Chapter 6: The Human Condition
The second diagnostic exercise for theological reflection involves how humans view our place in relationship with God and the world. In other words, “What are people for?” as Wendell Berry asks. This diagnostic exercise hinges on the Christian theologian’s answer to three two-part questions: “1) What is the basic problem with the human condition? (What is sin?), 2) What is the resolution to that problem in the human condition? (What is salvation?), 3) How is the problem resolved? (What is the means of salvation?)” (p.84). Defining sin, sins, and sinfulness are of the utmost importance for the one who reflects theologically upon the human condition. This definition becomes the baseline by
which the next two questions may be answered. How one understands sin/sins/sinfulness, the resolution to sin/sins/sinfulness, and how that resolution comes about will ultimately determine one’s theological anthropology.
I
will admit that I have given very little thought to sin. This is a common trait
of theological liberalism—we focus on the soaring theological truths of God’s
love for humanity and God’s redemptive work in the world, while ignoring or
avoiding words like “sin”. But if we are to acknowledge God’s redemptive work
in the world, it must follow that we discuss what God has redeemed the world from. A theology that glorifies the reconciling gospel of
God without first addressing the problem of humanity is an incomplete theology.
Chapter 7: Vocation
This
chapter—the final of the three chapters dealing with diagnostic exercises for
approaching theological reflection—begins with the classic ethical question: As
Christians, what are we to do? To what actions, lifestyles, and perhaps even
occupations is the Spirit leading us? Stone and Duke claim that to answer the
question of Christian vocation, we must first answer the following three
questions: 1) What deeds are Christians called to do? 2) What are the reasons
for performing a service or action? 3) Why is one course of action the most
fitting in a given situation? (p.100). The authors suggest that one method for
theologically framing the question regarding reasons for performing a service
or action is to consider the “because-of”
and “in-order-to” of any given
action. That is, what is the premise for the action, and what does the
Christian hope to accomplish with the action? Stone and Duke insist that rather
than having roots in a previously prescribed rule or law, the question “What is
the Christian to do?” can only be answered by a deliberative theology that is
mindful of the context of each action.
Most
books on Christian vocation deal with either A) an individual’s specific
calling to ministry, or B) how to determine what God wants the individual to do
for an occupation. I was somewhat surprised, then, to find that Stone and Duke
spend much of this chapter on Christian vocation reframing the question in
terms of how we bring flesh and bone to Christian theology in our own lives.
This chapter is, in essence, a discussion of Christian ethics (“what ought we
to do?”).
Through
much of my own personal journey, I came to view vocation much in the same way
as the second sense mentioned above. A person who by nature struggles to make
personal decisions, I have never had a clear sense of what I am to do with my life. I have always been something
of a colloquial jack-of-all-trades, master of none. And I have never felt God
pulling me strongly one way or the other in terms of a career path. In fact, I
have often found myself overwhelmed by choices and interests. Theater, music,
anthropology, literature, philosophy, history, theology, biblical studies—these
are all disciplines that appeal to me greatly, but that I also do not have the
well-honed skills to practice professionally. Over the years, however, I have
come to narrow my sense of calling down to three possible career and/or
ministry options:
1) Professor of
biblical studies. As a teenager, I remember
thinking to myself: “If one is to truly live the devoted life of a Christian,
why aren’t more people in seminary? Why don’t all followers of Jesus commit
themselves to learning as much as they possibly can about the faith they
practice?” My deep and abiding passion for learning about biblical history and
interpretation can be traced back to a particularly challenging time for my
faith when I was in high school. After reading The Da Vinci Code, many of the presuppositions my young mind held to
be true were suddenly challenged. Perhaps noticing my concern, my mom purchased
for me a copy of Bart Ehrman’s Truth and Fiction in the Da Vinci Code, and I was introduced to the world of biblical
historical criticism. I realized that much of what was taught in church could
be traced to specific lines of reason in the historical institution of the
church. Real people and real events took place that could be analyzed closely
and prodded and tested. When I went to college, I devoured my Bible classes and
was left itching for more. That itch has never gone away, and I am currently considering
the possibility of proceeding with doctoral work in religious studies.
2) Anabaptist
pastor/preacher. I have been recognized for
my gifts as a speaker ever since I was a fifteen-year-old licensed layspeaker
in the United Methodist Church. Preaching is something that I enjoy immensely,
and even more so now that my wife and I have come to find a home in the
Anabaptist/Mennonite tradition. I feel the longing to lead, to proclaim, and to
teach. To organize worship as an act of divinely inspired human creativity—it
is an art, and I feel drawn to practice it.
3)
Intentional
Christian community. For years I have
deeply empathized with the resurgence in the intentional Christian community
movement. Inspired by the writings of Shane Claiborne, Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove,
Jean Vanier, Henri Nouwen, and others, I became persuaded that the most
authentic way to live as a follower of Jesus is to live in close community with
other followers, and to exist as the incarnational body of Christ to the
marginalized of our society (which, incidentally, is the traditional Anabaptist
vision of the function of the Church). I have tried on numerous occasions to
live out this vocation, and have seen more failures than successes. When my
wife and I were first married, we plotted and schemed and dreamed up what
living in community might look like, and eventually arrived at the idea of
Anavah House, an intentional community based on the premise that everyone has
something to teach and something to learn from everyone else. Despite tedious
and excited planning, a lot of networking, and the best of intentions, Anavah
House never materialized.
But Alyssa and I both still feel that our place is in community, although we
have not yet been presented with a clear opportunity to live that calling out.
These three personal vocations frequently feel at odds with
one another, and at different times I feel more inclined to one than the other
two. But for the most part, these are the three callings that I have felt most
consistently drawn toward since I started college more than seven years ago. I
have yet to encounter anyone in seminary or in the life of the Church who has
helped me to reconcile these personal vocations.
