the Body of Christ: A Study of 1 Corinthians V1.12-20” NTS 14
(1967-68) 568-574.
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seems doubtful, especially if the pornē is a temple prostitute, as the figure of the temple in
verses 19-20 and the local color of the Temple of Aphrodite near Corinth both suggest.”
But what of Kempthorne’s argument? Is Gundry’s criticism valid? I would suggest that it
is unreasonable of Gundry to argue that the body concept was unknown to the Corinthians
at this point. Acts shows that Paul realised, from the outset, the existence of solidarity
between Christ and His people. He was arrested on the Damascus road by the very
statement: “Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?”.14 Munck says that Paul’s testimony was
part of his missionary preaching.15 One can assume that seekers would have asked Paul in
what way he had persecuted Jesus, and they would have been told that the church is the
body of Jesus. It cannot be maintained that this body concept had developed no further in
Paul’s thinking until it emerged in I Cor. 12-14. The bride/bridegroom analogy, from which
some believe the body of Christ concept came, had existed for centuries within Judaism, and
Paul’s statement in 2 Cor. 11:2, that he had espoused the Corinthians to Christ, certainly
does not suggest that the Corinthians lacked understanding concerning the imagery, as Paul
does not bother to explain himself beyond the statement.
Furthermore, Paul uses the same ‘body language’ when he instructs on the Eucharist in
11:29, and he clearly expects the Corinthians to understand the meaning. If it is argued that
the term is used to speak of the sacrament, it has to be explained why the section returns to
the behaviour of the Corinthians, and their lack of respect for those who should be cared for
(11:33-34). This suggests that the “sinning against the body” is ecclesiastic rather than
Eucharistic, and that the language was not introduced in chapter 12 as Gundry argues. But,
even if this point is not accepted, there is an earlier text that is indisputable. In 10:17, Paul
says: “Because there is one loaf, we, who are many, are one body, for we all partake of the
one loaf.” This use of soma is undeniably ecclesiastical in its meaning even though it is within
a Eucharistic context. This adds support to the meaning argued for 11:33-34, because both
are in the same context, that of the Eucharist and the well-being of the body. Thus, Gundy’s
rejection of Kempthorne’s reading of 1 Cor. 6:18, on the grounds that the Corinthians could
not understand a corporate use of pornē, is not valid.16 And, of course, Gundry’s own
argument has been constructed in the context of a now defunct paradigm: the temple and its
practices.
But, perhaps more important than these considerations, which support a
corporate/ecclesiastical meaning for σωμα, is the fact that Paul speaks of the Corinthians as
being ‘members’ of Christ in 6:15. Gundry observes this terminology and concedes it to be
‘body language’, but dismisses the problem by saying that it anticipates the introduction of
14 Acts 9:4
15 J. Munck, Paul and the Salvation of Mankind (London, SCM Press, 1959)p.36-68.
16 Anthony C. Thiselton. The First Epistle to the Corinthians: A Commentary on the Greek Text (The New
International Greek Testament Commentary (NIGTC); Grand Rapids, Carlisle: William B. Eerdmans,
Paternoster Press, 2000). 470 says “Many versions insert other into the Greek text (REB, NIV, NJB),
although it is not strictly explicit, for the sake of clarification. But it remains an interpretative gloss.
This verse is notoriously difficult, except perhaps with reference to its most immediate rhetorical
context. Is not such a sin as drunkenness and drug addiction a sin against his or her own body, let
alone suicide? Does not this support the view of Nietzsche and many others that Christianity is
responsible for a negative evaluation of sex, placing it below social oppression or personal greed for
wealth or for power?”
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the body concept later in the epistle.17 He also acknowledges18 that, if the passage is
corporate, his own interpretation does not stand. Obviously, Gundry is making an argument
that equally suits Kempthorne’s exposition, for he can also say that the use of ‘body’ in its
corporate sense anticipates its later introduction. But Gundry is missing the true significance
and importance of the passage. To say that Paul introduces this concept of the Corinthians
being members of Christ into his argument - a concept which has not yet been explained - is
to ask us to believe that Paul would leave his readers to guess at the meaning of an
expression which is at the centre of his argument, viz. their relationship with Christ, and the
possibility of this relationship being severed. This is made even more difficult to accept
when one realises that this warning is one of the main reasons for the writing of the letter.
Paul was anxious to warn his readers of the consequence of fornication.19 In order to accept
Gundry’s interpretation, and criticism, of Kempthorne’s exposition, one has to accept the
failure of Paul to present his argument, for he has been unable to explain himself in
commonly-held concepts. It would seem to me, that this is not compatible with one whose
discipline in logic has been widely acclaimed. I suggest, therefore, that the body concept was
already known to the Corinthians, and that Gundry is wrong in saying that it emerged for the
first time in I Corinthians 12.
Both Kempthorne and Gundry miss the significance of the use of μελη. It is assumed
that it speaks of sexual union, of becoming members, but this is not the language of such a
union. The term that is used throughout the scriptures for sexual union, and the covenant
that it is intended to seal, is ‘one flesh’. Μελη is corporate language. We are members of His
body (Ephesians 5:30). The discussion is, therefore, not at the level of a man and a
prostitute, but a man and a community called ‘the prostitute’. The offender is in danger of
being made a member of this alien community by an apostolic decree.
This exegesis is acknowledged as being possible by Moule, but because of the
individualistic/Hellenistic setting he followed, he discounted his own insight. He said,
commenting on 1 Cor. 6:15:
If whole individual bodies belong to Christ as his limbs, then he must be more
than individual body. It is true that in the very same verse, Paul asks the
indignant question: ‘Shall I then take the limbs of Christ and make them limbs
of a harlot?’ Which, if we pressed the analogy, would have to imply that a
harlot too, had more than an individual body made up of a plurality of
persons…Paul only used the outrageous phrase 'a harlot’s limbs’, by a kind of
false analogy, and simply to emphasise the scandal of intimate union of the
same person with both Christ and a harlot.20
17 Gundry, Soma, 72.

18 Op cit, 60.
19 As well as partaking in the table of demons and denial of the resurrection. Kempthorne understands
the Corinthians to say that the church is not affected by fornication “Incest and the Body of Christ,”
58-74.
20 C.F.D. Moule, The Origins of Christology, (Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, 1977)p.73. Dale B.
Martin. The Corinthian Body (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1995)p.176 argues that Paul “rejects a
hierarchical notion of the body… as if the body and food are lower on a hierarchical scale of
meaningfulness than the human mind or will… Instead of placing the human will or soul on the one
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Moule’s explanation must be challenged. Admittedly, the language of ‘making members

of the Corinthian congregation into members of the harlot’ is unique to this passage, but the
idea behind it is not. In 5:5, Paul told the congregation to deliver the offender “over to
Satan”. In 1 Tim 1:20, Paul says that he has handed Hymenaeus and Alexander “over to
Satan to be taught not to blaspheme”. Similar imagery is found in Rev 2:22, where Jesus says:
“So I will cast her on a bed of suffering, and I will make those who commit adultery with her
suffer intensely, unless they repent of her ways”. Here, Jesus is warning the church at
Thyatira that if her members continue to tolerate Jezebel, practicing all manner of sexually
immoral acts with her, and eating food sacrificed to idols (the very issues Paul is dealing with
in 1 Corinthians), then He, (Jesus), will throw them into a bed of suffering with her. In other
words, the concept of handing over to Satan is taught elsewhere in the NT and to use the
expression: ‘taking members of Christ and making them the members of a harlot’ is
expressing the same concept in a different way.
Thus, Paul is not using a false analogy to emphasise the scandal of a Christian being in
sexual union with a harlot. He is describing a spiritual reality of discipline that others had, or
were, to experience. Moule is left, along with others, to resort to back -peddling on the
explicit statement Paul makes, because he has been interpreting the passage, indeed the
whole letter, in a highly individualistic manner. I have argued that Paul's letters to the
churches speak of the churches’ experiences, not the experiences of their individual
members. If this corporate perspective was brought to the Corinthian text, it would resolve
the problems that are endemic in the letter.
I have tried to suggest21 that the pornē is not an individual, but a community. It is another
term for the ‘kingdom of darkness’. There are several challenges to this proposal that need to
be addressed. Firstly, it is claimed that the correct usage of the term is ‘prostitute’. This is an
understandable but inadequate challenge. It is understandable, because that is how we have
been taught to read the text, and we have been taught how to read it in the context of our
own culture. We need better grounds than this to settle an issue of interpretation. We have
seen the unresolved problems that are acknowledged to exist in a traditional reading of the
text What needs to be established is whether there was a different mindset existing amongst
the early believers, one that is not reflected in the traditional reading of the letter. I would
suggest that the way the singular has been imposed on 6:20 (sw,mata u`mw/n your body) is
an example of the imposition of a different understanding due to a different mindset from
that of the original readers. My argument is that the other ‘knots’ in the text are pointers to
the mindset of the Corinthian readers and that this mindset is different from the one that we
in the West are acquainted with.
Another perceived weakness of the corporate argument is that Paul says o` de. porneu,wn
eivj to. i;dion sw/ma a`marta,nei: “He who sins sexually, sins against his own body” (6:18). It is
reasoned that this confirms that the argument is about the individual, and not the
side, and food and the body on the other, he opposes porneia as representative of the estranged
prostitute in her own right, but a representative of the cosmos that is estranged and opposed to God
and Christ.”
21 The following points were raised by members of the Tyndale Fellowship who attended the giving of
the paper. I am very grateful for their interaction that provided the stimulus to reflect further on the
argument.
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community. However, this response is not adequate. Firstly, we have to remind ourselves
that there is a distinct difference, despite Gundry’s claim. Bultmann has shown22 that when
Paul uses σωμα, it has the Semitic perspective of community, unless he makes it clear that it
refers to the human corpse. This study was not aimed at pressing a particular theological
view point, but was a piece of linguistic research which unearthed some interesting
observations of the apostle’s writings. So now, if we ask what the reference to ‘the body’ is in
this passage (6:18), it is reasonable to assume that it has the general meaning used by Paul
elsewhere. As Rom.1:1 is widely acknowledged to refer to the whole man, and not just his
body, the reference to sinning against his body is the same as saying ‘he defiles himself’. This
is an important point to grasp. Paul’s concern is that this person, who had defiled himself,
brings that defilement with him into the community, because he is a member of Christ’s
body. It is for this reason that Paul switches from the individual’s condition to appeal at the
corporate level, because they are, as a congregation, the temple of the Holy Spirit. So, this
section of the letter, beginning at 5:1, is an appeal to the church to discipline its members, to
make sure that the body is not defiled and compromised over the issue of righteousness. The
individual is important in the context of this corporate argument, because they must: “Get
rid of the old yeast that you may be a new batch without yeast” (1 Cor. 5:7).
The point that needs to be noted, however, is that there is no need to say that the
defilement comes through taking a prostitute. It is not sex itself that defiles, (not that sex
with a prostitute in NT teaching is not serious), but the violation of the covenant through
covenantal unfaithfulness. The purity of the community is threatened because someone has
taken his step-mother, and the church has done nothing about it. This sin is of the sort that
even the Gentiles would not tolerate, and has far more significance than illicit sex.
But, can this earlier incident be the focus of chapter 6? I would suggest that it is, and it is
‘the prostitute’, who has suddenly appeared in the text without any prior intimation, who has
to be proved to be the source of this defilement. In fact, the suggestion that the Corinthians
were taking prostitutes after trade guild events, as argued by Winter, needs to be handled
with caution. Why has this matter so suddenly been raised in the letter? There is no
introduction to the matter, so common in Corinthians, such as: ‘now concerning some men’s
behaviour at guild meetings’ We see from chapter 8, how he raised the issue of eating meats
that had been bought from the markets: “Now about food sacrificed to idols”( 8:1) There is
no suggestion in the letter that he has been asked for advice over these practices at the guild
meetings, and certainly no suggestion that this practice has been reported to him, as has the
case of incest in 5:1. For Paul to suddenly raise this issue, accusing them of such a practice,
would need an admission of evidence. Without such evidence, he is risking doing serious
damage to his relationship with the Corinthians.
22 Rudolf Bultmann. Theology of the New Testament (trans. Kendrick Grobel; London, 1952 (vol.1);
ca.1955. (vol.2). This was developed further by John A. T. Robinson. The Body: A Study in Pauline
Theology (Studies in Biblical Theology, no. 5; London: SCM, 1953). Robinson’s mistake, in this authors
thinking, was to attempt to develop a sacramental theology from the evidence. This is what Gundry
was really responding to in his rejection of Paul’s use of σωμα having Semitic/holistic significance. It is
possible to accept the argument of a Semitic understanding underpinning of the meaning of Paul’s use
of the term without embracing sacramentalism. For a discussion on this see Holland, Contours, chapter
5.
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However, he does not need to go into this detail because he is not dealing with such
practices. He continues to argue from the matter he has introduced in 5:1. He knows that
the case of incest is tolerated, because it has been reported to him. His concern is that this
case of incest, if not dealt with by the church, will be the source of defilement for the whole
body. The leaven of unrighteousness must be put away, not once, but continuously. The
man, and any who support him, must be handed over to Satan.
It will no doubt be argued that the Corinthians will see the reference to the prostitute in
the light of the guild practices. That response makes the assumption that there were
members of the Corinthian congregation who participated in such behaviour. It also
assumes that the believers had no other context with which to interpret the term. However,
we know that ‘Harlot’ was a common term, used to speak of unfaithfulness to God
throughout the Old Testament.23 It was used corporately in those writings: Israel is the
harlot for deserting her husband, Yahweh. Indeed, we find that the tradition continues into
the New Testament where it clearly has a corporate meaning.24All the Semitic/corporate
overtones that we have found in the passage strongly suggest that the Corinthian hearers
would relate the term to this theological paradigm. This is supported by the ongoing
typological use of the OT which we find throughout 1 Corinthians, showing that they had
been taught how to understand the OT in this way, and how it was used to interpret
Christian experience. Chapter 10 of the letter, does not need any comment, beyond saying
that Israel’s experiences were written down as warnings for the church. She was eventually
handed over, literally, to Babylon, the mother of harlots.
A final objection to the case I have made is the clear mention of sexual relations in the
passage: “The body is not meant for sexual immorality, but for the Lord.” (6:13) and “Do
you not know that he who unites himself with a prostitute is one with her in body? For it is
said, ‘The two will become one flesh’.” (6:16-17).
It is understandable why these statements should appear to support the traditional view.
The Passover is seen, by the Old Testament writers, to be the occasion when Yahweh took
Israel as His bride, and for this reason the Song of Solomon is read at the celebration of
Passover. But it must be recognised that the statement in 6:13 can equally refer to the case of
incest, it does not require a different case to have been raised. The statement in vs 16 & 17 is
not so easy to resolve, as it does seem to point to marriage language, and therefore the sexual
relationship implied by it. If we accept that the ‘harlot’ is a prostitute, Paul is saying that a
casual, sexual relationship has no deeper meaning than a sexual relationship within the
covenant of marriage and he does an incredible disservice to his high view of marriage (Eph
5:22-33).
But, this is not the conclusion that we have to reach. We find that this marital language is
also used corporately by Paul. The church becomes one flesh with Christ (Eph 5:31-32). He
admits it is a profound mystery (v.32). So the use of marital, sexual language is not proof that
the passage is about human sexual union. If the harlot is a community, and if she has a
23 Jer. 3:8; Ezek. 16:35; Hos. 4:15.

24 Rev. 17.5. In fact, the argument receives support from Klein, George L. ‘Hos 3:1-3 – Background to
1 Cor 6:19b – 20?’, Criswell Theological Review 3/2 (1989): 373-75. who has argued that 1 Cor 6.19-20 is
based on Hosea. If this is true, then it brings the imagery of Israel as the harlot right into the heart of
the argument.
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similar status to the church, then such language can be appropriate. This is certainly implied
in Rev 18 where the imagery is powerfully used, and it is expected that the churches in Asia
Minor can understand it. Is that because it was widespread throughout the early church? It
was certainly available to the church through her scriptures, i.e. the Old Testament. It is in
the texts of these sacred writings that Israel is often chided for playing the harlot, and joining
herself to the gods of other nations. Clearly, what Israel was supposed to be to Yahweh she
had become to other gods.
Now, while the language of ‘one flesh’ is clearly transferable to the corporate reality of
Christ and His church, the language of membership –μελη- is never transferable. It is always
corporate. A man is never a member of his wife, or a woman a member of her husband.
This is reserved for corporate relations, and for this reason the warning about the pornē is
corporate. The church is in real danger of being handed over to Satan (5:5) and so being
made, in some way, the members of the harlot ouvk oi;date o[ti o` kollw,menoj th/| po,rnh| e]n
sw/ma, evstinÈ e;sontai ga,r( fhsi,n( oi` du,o eivj sa,rka mi,anÅ
Could Paul have expected the Corinthians to understand such corporate concepts? The
idea of bringing defilement into a community, as a result of improper actions, was certainly
not beyond what Paul expected his readers to grasp. He goes on to apply this theology of
sexuality to the realm of marriage in chapter seven, and in this section he discusses the
difficulties of those women who have unbelieving husbands. He urges them not to leave
their husbands, and to recognise that there is something authentic about their marriage
relationship, even though it is not ‘in the Lord’. He tells these women that their faith
sanctifies their husbands. This is clearly nothing to do with the husbands being included into
the Christian community, because Paul says it is possible that through their continuing
relationships, their husbands might be converted to Christ. He drives home the reality of the
marriage relationship by saying that if this relationship did not exist, their children would be
unclean.
This passage is useful to our discussion as we see that Paul is building his appeal on
concepts that are specifically Semitic. Indeed, it is quite probable that the conceptual
background of his reasoning is the Torah’s injunction to Israel to relate to the aliens within
her. If these people were willing to live at peace with the community, and to respect her laws
and honour her God, then, even though they were not Jews, they could still live among the
covenant people, and benefit from the presence of Israel’s God.25 It is these principles that
Paul seems to be applying to the unbelieving husbands. They can live among the people of
God, and, as a result of their spouses’ faith, they benefit from the teaching and blessing of
the community, and are drawn to the God their wives have come to serve. Their children
also have this blessing, and so they are sanctified by the faith of their believing mother.
To argue with a Gentile congregation in this way suggests that the Corinthian community
had knowledge and appreciation of the Old Testament’s teaching on relationships with
unbelievers. Paul’s argument in chapter 6 also suggests that the believers in Corinth were an
informed community and well able to follow the appeal he advances.
25 Ex. 12:48; Lev. 17:15, 19:34; Num. 9:14.
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4. The Structure of the Argument

What context should the text be read in? As I have indicated earlier, the traditional way
of reading the text is heavily contextualised, drawing on the religious and social setting in
Corinth. It has been noted that the Temple was not a place where sacred prostitution was
practised and so interpretations that rely on that setting have to be rejected. We have also
found grammatical and theological tensions, suggesting that the individualistic interpretation
was not Paul’s intended meaning. So, what is the intended setting of the text?
Studies by Wright and Keesmat have shown the presence of the Exodus theme in both
Romans and Galatians. Other works have demonstrated how widespread this theme was in
the early church. The gospels are saturated with it. So, it should not be surprising to find it in
the Corinthian letter as well.
I would argue that there is plenty of evidence to show that the Corinthians were very
familiar with the Old Testament scriptures and the promise of the New Exodus, which was
spoken of especially by the prophets. Many crucial Second Exodus texts are quoted from
Isaiah and other prophets in order to expound the themes of the letter. For example, Paul
uses Isaiah 29:14 at the beginning of the letter (1:19), when he warns the church about
worldly wisdom. When he wants to reassure the Corinthians in chapter 2, that the Spirit
knows the deep things of God, and by Him we know the things that God has prepared for
us, Paul quotes from Isaiah 64:4. Chapter 3 contains references to the field and the temple,
both OT images of Israel. In chapter 4, Paul presents himself and Apollos as servants. He
sees himself and Apollos at the back of the victory parade, the most insignificant of the
captives (vs 9-10). What should be remembered is that this victory parade is defined by its
context. The rest of the letter makes it clear that this is not a Roman emperor leading his
captives, but Yahweh, leading His people out of humiliation and slavery. In other words, it is
part of the divine warrior motif that has been identified by others. It is a re-enactment of the
Exodus (see Rom. 15:17-19), with Paul counting himself as the least of the saints. He
charges the Corinthians with being obsessed with status, position and power. Paul sees his
salvation to be about servanthood and humiliation but that the Corinthians see theirs to be
about privilege and status.
It is this arrogance that is at the root of the problem in Corinth. The believers see
themselves to be all-victorious and beyond the power of Sin. What they do, they claim, is not
sinful, but the display of their liberty in Christ. Paul will have none of this. He reminds them
that Christ, their Passover, has been sacrificed for them and that they must continue to keep
the feast by putting away the sin of fornication. Paul warns the Corinthians of judgment,
making it even clearer in chapter 10, when he reminds them that the Israelites died in the
desert because they dared seek the pleasures of the Midianites, falling in their thousands as
they came under the judgment of God.
It is the OT background which informs the imagery and vocabulary found in chapters 5
and 6. The Corinthian church tolerates a sexual impurity that even the Gentiles would not
accept. If the believers will not accept the word of rebuke from God’s servant, they will
come under the judgment of God Himself. Just like the covenant curses meant that the Jews
were eventually delivered over to their enemies, Paul warns the believers that this is what will
happen to them. The church is called to discipline the man guilty of incest, but if it will not,
Paul warns the believers that he will be forced to come and exercise his apostolic authority,
- 66 -
and hand not only this man over to Satan, but possibly the church herself for being his
accomplice. Israel, of course, was eventually handed over to Babylon for the final covenant
curse to come upon her, but this was only after repeated appeals that she turn from her sins
and seek the Lord. Paul is conscious that the church in Corinth is heading towards judgment
and so pleads with them to take control of the situation.
Conclusion
I would argue that it is in this corporate, salvation-history context that these chapters,
and the rest of the letter, should be read. If the immoral man persists in his actions, Paul will
be forced to hand him, and all those who take his side, over to Satan. He will make them the
members of the harlot. They will be removed from the realm of God’s grace, and put into
the situation where they are judged. In other words, the harlot is the world without God. Its
existence, in the understanding of the early church, is evident from Revelation 18. Babylon is
the mother of harlots, and those who will not leave her will be destroyed with her. This is
Paul’s warning to the Corinthian church, a warning that is developed in chapter 10.
Paul’s appeal to the Corinthian church to appreciate that it is the temple of the Holy
Spirit is based on the OT promise that God would dwell with His people. It is not
individually that they are temples of the Holy Spirit, but collectively. No individual Jew in the
OT was a temple of the Holy Spirit, but Israel was: “When Israel came out of Egypt, the
house of Jacob from a people of foreign tongue, Judah became God’s sanctuary, Israel his
dominion” (Ps 114:1-2). (The Qumran community was keen to develop this theme for itself,
and parallels with the argument being made can be found in its text.)
The statement that they “were bought at a price” is not to do with anything that
happened in Corinth, but what happened outside the walls of Zion. There, “Christ, our
Passover lamb has been sacrificed” (5:7), and in that event Jesus took the church as His
bride.26 For that reason, 1 Corinthians 6:13-17 echoes much of the language of Ephesians
5:25-33 in which Paul describes Christ’s love for His bride.
26 The Passover is seen by the Old Testament writers to be the occasion when Yahweh took Israel as
His bride and for this reason the Song of Solomon is read at the celebration of Passover.
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In his Contours of Pauline Theology, Dr

Holland argues forcefully that the main
contours of Paul’s thought can only be
understood when we understand Paul as
an exegete and theologian of the Old
Testament, with the hoped-for New
Exodus, now fulfilled in Christ, at the centre
of his reading strategy. This approach finds
corporate and covenantal themes to lie at
the very heart of Paul’s concerns. In
constant critical engagement with the
whole range of contemporary scholarship
Holland maps out for himself and his
readers new ways of understanding Paul
and offers new insights into a range of
absolutely vital issues from justification to
Christology, and new insights into Pauline
texts from Romans to Colossians.
Challenging, unsettling and infuriating Dr
Holland’s tour de force cannot be ignored.
- Dr Peter Head, Lecturer in Theology,

University of Cambridge.
‘Dr. Holland provides a timely emphasis on the corporate and communal structures of Paul's thinking as
well as on its roots in the Old Testament…it provides a fresh and useful treatment of Pauline theology,
and many of its arguments offer corrections to widespread misunderstandings of Paul’.
- Anthony C. Thiselton, Emeritus Professor of Christian Theology in Residence, University of

Nottingham.
‘Those who would seek to discredit Pauline theology will appreciate Holland's scholarship and the
sound arguments on Paul's behalf. Those who ascribe to Paul as an apostle of Jesus Christ will
appreciate Holland's apologetic prowess and find Paul's Jewish hermeneutic illuminating.’
-American Journal of Biblical Theology
Holland mounts a sustained critique of new perspective understandings of justification and approaches
the issue in a fresh and convincing way that posits justification as a creative, and not declarative, act
with respect to the question of covenant membership. This is a valuable and provocative study full of
broad-brush big ideas and some very important concerns. Holland is surely correct to point to the Old
Testament scriptures as our primary source for understanding Paul’s thought. He may also be right in
pushing us to consider the more corporate aspects of Paul’s thinking. Much of what he says concerning
the Passover background rings true for not only Paul but also the rest of the New Testament and bears
careful consideration.’
- Dr. Bill Salier, Reformation Theological Review
- 68 -
A RECENT HISTORY OF THE ORDINARY UNIVERSAL MAGISTERIUM

Raymond W. Belair1
It is clear that there are certain truths central to the Catholic faith which have never been
solemnly defined by the extraordinary Magisterium of either the Pope or the ecumenical
councils. The Ten Commandments would be an obvious example. It further appears that the
reason they have never been so defined is that there was no need for such definitions
because such truths have been taught constantly and without question. The infallibility of the
Church’s magisterial teaching authority was not itself formally defined until the First Vatican
Council. However, for most Roman Catholics theologians, the New Testament, Patristic
writers, and the Tradition of the Church show a clear awareness of the Church’s inerrancy in
preserving the deposit of faith.
This ancient teaching authority has, since the 19th century, come to be known as the
“ordinary and universal Magisterium.” This means that the Church holds that certain central
truths, never solemnly and infallibly defined, have nevertheless been infallibly taught by the
Pope and the bishops when they are united with the Pope. Further, as with other infallible
statements, the infallibility of the ordinary universal Magisterium extends to both matters of
divine revelation and to those truths so closely connected to divine revelation as to be
necessary to preserve the deposit of revelation.
While part of the Church’s Tradition, use of the term “ordinary magisterium” was first
employed in a Church document in 1863 when Pope Pius IX’s Apostolic Letter Tuas Libenter
was sent to Archbishop Gregor von Scherr of Munich. The Letter was written because a
group of theologians from Germany, Austria, and Switzerland had been invited to a congress
in Munich without the knowledge of any of the bishops. The conference had come to the
attention of the papal nuncio in Munich, who reported the matter to the Vatican Secretary of
State. At that time the theological orthodoxy of certain German theologians was of concern
to the nuncio.2 Among other actions, the congress adopted a resolution stating that, other
than when solemnly defined teachings were involved, theologians enjoyed freedom of
inquiry in all theological matters. This resolution failed to take into account the ancient
dogmatic significance of the universal episcopate.3 While earlier extending his blessing to the
congress, after learning of it, Pius IX later sent his Apostolic Letter Tuas Libenter to
Archbishop von Scherr praising the intentions and faithfulness of the participants, while
questioning their failure to obtain Church permission for the congress. The major issue was
the congress’s resolution purporting to limit the teaching authority of the Church to matters
1 Raymond W. Belair, JD, DMin (cand) is a senior founding partner of the law firm of Belair & Evans
LLP. A Diplomate of both the American Board of Professional Liability Attorneys and the National
Board of Trial Advocacy, for whom he has also served as an examiner, Belair is a graduate of Fordham
University Law School and holds an M.A. in dogma from the Institute of Religious Studies at St.
Joseph’s Seminary, Dunwoodie, New York. He is a doctoral candidate at The Graduate Theological
Foundation in South Bend, Indiana.
2 Gerald McCool, Catholic Theology in the Nineteenth Century: The Quest for a Unitary Method (New York:
Seabury Press, 1977), 129-132.

3 Richard Gaillardetz, Witnesses to the Faith: Community, Infallibility and the Ordinary Magisterium ofBishops
(New York: PaulistPress, 1992), 24.
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solemnly defined. In his letter, Pius IX corrected the resolution, stating that Catholic
teachers and writers are not bound only by what had been solemnly defined as dogma:
For even if it is a matter of that subjection which must be given in the act of
divine faith, it must not be limited to those things which have been defined by
the express decrees of the councils or of the Roman Pontiffs and of this
Apostolic See, but must also be extended to those things which are handed on
as divinely revealed by the ordinary magisterium of the Church dispersed
throughout the world and therefore are held by the universal and constant
consent of Catholic theologians to pertain to the faith.4
Although infallibility was only later defined at Vatican I, Pius IX described it as including
those teachings handed on as divinely revealed by the universal Magisterium.
Understanding of the infallibility of the ordinary universal magisterium was further
advanced at Vatican I when the “object of faith” was described in the Dogmatic
Constitution Dei Filius:
Further, all those things are to be believed with divine and Catholic faith which
are contained in the word of God, written or handed down, and which are
proposed by the Church, either by solemn judgment or by the ordinary and
universal magisterium, to be believed as being divinely revealed.5
While papal infallibility was directly defined at Vatican I, the infallibility of the ordinary
magisterium was not, though it was implicitly confirmed in Dei Filius.
Vatican I had broader aspirations than it was able to complete before it was abruptly
concluded in 1870. However, the Dogmatic Constitution Pastor Aeternus6 solemnly defined
the infallibility of the Pope. In doing so, it made clear that the Pope’s “supreme power of
teaching” itself enjoyed the approval of the perpetual usage of the Church and the
ecumenical councils which promulgated it. This had been done by virtue of the fact that the
“first thing required for salvation is to preserve the rule of true faith.”7 It was not possible to
set aside the words of Jesus Christ.8 Knowing that the “See of Peter always remained
unstained by all error” according to the divine promise which Jesus made, the successors of
Peter have always been heeded. Therefore, when the Roman Pontiff exercises his office as
pastor and teacher of all Christians in defining–by his supreme apostolic authority as
respects a doctrine of faith or morals–he enjoys through divine assistance the infallibility
promised by Christ. Such definitions are irreformable by themselves, not by the consent of
the Church9:
For the Holy Spirit promised to the successors of Peter, not that they would
unfold new doctrine which He revealed to them, but that, with His assistance,
4 Pius IX,Apostolic Letter Tuas Libenter (December 21, 1863).

5 Vatican I, Dogmatic Constitution Dei Filius (April 24, 1870).
6 Vatican I, Dogmatic Constitution Pastor Aeternus (July 18, 1870).
7 Ibid, ch 4 .
8 Ibid, ch 2 .
9 Ibid, ch 11.
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they would piously guard and faithfully expound the revelation or deposit of
faith handed on through the Apostles.10
After Vatican I, the infallibility of the ordinary universal Magisterium was invoked in certain
documents. One of these was Munificentissimus Deus, in which Pius XII in 1950 solemnly
defined the Assumption, while essentially stating that formal definition was not strictly
necessary. He wrote that “certain and firm argument is taken from the universal consensus
of the ordinary universal magisterium of the Church by which the bodily Assumption of the
Blessed Virgin Mary into heaven is shown. . .to be a truth revealed by God.”11 Still, the
infallibility of the ordinary universal Magisterium was not formally set forth until Vatican II.
Vatican II
At Vatican II the Council addressed the matter of episcopal authority which they had
been unable to reach at Vatican I. The Dogmatic Constitution Lumen Gentium both
reaffirmed and broadened the teaching on infallibility given at Vatican I. This included the
three methods by which the Church acts infallibly. The first method occurs when the Pope
solemnly defines a doctrine concerning faith and morals to be held by the universal Church.
The bishops also act infallibly in solemn action at an ecumenical council or in the ordinary
universal magisterium when dispersed throughout the world so long as they teach in union
with the Pope. The formal teaching on the infallibility of the ordinary universal magisterium
is:
Although the bishops, taken individually, do not enjoy the privilege of
infallibility, they do, however, proclaim infallibly the doctrine of Christ on the
following conditions: namely, when, even though dispersed throughout the
world but preserving for all that amongst themselves and with Peter’s
successor the bond of communion, in their authoritative teaching concerning
matters of faith and morals, they are in agreement that a particular teaching is
to be held definitively and absolutely.12
Lumen Gentium is the formal authoritative acknowledgement of the infallibility of the
ordinary universal magisterium whereby the bishops embody the truth on matters of faith
and morals in their everyday teachings. This is true so long as they remain in communion
with the Pope and with each other in forming one judgment with moral unity, which
judgment is to be held definitively. But to what does this infallibility pertain?
This infallibility, however, with which the divine redeemer wished to endow
his church in defining doctrine relating to faith and morals is co-extensive with
the deposit of revelation, which must be religiously guarded and loyally and
courageously expounded.13
This has been understood to mean that the infallibility of the Church pertains to both
revealed truths and to those truths which are necessary for the revelation to be preserved.
10 Ibid, ch 7.
11 Pius XII, Apostolic Constitution Munificentissimus Deus (November 1, 1950), 12.
12 Vatican II, Dogmatic Constitution Lumen Gentium(November 21, 1964), 25.
13 Ibid.
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This interpretation of Lumen Gentium was confirmed by the International Theological

Commission:
The object of the infallibility of the Church has the same extension as the
revealed deposit; hence it extends to all those things and only to those, which
either directly pertain to the revealed deposit itself, or are required in order
that the same deposit may religiously safeguarded and faithfully expounded.14
These two aspects of the truth are known, respectively, as the primary and secondary objects
of infallibility. This was also reinforced by the 1973 declaration of the Congregation for the
Doctrine of the Faith, Mysterium Ecclesiae:
According to Catholic doctrine, the infallibility of the Church’s magisterium
extends not only to the deposit of faith but also to those matters without
which that deposit cannot be rightly preserved and expounded.15
Then, in 1989, the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith published a new Formula
for the Profession of the Faith and Oath of Fidelity.16 The Profession, containing the Nicene-
Constantinopolitan Creed, also contained three paragraphs pertaining to the truths of
Catholic Faith. The first paragraph provides that:
With firm faith, I also believe everything contained in the Word of God,
whether written or handed down in Tradition, which the Church either by a
solemn judgment or by the ordinary and universal Magisterium sets forth to be
believed as divinely revealed.17 (Emphasis added).
The second paragraph stated:
I also firmly accept and hold all those things concerning doctrine about faith
and morals which are definitively proposed by the same Church.18 (Emphasis
added)
The third paragraph provided:
Moreover, I adhere with submission of will and intellect to the teachings which
either the Roman Pontiff or the college of Bishops enunciate when they
exercise their authoritative Magisterium, even if they do not intend to proclaim
these teachings by a definitive act.19 (Emphasis added)
The following year, The Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith issued its Instruction
on the Ecclesial Vocation of the Theologian20, which provided an explanation of the Profession’s
14 Acta Synodalia Concili Vaticani Secundi III/8, 89.

15 Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, Declaration in Defense of the Catholic Doctrine on the
Church Against Certain Errors of the Day, MysteriumEcclesiam (June 24, 1973), 3.
16 Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, Profession of Faith and Oath of Fidelity (January 9, 1989),
105.
17 Ibid.
18 Ibid.
19 Ibid.
20 Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, Instruction on the Ecclesial Vocation of the Theologian
Donum Veritatis, (May 24, 1990).
- 72 -
three quoted paragraphs. When the Magisterium of the Church makes an infallible
pronouncement and solemnly declares that a teaching is found in Revelation, the assent
called for is that of “theological faith.” This kind of faith is to be given even to the teaching
of the ordinary universal Magisterium when it “proposes” for belief a teaching of faith as
divinely revealed. When the Magisterium proposes in a definitive way truths as to faith and
morals which, even if not divinely revealed, are nevertheless strictly and intimately connected
with Revelation, these “must be firmly accepted and held.”21 When the Magisterium, not
intending to act “definitively,” teaches a doctrine to foster a better understanding of
Revelation, make explicit its contents, recall how some teaching is in conformity with the
truths of faith, or to guard against ideas that are incompatible with these truths, the response
called for is that of “religious submission of will and intellect.”22 The truths of the second
paragraph fit the definition of the secondary object of infallibility—truths of faith and
morals not divinely revealed, but strictly connected with Revelation. Yet the assent called for
is not that of “theological faith,” as is the case with solemn declarations. Rather, these truths
of the secondary object of infallibility must be “firmly accepted and held.” This prompted at
least one theologian to observe that these infallible truths of faith and morals “[did] not call
for a response of faith.”23
But this matter was revisited and further clarified in 1998 when John Paul II’s Apostolic
Letter Ad Tuendam Fidem was issued.24 The purpose was to fill a perceived void in Canon
Law. Specifically, it was intended to bring the 1983 Code of Canon Law into conformity
with the doctrinal categories established by the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith in
the 1989 Profession of Faith and Oath of Fidelity.25 Canon 750 of the Code of Canon Law dealt with
the matters in the first paragraph of the Profession—matters to be believed as having been
divinely revealed—just as the matters in the third paragraph, not proclaimed by a definitive
act, but requiring submission of will and intellect were dealt with by Canon 752. Matters of
the second paragraph, dealing with faith and morals (and to be firmly accepted and held),
had no corresponding legislation in the Codes of the Catholic Church. The correction of this
omission was stated by John Paul II to be of the utmost importance, since the matters in
question were truths necessarily connected to divine revelation.26 Therefore, the Code of
Canon Law was amended as respects Canon 750. It would retain its original passage
regarding matters of divine revelation, but would now also contain a new paragraph:
2. Furthermore, each and everything set forth definitively by the Magisterium
of the Church must be firmly accepted and held; namely, those things required
for the holy keeping and the faithful exposition of the deposit of faith;
therefore anyone who rejects propositions which are to be held definitively
sets himself against the teaching of the Catholic Church.27
21 Ibid.
22 Ibid. This is not not simply exterior or disciplinary, but under impulse of obedience to the faith.
23 Francis A. Sullivan, S.J., The “Secondary Object” of Infallibility, Theological Studies, Vol. 54 (1993)
542.
24 John Paul II, Apostolic Letter Ad Tuendam Fidem ( May 28, 1998)
25 Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, Profession of faith and Oath of Fidelity, AAS 81(1989) 104-
106.
26 Ad Tuendam Fidem, 3
27 Ibid,4
- 73 -
Shortly after the Apostolic Letter was issued, the Congregation for the Doctrine of the
Faith issued a Commentary containing some illuminating information on the categories of
infallible teachings. The first category—doctrines set forth by the Magisterium as divinely
revealed—are irreformable and are doctrines de fide credenda. They require “the assent of
theological faith” and may be either solemnly and infallibly defined by the Pontiff or the
College of Bishops in council, or infallibly proposed by the ordinary and universal
Magisterium.28 As to the secondary object of infallibility—the matters definitively proposed
in the Church’s teachings which must be “firmly accepted and held”—the Commentary
provides:
The object taught by this formula includes all those teachings belonging to the
dogmatic or moral area, which are necessary for faithfully keeping and
expounding the deposit of faith, even if they have not been proposed by the
Magisterium of the Church as formally revealed.29
As with divinely revealed truths, these doctrines pertaining to the secondary object of
infallibility can be defined by the Pope or a council or infallibly taught by the ordinary and
universal Magisterium as a “sententia definitive tenenda.”
Every believer, therefore, is required to give firm and definitive assent to these
truths based on faith in the Holy Spirit’s assistance to the Church’s
Magisterium, and on the Catholic doctrine of the infallibility of the
Magisterium in these matters.30 (Emphasis added).
These truths require the assent of faith de fide teneda. To deny such truths, one would be
“rejecting a truth of Catholic doctrine and would therefore no longer be in full communion
with the Catholic Church.”31
The truths of the secondary object of infallibility can be connected in different ways to
revelation; they could have an historical relationship to revelation or there could be a logical
connection which expresses a stage in the maturation of the Church’s understanding of
revelation. That these doctrines are infallibly taught, though not proposed as formally
revealed, does not diminish their definitive character, nor preclude that they may later be
proclaimed as divinely revealed.32
The Commentary then explained how both objects of infallibility can be established in
different ways by the Magisterium. The Magisterium teaches both the divinely revealed
doctrines and the doctrines to be held definitively with an act that is either defining or non-
defining. A defining act is a solemnly defining pronouncement by the Pope or by an
ecumenical council. In the case of a non-defining act:
[A]doctrine is taught infallibly by the ordinary and universal Magisterium of the
Bishops dispersed throughout the world who are in communion with the
28 Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, Doctrinal Commentary on The Concluding Formula of the
Professio Dei (29 June, 1998), 5.

29 Doctrinal Commentary, 6.
30 Ibid.
31 Ibid.
32 Ibid, 7.
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Successors of Peter. Such a doctrine can be confirmed or reaffirmed by the Roman Pontiff
even without recourse to a solemn definition, by declaring explicitly that it belongs to
the teaching of the ordinary and universal Magisterium as a truth that is
divinely revealed(first paragraph) or as a truth of Catholic doctrine(second
paragraph). Consequently, when there has not been a judgment in the solemn
form of a definition, but this doctrine, belonging to the inheritance of the
depositem fidem is taught by the ordinary and universal Magisterium, which
necessarily includes the Pope, such a doctrine is to be understood as having
been set forth infallibly. The declaration of confirmation or reaffirmation by the
Roman Pontiff in this case is not a new dogmatic definition, but a formal
attestation of a truth already possessed and infallibly transmitted by the
Church.33 (Emphasis added).
The Commentary makes it clear, however, that the infallible teaching of the ordinary and
universal Magisterium is not set forth only in explicit declarations of doctrine to be believed
or to be held definitively, but is also expressed by a doctrine implicitly contained in a practice
of the Church’s faith. It is derived either from Revelation or from what is necessary for
salvation and attested to by uninterrupted tradition.34
Finally, the Commentary lists a number of examples of infallible doctrines which are either
1) divinely revealed, or 2) closely connected with revelation. Among those doctrines in the
first category would be the articles of faith of the Creed, Christological dogmas, Marian
dogmas, Christ’s institution of the sacraments and their efficacy regarding grace, the real
presence in the Eucharist, original sin, inerrancy of original texts, and the grave immorality
of direct and voluntary killing of innocent human beings.35 In discussion of the second
category it is noted that before papal infallibility was dogmatically defined at Vatican I the
primacy of the Pope was always believed as a revealed fact even thought discussion remained
open as to whether jurisdiction and infallibility were an intrinsic part of Revelation (primary
object of infallibility) or only a logical consequence (secondary object of infallibility). Vatican
I simply confirmed that the doctrine of infallibility and primacy of jurisdiction of the Pope,
recognized as definitive before the Council, was also accepted as a divinely revealed truth.36
Examples of non-defining infallible teachings, either divinely revealed or closely
connected with Revelation, are part of the recent history of the Church, and one of the most
prominent examples thereof is now discussed in more detail.
Evangelium Vitae
This Encyclical Letter37, proclaiming “the Gospel of Life” and confirming the Church’s
condemnation of all direct taking of innocent human life, was not unexpected. What
attracted some attention was the formula John Paul II chose to express the condemnations
of murder, abortion and euthanasia:
33 Ibid, 9.
34 Ibid, fn 17.
35 Ibid, 11.
36 Ibid.
37 John Paul II, Encyclical Letter, Evangelium Vitae ( March 25, 1995).
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Therefore, by the authority which Christ conferred upon Peter and his
Succesors, and in communion with the Bishops of the Catholic Church, I
confirm that the direct and voluntary killing of an innocent human being is always gravely
immoral. This doctrine, based upon that unwritten law which man, in the light
of reason, finds in his own heart . . . is reaffirmed by Sacred Scripture,
transmitted by the Tradition of the Church and taught by the ordinary and
universal Magisterium.38
****
Therefore, by the authority which Christ Conferred upon Peter and his
Successors, and in communion with the Bishops-who on various occasions
have condemned abortion and who in the aforementioned consultation, albeit
dispersed throughout the world, have shown unanimous agreement
concerning this doctrine – I declare that direct abortion, that is, abortion willed as an
end or as a means, always constitutes a grave moral disorder, since it is the deliberate
killing of an innocent human being. This doctrine is based upon the natural
law and upon the written Word of God, is transmitted by the Church’s
Tradition and taught by the ordinary and universal Magisterium.39
****
Taking into account these distinctions, in harmony with the magisterium of my
predecessors and in communion with the Bishops of the Catholic Church, I
confirm that euthanasia is a grave violation of the law of God, since it is the deliberate
and morally unacceptable killing of human person. This doctrine is based upon
the natural law and upon the written Word of God , is transmitted by the
Church’s Tradition and taught by the ordinary and universal Magisterium.40
Each of the three foregoing paragraphs ends with a footnote to Lumen Gentium 25. The
reference clearly refers to the infallible teaching authority of the ordinary and universal
Magisterium described therein, which has been both quoted and referenced repeatedly here.
It is worth observing that Francis A. Sullivan, S.J., the same theologian who had earlier
opined that matters of the secondary object of infallibility might not call for a response of
faith, has more recently quoted Lumen Gentium’s language in support of his view that
Evangelium Vitae was an exercise of the ordinary and universal Magisterium’s infallible
teaching authority.41 After quoting the much referenced portion of Lumen Gentium, the
theologian apparently concluded that the encyclical met the conditions of Lumen Gentium,
which had in this case been laid down respecting murder, abortion and euthanasia. He
adverted to the “Vatican Summary”42 of the Encyclical as confirmation for appropriate
invocation of Lumen Gentium’s authority. After some discussion about considerations which
38 Ibid, 57.
39 Ibid, 62.
40 Ibid, 65.
41 Francis A. Sullivan, S.J., The Doctrinal Weight of Evangelium Vitae, Theological Studies, Vol. 56(1995)
560.
42 The Vatican Summary of “Evangelium Vitae”, Origins 24/42 (6 April 1995). `
- 76 -
might have been given to making Evangelium Vitae a solemn defining statement, rather than
an encyclical, Sullivan observed:
It is clear that it was decided not to issue any solemn papal definition in this
encyclical and not to make an explicit claim to be speaking infallibly. And yet,
to say that it would be “‘a little absurd’ to solemnize teachings so clearly
evident in Scripture and tradition,” could be taken as practically equivalent to
saying that there was no need to define doctrine that was already so obviously
the traditional teaching of the Catholic Church. And this is not very different
from saying that the Church’s judgment on murder, abortion and euthanasia
was a doctrine proposed by the ordinary universal magisterium as definitively
to be held.43
The theologian went on to observe that Evangelium Vitae was an encyclical, which had not
previously been used by Popes to speak infallibly and, in his opinion, no dogma had ever
been defined in an encyclical. It should be noted, however, that since what John Paul II said
he was doing was “declaring” and “reaffirming” what had already been infallibly taught,
there was nothing “new” for him to define. As can be seen, solemn definitions are not
necessary for the operation of the ordinary and universal Magisterium.
Sullivan conceded that no Pope prior to John Paul II had ever consulted the entire
episcopal college, as John Paul II had done prior to Evangelium Vitae. He thus gained
unanimous agreement on what he was to say before he declared a teaching as “taught by the
ordinary and universal magisterium.” Moving to an assessment of the encyclical concerning
the moral law, Sullivan agreed that in order to be capable of being taught with infallibility, “a
moral doctrine must be either formally revealed, or so intimately connected with revealed
truth as to be required for its defense or exposition.” He concluded that Evangelium Vitae’s
teaching on the immorality of murder, abortion and euthanasia “meets that requirement.”44
Thus, conditions for the exercise of the infallibility of the ordinary universal Magisterium
are seen as having been met. First, the teachings fall within the object of infallibility—truths
directly revealed or required for the defense or exposition of the faith. Both Scriptural
support and the Church’s Tradition in supporting innocent human life are stated and
obvious; they are based “on the natural law and the written Word of God.” The requirement
of Lumen Gentium 25—faith and morals—has been met. Further, the moral unanimity of the
world’s bishops agreeing in one judgment in communion with the pope is shown by the
unanimity of the 1991 Cardinal’s Consistory and the unanimous response of all of the
world’s bishops to John Paul II’s personal letter. The final requirement, that the doctrine
must be taught as to be held definitively by all the faithful, is so apparent as to be
undeniable. It is hard to see how any other interpretation would do justice to the language
which John Paul II used.45 Moreover, the encyclical embodies the very formula described in
Lumen Gentium 25 for confirming doctrine as having been infallibly taught. There is explicit
reference thereto in footnotes following each of the doctrinal statements. This stands on its
43 Sullivan, The Doctrinal Weight of Evangelium Vitae, 563.

44 Ibid, 564.
45 Ibid, 563.
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own as confirmation that the norms against killing the innocent, abortion and euthanasia
should be understood as definitive and infallible, apart from the internal analysis.
The lengths to which John Paul II went to ensure that the bishops of the world were in
communion with him before he issued Evangelium Vitae are at least arguably unnecessary. No
such detailed survey was undertaken as respects the Apostolic Letter Ordinatio Sacerdotalis on
the teaching that the Church has no authority whatsoever to ordain women as priests. In
that case, however, the same formula and reference to Lumen Gentium 25 was made as was
made in Evangelium Vitae. Moreover, Ordinatio Sacerdotalis has been the subject of a Dubium as
to whether the prohibition belongs to the deposit of faith. The Responsum was in the
affirmative and stated that the teaching was founded on the word of God and from the
beginning constantly preserved and set forth infallibly by the ordinary universal Magisterium.
This Responsum from the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith was approved by John
Paul II. Accordingly, extraordinary consultations with the bishops are not necessary for the
confirmation or reaffirmation of what has been infallibly taught by the ordinary universal
Magisterium. However, in the case of Evangelium Vitae, it certainly provides added
reinforcement to the exercise of the ordinary universal Magisterium.
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PRAXIS THEOLOGIES AND THE PROJECT WELCOME SUDANESE

REFUGEE COMMUNITY
Joan Mueller, OSC1
Our creedal formulations are based on the insistence of the early fathers that “God
became human so that human beings could become divine.”2 As a teacher of Christology, I
frequently outline the belief that we are invited as Christians to participate as adopted sons
and daughters of God not only in liturgy and prayer, but also in daily life and society. After a
study of biblical and classical Christologies, I discuss with my students contemporary
theologies that encourage faith grounded in both prayer and praxis.
At the end of the 2002 fall semester, my students were writing reflection papers
integrating the biblical, classical, and contemporary Christologies we had studied. The
Sunday before semester finals, with the sinister winds of winter already whipping across the
dreary Omaha plain, I was driving home after giving an Advent talk. My heart echoed the
grey gusts with a kind of “is-that-all-this-is” feeling, even though it was simultaneously still
reveling in the reception of tenure and promotion I had received the previous April. After
the poverty of grad school, the brutalities of the academic job search, and the challenges of
“publish or perish,” I had expected to relax a bit and settle into my profession. Instead, I felt
an unexpected angst. It seemed like the surety of following God’s will had suddenly
disappeared from my life. The uncertainty was so acute, in fact, that I had decided that by
the end of the spring semester, if I couldn’t find a sense of mission in my life, I would leave
the academic world and begin again. I prayed for the grace to know God’s will.
I passed a little church on Omaha’s south side just as the bells tolled and stopped in,
found a pew, and began the service absorbed and exhausted from the typical whirlwind
semester. It was the celebrant’s invitation to offer the sign of peace that prompted me to
turn and notice those who were praying around me. A young Sudanese man with his wife
and six children held out his hand. “Peace be with you,” he said with an infectious smile. I
extended my hand also to his wife, who nodded and held out a timid hand. At their father’s
prompting, two of the children took my hand, while the other two hid their heads in their
mother’s skirt. In addition, there were twin baby boys, one in the arms of each parent.
After the service, the couple spoke with me and invited me to visit their home. I accepted
and followed them to their apartment in a low-income housing unit not far from the church.
The family was lovely, but the house was strangely empty. It took me awhile to identify what
was missing. This was a family of six children, and there wasn’t a single toy. More disturbing
was that the family was dressed in summer clothes, including flip-flops instead of shoes, and
neither children nor parents had worn coats to church. I asked simply, “Do the children
have warm clothes for the winter?”
1 Joan Mueller is Professor of Theology at Creighton University and founder of the Project Welcome
Sudanese Refugee Community. She is the author of several books including, The Privilege of Poverty: Clare
of Assisi, Agnes of Prague, and the Struggle for a Franciscan Rule for Women and Francis: The Saint of Assisi.
2 Athanasius “, On the Incarnation 3.4.11; and Discourses Against the Arians 2.68; 1.51; 3.33; Clement of
Alexandria, Exhortation to the Greeks 1.8.4; Origen, Against Celsus 3.28; to name just a few texts.
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Many years before, I had worked with Vietnamese and Hmong refugees, and having
asked the first question, dusty skills began to return. I looked at the mother and asked with
my hands, “Do you have anything for the children to eat?” She shook her head, “no,” her
eyes still looking downward. I asked the father, whose spoken English was more proficient,
“May I have your wife’s permission to see the refrigerator and the cupboards.” He asked his
wife in the Nuer language, and she rose with one of the twins in her arms. “My babies,” she
said brokenly, “I have no food.”
I stood up and went with her into the tiny kitchen. She opened the refrigerator. It was
completely empty—not even catsup or milk. The cupboards were the same—totally bare.
There was no food in the house—none at all—and there were six children to feed over the
Christmas holiday. We sat down again, “My babies,” she said brokenly, “I have no food.”
I realized at that moment that she was pleading only for her newborns. “Can your wife
breastfeed the babies?” I asked the father. In response, he showed me burns running from
his head to his back. “They dropped chemical bombs on our village,” he said. In the course
of the story I learned that the mother had lost her entire family in the chemical bombing and
had only her husband and children. Because of effects of the bombs, she was unable to
nurse the babies. She hoped that her other children would survive two weeks of Christmas
vacation with little food, but she knew the babies would not. She was begging literally for the
lives of her babies.
But, I wondered, what about WIC, the federal program that provides food to mothers
who need nutritional assistance? I asked the father about it who by now seemed
overwhelmed. He had a job assembling window blinds at a local plant, but his paycheck
barely covered rent and utilities. He showed me a devastating utility bill and I realized that
the high ceilings of the apartment and drafty windows were eating a large portion of the
family’s income. There was no money, and with the arrival of two babies rather than one, the
city had notified them that they exceeded the limits of those who could live in the present
apartment. He was frustrated and confused by the endless red tape of social service agencies.
The father looked at his babies and said to me: “God has cursed me.” He held his baby boy
closer to his check betraying his conflict. His twin boys were a great blessing that he was
unable to sustain.
As we talked, relatives in the same apartment complex appeared and I was asked to visit
them also. I went to two more homes, and found dire situations. Here were people whose
children were in danger of malnutrition and cold, living only blocks from the university
where I taught—the very place where I frequently expressed the need for prayer and practice
to adorn our faith! I had worked at the university for seven years and had never seen the
needs of these people.
Driving home late that afternoon, I began listing the practical problems that needed to be
addressed:
1. Food.
2. Clothing.
3. Shelter (some families were living with others).
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4. Employment (none of the women were employed and some of the men were not
working).
5. Learning English (none of the women spoke English).
6. Access to services (WIC, food stamps, unemployment, etc.).
7. Education (I had asked to see report cards and every child I reviewed was failing in
school).
8. Utility assistance.
9. Community isolation.
10. Financial help (I was given back bills for each family equaling almost $10,000/family).
11. Plane ticket assistance (refugees coming to America have to pay back their plane ticket
from Sudan. For most families, this bill is between $4,000-$5,000. Bill collectors begin
hounding families about this debt after they were here only three months).
12. Fraud in local refugee agencies. This was so egregious that one agency was temporarily
shut down by the federal government. The fraud and strong-arm tactics of local refugee
agencies was a consistent complaint.
Feeling overwhelmed, I tried to discern what to do. Since there were children involved, it
was not possible to put one’s hands in the air and walk away. Searching for a way to sort
through the difficulties, the image of an onion popped into my head. I knew that if I worked
through one layer at a time, dealing with the most crucial layers first, that eventually the
onion would be pealed.
I called every friend and acquaintance I knew and shared the situation. Immediately there
was food and clothing. I talked to churches, university administrators, and agencies. Help
came pouring in, mostly from churches, and the work began. No child was hungry or
without clothes that Christmas, and the number of families affected kept growing. It soon
became evident that there was an epidemic of poverty among Sudanese refugees in Omaha
that no one was addressing.
Developing a Working Theology
As I worked and continued teaching, I became progressively dissatisfied with praxis
theologies that propose the struggle against injustice as the primary Christian paradigm for
promoting social change. It was not that I disagreed with these methodologies, but it seemed
that they needed to be amplified and more informed by the efforts that people of faith were
making in responding to the cries of the poor. I also noticed in my classes that while a few
students deeply identified with structural change-oriented Christologies, most walked away
unaffected. I wanted my business and education majors to be as excited about theological
praxis as my social justice majors, and this was simply not happening.
Work with the Sudanese community also challenged theologies I had once accepted
without much critique. Omaha Sudanese refugees at this time came from Southern Sudan, a
place that has been and continues to be in a media blackout for more than fifty years—the
refugees we work with are not from Darfur, an area where there has been significant media
coverage from the very beginning of the genocide. Many Southern Sudanese women talk
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about rape as the moment when one “becomes a woman.” Rape is a normal rite of passage
rather than an isolated tragedy. In some tribes, if a woman disobeys the man in her life, a
pole is driven through her leg and she is hung upside-down in the sun. Men spend their time
plotting and planning how to survive against a government willing to commit genocide for
oil revenues. They vie with neighboring tribes competing for cattle and land. When this way
of life is transported to the United States, the tribal conflicts continue. Unlike working with
the Vietnamese and Hmong, developing a focused community out of the refugees proved to
be difficult, and some days seemed impossible.
Is injustice at the root of the Sudanese problem? Of course. But naming the perpetrator
is virtually impossible. Because children were involved and every minute wasted was a
minute less of their valuable childhood, identifying immediate solutions for social change
were necessary. This meant that we needed to identify those things that were holding the
Sudanese in poverty. These families were poor:
1. Because adults weren’t working.
2. Because women didn’t have English skills.
3. Because families were isolated and not connected to essential services.
4. Because local refugee agencies were placing them in substandard housing and depriving
them of services and assets they were claiming to give.
5. Because people without a homeland are not welcomed.
6. Because many men and nearly all women did not have basic reading and math skills even
in their own languages.
Where injustice was obvious, action was taken. I started taking pictures of the work of
local refugee agencies and sending them to Washington D.C. One Omaha agency was
closed, lost their status, and had to begin again proving their worth. A second with Arabic
speakers was more difficult to deal with. Exasperated one day, I called the federal office only
to be told that Homeland Security had a vested interest in keeping the organization afloat.
What could be done? We decided that hitting our heads against a brick wall was not
productive, so we organized to take over aspects of the agency’s mission. We provided
beginning house wares, monitored housing, purchased beds and bedding for the children,
provided clothing and food, monitored the school placements of the children, and assessed
health needs. When time is a critical element, injustice may best be countered by justice, not
by rooting out the injustice itself.
Much of what we were facing, however, wasn’t simply injustice. Many people wanted to
help the Sudanese, but did not have the skills. Project Welcome—as we ended up calling our
project—began to organize the needs of refugees so that ordinary people could do their part
to welcome their new neighbors. People gave us food, clothing, money, and learning toys.
We raised hundreds of thousands of dollars and paid for the airplane ticket debts of all our
families. We bought runner cars so that people could go to work. We hired a social services
director who managed the social services outreach and paired this outreach with potential
donors. She also worked tirelessly to help Sudanese families establish clear credit histories so
that they would be eligible to obtain low-income homes through Habitat for Humanity and
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another local program. We held summer school classes for the children, summer math and
reading camps, sports camps, and English language programs.
Our work in addressing critical needs while always trying to help the community to move
forward in their skills and cultural competencies was changing my approach to praxis
theologies. In order to make a difference in the lives of the poor, many skills and
methodologies are needed, and it seemed to me that consciously developing a praxis method
demonstrating that this would be helpful both to students and to the poor. I applied and
received from my university a grant funded by the Office for Academic Excellence and
Assessment and another by the Lilly Endowment funded Cardoner program at Creighton to
work out the model that we were using in the field.3 This grew into the Project Welcome
Model Approach I now use for inviting students to put their faith into action.
Praxis Models
The Project Welcome Praxis Models describe six different ways that people in the real
world can address the needs of the poor:
1. The Nonprofit Model
2. The Education Model
3. The Solidarity Model
4. The Investment Model
5. The Structural Change Model
6. The Organic Model
Although not intended to include every possible methodology, the Project Welcome
Praxis Models are intended to initiate critical thinking and practical imagination in regard to
developing real-life solutions to the needs of the poor. In a sense, students and other
persons of faith are asked to bring a “bag of methods” to the table so that the most effective
method for each situation can be discerned and applied. People with various gifts—yes, even
business majors!—have professional and personal skills needed in this faith-in-action
approach.
I divide students into groups according to interests giving them the following material as
individual worksheets. Students are asked to consider the advantages and disadvantages of
their chosen model for the lives of the poor first in their interest groups and then in the
larger group. This encourages both an appreciation of each model as well as an
acknowledgment of its limits. For each model, I attempt to give general information, critical
sources for further research, internet resources, and possibilities for employment and
volunteering. Many students, of course, already have experience in one or more of these
models, adding to the richness of the discussion.
The Nonprofit Model
In the United States, Christian efforts to feed, cloth, educate, and heal are often tied to
nonprofits. The IRS National Center for Charitable Statistics reports more than 1.4 million
3 I’m deeply grateful to the Jesuit School of Theology at Berkeley who offered housing while I worked
in the Berkeley libraries on this project.
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registered nonprofit charities in the United States.4 A few of the most well known include
Catholic Charities, The Salvation Army, Lutheran Social Services, the YMCA, and the Red
Cross. Many of these nonprofits were founded by Christians trying to find an effective way
to love and serve their neighbors.
There are a variety of jobs and volunteer possibilities in social, educational, healthcare,
and other nonprofit services. Unlike for-profit businesses, the success of charitable
nonprofits is judged not by monetary gain but by their effectiveness in fulfilling their mission
to serve the common good. This being said, a nonprofit is still a business and, like other
businesses, needs to pay salaries, expenses, and program costs. While the nonprofit
organization needs to remain solvent in order to provide services, it does not need to make a
profit for its owners and stockholders.
One way to discern the difference in spirit between the profit and nonprofit business can
be illustrated by observing the expectations companies have for their employees. People who
are employed by a for-profit business work to make a profit for their company. Their
performance reviews focus on bottom-line statistics as well as the efficiency and
marketability of their services. A nonprofit employee, on the other hand, will be reviewed by
how well she or he has executed and furthered the goals of the public service defined by the
organization’s mission.
Nonprofits rely on both government resources and private foundations to provide the
funding necessary to run their operations. Often, it is successful acquisition of government
contracts that decide the fate of particular nonprofits. This is true especially in the area of
social services such as adoption, health and human services, care for the elderly and
infirmed, and services for the developmentally disabled. Charities that have religious names
are often primarily government funded. Lutheran Social Services, for example, includes
nursing homes funded primarily by Medicaid and Medicare; foster care services, funded
primarily by state government contracts; counseling services, funded by private monies and
insurance; and refugee services, funded by government contracts. This complexity of
contractual agreements often requires an agency to hire Washington lobbyists to politick for
funding as well as executives who have the skills to administrate transactions or the
resources to hire lawyers, accountants, and other professionals to manage these operations.
Volunteering with a nonprofit organization is usually easy. Those needing service hours
for classes, honor societies, or resumes, or who just want to offer some time will usually
discover user-friendly websites and volunteer networks. Applying for a job at a nonprofit is
essentially the same as applying for employment at a for-profit business. The interviewee,
however, should be aware that those hiring are listening for a desire to serve the mission of
the institution, not merely to earn money or accomplish personal career goals. Competition
for nonprofit employment can be fierce, especially in larger nonprofits or in those
specializing in high-interest causes. Volunteering or interning is an effective way to become
known in the organization and to familiarize oneself with its internal climate.5
4The statistics refer to the 2007 report. See: http://nccsdataweb.urban.org.

5 Thomas Wolf and Barbara Carter, Managing a Nonprofit Organization in the Twenty-First Century (New
York: Simon & Schuster Inc., 1999); Peri H. Pakroo, Starting and Building a Nonprofit: A Practical Guide (
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The Education Model

From the beginning, Christians in America have been convinced that the way to bring
people out of poverty is to educate them. In order for the fledgling American democracy to
take hold, its citizens needed tax-supported, universal education that would bridge the gap
between rich and poor. There was the idealistic sense that if children were provided a fair
and equal opportunity, poor houses, prisons, and poverty lines would be eliminated. Schools
would guarantee social stability by assuring the young that it was merit, not class, which ruled
American life. Education was a path out of both ignorance and poverty.6
Today, young children in America are deeply affected by poverty: 43% of children under
6, 39% of children ages 6-11, and 35% of children 12-17 live in low-income families. Given
these statistics, it is obvious that the poverty of low-income children is an educational
problem. This problem is compounded along racial lines: 61% of Latino children, 60% of
Black children, and 63% of American Indian children live below the poverty level. As has
been historically true, the education of poor children involves both the education of the
immigrant child as well as the child of multi-generational poverty.
Responding to the unique educational needs of immigrant children is not only humane, it
is good business. 57% of children born to immigrant parents live in poverty. Not responding
to the children of new immigrants means that these children will often grow up without
completing high school. This is a dire prediction since a low level of education is an indicator
that the next generation of children will also grow up in poverty. 57% of children living in
poverty have parents who did not complete high school. If the first generation of immigrant
children fails, multi-generational poverty follows. And multi-generational poverty is much
more difficult to cure.7 It is in a country’s best interest to educate its immigrant children,
especially when those children account for one-fourth of the country’s children. If
educational systems fail these children, the business of the country will be severely
compromised. Social service networks will also be crippled, as the poverty of a failed
generation will create difficulties more complex and expensive than the original problem.
Educating children out of poverty is not an easy task. Immigrant children, for instance,
come into preschool or kindergarten programs not understanding simple directions such as
“sit down” or “stand up.” Learning these simple instructions can be traumatic. In my own
family, which was German-speaking until my generation, my 70-year-old aunt often
recounted the story of her first day of school when she learned the meaning of “sit down.”
Of course, she taught the lesson to her siblings, but the point is that preschool and primary
teachers have tremendous challenges when a student or group of students do not understand
even simple directions in English.
Berkeley, CA: Nolo, 2007); and The Harvard Business School Guide to Careers in the Nonprofit Sector (Boston:
Harvard Business School, 2000).
6 L. Dean Webb, The History of American Education a Great American Experiment (New Jersey: Upper
Saddle River, 2006); Sarah Mondale and Sarah Patton, School: The Story of American Public Education
(Boston: Beacon Press, 2001).
7 On the concept of multigenerational poverty see Ruby Payne, A Framework for Understanding Poverty
(Highlands, TX: Aha! Process, Inc., 2005), and Ruby Payne, Philip E. DeVol, and Terie Dreussi Smith,
Bridges out of Poverty Strategies for Professionals and Communities (Highlands, TX: Aha! Process, Inc.: 2001).
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School and educational programs usually welcome volunteers. Tutors are needed both in
regular classrooms as well as in English learning contexts. Schools in high-risk areas often
depend on volunteers for secretarial, kitchen, and fund-raising services. To volunteer,
contact a school that serves at-risk children or your local school district and ask what
opportunities are available.
The Solidarity Model
In every age there are a few souls called to join the poor in their poverty--to become
voluntarily poor. When faced with those without food, clothing, and shelter, there are some
who will share what is on their plates, give the coat off of their backs, and open their homes
to the poor. While most of us prefer a more measured approach to the works of mercy,
there are some called to give everything so that the poor can have a better life, at least for
today.
Two well known figures, Dorothy Day and Mother Teresa of Calcutta, are contemporary
examples of the solidarity model. Dorothy Day was no ready-made saint. She was born in
1897 and grew up in a family of journalists. She survived what seems to have been a botched
suicide attempt and two pregnancies outside of wedlock—one of which ended in an
abortion. Having experienced the terrible California earthquake of 1906 that left half of the
population of San Francisco homeless, Dorothy became sensitive to the plight of the poor
and critical of religious organizations that did not open their doors to the homeless. She
rented a tenement that she shared with the homeless and started a soup kitchen. Within a
short time, Dorothy founded several of these Catholic Worker Houses that offered
hospitality to those on the streets of New York. The movement spread internationally and
today there are nearly 200 Catholic Worker communities dedicated to nonviolence, voluntary
poverty, prayer, social justice, advocacy, and hospitality for the poor.8
Perhaps even better known is Mother Teresa. At the age of 17, she joined a group of
Irish missionary nuns known for their work in India and was stationed in Calcutta. While in
India, she experienced what she termed “the call within the call,” basically the call to
solidarity with the poor in Calcutta. Accepting the plight of the poor, she obtained
permission from the Archbishop of Calcutta to leave her congregation and follow this call.
Mother Teresa established a school in the slums and went into homes offering basic
medical assistance to the poor. Soon, some of her former pupils joined her and they began
ministering to men, women, and children who they found dying on the streets. The sisters
rented a room where they could provide a loving and dignified home for the dying. Her
congregation, the Missionaries of Charity, serve the sick, dying, and abandoned in 450
centers throughout the world. In the United States, Mother Teresa established hospices for
AIDS victims in New York, San Francisco, and Atlanta. Her philosophy of serving the poor
8 Dorothy Day, The Long Loneliness the Autobiography of Dorothy Day (San Francisco: Harper & Row,
1981). William Miller, A Harsh and Dreadful Love: Dorothy Day and the Catholic Worker Movement (New
York: Liveright, 1973).
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was immediate. When a poor person dies of hunger, she insisted, it is not because God did
not listen to his cry. It is because neither you nor I gave him what he needed.9
Those called to this model are individuals who step out of their place in society to follow
their vocation. They accept voluntary poverty and live among vulnerable people. Because
they live among the poor, they understand the situation of poverty from personal
experience. Their service to the poor is, therefore, immediately effective. If someone is
hungry, they are fed; if they are cold, they are clothed; if they are homeless, they are
welcomed. They are ordinary people, often wounded people, who see a need and attempt to
respond.
Solidarity groups often do not accept governmental aid because this restricts their sphere
of operation or simply because they are peace activists and embrace an anti-war stance.
Action is motivated by the desire to alleviate the problems of poverty without necessarily
addressing their root causes. They are less concerned with solving global poverty and more
concerned with feeding, clothing, and offering hospitality to those at their door. Often those
embracing this model use their own paycheck to pay for the needs of those served. After
working at their jobs to pay for the housing, food, or clothing needed, they also work to
provide daily services such as making meals, providing daycare, and repairing things in the
house. This is ordinary, unglamorous work.
The Investment Model
The very rich and the destitute are usually separated by a wide chasm. Throughout
American history, however, the wealthy have frequently reached out to those in need.
Economists, business people, and the socially conscious wealthy have dreamt about a world
where wealth was shared. Many believe that fighting poverty is good not only for the poor,
but for them as well. Fighting poverty is simply good business, good humanity.
Since the earth is shared by all, what happens to one happens to all. Air quality, for
instance, is not a state affair. It is a global product shared by human beings no matter where
they live. Countries that abuse the ozone shield impact climate change around the world.
Diseases that take hold without resistance in areas of rural poverty can easily hitch a ride
across borders. Terroristic ideologies fester among young men who do not have the
opportunity for education or work. In a global economy, a weak link can become a global
crisis. Concern for the common good is not only good ethics, but good business.
Although poverty is a complex phenomena, a little planning and investment can go a
long way to help a community become self-sustaining. This planning and investment
requires coordination among governmental agencies, national governments, private
companies, and the local community. Forging these alliances and maintaining the focus to
make a long-term difference in the lives of the poor is difficult, especially among those more
accustomed to competitive rather than cooperative environments. Governments, when
stressed, tend to be isolationist. Companies focus on satisfying investors and, despite
philanthropic rhetoric, the poor are often left behind.
9 Mother Teresa and José Luis González-Balado, My Life for the Poor: An Autobiography (San Francisco:
HarperSanFrancisco, 2005). Malcolm Muggeridge, Something Beautiful for God: Mother Teresa of Calcutta
(New York: Harper & Row, 1971).
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It is not easy to give away money. One needs to discern if one is actually enabling
poverty rather than making progress toward alleviating it. Countries that are impoverished
by corruption will not become healthier if the wealthy just throw money at them. Investment
in infrastructure and public institutions is useless without security and accountability. And
yet, areas of the world are often poor precisely because of a lack of security and
accountability.
Nearly one-sixth of the world’s population is desperately poor. These poor live hand-to-
mouth and fight daily for survival. If their lives are stressed in any way by natural disasters or
disease, they will likely die. The desperately poor lack basic housing, drinking water,
sanitation, education, and they work for pennies a day. Their poverty is so acute that even
low cost methods of improving their lives such as common vaccines, mosquito nets, and
drought resistant seeds are beyond their reach. Many adopting an investment approach to
poverty believe this kind of poverty can be cured. It is simply a matter of will.
Of course, international cooperation is necessary. How international efforts at eradicating
poverty should be financed, however, is a particularly challenging question. Regulatory
strategies are necessary to foster communication between government and private interests.
In the investment model, public and private finance work together in the global economy
replacing old methods of providing government aid with new methods of funding and
outsourcing services. While all this might look good on paper, monitoring and
choreographing competing interests and complex strategies is the contemporary challenge.
While private corporations might be aggressive in promoting their newfound social
consciousness, the mission of the corporation—to make money for its investors—is by
definition self-serving. It must be acknowledged that corporate investment is frequently no
more than a public relations initiative. That being said, the private sector brings expertise
into the dialogue, and those truly committed to eradicating poverty must move beyond self-
promotion into serious consideration of the problem of global poverty.10
The United Nations Millennium Project launched by Secretary-General Kofi Annan in
2002 is an unprecedented international investment effort to combat global poverty.11
Practitioners and experts involved in the project crafted eight Millennium Development
Goals (MDGs) to organize the United Nations’ effort and galvanized unprecedented
worldwide national, corporate, and private efforts. The eight goals, with a target date of
2015, guide the United Nations’ program of reducing poverty and human deprivation, while
promoting sustainable development.
The first MDG is to eradicate extreme hunger and poverty. To this end, the commission
proposes to cut in half both the number of persons on the planet earning less that a dollar a
10 See Jeffrey Sachs, The End of Poverty: How We Can Make It Happen in Our Lifetime (London: Penguin,
2005). One must also mention the efforts of Bono to “Make Poverty History” in his YouTube video
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Eih_ybKdVXU. Links are also included on this site to other spots
featuring a cast of stars who have joined Bono’s effort.
11 For information on the UN Millennium Project see http://www.unmillenniumproject.org. Of
particular interest is the text available on this site: Investing in Development: A Practical Plan to Achieve the
Millennium Development Goals. For a critique of the UN’s/Sach’s approach see William Easterly’s The
White Man’s Burden: Why the West’s Efforts to Save the Rest Have Done so Much Ill and So Little Good (New
York, NY: Penguin Press, 2006).
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day, as well as those suffering from hunger. The second goal is to achieve universal primary
education by setting up the infrastructure by which all children in the world will be able to
obtain a free elementary education. The third MDG is to promote gender equality and
empower women through equal access to education. The fourth, reduce childhood mortality
by two-thirds. The fifth, improve maternal health by cutting maternal mortality rate by three-
quarters. The sixth goal is to combat HIV/AIDS, malaria and other diseases by stopping
stop the spread of these diseases by 2015 and reversing the number of incidences. The
seventh MDG is to establish environmental sustainability. Here the commission proposes a
three-prong approach. Nations need to integrate sustainable environmental policies into
their development blueprints and reverse the loss of environmental resources; the number of
persons living without access to sanitation and safe drinking water needs to be halved; and
100 million people living in slums need to experience a significant improvement in the
quality of their lives. The eighth goal is to develop a global partnership for development.
This strategy is the most diverse and complex. A regulated and non-discriminatory
international system for trade and finances needs to be developed that will reward countries
that commit to fair governance, poverty reduction, and globally responsible development.
Special assistance such as debt-reduction and developmental assistance for poverty-stricken
and landlocked countries are to be provided to level the playing field. Strategies to employ
youth, develop access to affordable pharmaceuticals, and provide information and
communications technologies to all developing nations must be implemented.
This investment approach addresses poverty at the local, national, and international
levels. Those adopting this model seek to distribute resources intelligently and work across
boundaries to address the needs of the poor. They garner resources, business acumen, and
work toward the eradication of poverty for the betterment of the entire global community.
Those working in this model are wealthy investors and those hired to administrate financial
resources. Volunteers are often business persons who work on boards to distribute funds or
offer their professional expertise.
The Structural Change Model
The Structural Change Model works to address the root causes of poverty and to break
the cycle of poverty. This model seeks to unite the poor in the struggle against injustices that
keep them in poverty’s grasp. Perhaps the slogan best fitting this model is: “Don’t give
someone a fish, teach them how to fish.” The idea is that the poor need to be empowered,
not simply given a handout.
Pioneered in Chicago’s stockyard neighborhoods during the depression, the
contemporary structural change movement was masterminded by Saul Alinsky. Manipulated
by the wealthy who abused and exploited them without external controls, Alinsky observed
that the poor were abused by demagogues and deprived of voice and power. Alinsky
envisioned a coalition of organizations uniting community groups, small businesses, and
churches working together to promote the common good. He took the anger experienced by
grassroots people and transformed it into an effective movement for social change.
Alinsky’s work forever changed American democracy, influencing the struggle for civil
rights and the American farm workers’ movement. His organization, the Industrial Areas
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Foundation,12 is a complex national network of citizens’ organizations giving ordinary people

a voice in determining their future. Action is undertaken primarily by churches that in turn
form coalitions with other religious, small business, and grassroots organizations. Alinsky
wanted to create an organizational power that would unite people and neighborhoods in a
commitment to serve the common good.
If the root cause of poverty is oppression, Alinsky argued that poverty is eradicated by
recognizing and using the adversarial relationship between the oppressed and the oppressor.
Alinsky identified conflict as inherent in society and promoted confrontation as a means to
force compromises with those in power. For the oppressed to win, the balance of power
needed to tilt in their favor. To do this, Alinsky used militant, direct-action tactics that
attempted to out-strategize and undo his foe.
Alinsky codified these tactics in his book, Rules for Radicals.13 He counseled that one must
understand that power is not only what one has, but what the enemy thinks one has. While
organizers are encouraged never to go outside the experience of their own people, they are,
whenever possible, to force the enemy outside his experience. This causes confusion, fear,
and retreat.
Organizers are to force the enemy to live up to their own book of rules. If an oppressor
claims that he answers every letter, write thousands of them. Not following his own rules
will subject him to popular contempt. Because ridicule infuriates and is difficult to
counterattack, organizers are to use it as a potent weapon. A target should be labeled,
exposed, and polarized. Organizers are to cutoff the enemy’s support network and isolate
him from all sympathy. They are to use threats as a weapon, since a threat can be more
terrifying than action. When fighting, anything goes. Don’t worry about fighting dirty. Attack
a target’s vulnerability, and make it personal. In Alinsky’s words, “It almost reaches the point
where you stop to apologize if a chance blow lands above the belt.”14
The structural change model is concerned not so much with feeding a child, but with
asking why a child is hungry. Funds are spent not on direct aid, but on community action
that will effect change. Members of the community are trained for leadership, busses of
people are sent to state capitals to lobby for legislative change, and action plans are designed
and executed. The goal is to change unjust socioeconomic systems that oppress the poor.
One sees structural change groups politicking for a higher minimum wage, promoting the
formation of unions, or lobbying for better access to public housing.
Most of us have seen the bumper sticker: “If you want peace, work for justice.” Those in
the structural change model experience the quest for justice as a biblical imperative: “Blessed
are they who hunger and thirst for justice” (Mt 5:6). This hunger and thirst for justice
attempts to redistribute social power. Power is imagined as the ability to speak on one’s own
behalf so that all people can participate in building a fair world. A world of justice and
fairness is a sign of the reign of God that is to come.
12 See: http://www.industrialareasfoundation.org.
13 Saul Alinsky, Rules for Radicals: A Practical Primer for Realistic Radicals (New Jersey: Princeton, 2005).
14 Alinsky, Rules for Radicals, 127-30.
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Many structural change groups are church-based. Tired of handing out sandwiches and
giving away used clothing, churches and religious organizations attempt to use their civic
influence to change the lives of the poor in their neighborhoods. These churches have social
action groups that work—often in ecumenical and interfaith coalitions—to try to remedy the
root causes of poverty.
The importance of church communities in affecting redistributive policies is perhaps best
illustrated in the complex issue of land reform. The Latin American populist governments of
the 1950’s and 60’s encouraged the growth of an urban proletariat whose economic interests
displaced peasants and rural farmers. Those who had farmed land for decades found
themselves in shantytowns on the sides of mountains. Capitalist development quickly
outpaced the skills of unschooled workers and the debt of underdeveloped countries inflated
the price of basic goods and services. When mobs formed to protest this state of affairs,
military dictatorships protected the wealthy and their investments, citing national security
concerns. In response, peasants and others formed pockets of armed resistance in an
attempt to fight for a future.
For the most part, the only viable community organization in rural areas of Latin
American countries was the local church. Ministers were forced to decide between sticking
their heads in the sand and ignoring the inflammatory situation, or addressing it. In 1968, a
Catholic conference of bishops in Medellin, Colombia decided to encourage their pastors to
listen to the cry of the poor,15 while another conference in Puebla, Mexico in 1979 adopted
the operating principle of a “preferential option for the poor.” In practice, this option
demands that churches prioritize the needs of the poor when allotting resources. Rather than
retreat behind pious grilles, the church is called by evangelical duty to stand with the poor,
discern the cause of justice, and do what is right to promote the common good. The church
listens to marginalized voices, comes to the aid of the vulnerable, and confronts social
institutions, policies, and lifestyles that negatively impact the poor. In doing this, the church
forms an inclusive community where all have a voice and a home.
The preferential option for the poor is an ethical imperative that postulates that a society
owes its individual members in proportion to the depth of individual need, the resources
available, and the promotion of the common good. The poor, because of their greater need,
may have a greater claim to a community’s resources but only as these resources are available
and divvied out in a way that equitably promotes the common good. A church cannot
credibly say that it cares about people’s souls if it does not care about their struggle for food,
land, shelter, and human dignity.
Those who work in this model are often involved in fundraising, community organizing,
and lobbying efforts. Success is measured by policy changes that positively impact the lives
of the poor.
The Organic Model
There are times when a population needs intensive care and the diverse talents of many
people. Those who have suffered severe devastation from natural disasters, refugee
populations, and populations that have been brutalized by torture need a critical-care
15 See: http://personal.stthomas.edu/gwschlabach/docs/medellin.htm.
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approach to their suffering. The Organic Model attempts to deal with the complex layers of
poverty found in these desperate cases. It invites the talents of many and accepts the help of
those who are willing to serve.
The organic model simply attempts to do whatever is needed to address the critical needs
of a population in crisis. It is most helpful when one needs an “onion approach” to the
problem of poverty. Some situations of poverty are so desperately complex that one cannot
hope to offer a one-service solution. Since it is a critical care approach, it is designed for
intensive care in the short term and then works to integrate a population into mainline
services as needed.
The organic model provides services that a community specifically needs at different
stages of growth. The Project Welcome Sudanese Community,16 for example, provides
services and then does away with these services when the community grows beyond them.
The first year we had a food pantry, for instance, but closed it at the beginning of the
second. We provided assistance to a local school for three years and then trained the
administrative assistant at the school to deal with the Sudanese herself—no easy task given
the number of languages involved. The effort in the organic model is to work so that the
community can grow beyond the organization. In other words, the organic model works not
to perpetuate itself, but to become progressively irrelevant to a community. Since there are
no buildings, no infrastructure, and no one’s career depends on the organization, the organic
system can simply disappear, leaving only the friendships made.
Assessment of the Project Welcome Praxis Model Approach
In my own work, the effectiveness of the Praxis Model approach needed to be assessed in
two areas. First, it was necessary to assess its effectiveness in the field. This December will
mark Project Welcome’s sixth year. What has been accomplished? Are Sudanese refugees
better off? Have practical issues overwhelming the population been addressed? Second, it
was necessary to assess the Praxis Model’s effectiveness as a theological paradigm to invite
students to express their faith in practice.
Since the aim of Project Welcome was to do critical care in an at-risk population and then
to get out of the way, one would expect the work of Project Welcome to diminish over time
rather than to increase. And this has, in fact, been the case. In the area of social services,
Project Welcome no longer buys cars, pays utility bills, pays back rents, or finances medical
bills. Instead of “making problems go away,” our social services worker continues to help
families solve problems with case workers, budgeting, and wise financing. These skills were
impossible to teach in the beginning, but are now part of the common language among our
refugees. The food pantry that was the lifeblood of many families is no more. Parents are
now taking care of providing children with Christmas presents and Thanksgiving meals. In
all this, benefactors who became comfortable with our “project” needed as much education
as the refugees to ensure that we did not institutionalize a particular level of need or
dependence. Through efforts in job placements, our Sudanese men and women have been
working for the past five years. This connection to a regular paycheck, even though the jobs
16 The Project Welcome website is: http://moses.creighton.edu/mueller/projectwelcome/

default.htm.
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are not glamorous, has, over time, made a significant difference in the economic, linguistic,
and enculturational health of our refugees.
In the area of education, none of our teenagers has become pregnant in the past five years.
We say this with humility knowing that this can change at any moment, but we have spent
considerable time and resources working on this issue. About 95% of our children are doing
average or above-average work in school, and our first grade students for 2006 were at the
very top of their class—some were reading before first grade. Junior High students are
studying pre-algebra and pre-geometry before Grades 6 and 7. Our greatest academic
challenge at this time is working against a “gang culture” that infests the neighborhoods
where our families live and work. Much of our education and sports activities are now
focused on teaching and modeling values.
In regard to my university students, the praxis method has been quite successful. By
recognizing the structural change model as one model within a more inclusive system,
students of all talents and training are more effectively imagining themselves as incorporating
service as an expression of their faith into their professional and personal lives. One
advantage of using the praxis models that I did not expect is that it calls forth creativity and
original thinking in developing solutions to the needs of the poor. I receive emails from
former students explaining how when their preferred approach failed, they collaborated with
others to try another “tool from the tool bag.”
There are, of course, challenges in both areas. At the university, students sometimes delve
into a praxis approach but fail to appreciate the need for liturgy and prayer to keep praxis
inspirited. Solving the problems of the poor is not in itself a theology or spirituality. A
theological praxis requires faith, prayer, and worship. Sometimes students need to be
reminded of this.
In the Project Welcome community, benefactors like organizing their projects around the
Sudanese project and have a hard time letting go of their “cause” in order to allow the
community to mature. Because the social services programs change radically each year,
benefactors need to be constantly educated, requiring no small amount of time and patience
on both sides. The most challenging shift came when we decided that it was time for our
Sudanese families to buy Christmas gifts for their own children and asked our benefactors to
provide gas and food cards for Christmas, instead of toys. The transition was the right one
for the growth of the community, but a difficult one for our benefactors. It took a lot of
education for the transition to proceed smoothly.
The goal of Project Welcome is to listen to the cry of the poor and offer opportunities for
change. In this, the methodology has proven extremely effective. Members of the Project
Welcome Sudanese Community are employed. Not one person is in jail—beating enormous
odds. Our children are learning and are often at the top of their classes—a radical shift.
About one-fifth of our families now own their own homes. Families are completely
responsible for their own finances, although our social services director is still available for
counseling when needed. What is more, the group, while not yet self sufficient or consistent,
is becoming a vibrant community of faith with its own choir, liturgical ministers, and youth
group.
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There are also some cautions. Students and volunteers alike must be reminded of their
professional limits and protocols. One cannot simply be endlessly creative at every whim.
But, given the numbers of children in the world presently doomed to a life of poverty,
educating university students to think creatively concerning a mission-centered response is
producing professionals in the field willing to explore creative solutions. Perhaps the most
significant academic award is that, instead of simply cranking out a required reflection paper,
education majors develop a deeper sense of commitment and vocation regarding the
education of disadvantaged children, and business majors leave theology class discussing
ways to make a difference in the lives of the poor.
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BOOK REVIEWS
How the Bible Became a Book. By William M. Schniedewind. Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 2004; i-xiii, 257 pp.
This well written book seeks to describe the process by which the vast diversity of Israelite
literature evolved into what is now called the Hebrew Bible. Of crucial significance in this
process is the period when Israelite society moved from a largely non-literate society to a
literate one: “One of the most central moments in the history of the written word occurred
in ancient Israel when the written word spread from the narrow confines of the palace or
temple scribes to the wider society, when writing became part of the fabric of everyday life.”
This happened in the later monarchy beginning with Hezekiah. The implications of this
understanding are significant since the literary origins of biblical texts are dated much earlier
than the proposals of minimalist scholars.
Schniedewind begins by noting that writing in the ancient world was originally thought to
have magical roots and numinous powers (e.g., the Execration Texts in Egypt and the ordeal
for the suspected adulteress in Num. 5).The awareness of such a phenomenon helps explain
the problem with the Davidic census in which names written down on a list encroached
upon the domain of God. The numinous nature of writing reaches its apogee in ancient
Israel with the Ten Commandments.
Along with this association with the numinous, writing obviously had more practical
functions, as is clear from its origins in Mesopotamia and Egypt. This coincided with the
development of urbanization associated with the growth of temple and state in which record
keeping was required for organizational and administrative efficiency. Thus the importance
of developing an infrastructure to accomplish this: an elite class of highly specialized
scribes—masters of hundreds of signs—along with schools, teachers and ample writing
materials. In time, kings would write down their accomplishments and place these texts in
locations for all to see, e.g., in prominent steles, but these did not assume literacy of the
masses, but were calculated for “shock and awe.” One would think that the later invention
of the alphabet would eventually transform society, introducing literacy to the masses since it
is relatively easy for even a child to master a small number of signs. Schniedewind, however,
contends this did not happen immediately since the social infrastructure necessary to allow
for widespread literacy was not present until later in the monarchy. This seems a highly
questionable point to me to which I will return in a moment.
Schniedewind suggests that before the late monarchical period, writing in Israel was mainly
limited to the temple and state, while the biblical traditions were largely oral, consisting of
songs and epics and such. But during the period of Hezekiah, writing was playing an
increasingly important role, important enough to warrant the textualization of these
traditions. The evidence for this is suggested by a casual reference to Hezekiah’s scribes
copying the proverbs of Solomon (Prov. 25:1):“It is just this type of disinterested statement
that can be the key to historical research” (76).Further evidence of urbanization, along with
texts used for neither administrative nor religious purposes, testify to the spread of writing
and literacy (e.g., the Siloam inscription).Events during Hezekiah’s reign such as the massive
influx of refugees from the North with their northern traditions would have been the
catalyst for the writing of large sections of the Hebrew Bible (e.g., a first edition of
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Deuteronomy-Kings).This would have been true not only for historical traditions, but
wisdom and prophetic ones. Moreover, during the time of Josiah, the scroll found in the
temple showed that writing had lost something of its numinous character since it was used
to implement a religious vision for the nation, a rather practical matter. Literacy began to
mushroom, evidenced by letters from soldiers, agricultural workers, and writing on the
amulets of ordinary people. During the exile, a reversion took place confining literacy to the
royal house in Babylon and a group of scribes associated with it. After the exile, literacy was
still not widespread as an impoverished population lacked the social infrastructure necessary
for it to thrive. A type of dark ages ensued until the Hellenistic period in which other books
were written (e.g., Daniel).It was during and after this period that the process which led to
the canonization of the Hebrew Bible occurred.
This is a well argued and stimulating thesis and is plausible given the paucity of evidence for
the production of literature in ancient Israel. It is a convenient compendium of biblical,
archaeological, and linguistic evidence that bears on the question of literacy and the
production of the biblical texts.
Despite these strengths, there are some crucial questions that must be raised. If there is a
sacred quality to writing, why then is the writing viewed as less sacred than the oral voice?
Schniedewind seems to embrace a polarity in early Israel between the oral voice and the
written word, exemplified by Jeremiah’s reference to the pen of the lying scribe (Jer. 8:7-
9).At the same time, Jeremiah does not seem at all to feel the contradiction of employing a
scribe to textualize his own proclamations (Jer. 36). Schniedewind’s interpretation, which
assumes that the lying pen of the scribes refers to the textualization of the oral word, is
therefore questionable. Perhaps there were many texts besides the texts that survived which
distorted the truth in contrast to prophets like Jeremiah. At least such a possibility should be
considered.
Moreover, much has been made about the social infrastructure necessary for literacy to take
place. While certainly there is merit to this point in Mesopotamia and Egypt, the invention of
the alphabet truly revolutionizes things. The alphabet eliminates the need for an elaborate
social infrastructure. The recent discovery of an tenth century BCE abecedary at Tell Zayit in
one of the smaller villages in the outback of ancient Israel, suggests that literacy was not
confined to an isolated elite in the temple and court. Thus I find it curious that incidental
biblical texts in the Deuteronomistic History were not considered for the light they could
shed on the question of literacy. An ordinary resident from Succoth was able to write down
all the names of the elders of his village—a mere 77—for the ancient version of a “hit list”
(Judg. 8:14).Or, perhaps at least one queen in the ninth century BCE knew how to write (1
Kgs. 21:8-9).Laws in Deuteronomy, which undoubtedly had ancient roots, also appear to
assume that individuals could write commands on mezuzot and gates (Deut. 6:9).A divorcee
would have received a written document certifying the divorce from her husband (Deut.
24:1-2).By the time of Isaiah, it seems there were as many who knew how to write as did not
(Is. 29:11).I would like to have seen more interaction with scholars like Alan Millard and
Richard Hess who have argued for more widespread literacy in Israel during earlier periods.
While there is no doubt that the reference to Hezekiah’s scribes copying Solomonic
proverbs points to a flourishing of literary activity during that period, why could such activity
not have happened earlier? After all, the scribes were simply adding to an already existing
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document. In addition, the presupposition of many of the prophetic proclamations assume

that their audiences were aware of core requirements, many of which had been textualized.
These issues notwithstanding, Schniedewind has provided a valuable book which should
stimulate important, ongoing reflection on the evolution of the Hebrew Bible.
Stephen G. Dempster, PhD
Professor of Religious Studies
Atlantic Baptist University
Can We Trust the Gospels? Investigating the Reliability of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. By Mark
D. Roberts. Wheaton, IL: Crossway Books, 2007, 202 pp.
When I attended Dallas Theological Seminary in the 1970’s, the required text in defense of
the reliability of the New Testament was F. F. Bruce’s widely acclaimed The New Testament
Documents: Are They Reliable? (Eerdmans, 1960). In 1987, Craig Blomberg published his The
Historical Reliability of the Gospels (InterVarsity Press), a more detailed treatment of the same
issues. For some, Bruce was too brief, and for others, Blomberg was too long. That’s what
makes this new book by Mark Roberts just right: it is mid-level, written in a popular style, yet
substantive enough to satisfy the curiosity and questioning of most inquiring minds.
Roberts, a graduate of Harvard University, is senior pastor of Irvine Presbyterian Church in
California, but is best known for his blog (http://www.markdroberts.com/) where the
material for this book was first developed.
One of the more helpful features of this volume is found in the opening chapter where
Roberts gives a very personal account of his own theological journey as a student at Harvard,
studying under the brilliant but less than conservative NT scholar, George MacRae.
Notwithstanding the best that modern critical scholarship had to offer, Roberts eventually
emerged with a healthy confidence in the reliability of the four gospel accounts of Jesus of
Nazareth. In what follows I want to provide a brief summation of the more important
arguments that Roberts makes.
In chapter one he devotes his attention to the relationship between the original
compositions and the manuscripts that we now possess. As for the antiquity of our gospel
manuscripts, he responds to the oft-heard argument that too much time had elapsed
between the writing of the original gospel accounts and the documents on which our
English Bibles are based. He points out that “the oldest extant manuscripts of Tacitus and
Suetonius come from the ninth century. Those of Josephus date back only to the eleventh
century. We’re talking about a time gap of 800 to 1,000 years, yet historians accept the
manuscripts as basically reliable representations of what was originally written” (30). Yet the
gap between our earliest manuscript of John’s gospel and the original composition itself is
only two generations. “The more complete manuscripts are about a century later than the
original writings, with extant copies of the whole New Testament more than two centuries
later than the time of composition” (30). In other words, “if someone were to claim that we
can’t have confidence in the original content of the Gospels because the existing
manuscripts are too far removed from the autographs, then that person would also have to
cast doubt upon our knowledge of almost all ancient history and literature” (30-31).
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He also points out that the number of Gospel manuscripts in existence (more than 5,700) is
about twenty times larger than the average number of extant manuscripts of comparable
writings. In response to those, such as Bart Ehrman, who make much of the quantity and
quality of textual variants, the vast percentage of them are nothing more than spelling errors
or differences in word order that have no affect on the integrity of the text. In fact, only
about 1% of the textual variants make any substantive difference and none have any bearing
on theologically important matters.
In chapter three Roberts turns his attention to the question of whether the evangelists knew
Jesus personally. We need to remember that the four gospels are anonymous and that it
wasn’t until the second century that scribes began to ascribe these documents to the names
of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. There is no evidence that Mark or Luke knew Jesus
personally, although clearly Matthew and John did. Roberts believes a good case can be
made from internal evidence and tradition that Mark and Luke wrote the gospels with which
their names are associated and argues persuasively that “Matthew and John may not have
been the ones who finally put pen to papyrus, but they, their memory, and their authority
stand behind the Gospels that bear their names” (49).
Chapters four and five are devoted to a discussion of the dates when the gospels were most
likely written and the sources that were probably employed by their authors. The more
important issue of how accurately the early church passed down the oral tradition about
Jesus is taken up in chapter six. Here we find Roberts at his best, as he explains in layman’s
terms how a culture in which few people were literate faithfully preserved the story of Jesus.
His conclusion is worth citing in full. The early followers of Jesus, says Roberts,
…had both the ability and the motivation to pass on oral traditions with
accuracy. The combination of context, people, content, community, and
process helped them to faithfully recount what Jesus did and said. A study of
the Gospels shows that the early Christians did this very thing with
considerable success. Thus the first-century dating of Matthew, Mark, Luke,
and John, combined with their use of earlier oral traditions, combined with
early Christian faithfulness in passing on these oral traditions, add up to a
convincing rationale for trusting the Gospels. What we find in these books
accurately represents what Jesus himself actually did and said (81).
One of the more helpful issues addressed by Roberts is the question of what a “gospel” was
in a first-century context. Contrary to the expectations of many modern believers, an ancient
“gospel” was neither a novel, a book of history, nor even a “biography” in the sense in
which that word is used today. Ancient authors of this genre exercised considerable literary
liberties in constructing their material to communicate a theological message. “It sometimes
comes as a shock,” notes Roberts, “when Christians discover that the Gospels don’t present
the sayings of Jesus in exactly the same way, or don’t give the same details when telling what
must obviously be the same story. Skeptics love this sort of thing and use it to diminish
confidence in the Gospels. But both scandalized Christians and zealous skeptics must learn
to see the Gospels in the context of their own time and history” (88).
We should hardly be surprised to discover that the authors of the four Gospels often
paraphrased or rephrased statements and speeches as well as rearranged events in thematic
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rather than chronological order (91). “Minor variations of wording or a different ordering of
events do not mean that we should discount the reliability of the Gospels as sources of
genuine knowledge of Jesus. They do mean that we must closely examine the intent and
process of the Gospel writers, however, in order not to misconstrue their purposes” (92).
In a very helpful chapter (nine), Roberts addresses the question: “Are There Contradictions
in the Gospels?” He reminds us that “saying something differently [which the gospel authors
often did] isn’t disagreement, unless of course the two statements couldn’t both be true”
(102). He has a good summary of common variations among the Gospels and demonstrates
that these are hardly grounds for rejecting their reliability as accounts of who Jesus was and
what he did and said. Unlike the modern reader, people in the first century “wouldn’t have
expected Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John to narrate all of the events in the precise order in
which they happened. That’s just not how it was done in those days. So if we come along
and insist that, in order to be reliable, the Gospels must get everything in precise
chronological order, we’re demanding something that is both anachronistic and inconsistent
with the intentions of the evangelists. We’re asking the Gospels to be something that they
are not” (104).
Roberts takes up the relation between history and faith in chapter ten and insists that the
theology of the gospel authors “was anchored in past events” (120). “It was in the realm of
history that God made his presence known, revealing himself and his salvation” (120).
There’s simply no reason why someone can’t have sincere theological convictions and at the
same time write accurate history.
As for miracles in the life and ministry of Jesus (chapter eleven), in the final analysis those
who object to them do so primarily because they begin with a world view that rules out the
possibility of miracles altogether. Few critical authors, Roberts rightly notes, “admit openly
that their bias against the trustworthiness of the Gospels is fundamentally based on their
personal belief that miracles don’t happen and that therefore the Gospels must be
substantially fictional” (136). In a later chapter Roberts returns to this point and makes the
following incisive observation:
If your worldview excludes the possibility of miracles, then you have an
intractable problem with the historicity of the Gospels. But your acceptance of
such a worldview is a matter of faith. There’s no way you can prove that
miracles don’t happen, even as there’s no way I can prove that they do. There’s
an irreducible element of faith on both sides of this argument (194).
Chapters twelve and thirteen are devoted to a discussion of the ways in which historical
sources from the era of the gospels, as well as more recent archaeological discoveries,
support the reliability of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. Especially helpful is Roberts’
summation of the significance of the Dead Sea Scrolls and the Nag Hammadi Library.
Nothing in either of these “undermines the reliability of the biblical Gospels. In fact, the
opposite is true” (161).
Neither the alleged “political agenda” (chapter fourteen) of the early church nor the process
by which the canonical books were selected (chapter fifteen) provide any justification for
questioning the reliability of what we read in our New Testament.
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In the final analysis, does Roberts believe he has proven beyond any doubt that the New
Testament Gospels are historically reliable? No. “I do believe, however,” says Roberts, “that
I’ve shown it is reasonable to trust the Gospels as historically accurate” (194). So, can we
trust the Gospels? In a word, concludes Roberts, “yes” (195).
This is a wonderful book for several reasons, only three of which I’ll note. First, it is
extremely timely given the plethora of TV documentaries, alleged archaeological discoveries
(e.g., the bones of Jesus that were unearthed in his family’s tomb!), ludicrous novels like The
Da Vinci Code, and the ill-fated Jesus Seminar, all of which have made feeble and now
discredited attempts to undermine the reliability of Holy Scripture.
Second, Roberts has presented the evidence in a wonderfully readable way. Often material
such as this can be quite dry and tedious, but Roberts has a gift for putting the difficult into
easily understandable terms. I highly recommend this book for high school seniors about to
begin their studies at college. It is no less valuable to college seniors who have the courage to
challenge the spurious and often prejudicial arguments of their liberal professors.
Finally, Roberts is to be commended for demonstrating how to read the Bible as it was meant to be
read. All too often Christians of the present day ignore the principles that governed the
composition of literature in the ancient world and subject the New Testament Gospels to
standards of judgment that were quite foreign, if not utterly unknown, to the original
authors. The bottom line is, if we understand the days and ways of the biblical authors and
interpret the text as they intended, we have nothing to fear from liberal critics. The Bible,
God’s inspired Word, will always stand the test. It will not return unto Him void.
Sam Storms, PhD
Enjoying God Ministries
God’s Judgments: Interpreting History and the Christian Faith. By Steven Keillor. Downers Grove,
IL: IVP Academic, 2007, 223 pp.
This is a thought-provoking book, one which is sure to provoke a bit of controversy. Steven
Keillor is an American historian, who also happens to be a Christian. He argues that a
primary way of understanding Christianity is to see it as an interpretation of history. The
Judaeo-Christian religion is indeed grounded in history.
Jews and Christians worship a God who acts, and who is very much involved in the affairs
of this world. As such, they reject deism, the idea that God initially created the world but has
had nothing to do with it thereafter. No, the Biblical God is one intimately involved in this
world, and in human history.
And part of this involvement is the judgment of God. This judgment, which can be
understood in part as a sifting process, is a double-edged sword. There is not only judgment
of unbelievers, but of believers as well. It is often a testing process, one that allows us either
to come nearer to God, or to get further away from him.
And this sifting happens to nations, not just individuals. This is quite clear in the Old
Testament. The question is, are nations still judged by God in New Testament times? Keillor
believes God still does judge nations today, even though there is relative silence about this in
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the New Testament.

Such questions especially came to the fore after September 11. Was God judging the US?,
many asked after that tragic event. Keillor rejects any simple yes or no answer to that
difficult question, and he rejects many of the explanations offered by those on the left, the
centre and the right. But he does allow for the possibility that God was somehow involved
in that fateful Tuesday morning.
Keillor tries to deal with these current situations by first examining what the Bible has to say
about judgment. That God is judge is clear, in both Testaments. And Yahweh certainly was
judge of the nations in the Hebrew Bible.
Of course modern man is squeamish about the idea of judgment. The Enlightenment did
give us deism, and many are unwilling to believe that God – if he exists – is even remotely
concerned about the affairs of men. But the Biblical picture is a far cry from this view.
God is overwhelmingly concerned about us and our activities, and is involved in what
happens on planet earth. But New Testament believers may still ask if God is the same as
Yahweh in terms of judgment. Keillor argues – rightly, I feel – that God has not changed
between the Testaments, and is equally a just, holy and judging God, as he is loving and
merciful, throughout all of Scripture.
When Jesus was on the scene, his life and teachings constantly brought separation and
division to his hearers. Sifting, or judgment, in other words, was the inevitable result of
confronting Christ and his claims. As Jesus said in John 9:39, “For judgment I have come
into this world”.
Says Keillor, “From beginning to end, Jesus’ life and teachings involved a sifting-out based
on responses to him”. And he experienced the judgment of God on the cross, when he
suffered for our sins. Moreover, one day he will come back as judge of the entire world.
Thus judgment is part and parcel of the life and work of Christ.
After seeking to make the case that God may well still judge nations today, Keillor offers
two test cases: the 1814 burning of Washington, and the American Civil War. He notes that
many people living during these events did see God’s hand of judgment at work. For
example, Lincoln was convinced that the Civil War was God’s judgment on the evils of
slavery, although he saw both sides as sharing in the guilt.
In all this Keillor rightly recognises that unlike Old Testament times, we have no clear
prophetic word from God on the events of the day, so great caution must be exercised here.
What Keillor is mainly trying to establish is that God is actively involved in this world, and
has not become an absentee landlord in the New Testament dispensation.
This is an intriguing book. One may not agree with every detail found here. But it seems that
the general theme of the book is heading in the right direction. And Keillor is quite right to
begin his book with a quote from Os Guinness: “The cross of Jesus runs crosswise to all our
human ways of thinking. A rediscovery of the hard and the unpopular themes of the gospel
will therefore be such a rediscovery of the whole gospel that the result may lead to
reformation and revival”.
We certainly have shrunk away from proclaiming the whole counsel of God, and his holiness
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and justice must be maintained as adamantly as his love and grace. Anything less is a
distortion and truncation of the Biblical record. Thus Keillor is to be commended for getting
us to think more carefully about who God is, and how we are to understand his current
dealings with planet earth and its inhabitants.
Bill Muehlenberg, PhD (cand)
Deakin University
Melbourne, Australia
Twentieth-Century Catholic Theologians: From Neoscholasticism to Nuptial Mysticism. By Fergus Kerr.

Oxford: Blackwell, 2007; i-ix, 230 pp.
In this lively and accessible little book, the brilliant Dominican theologian Fergus Kerr
surveys some of the leading Catholic thinkers of the past century. The book opens with
Walter Kasper’s remark that “the outstanding event in the Catholic theology of our century
is the surmounting of neo-scholasticism” (vii)—a remark that sets the tone for the whole
volume. Throughout the book, Kerr’s main interest is in the diverse attempts of modern
Catholic theologians to overcome their unwelcome heritage of neoscholastic Thomism.
The story thus begins with Marie-Dominique Chenu, who developed a new historical and
existential approach to the study of Thomas Aquinas. Chenu criticized the neoscholastic
Thomists for preferring “a philosophy of essences” over “the problems of existence, action,
the individual, becoming, and time” (23). Coming from very different directions, theologians
like Rahner, Lonergan, Schillebeeckx and Karol Wojtyla engaged in epistemological work as
a way of subverting the rigid conceptualism of neoscholasticism. And Henri de Lubac’s
brilliant theory of the “supernatural” was a radical attempt both to “undermine neoscholastic
dogmatic theology” and to “destroy standard natural theology” (75). Again, in contrast to
neoscholastic metaphysics, Karl Rahner forged a theology which “could not be more
radically embedded in the historical existence of Jesus Christ” (91).
Interestingly, the Jesuit theologians Rahner, de Lubac, Lonergan and Balthasar all agreed that
the Thomism they had been taught as students was in fact Suárezian metaphysics. The most
explicit critique of this Suárezianism came from Balthasar, who condemned its “apologetic
all-knowingness,” its lack of “feeling,” and its tendency to “annul the experience of reality
and [to enclose] thought in a sphere which is characterized by bare, essential predications”
(126). For Balthasar himself, it was especially Karl Barth’s doctrine of the divine beauty that
provided the means to dethrone this “sawdust Thomism” (131).
The narrative is peppered with humorous and memorable insights, thanks to Kerr’s alert
sense of irony. We discover, for instance, that scholars of immense learning like
Schillebeeckx and de Lubac were effectively self-taught, relying only on their own voracious
reading; while the infamous Hans Küng, on the other hand, “is the only one of the
theologians we are considering in this book who completed the seven-year course in
neoscholastic philosophy and theology at a Roman university” (145). Some other examples:
after years of marginalization, de Lubac learned that he had been summoned to help draft
the texts for Vatican II only while casually reading a newspaper; Rahner failed his first
attempt at a doctoral dissertation (on Thomas Aquinas); the young Ratzinger was forced to
rewrite his postdoctoral dissertation because of its “modernist” tendencies; and when Karol
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Wojtyla became pope, the Vatican tried to prevent publication of his book on The Acting
Person—until the book’s translator threatened to sue the Vatican!
There is plenty to chuckle over in incidents like this. But the best thing about the book is the
sheer patience and sympathy with which Kerr discusses controversial figures like Rahner,
Schillebeeckx and Küng. For instance, he defends Rahner’s theory of “anonymous
Christianity” against misunderstanding; he highlights the unsurpassed scope of
Schillebeeckx’s exegetical–theological synthesis; and he observes that Küng’s work is, like it
or not, essential “for beginning to understand what happened at Vatican II” (151). The only
thing that really ruffles Kerr’s feathers is the recent move toward “nuptial mysticism” and
the (Barthian) anthropology of sexual differentiation—themes that have become influential
through the work of Balthasar, John Paul II and Ratzinger.
In any survey like this there will, of course, be regrettable omissions. It is unfortunate that
Kerr excludes from his treatment all Catholic theologians writing in Italian and Spanish—so
that liberation theology, for example, is scarcely mentioned. In any case, the book is really an
introduction to European Catholic theology (centered around Vatican II), and it makes no
pretense at a global scope.
The book concludes with the observation that, since Vatican II, the Church has been
characterized by confusion, by “deep divisions and intractable rifts” (222). This is not a
criticism of Vatican II, of course—indeed, it highlights something important about the
nature of the Catholic Church itself. As Kerr points out, the Catholic Church “is not the
monolithic entity that her enemies and her most zealous members believe” (203). And if the
aftermath of Vatican II has been widespread confusion, this should not detract from the fact
that the Council was a great and pivotal moment in church history. After all, as Newman
himself observed back in 1870, “there has seldom been a Council without great confusion
after it.”
Benjamin Myers, PhD
Postdoctoral Research Fellow
The University of Queensland
Barth, Israel, and Jesus: Karl Barth’s Theology of Israel. By Mark R. Lindsay. Barth Studies Series.
Aldershot: Ashgate, 2007; i-xx + 124 pp.
In his remarkable history of the Jews, Wanderings (1978), the American writer Chaim Potok
stated: “The Jew sees all his contemporary history refracted through the ocean of blood that
is the Holocaust.” The central argument of Mark Lindsay’s impressive book is that Christian
theology must likewise be “refracted” through the horrors of the Holocaust—and so he
interrogates Karl Barth’s theology to find out whether it meets this fundamental
requirement.
For Lindsay, the Holocaust is a theological criterion in the strict sense. Christian theology as
a whole has been “decisively ruptured” by this historical event, so that it is impossible to
carry on doing theology in the same way (2). The book thus locates Barth within the context
of post-Holocaust theological discussion and recent Jewish–Christian dialogue.
Barth’s interpreters have tended to be sharply critical of his theological understanding of
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Israel and the Jewish people. In her influential study, That Jesus Christ Was Born a Jew (1992),
Katherine Sonderegger argued that Barth’s theology is underpinned by a deep
supercessionism and anti-Judaism. But Lindsay marshals substantial evidence to rebut this
claim. For instance, in the 1940s Barth “was intimately involved with resistance efforts from
Switzerland on behalf of Jews and Jewish-Christians” (33)—indeed, within his own
household, his secretary Charlotte von Kirschbaum was coordinating the assistance of
Jewish and Jewish–Christian refugees.
But the most interesting question is whether Barth’s dogmatic theology was altered by the
Holocaust—whether, that is, Barth became more open to the possibility of divine revelation
through events in world history. Lindsay himself believes that there should indeed be a
natural theology of the Holocaust, so that this event becomes “determinative for doctrine”
(55). He notes with regret, however, that Barth’s critique of natural theology was never
withdrawn, and that he was never willing “to embed the lessons of the Holocaust deeply into
his theology” (38).
But although Barth never retracted his insistence on the absolute distinction between
revelation and world history, his mature dogmatic thought includes a recognition that some
events in history can have theological significance. In Church Dogmatics III/3, Barth described
four “signs and witnesses” in history which stand in a special relationship to revelation: the
history of scripture, church history, the history of the Jews, and human mortality. It was in
this connection that Barth famously described the Jewish people as “a riddle.” While
interpreters have generally assumed that this terminology reflects a supercessionist outlook,
Lindsay convincingly argues that this is a misreading. It is not because of any commitment to
supercessionism that Barth speaks of the Jews as a “riddle”; rather, Jewish history is a riddle
precisely because it bears witness to God’s secret lordship in history. Indeed, for Barth, “the
Bible, the Church and the limitation of human life are riddles in exactly the same way” (75).
In short, although Barth at times succumbs to a form of “allosemitism,” i.e., to an abstract
idea of the Jew as “a radically different other” (81), he must nevertheless be credited “with
an unambiguous repudiation of secular and theological anti-Semitism, a thoroughgoing
endorsement of the Jews’ continuing status as God’s chosen and beloved people, and a
realization of the necessity of [Christian] solidarity with them” (83). In Barth’s own words, in
order to be elect we ourselves “must either be Jews or belong to this Jew,” Jesus Christ (CD
III/3, p. 225).
Further, Barth criticized the notion of Christian missions to Jews. He perceived that the
possibility of fellowship with God is wider than the walls of the Christian church, and he
insisted on a fundamental soteriological continuity between Jews and Christians. The church
can exist only as “a guest in the house of Israel.” To evangelize Jews is to misunderstand the
Jewish–Christian relationship entirely, since we are the ones who have already received
everything from them (103). In Barth’s view, there is therefore a continuing dialectic between
church and synagogue. His point is not merely (as Sonderegger has argued) that the
synagogue depends on the church; it is also that “the Church has no independent existence
as the people of God apart from the Synagogue” (105).
Perhaps the most remarkable aspect of Lindsay’s book is his analysis of Barth’s political
attitude toward the state of Israel. Barth was strongly supportive of the establishment of the
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state of Israel in 1948, and Lindsay argues that this political stance was deeply grounded in
the logic of Barth’s theology. Lindsay himself is clearly also supportive of the state of Israel,
since this is the politics demanded by his theological conception of the revelatory character
of the Holocaust. To my mind, however, this raises a whole cluster of pressing questions. In
the first place, is it possible to speak of the state of Israel without addressing, in the same
breath, the injustices suffered by the Palestinian people? And, more importantly, is the
church authorized to supply direct theological validation of any geopolitical entity? Formally
speaking, is not Lindsay’s natural theology of the state of Israel only a hair’s breadth away
from that form of natural theology which the “German Christians” propounded during the
1930s, where the revelatory character of world-historical events functioned as theological
legitimization of “blood and soil”?
Lindsay’s profound concern to foster Jewish–Christian dialogue is admirable, and his wide-
ranging command both of Barth’s work and of recent Jewish theology is impressive. But I
cannot help wondering whether the development of this new natural theology might in fact
undercut Jewish–Christian dialogue, rather than bolster it. Is not the distinctiveness of the
Christian message itself one of the basic resources needed for a rich mutual dialogue with
the Jewish faith? And is not the problem with natural theology—as Barth so clearly
perceived—precisely that it erodes this distinctiveness?
Notwithstanding these questions, Lindsay has offered a remarkably vigorous challenge to the
Barthian stricture on natural theology—and it is commendable that he has presented this
challenge in the context of a warmly sympathetic reading of Barth’s own complex (and often
conflicted) understanding of the significance of the Jewish people. If Lindsay’s own proposal
leaves me feeling uneasy, it is only because he is raising questions that are of fundamental
importance—not only for Jewish–Christian dialogue, but also for the way in which the
Christian community understands its own identity and calling in a post-Holocaust world.
Benjamin Myers, PhD
John Calvin’s Ideas. By Paul Helm. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004; i-viii, 438 pp.
Paul Helm is both a historian of early Protestant thought and a leading authority in the
philosophy of religion. In John Calvin’s Ideas, he brings these two fields together in an
engaging and provocative philosophical account of Calvin’s thought.
Throughout the twentieth century, Calvin scholars tended to exaggerate the distance
between Calvin and his medieval background. Thus Calvin was often portrayed as an anti-
scholastic thinker, or as an anti-philosophical biblicist, or even as a proto-Barthian
“theologian of the Word.” Recent Calvin scholarship has gone a long way toward
dismantling such interpretations, and the best scholarship (e.g. that of Richard Muller) has
foregrounded Calvin’s complex relation to medieval thought on the one hand and to later
Protestant scholasticism on the other. Paul Helm builds on this revisionist approach to
Calvin, and, focusing especially on the contexts of late medieval philosophy and theology, he
offers a portrait of Calvin “as a receiver, user, and transmitter of … ideas” (1). He shows
that Calvin has “an intimate knowledge of scholastic distinctions and their associated
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doctrines” (282), even though he used and criticized these distinctions and ideas with
considerable freedom.
Helm’s interest in Calvin is driven largely by debates within contemporary North American
analytic philosophy. Thus he explores themes such as providence, the soul, free will and
determinism, religious epistemology, common grace, and the natural knowledge of God. In
particular, he advances some very pointed (and, I think, convincing) criticisms of
contemporary Reformed epistemologists like Alvin Plantinga. For example, Plantinga uses
Calvin’s concept of the sensus divinitatis to support his own theory of “properly basic” beliefs,
so that Calvin is interpreted as a theorist of the rationality of religious belief. But as Helm
observes, Calvin has no interest in questions of religious rationality or of epistemic
justification, nor is he interested in debates between foundationalist and non-foundationalist
epistemologies. Rather, Calvin’s concern is strictly soteriological: what human beings need is
“not the development of an alternative epistemology, but the knowledge of God the
Redeemer freely given to us in Christ” (240).
In all this, Helm is keenly alert to the dangers of anachronism. And the book’s most
interesting arguments often arise from a sense of Calvin’s stark historical distance from our
own concerns. In his account of Calvin’s doctrine of God, for instance, Helm rightly
observes that Calvin “is not a modern Trinitarian theologian” (34), and that his distinction
between God in se and God quoad nos “requires a robust metaphysical theism” (29) which has
little to do with “the theological agnosticism of … post-Kantian Protestant theology” (193).
Indeed, Helm argues that this medieval distinction between God-in-himself and God-
toward-us is of great importance for understanding the structure of Calvin’s theology. Unlike
modern theologians, Calvin drives a “wedge” between the immanent and the economic
Trinity precisely in order to preserve this fundamental distinction between God in se and
quoad nos (48). So too, Calvin’s insistence on the so-called extra calvinisticum arises from the
same distinction: the incarnation “expresses the divine essence without exhaustively
revealing it,” so that God-toward-us can never be identified with God-in-himself (pp. 63–
65).
In a similar way, Helm observes that Calvin’s whole christology is shaped by an asymmetry
between the person of the Son and the Son’s “assumed” human nature. At the heart of
Calvin’s extra, therefore, is the claim “that the expression ‘Jesus Christ is God’ cannot be an
expression of identity” (91). If all this sounds strange (and deeply problematic) to modern
ears, it should nevertheless remind us that we cannot simply read our own theological
questions back into the sixteenth century—as though Calvin could or should have been alert
to our characteristically modern (i.e. post-Kantian and post-Barthian) concerns.
Helm’s important chapter on divine accommodation and religious language includes a
similar reminder that Calvin’s view of accommodation has nothing to do with Kantian
concerns about God’s knowability. Indeed, “the reasons Calvin gives for the language of
accommodation have surprisingly little to do with the limitations of human knowledge”
(193)—his focus, instead, is on the problem of human idolatry and the mode of God’s
gracious intervention.
Helm’s consistent attempt to recover Calvin’s thought from its entanglement in
anachronistic frameworks is of great value. Like Richard Muller, Helm wants to present a
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Calvin who has not been “accommodated” to contemporary concerns and debates. Of
course, Helm’s own theological and philosophical commitments occasionally lead him into
anachronisms of his own—for instance, while his critique of Reformed epistemology seems
right on target, one cannot help wondering whether his own interpretation of Calvin as the
proponent of an “internalist” evidentialist epistemology is also straining too hard to find the
answers to modern epistemological questions in Calvin’s work.
Similarly, while Helm is right to concentrate on the contexts of Calvin’s thought, I’m not
sure he always attends to the most pertinent contexts. Above all, I’m unconvinced by the
argument that Calvin’s context owes more to Thomas Aquinas than to Duns Scotus (even
though Helm is right to highlight Calvin’s divergences from Scotist thought). And I’m not
convinced that we should downplay the significance of the Lutheran controversy for the
development of the extra calvinisticum—as though here Calvin were simply repeating well-
worn patristic insights.
In spite of these isolated problems, though, Helm’s approach to Calvin represents a very
fruitful way both of interpreting Calvin contextually and of bringing Calvin’s thought into
dialogue with contemporary philosophical and theological questions. The book thus offers a
creative contribution to Calvin studies, as well as a wonderfully spirited engagement with
contemporary philosophy of religion in the analytic tradition.
Benjamin Myers, PhD
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THE ECUMENICAL CREEDS OF CHRISTENDOM

THE APOSTLES’ CREED (OLD ROMAN FORM)
I believe in God the Father Almighty. And in Jesus Christ his only Son our Lord, who was
born of the Holy Spirit and the Virgin Mary; crucified under Pontius Pilate and buried; the
third day he rose from the dead; he ascended into heaven, and sits at the right hand of the
Father, from thence he shall come to judge the quick and the dead. And in the Holy Spirit;
the holy Church; the forgiveness of sins; [and] the resurrection of the flesh.
THE NICÆNO-CONSTANTINOPOLITAN CREED

I believe in one God, the Father Almighty, Maker of heaven and earth, and of all things
visible and invisible.
And in one Lord Jesus Christ, the only-begotten Son of God, begotten of His Father before
all worlds, God of God, Light of Light, very God of very God, begotten, not made, being of
one substance with the Father; by whom all things were made; who for us men, and for our
salvation, came down from heaven, and was incarnate by the Holy Ghost of the Virgin
Mary, and was made man, and was crucified also for us under Pontius Pilate; He suffered
and was buried; and the third day He rose again, according to the Scriptures; and ascended
into heaven, and sitteth on the right hand of the Father; and He shall come again with glory
to judge both the quick and the dead; whose kingdom shall have no end.
And I believe in the Holy Ghost, the Lord and Giver of life, who proceedeth from the
Father and the Son; who with the Father and the Son together is worshipped and glorified;
who spake by the Prophets. And I believe in one holy Christian and apostolic Church. I
acknowledge one Baptism for the remission of sins; and I look for the resurrection of the
dead, and the life of the world to come. Amen.
THE ATHANASIAN CREED

Whoever desires to be saved must above all things hold to the catholic faith. Unless a man
keeps it in its entirety inviolate, he will assuredly perish eternally.
Now this is the catholic faith, that we worship one God in trinity and trinity in unity,
without either confusing the persons, or dividing the substance. For the Father's person is
one, the Son's another, the Holy Spirit's another; but the Godhead of the Father, the Son,
and the Holy Spirit is one, their glory is equal, their majesty is co-eternal.
Such as the Father is, such is the Son, such is also the Holy Spirit. The Father is uncreate, the
Son uncreate, the Holy Spirit uncreate. The Father is infinite, the Son infinite, the Holy Spirit
infinite. The Father is eternal, the Son eternal, the Holy Spirit eternal. Yet there are not three
eternals, but one eternal; just as there are not three uncreates or three infinites, but one
uncreate and one infinite. In the same way the Father is almighty, the Son almighty, the Holy
Spirit almighty; yet there are not three almighties, but one almighty.
Thus the Father is God, the Son God, the Holy Spirit God; and yet there are not three
Gods, but there is one God. Thus the Father is Lord, the Son Lord, the Holy Spirit Lord;
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and yet there are not three Lords, but there is one Lord. Because just as we are compelled by
Christian truth to acknowledge each person separately to be both God and Lord, so we are
forbidden by the catholic religion to speak of three Gods or Lords.
The Father is from none, not made nor created nor begotten. The Son is from the Father
alone, not made nor created but begotten. The Holy Spirit is from the Father and the Son,
not made nor created nor begotten but proceeding. So there is one Father, not three Fathers;
one Son, not three Sons; one Holy Spirit, not three Holy Spirits. And in this trinity there is
nothing before or after, nothing greater or less, but all three persons are co-eternal with each
other and co-equal. Thus in all things, as has been stated above, both trinity and unity and
unity in trinity must be worshipped. So he who desires to be saved should think thus of the
Trinity.
It is necessary, however, to eternal salvation that he should also believe in the incarnation of
our Lord Jesus Christ. Now the right faith is that we should believe and confess that our
Lord Jesus Christ, the Son of God, is equally both God and man.
He is God from the Father's substance, begotten before time; and He is man from His
mother's substance, born in time. Perfect God, perfect man composed of a human soul and
human flesh, equal to the Father in respect of His divinity, less than the Father in respect of
His humanity.
Who, although He is God and man, is nevertheless not two, but one Christ. He is one,
however, not by the transformation of His divinity into flesh, but by the taking up of His
humanity into God; one certainly not by confusion of substance, but by oneness of person.
For just as soul and flesh are one man, so God and man are one Christ.
Who suffered for our salvation, descended to hell, rose from the dead, ascended to heaven,
sat down at the Father's right hand, from where He will come to judge the living and the
dead; at whose coming all men will rise again with their bodies, and will render an account of
their deeds; and those who have done good will go to eternal life, those who have done evil
to eternal fire.
This is the catholic faith. Unless a man believes it faithfully and steadfastly, he cannot be
saved. Amen
THE DEFINITION OF CHALCEDON

We, then, following the holy Fathers, all with one consent, teach men to confess one and the
same Son, our Lord Jesus Christ, the same perfect in Godhead and also perfect in manhood;
truly God and truly man, of a reasonable soul and body; consubstantial with the Father
according to the Godhead, and consubstantial with us according to the Manhood; in all
things like unto us, without sin; begotten before all ages of the Father according to the
Godhead, and in these latter days, for us and for our salvation, born of the Virgin Mary, the
Mother of God, according to the Manhood; one and the same Christ, Son, Lord, Only-
begotten, to be acknowledged in two natures, inconfusedly, unchangeably, indivisibly,
inseparably; the distinction of natures being by no means taken away by the union, but rather
the property of each nature being preserved, and concurring in one Person and one
Subsistence, not parted or divided into two persons, but one and the same Son, and only
- 109 -
begotten, God the Word, the Lord Jesus Christ, as the prophets from the beginning have
declared concerning him, and the Lord Jesus Christ himself has taught us, and the Creed of
the holy Fathers has handed down to us.
###
- 110 -

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AMERICAN

ST. PAUL, MINNESOTA

ISBN: 978-1556357831 (Print)

Book Review Editor, Theology

Subscriptions, cancellations, and changes of address. To be added, removed, or to

Manuscript submissions and communications should be addressed to the General

• Orthodox, Catholic, Protestant, Reformed, or Evangelical perspectives on the current

Requirements. Submissions should conform to the following standards:

Volume 1, No. 1., January 15, 2008

FROM THE EDITOR 1

Patristic Reading: “Exposition of the Present State of the Churches” 3

Why Ask The Fathers? The Dynamics of a Living Tradition 6

Panentheism, the Other ‘God of the Philosophers’ 11

The Openness of God and the Historical Jesus 25

Same As It Ever Was: The Future of Protestantism in the Global North 39

A Recent History of the Ordinary Universal Magisterium 69

Praxis Theologies and the Project Welcome Sudanese Refugee Community 79

Schniedewind, William M., How the Bible Became a Book 95

Kerr, Fergus, Twentieth-Century Catholic Theologians: From Neoscholasticism to Nuptial 102

Helm, Paul, John Calvin’s Ideas 105

THE ECUMENICAL CREEDS 110

FROM THE EDITOR1

WHY ASK THE FATHERS?

Faith and the Holy Spirit

PANENTHEISM: THE OTHER “GOD OF THE

Classical Theism, Relational Theology, and “the God of the Philosophers”

University Press, 1995), 178.

Harvard University Press, 1936, 1964).

of panentheism is found, for example, in Romanticism, Schleiermacher’s Living God, New

periods; others are devoted to specific movements or single figures.

15 See the section on Krause in Panentheism, Chapter 5.

20 Philip Clayton, “Panentheism Today: A Constructive Systematic Evaluation,” in In Whom We Live,

God could have refrained from creating anything.

22 Hartshorne, “Pantheism and Panentheism,” Encyclopedia of Religion, Vol. 11, 165-71.

THE OPENNESS OF GOD AND THE HISTORICAL JESUS

criteria to help avoid reading the Gospels in an anachronistic fashion.

University Press, 1995).

IL: IVP Academic, 2006), 88-92.

26 Sanders, Risks, 113.

filo,xenoi eivj avllh,louj a;neu goggusmou/ (without complaint).

33 Boyd, Possible, 35.

35 Sanders, Risks, 136.

B. Jesus’ Prediction About Judas

40 Davies and Allison, Matthew, 3.460.

45 Sanders, CT, June 11, 2001, 54.

50 C. Blaising, “Gethsemane: A Prayer of Faith” JETS 22 (1979): 349

56 Boyd, Possible, 27.

SAME AS IT EVER WAS: THE FUTURE OF PROTESTANTISM IN THE

(Oct. 14. 2003).

4 Quoted in Sengupta and Rohter, “Where Faith Grows.”

concern here is not so much to defend the sociological phenomenon of denominationalism,

journalists or scholars writing on contemporary religion show their cards in considerations

Press, 2002), 123.

13 Pastor quoted in ibid.

Robert P. Swierenga, “Ethnoreligious Political Behavior in the Mid-Nineteenth Century: Voting,

Evangelical and Reformed Church, 1964), 2-3.

Church Calvinist (Phillipsburg, NJ: P&R Publishing, 2005).

Wesleys (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 2003), 25.

1750-1858 (Edinburgh: Banner of Truth, 1994).

24 Quoted in Jenkins, Next Christendom, 77.