Sunday, 18 April 2021

Totally Fire. .. Why Not?

by Jerry R. Flora

Dr. Flora is Professor of New Testament Theology at Ashland Theological Seminary.

One Person: The Reality

Her name was Alberta, and I called her my mystic. At ninety years of age she was attractive, bright, and vital. She spoke to the audience gathered from many miles to hear her for what would likely be the last time. When she had settled into the chair provided for her and gotten acquainted with the microphone, she began to talk in her still-rich, mellow voice.

She declared the ancient Christian truth that God is love and where love is, there God dwells. She spoke of life, reality, and mystery. She hinted at eternity, infinity, and mystery. She knew Christ, his Spirit, and Mystery. She had walked so far into the light that we knew none of us there could catch her. As she spoke it was with the authority and conviction of one who has peered into another world.

The Bible, the hymnal, the saints, the sacraments—they were her friends. In her home was a room dedicated to her work of prayer, filled with aids to prayer and mementos of teachers, colleagues, and pupils in prayer. Glenn Clark, Gerald Heard, E. Stanley Jones, Albert E. Day, Frank Laubach—she knew them, studied under them, or worked alongside them.

She was in love with Jesus Christ, filled with his Spirit, burning with the mystery that is God. She had served, suffered, and sung, and laughter or an open smile often lighted her face. She was on fire, quietly blazing with the light of eternal day.

When her talk concluded and the audience began to disperse, she asked for two women—both seminarians—to be brought to her. She had never met them, but something in their attention drew her to them. Quietly, unobtrusively she laid her hands on them, blessed them, and sent them away filled with awe.

I am writing this a year after her death, which occurred a few days before her ninety-second birthday. Those who knew her speak quietly of the wonder that was this woman. She was consumed with the reality that is God, the mysterium tremendum et fascinans. She was totally fire.

Alberta was one model of a Christian who has been spiritually formed. In the ten or twelve years that I knew her we saw each other only six or eight times. We corresponded fitfully and conversed by telephone on rare occasions. But the note of authenticity in her was unmistakable; the reality of God in her was undeniable. She was an athlete of the spirit, and I am a different, better Christian for knowing her.

What is it that produces such a powerful individual? What forms, re-forms, and transforms followers of Christ like this? Spirituality is a hot topic in the closing years of this millennium. The marketplace of ideas and products is filled with a plethora of possibilities. Christian spirituality has become a major concern in churches and seminaries across the United States. Pastors and professors alike are seeking ways to know God for themselves, to experience and nurture ultimate reality as it is in Jesus Christ, and to lead colleagues and congregations to vital Christian living in a post-Christian world.

One Decade: The Resources

There is no single way to think about spirituality or spiritual formation. What has emerged as a congeries of concerns in the ‘nineties brings with it a variety of conceptions as well. Let us take a quick look at some descriptions of spiritual formation that have surfaced in the past decade. This brief review only scratches the surface of the mass that remains below, but these soundings give an idea of what is being discovered.

In 1984 Susan A. Muto’s Pathways of Spiritual Living was released. Author or co-author of twenty books on Christian faith and life, Dr. Muto is an acknowledged leader in the field of spiritual formation, especially through study of devotional classics. “Though salvation is ours,” she writes, “though forgiveness is ours, the reality of our fallen condition means that the quest for holiness lasts a lifetime” (Muto, 1984, 28). That is one excellent way of describing spiritual formation—the quest for holiness. This little book is an extended discussion of spiritual formation through the time-honored practice of lectio divina or sacred reading. As Dr. Muto develops it, the pathway to spiritual living includes solitude, silence, reading, journaling, meditation, prayer, contemplation, and serving God in the world. Her 190 pages provide meat for many miles. 1995 should see a new edition of one of her most acclaimed books: A Practical Guide to Spiritual Reading.

Calvin Miller is a popular name in some reading circles, especially well known for his Singer Trilogy. 1984 saw the release of his small work The Table of Inwardness, a book on “nurturing our inner life in Christ.” This work is especially notable for its beauty of style and the breadth of its coverage. Chapter 1 alone contains references to Francis of Assisi, Martin Luther, Teresa of Avila, John of the Cross, Brother Lawrence, Malcolm Muggeridge, and Mother Teresa. Here is a conservative Protestant who casts his net widely.

Jerry R. Flora and Mary Ellen Drushal of Ashland Seminary prepared a leader’s guide for using The Table of Inwardness in church classes. That guide, Spiritual Formation: A Personal Walk to Emmaus (1990), opens with this definition: “Spiritual formation is the deliberate process of learning to love God completely; learning to conform ourselves to the image of Christ; and learning to walk in the Spirit, thus learning together to be friends of God” (Flora and Drushal, 1990, 3, altered). Here are elements of process, learning, deliberateness (both volitional and slow-paced), trinitarian orientation, and corporate experience.

Asbury Theological Seminary was the first Protestant divinity school to establish a department of spiritual formation (originally called the department of prayer). It was headed for a number of years by Steven Harper who now works with Shepherd’s Care, “a ministry to ministers.” Dr. Harper edited a series of class study guides on spiritual formation prepared by the Asbury faculty. In his foreword to the series he offers this description: “Spiritual formation blends the best of traditional discipleship concepts with the more reflective disciplines of an individual journey toward friendship with God. It is a lifestyle, not a program, a relationship rather than a system, a journey instead of a roadmap. It calls us into holy partnership with God for our spiritual development” (Harper, 1987, 7). Each phrase in this excellent description deserves the most careful pondering.

Howard L. Rice, chaplain and professor at San Francisco Theological Seminary, has written Reformed Spirituality, which includes a commendatory foreword by Morton Kelsey, formerly on the faculty of Notre Dame University, an Episcopal priest reared in the Reformed tradition. Kelsey wonders why the riches of Reformed spirituality have been hidden or lost to so many for so long. Dr. Rice has rightly shown the way to recovering this treasure. The quantity and quality of his bibliography show that this is no soft-headed area when it comes to academia.

W. Paul Jones divides his year equally: for six months he is Professor of Philosophical Theology at a United Methodist seminary, and in the other half he is a Family Brother of the Trappist Order. This social activist father of five published The Province Beyond the River in 1981 to chronicle his experience as a Protestant in a Catholic monastery. In his 1992 work Trumpet at Full Moon, Dr. Jones conceives of spirituality and theology as two sides of a single coin: spirituality means living one’s theology; theologizing, in turn, means articulating into self-consciousness one’s spirituality (Jones, 1992, 8). His book, “an introduction to Christian spirituality as diverse practice, “ points consistently to the rich resources available in Scripture, history, theology, literature, music, liturgy, and art.

Lutheran author Bradley P. Holt has recently given us an excellent survey in Thirsty for God: A Brief History of Christian Spirituality. Here may be the ideal brief text for personal study and for class use. Professor of Religion at Augsburg College in Minneapolis and a former theological educator in Nigeria, Holt has prepared 150 pages packed with helpfulness. For him, Christian spirituality “refers in the first place to lived experience”; that is, “a particular style of Christian discipleship” lived out in the context of the community which is the body of Christ. Second, it is what might be termed “spiritual theology,” an academic discipline alongside doctrinal or systematic theology (Holt, 1991, 6–7). Each chapter of Holt text concludes with discussion questions, exercises in spiritual disciplines, and suggested readings. This outstanding little book deserves to be within arm’s reach of every alert pastor and Christian worker.

One of the best-known names in spiritual formation for the past fifteen years has been that of Richard J. Foster, who has recently moved to California where he heads Renovare, a new organization intending to highlight the best in five spiritual movements. His colleague James Bryan Smith has published A Spiritual Formation Workbook in which he associates these five traditions with aspects of the life of Christ: (1) compassion for others—the social justice movement; (2) scriptural and evangelistic—the evangelical movement; (3) devotion to God—the contemplative movement; (4) virtue in all of life—the holiness movement; and (5) Spirit empowered—the charismatic movement (Smith, 1993, 16). Here is a reminder that true spiritual formation tends to broaden our awareness of Christ and his people. We discover kinships across what were thought to be forbidden zones or even enemy territory.

Invitation to a Journey is the title of a recent introduction by M. Robert Mulholland, Jr., provost and a New Testament professor at Asbury Theological Seminary. Known for both exegetical competence and concern for spiritual formation, Mulholland has produced an engaging text that moves from the nature of spiritual formation through personality, piety, and personal disciplines to corporate and social spirituality. He uses a fourfold definition: Spiritual formation is “(1) a process (2) of being conformed (3) to the image of Christ (4) for the sake of others” (Mulholland, 1993, 15). Along the way he anchors his discussion in the best of Scripture study, psychological discoveries, and the classic traditions of how Christians grow.

A final example of recent discussion is The Upward Call, a work jointly authored by four leaders in the Church of the Nazarene. This book by and for believers in the Wesleyan-holiness tradition defines its subject as follows: Spiritual formation is “the whole person in relationship with God, within the community of believers, growing in Christ-likeness, reflected in a Spirit-directed, disciplined lifestyle, and demonstrated in redemptive action in our world” (Tracy et al, 1994, 12). Prepared for church study classes, The Upward Call discusses the path, resources for the journey, companions on the way, and how to serve others on the journey.

With such imagery as the pathway, the table, the thirst, and the call these writers of the last decade try to describe and interpret our human experience of interacting with God. This is focused for us in Jesus Christ our Lord who is both source, content, and goal. In spiritual formation we intend to nurture our relationship with God through him. We “are seriously committed to disciplines and practices required for growing in the mind and spirit of Christ” (Day, 1988, 184). We participate by the gift and power of his Holy Spirit on the basis of Holy Scripture in the community of the Holy Church. All this is both individual and corporate, theoretical and experiential, forming and being transformed. We engage in it for the glory of God, the good of our neighbors, and the fulfillment of our own creation.

This quest for holiness, this call to commitment, is as old as the Christian movement. In the desert of fourth-century Egypt lived a famous spiritual guide, Abba Joseph. Believers sought him out for discernment and words of wisdom to direct their lives. On one occasion a visitor said, “Abba Joseph, I say my daily prayers, I fast, I meditate, I live in peace, and I discipline my thoughts as best I can. What more can I do?”

According to the story, Abba Joseph stood up, stretched his hands toward heaven, and his fingers became ten flaming torches. He said to his visitor, “Why not become totally fire?” (Ward, 1984, 103, paraphrased).

Both world and church today are desperate for leaders who will pay the price of such transformation. Alberta was one who did, and lived a remarkable life of example, instruction, and intercession. She modeled the reality; the writers above mention the resources. The rest is up to us.

Totally fire. .. why not?

Sources Cited

  • Day, Albert Edward. 1988. Discipline and Discovery. Rev. ed. Springdale, PA: Whitaker House for The Disciplined Order of Christ, Nashville, TN.
  • Flora, Jerry R., and Mary Ellen Drushal. 1990. Spiritual Formation: A Personal Walk to Emmaus. Ashland, OH: The Brethren Church.
  • Harper, Steven. 1987. Embrace the Spirit: An Invitation to Friendship with God. Victor Books. Wheaton, IL: SP Publications.
  • Holt, Bradley P. 1993. Thirsty for God: A Brief History of Christian Spirituality. Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress.
  • Jones, W. Paul. 1992. Trumpet at Full Moon: An Invitation to Spirituality as Diverse Practice. Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox.
  • ___________. 1981. The Province Beyond the River: The Diary of a Protestant at a Trappist Monastery. Nashville, TN: The Upper Room.
  • Miller, Calvin. 1984. The Table of Inwardness. Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity.
  • Mulholland, M. Robert, Jr. 1993w. Invitation to a Journey: A Road Map for Spiritual Formation. Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity.
  • Muto, Susan Annette. 1984. Pathways of Spiritual Living. Petersham, MA: St. Bede’s.
  • ___________. 1976. A Practical Guide to Spiritual Reading. Denville, NJ: Dimension Books.
  • Rice, Howard L. 1991. Reformed Spirituality: An Introduction for Believers. Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox.
  • Smith, James Bryan. 1993. Spiritual Formation Workbook: Small-Group Resources for Nurturing Christian Growth. New York, NY: HarperCollins.
  • Tracy Wesley D., E. Dee Freeborn, Janine Tartaglia, and Morris -A. Weigelt. 1994. The Upward Call: Spiritual Formation and the Holy Life. Kansas City, MO: Beacon Hill Press of Kansas City.
  • Ward, Benedicta (trans.). 1984. The Sayings of the Desert Fathers: The Alphabetical Collection. Rev. ed. Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications.

Spiritual Reading Of The Christian Classics: An Avenue To Faith Deepening And Faithful Living

by Susan Muto

Dr. Susan A. Muto is Executive Director of the Epiphany Association in Pittsburgh, PA, and formerly a professor at the Institute of Formative Spirituality at Duquesne University. Her career of teaching and writing has taken her around the world, including guest lectureships at Ashland Seminary.

As fallible, finite creatures, we are always in need of God’s grace to sustain us in our quest to live faithfully. In cooperation with grace, we may pursue and practice as an avenue to faith deepening certain disciplines that help us to meet God in everyday life. One of those recommended by masters of spirituality in all classical faith traditions is that of spiritual or formative reading.

Formative reading requires that we become disciples of (obedient listeners to) the Word of God as it addresses us through the faith-filled words of scripture and the masters. This exercise in spiritual living prepares us for Christian service, since who of us can give to others what we ourselves do not live? How can we expect to radiate the values of a religious tradition if we are not living them on a day-to-day basis?

It is not enough to be knowledgeable in the literature of the natural and social sciences. Important as this information may be, it is insufficient for our purposes. If we read only to gather information, neglecting to deepen our interiority, we may widen rather than bridge the gap between us and God.

To preserve an appreciation for the spiritual classics, we must not focus so much on what is new (information-gathering) that we forgot to resource ourselves in the formational texts, traditions, doctrines, and directives of our respective churches. As formative versus merely informative readers, we share in the task of restoration while remaining open to the power of the Spirit to lead us to new direction disclosures.

I. From Mastery to Discipleship

Spiritual reading returns us to the classics of our faith tradition while readying us for Christian witness in new and challenging situations. Let me set the scene for these reflections by paraphrasing a passage from the contemporary poet and spiritual writer, T. S. Eliot.

In his poem, “Choruses from ‘The Rock,’” Eliot profiles our condition at this moment of history. He suggests in the opening lines that though ours is an age of technical progress, it may be, by the same token, an age of spiritual regression. He observes that we live in an endless cycle of idea and action, endless invention, endless experiment. This age brings us knowledge of motion, but not of stillness; knowledge of speech, but not of silence; knowledge of words and ignorance of the Word. The poet claims that all our knowledge brings us nearer to ignorance, that all our ignorance brings us nearer to death, but nearness to death, no nearer to God. Then he asks the formative questions: Where is the life we have lost in living? Where is the wisdom we have lost in knowledge? Where is the knowledge we have lost in information?

His question gives us pause to think. Is what he says merely poetic or is it starkly prophetic? He concludes that the cycles of heaven in twenty centuries have brought us farther from God and nearer to the dust.

The poet’s words touch us deeply. They do more than inform us about the present age. They draw us into meditative reflection on the time of transition in which we live. Despite an abundance of information, why do so many professionals and teenagers commit suicide? God invites us to choose life abundantly. Why do so many choose death?

If the words of the poet are to evoke a reflective response, we must read them in the right frame of mind. It is important to move from an information-gathering approach, which tends to master the text, to a docile approach, which readies us for graced transformation. The movement from mastery to discipleship creates a sphere of mutuality between us and the text. Transcendent meanings can only be released when we establish a personal relationship with these words, thereby allowing them to touch and transform our lives.

II. Bridging Limits and Possibilities

Relational bonding between the listening heart of the reader and the words of power in the text is characterized by at least three attitudes: receptivity, appreciation, and participation.

We could compare this kind of reading to what happens when we meet a friend. Our presence to one another is spontaneously receptive. We don’t have to think about how much we enjoy being together. We are simply there for one another. The affinity we feel is rooted in our deep appreciation for one another’s uniqueness. We respect each other physically, psychologically, spiritually. This appreciative mood makes us eager to listen to one another and to draw forth further insights from our conversation. Last, but not least, we care about one another. We want to be part of each other’s life, not outsiders looking in, but involved and concerned persons. We are for one another because we know in some mysterious way that we participate in a love that is totally for us.

Formative reading requires that we be receptive to those directives in the text that touch our heart. They evoke inner longings to receive God’s word in the inmost center of our life. We appreciate the timeless meanings of the message, while letting go of time-bound accretions. What we seek are points with which we can resonate, not ones that spark argumentation. Rather than rebuff the text because we feel a few resistances, we try, as in a good relationship, to work these through by means of further reflection. Most of all, we attempt to make that with which we resonate a part of our lives. This means that we not only imbibe inner attitudes conducive to living a Christian spiritual life, we also let these attitudes flow forth in daily actions in the world. Our stance toward the text is not that of a spectator upon transcendent reality but of a participant in it.

Formative reading thus involves a shift, in Adrian van Kaam’s words, from “form-giving,” in which we are inclined to impose our meaning on the text, to “form-receiving,” in which we let its meaning influence us. We move from a mainly rationalistic, faultfinding mentality to an appreciative, meditative, confirming mood. Our spiritual life is refreshed whenever we take time to savor these timeless values. They become a living part of who we are. The text is like a bridge between the limits of our life here and now and the possibilities awaiting us if we open our minds and hearts to God.

Relating to sacred words in this way is like holding a two-edged sword in our hand (Heb. 4:12). Words of power challenge us to look at the quality and seriousness of our Christian life. At times the Lord’s words cut deeply into our heart. We behold in ourselves the spectre of living a superficial spirituality. We feel a healthy pinch of compunction. Are we putting on a holy front, or are we really trying to live in union with God? The words we read compel us to take off the mask of worldly sophistication. Are we ready to admit that without God we are and can do nothing?

III. God the Gardener

The words of Holy Scripture, the writings of the spiritual masters, can be likened to rain from heaven. As droplets saturate dry fields, 50 sacred words quench our thirst for truth in a satisfying way. The Spirit is at work in this reader-text relationship. God can and does use the text to facilitate inner transformation. When words touch and transform our heart, we can be sure the Spirit of the Lord is the gardener behind them. God plants the seed of the word in the soil of our human spirit, whether it is parched or fertile. After a time of germination, the seed begins to bear the lasting fruit of transformation in Christ. We move from indifference to rededication, from casual prayer to transcendent presence.

Formative reading could thus be defined as the art of listening with inner ears of faith to what God is saying in the happenings that comprise our life.

This capacity to make connections between the text being read and our current situation can become a distinguishing feature of our life in the world. We not only absorb words and submit them to the reasoning process, we allow these words to evoke personal symbols, stories, memories, and anticipations. Significant connections may coalesce in our imagination and reveal meanings that were previously hidden. Amidst clutter and disorder, we behold the perfection of divine wisdom.

Such reading makes us wonder if we are responding rightly to God’s will or only waiting for our own expectations to be fulfilled. Will we despair in the face of life’s limits or welcome them as challenging formation opportunities? Are we able to see our past, present, and future in the light of God’s benevolence? A first step in the right direction is to personalize the ageless wisdom embedded in words of power. Reading and rereading them helps us to find the elusive link between life experience and the living God.

IV. Reading as Dwelling

Why is this time-tested practice difficult for many people today? As a spiritual exercise, slowed down formative reading is meant to transform our hearts and minds, to stimulate meditation, to inspire action. A day in the life of a monk is oriented in great measure around lectio divina. To do it well, one has to develop special dispositions like “rumination.” Because the Word of God is like a precious morsel of food for the soul, we have to chew the text over again and again. In the process of digesting its wisdom, we grow in intimacy with God. We unite ourselves slowly yet steadily with the knowledge that accompanies faith.

Another attitude of persons engaged in formative reading involves a change in awareness of self and others. We move from a “linear” to a “dwelling” approach. The word dwelling—and words related to it like abiding, attending, resting, and slowing down—signifies a kind of homecoming. The formative reader dwells upon or makes his or her home in the words of Holy Scripture and the writings of the spiritual masters.

The attitude of dwelling fosters, in turn, that of docility or openness to the guidance of the Holy Spirit through regular sessions of personal or shared spiritual reading. In a spirit of docility, the word is digested by the reader. One literally savors the wisdom sacred words contain. One listens with an inner ear to their teaching. In this sense faith comes through hearing with an attentive ear. We are tuned into the Spirit speaking in our heart through inspired authors and spiritual seekers. These texts are at once timely and of timeless value. They are classics.

Contrast such attitudes as those of rumination, dwelling, and docility with the informational mentality that dominates today. Rather than reading the classics, we fall victim to the compulsion to be current. We desire above all to be in-the-know. We feel deprived if we do not listen to the evening news or flip through the daily paper. There is nothing wrong with keeping up with the events of the world. The problem is, if we get caught in the compulsion to be current, we may be unable to stand still. We may forget to drink from the well of words that speak to the heart of the listener, words that transcend the temporal and open one to the eternal.

What is the effect on our dwelling consciousness when day after day we are bombarded by radio, television, newspapers, billboards—a whole kaleidoscope of information that takes us outside of ourselves? This question is not meant to imply that we should never listen to the radio, read a newspaper, or watch television. It is to remind us that mere information-gathering can be an obstacle to spiritual reading. Do we spend too many hours in front of the television? Do we feel compelled to be current to the point of shelving the spiritual classics?

The attitude of rumination conflicts with a predominantly informational approach. Information, as opposed to rumination, has a tendency to fill us up, sometimes to the point of indigestion or information overload, whereas the reader of a spiritual message wants to return to it. In formative reading there is always more to be said, whereas in informative reading we soon feel satiated.

The informational attitude, unlike that of docile rumination, seeks to conquer and master its subject matter. One takes in as much as one can hold, choosing quantity over quality. One may indulge in a kind of “gourmet” spirituality. In this “taste test” approach, we act as if spiritual reading were a great smorgasbord spread before us for the taking. We go along and taste a variety of treats, but we do not sit down and savor a good meal.

By the same token, there is a vast difference between “dwelling” and “linear” reading. Dwelling implies a spiral movement. We stand in one spot and go deeper. Linear suggests a horizontal approach aimed at expanding our knowledge. While both styles are necessary, an exclusively linear approach may cast us into a state of hyper-agitation. We have to be “in” with the latest. This tendency admittedly markets best-sellers, but what does it do to the spiritual classics? It can be an obstacle to the life of the spirit by fostering in people a penchant for “pop” spirituality rather than deepening faith.

If outer informational listening is all that we do, what suffers is our capacity for meditative reflection. We may be prone to label a new book “progressive” or an old book “conservative” and feel no obligation to read it. Once a label is applied, we can escape the sometimes painful moment of reflection when we have to dwell on what the text is saying to us about our life direction.

The outer ear that gathers information is especially tempted to dismiss as irrelevant texts of old, for “What can a relic of the past teach us today?” This superficial response overlooks the wisdom found in the classical literature of spirituality. It cuts us off from a significant source of ongoing adult Christian formation.

V. Imbibing the Text

To restore the art of formative reading, we have to try to devote time to this exercise, even if we only do so for ten or twenty minutes a day. We can sit down and read one psalm, for example, with our heart set to savor its meaning. Instead of turning from page to page searching for something new, we stay with one verse, even one line. Through this slowed down approach, we meet God in the sacrament of the present moment.

Faithful living implies, therefore, setting aside time for spiritual reading. Though our age tends to draw us away from interiority, preventing rather than encouraging us to ruminate, dwell, and listen with an inner ear, we must return to the classics. It is in this state of receptive presence that the words of scripture, as well as the writings of classic and contemporary spiritual masters, come alive for us. Such reading, done in a slowed-down way on a regular basis, reestablishes our commitment to Christ while helping us to let go of peripheral concerns.

Formative reading is uplifting, but these gratuitous moments are not guaranteed. The danger is that we may grow discouraged if nothing happens. God asks us to remain faithful to his words in all circumstances, even if our human minds can never fully understand their meaning, even if our actions fail at times to conform to our beliefs.

In addition to setting aside time, we must learn to slow down and read reflectively. We may even mark whatever in the text evokes a spontaneous resonance or resistance and ask ourselves why we feel this way. In the course of time, after persistent practice of this spiritual exercise, we may find that the words we read begin to take on a life of their own inside of us. Their wisdom sinks into our heart. It affects our thoughts and actions. We want to share the fruits of this transformation with others in need of inspiration—with our children, parishioners, colleagues, students.

In this way we experience the passage from reading to meditation to action. To read is to receive the word into the heart; to meditate is to listen to its deeper meaning; to act implies a silent exchange of love in which we know that the Lord is the source of our strength. Relaxed and refreshed by these experiences, we can return to the task at hand.

As we increase our attentiveness to sacred texts, new ranges of significance light up. The text stimulates us to go beyond superficial interpretations. We learn to wait upon the word, to reread a text of depth several times. The older we grow, the more meanings we are likely to detect. We accept that the mystery of grace does not have to conform to our time frame. We wait in gentle anticipation for lights to emerge. We ask God to help us to reach deeper levels of wisdom, whenever and however he chooses to grant this gift.

We could compare reading a spiritual text in this fashion to puzzling a “koan.” A “koan” is a riddle a Buddhist spiritual master might give to a disciple, not because he wants the disciple to solve the puzzle rationally but because he wants him to live in the wonderment of not being able to find a solution. If the disciple were to decipher the message, he would become a mere master of the word, taking pride in his expertise and thus losing the whole point of the exercise—to foster humility and to learn that the gift of enlightenment is beyond one’s power to control.

The Western disciple, in a similar vein, might desire when reading a text from scripture, to become a master of exegesis, linguistics, or biblical history only. This mastery, worthwhile as it may be, can also pose an obstacle to formative reading. If we exercise our capacity to master the text by means of study only, we may miss its experiential connection. Analyzing the text is one thing. Imbibing it in intimate presence to God is another.

The rational intellect, highly developed in the West, facilitates abstract reasoning and information sciences, but in and by itself it cannot grasp the full significance of spiritual texts as life messages. The text is an invitation, not an answer; a question, not a solution. Formative reading appeals to the reader to identify experiential with the faith search recorded in the text, to try and re-experience to make it one’s own.

VI. How We Live It

Ordinarily during our busy active work days, we live on the level of discursive reasoning. We have to manage our lives, organize schedules, get things done, conduct meetings. For important tasks like these we need to draw upon our rational, organizing intellect. We must also be able, on a regular basis, to “bracket” this functional mind when we approach a spiritual text in faith. We must now go to that text not so much to master it but to humbly dispose ourselves to be mastered by it. We respect its power to penetrate the surface mind and to draw us into a deeper level of wisdom. What awakens is not merely our exterior senses but those more interior intuitions that ready us for the experience of divine intimacy, should God grant this grace to us.

Beyond the information that comes through the discursive intellect, we discover in an experiential way what it is like to live in the awareness of God’s presence that transcends explanatory effort. Whereas theology helps us to understand the truths of revelation, spirituality points to their proximate lived reality. Formative spirituality asks not so much why we live the faith but how we live it. This knowledge of the heart is what classical spiritual masters want to communicate so that we, their readers, can come to live personally the mystery of our faith.

If we wish to hear the Spirit speaking to us through the words of the masters, we have to be at peace with the fact that their message may at times appear to be cryptic. We may not understand it on first reading and, in a sense, it ought not be understood that easily. New layers of meaning continue to be revealed to us each time we return to the text. As we develop and deepen the art and discipline of formative reading, we also open ourselves to God’s grace alive and at work in us. The words we read may be the same, but their meaning is different. In a sense, the text discloses its secrets to us as we grow in wisdom and grace before the Lord.

Texts that seemed easy to understand may become more paradoxical. The faith we took for granted challenges us anew. God becomes a “dazzling darkness.” The Spirit is a “speaking silence.” What does it mean to lose myself in order to find myself in God, to decrease that God may increase? How mysterious, strange and wonderful it is not only to know about God (information) but to begin to come to know God (formation).

VII. Re-sourcing Ourselves

Our goal as Christians is to become not the masters, but the servants of the Word.

Mastery is appropriate when we are composing a term paper or taking minutes at a meeting. When we turn to sacred writers, our role is different. In docility to the Spirit, who leads us to truth and who searches the deep things of God, we are to use our times of spiritual reading to heighten our knowledge and love of God, to reaffirm the gift of our faith.

To read formatively is to retire momentarily from our busy life of service so that we can once again re-source ourselves in the wisdom of the masters. Only then can we appraise whether the Spirit is truly speaking in our life or whether we are listening solely to the sound of our own voice. The words of the masters aid us in this assessment. As the complexities of modern life compound, we need to read the classics. Their appeal for simplicity becomes compelling in a world where, as Henry David Thoreau said so aptly in Walden, “The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.”

We Christians are called to be shepherds of the sacred dimension of reality, to transform the world into the house of God. There is an acute need in our culture for spiritual leaders, formed by the classics, who will guide us out of the wasteland of spiritual regression toward the promised land of faithful living.

The way of formative reading is the way of discipleship. It helps us to follow Christ more faithfully in this world so that we may enjoy his company forever in the next. With St. Paul we, too, can say:

Not that I have already obtained this or have already reached the goal; but I press on to make it my own, because Christ Jesus has made me his own. Beloved, I do not consider that I have made it my own; but this one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the heavenly call of God in Christ Jesus. Let those of us then who are mature be of the same mind; and if you think differently about anything, this too God will reveal to you. Only let us hold fast to what we have attained (Phil. 3: 12–16, NRSV).

Selected Bibliography

  • Augustine, Saint. The Confessions of St. Augustine. Translated by John K. Ryan. Garden City: Doubleday, Image, 1960.
  • Eliot, T. S. The Complete Poems and Plays, 1909–1950. New York: Harcourt, Brace & World, 1934.
  • Kierkegaard, Søren. Purity of Heart Is to Will One Thing. Translated by Douglas V. Steere. New York: Harper, 1956.
  • Muto, Susan. Blessings that Make Us Be: A Formative Approach to Living the Beatitudes. Petersham: St. Bede’s, 1982.
  • __________. A Practical Guide to Spiritual Reading. Petersham: St. Bede’s, 1995.
  • __________. Pathways of Spiritual Living. Petersham: St. Bede’s, 1991.
  • __________. Approaching the Sacred: An Introduction to Spiritual Reading. Denville: Dimension Books, 1975.
  • __________. Steps along the Way.: The Path of Spiritual Reading. Denville: Dimension Books, 1975.
  • __________. The Journey Homeward: On the Road of Spiritual Reading. Denville: Dimension Books, 1977.
  • __________ and Adrian van Kaam. Divine Guidance: A Basic Directory to the God-Guided Life for all Believers. Ann Arbor: Resurrection, 1994.
  • van Kaam, Adrian. Looking for Jesus. Denville: Dimension Books, 1978.
  • __________. The Woman at the Well. Denville: Dimension Books, 1976.
  • __________. The Mystery of Transforming Love. Denville: Dimension Books, 1982.
  • __________ and Susan Muto. Commitment: Key to Christian Maturity. New York: Paulist, 1989.
  • __________ and Susan Muto. Commitment: Key to Christian Maturity, A Workbook and Study Guide. New York: Paulist, 1991.

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A FORMER CATHOLIC LEARN THE TRUTH BEYOND THE GRAVE 1

Saturday, 17 April 2021

Candlemaking: The Art and Craft of Spiritual Formation

by Linda Hines Geiser

Linda Hines Geiser graduated from Ashland Seminary in 1994 with a Master of Arts degree in spiritual formation. She and her husband Charles formerly worked for Mennonite Central Committee in several Latin American countries. She is currently finishing the Master of Divinity degree at Ashland.

It is evident that there is flowing throughout contemporary society an emptiness of spirit, a lack of meaning, an insidious apathy. Rapid-paced technology, materialism, racism, sexism and moral confusion all contribute to the current malaise. For many, life is out of control. Homelessness has become more than an external reality. It is an internal spiritual condition. The church is not exempt from this state of affairs. Having “accepted” Christ and joined the church, many persons settle into a complacent mediocrity. They are left wondering if that is all there is. Don’t whisper it too loudly, but there have even been a few church leaders known to succumb to this crippling disease.

The spiritual journey, held in the grip of such a contagion, is disabled and paralyzed, shrinking up into death. The process of inner growth begins to resemble a spiritualized version of a walk along the all-American, rise-to-the top, look out for number one, consumer path. Nourished by spiritual junk food and cheap entertainment, it leads directly into a hollow vacuum. This is a far cry from the vision Christ offers of new life, living water and abundant joy.

How can the chains of apathy be loosened? What are the tools that will gently pry them open and ultimately cast them to the ground? The search for meaning and the pain of emptiness may, in fact, be the vehicles through which freedom will come. God is calling the human spirit precisely through such disillusionment, into a relationship characterized by depth, transformation, and inner at-homeness. The challenge is to find ways for people to make the connection. A new look at spiritual formation may shed some light on the path through this barren wasteland.

Called to be Transformed

The process of spiritual formation is about being transformed into the likeness of Christ. It is growth, movement and change. The word process suggests procedure, methods and particular steps employed to reach a desired goal. In spiritual formation this process progresses beyond concrete analysis into mystery and leads to transformation.

All parts of the human being are gathered up into Christ, integrated and made holy. For what reason? So that we may love as Christ loves and be one with each other as He is one with the Father. Then the world will know that God is, God loves and God rejoices in creation, bringing all to completion in Christ.

As humans we are whole persons. Together the combination of body, spirit (mind/heart), and soul create a unified being. These parts are separate yet not separate, distinct yet not distinct. An intimate connection exists between them. They are not like a stack of books bound together by a cord. Nor are they pieces of a puzzle held in place with glue. The connection is deeper and more pervasive. The essence of each is a part of the others. What is the intangible unifying force that binds them? Isn’t it none other than the mystery of God?

By virtue of being human every person carries wounds. They may be wounds of personal sinfulness or wounds left by the sinfulness of others. The wounding may center in body, spirit or soul. Wherever it is located, the others are affected as well. Wounding in one produces felt consequences in the others. They may not be destroyed, but are certainly bent. The soul especially seems to absorb the wounding at a very deep level. It is the ultimate place of woundedness, the keeper of all the secrets.

Spiritual formation is about the healing of this woundedness. As relationship with Christ becomes more intimate, prayer deepens, healing increases and one experiences newness of life. There is a freedom to truly be. Lazarus is being unbound by the silent word of Christ spoken within the soul, as well as through the cooperation of those accompanying one on the journey. Lazarus could not unbind himself. Neither can we. We can only be still in consenting silence, listen to the Word and allow sisters and brothers to be God’s chosen vehicles of the unbinding action.

The graveclothes wrapped around our souls conceal the wounds. Woundedness and fear construct walls and barriers of protection, keeping others, and even God, at a distance. The tender yet persistent love of God consistently taps on the door, waiting for an invitation to enter. What is the key that will unlock the door and allow God the Healer to enter? It is prayer, prayer of the quiet, waiting, receptive heart. This is the core of spiritual transformation.

In stillness and silence body, spirit and soul rest in God. In such rest one’s entire being is offered to God, consenting to the Divine action within. God knows intimately the cracks and crevices of each soul, and will administer what is needed in a fashion appropriate to the individual. It is a process that takes time, patience and perseverance. Growth and healing usually occur in small doses, sometimes the size of a thimble. It is not without pain, confusion or even darkness. The entire process is enveloped by the mystery of God. It is essential to acknowledge, embrace and live in that Mystery by faith.

The silent and vocal cries of those in the church pew are calling for deeper meaning and an end to the hollowness that plagues them. How can living in the mystery by faith become more real? How can connection with God and others on the way be fostered? New ways to teach about prayer and spiritual formation are desperately needed. Most people are visual learners, finding it helpful to connect an image with experience. Creative images which clearly illustrate the process are necessary tools.

One such image is that of the art of candlemaking. Many likenesses to the process of spiritual formation arise from within this craft. The formation of a candle corresponds to the formation of a soul. It must be stated that there are limitations in any analogy. The hope is that this particular one may open vistas of clearer understanding in regards to the spiritual journey each of us is called to travel.

The Process

There are certain elements necessary in candlemaking. Most essential are the wick, the frame, the wax, the dipping process and a skilled person who knows the craft. An examination of each of these can produce a suggested correlation with the spiritual life.

The wick is made of multiple strands of cotton thread woven into a strong, single braid. The three strands of the braid are clearly seen, even in the smallest wick. The braided form of the wick offers the needed strength to withstand the rigors of the process, for “A threefold cord is not quickly broken (Eccl. 4:12b).”

What does this threefold braid represent in the spiritual realm? Immediately, the threeness and oneness of the Trinity come to mind. The mystery and beauty of Trinitarian love reside at the core of the universe. Humanity was created out of this love, in the image of God who is Three in One. The braid is also suggestive, therefore, of the threefold being of humanity as seen in body, spirit and soul. Woven together they create the unified essence of personhood.

The wick is strung on a wooden frame. At the top and bottom of the frame are small wire hooks. The wick is looped up and over, down and under until the frame is filled with the continuous thread. The frame holds the wick in place and provides structure as well as space for the candle to grow. It offers stability and enables many candles to be dipped at once. The stringing of the wick must be done with the right amount of tension, neither too slack nor too tight. If strung with too much slack the wax will not evenly coat the wick. The candles formed will be extremely misshapen. Some may be bent, rounded, even stuck together. The straight form necessary for a lovely candle and clean burning is lost. Such candles are not good for anything, but to be melted back into the remaining wax in the vat. Conversely, if the wick is too tight the danger arises of slipping off the wire hooks. The entire group of candles may unravel and be damaged beyond repair. In either case, the process is aborted.

This illustrates the need for balance in our spiritual lives. Extremes are dangerous. Too little self-discipline results in sloppy living. We lose sight of the goal, entangled in things that hinder progress. Our lives become bent, rounded, enmeshed and out of focus. On the other side, too much discipline is destructive as well. Unrealistic demands and expectations imposed by self and/or others often create overwhelming stress. Such persons are in danger of careening off into space. If they do, the effect will be felt by those around them. As with the candles, the damage inflicted may be irreparable.

The precise tension of the wick also suggests an internal, spiritual balance. It is the kind of balance needed for the body/spirit/soul to remain quiet and still in prayer. When strung correctly the wick is immobile. The “ just-rightness” of its position ensures such stillness.

How does one promote an atmosphere of stillness in prayer? Begin with the body. Although a quiet body does not guarantee a quiet spirit, it certainly enhances the possibility. The silence of tongue, the closing of eyes, the stillness of the entire physical organism will lead to stillness of the mind and emotions as well. Quietness makes it possible for the Holy Spirit to work freely in the soul. The wick, hooked both above and below to secure its position on the frame, is an appropriate and helpful reminder of the necessity for stillness in prayer.

A single candle is not alone. Its wick is connected to the frame and to the remaining wick stretched on the same frame. The same wick runs through all the candles. In essence, they are one. Although each person must travel their own spiritual journey, none is truly alone. The frame is representative of the structure of communal support offered in the church. The church is to be a place where people experience safety, sustenance and space to grow. Such support for the journey may be offered in a variety of ways. Prayer groups, Sunday school, group and personal direction, and fellowship meals all provide a sense of community. Communal worship is an integral part of the supportive network. Singing, prayer, preaching, laying on of hands, communion and footwashing bind persons to each other and to God, for it is in the Body that Christ is made manifest as a very real Presence.

Before the dipping process begins attention must be given to the wax. The type of candles referred to here are made from 100% beeswax. Worker bees eat large quantities of honey which they form into a waxy substance on their bodies. From this wax the bees make the honeycomb with its many cells for storing eggs or honey. Beeswax is obtained from the honeycomb by first extracting the honey, then melting the comb in boiling water. The wax rises to the surface and is melted again to remove impurities. Because the honey cannot be completely extracted, its delightful aroma remains in the wax.

For best results in candlemaking the wax must be kept around 160 degrees. The force of heat can melt, purify and burn off blemishes from many substances. Too much heat can be totally destructive. The wax needs to be very hot, but not boiling. The intent is not to destroy the wick, but to prepare it to receive even more wax.

The liquid wax is hot and sweetly scented in its purity. It symbolizes the God who is Love. The purity of God’s love is reflected in the singleness of His purpose. He longs for us to be transformed, to experience in our human being-ness His presence and nature. Such love is undiluted, absolute, genuine and clear. It is untainted by any corrupt element.

The heat of beeswax is indicative of the intensity of God’s loving desire. The immense strength therein is such that it was moved to manifest itself in the ultimate self-giving of Christ. It is passion in the truest sense of the word. God is always seeking and searching, yearning and aching to give Himself. Divine Energy is another way to describe the hotness of the wax. The Energy that created the universe sustains life in all its forms, from the planets whirling in space to the ant invading the picnic basket. Bodies maintain their structure and souls are formed anew in this Energy. God’s very presence is the source of this Energy. It is the same intense, passionate Energy that raised Christ from the dead (Rom. 8:11).

With the wick firmly in place on the frame and the wax at the right temperature, the dipping process is ready to begin. The nature of the wick is such that it contains within itself tiny pockets of air. The first dip into the hot wax is extremely important. The wick must remain in long enough for the air to be pushed out. The wax needs to permeate the wick. If the wick is removed too soon air will remain trapped inside, and later in the process, as the candle takes shape, blemishes will appear.

A constant, alternating rhythm begins. Dipping, drying, dipping, drying. Immersion in the hot, fragrant wax coats the wick ever so slowly. The wick goes in where it is hot. With care it is lifted straight up. As it is removed from the vat, most of the hot wax drips off. That which remains on the wick becomes a permanent part of the new candle.

The frame is hung, preferably in a cool place, in order for the wax to solidify. The amount of time required for cooling and drying depends a great deal on the weather. A warm, humid day will obviously slow down the solidifying process.

A balance of in and out is established. The developing candle must not remain in the hot wax too long. If it does, the heat will cause the already solidified wax to melt. The process then becomes counterproductive and destroys that which had previously been built up. Dipping the wick into the hot wax is like immersing oneself in God’s loving presence through quiet, centered prayer. The soul/spirit/body remain steady and still. The warmth of God’s love permeates one’s entire being.

Just as the wick contains air pockets, so, too, do our souls. The wounds of sin, many of which cannot be articulated reside deep within. God’s love moves through and beyond awareness to push out the air bubbles, healing the wounds. We may sense the “pop” of that bubble in our everyday existence in some form. Then again, we may not. The important thing is to embrace faith, faith in the mysterious working of God’s Spirit in the depth of our being. Faith, even when irritability, laziness and greed arise. Faith when darkness seems greater than light, when brokenness and sorrow overpower wholeness and joy. Faith that God does indeed know what He is doing.

The wick is brought out of the wax and most of it drips off. As the soul comes out of the holy space of quiet prayer and much of the intense Presence of God will be left behind, dripping off the soul as wax off the candle. But some remains and is absorbed. The soul is in the process of healing, growth and transformation. This is not to say that the person leaves the Presence of God, or that God leaves the person. God is continually present. In prayer, however, the contact is more direct, face-to-face and intimate.

The time for cooling, drying and solidifying takes much longer than the dipping. That is similar to the realities of everyday life. The call of our responsibilities allows time for the touch of God to settle in our souls. The change taking place within begins to manifest itself without. When external circumstances are like a warm, humid day, the integration of God’s healing touch may require more time and patience.

Slowly, the inner and outer realities move closer together and God becomes present to the world in and through us.

The candle grows in size and beauty. The soul is united more and more to God at deep, unfathomable levels. There is continual movement in the soul to live out of a freed, healed reality. Initially the change may be imperceptible. As healing increases, the change becomes noticeable. When the candle nears completion, one dip effects a significant change. So, too, in the soul’s formational process. A growing awareness of and sensitivity to the working of God in one’s life and the lives of others foments deepening conformity to the likeness of Christ. Increasingly our attention is directed Godward on a continual basis. This facilitates growth and transformative union.

The candlemaker is key to the entire process. She/he must have learned the art, not solely through reading but through experience. The best way to learn is by apprenticeship, for there one is exposed to the expertise of the master. Through experience the candlemaker learns the subtleties of the art. For example, the right amount of tension when stringing the wick on the frame and the exact time a candle can remain in the wax before it begins to melt.

Patience, perseverance and skill must be cultivated by the candlemaker. The process may become tedious, repeating the same procedures over and over again. Even strength and gentleness are needed, for candlemaking is a process that calls for a tender yet sure touch. Sensitivity to the most conducive environment, flexibility and a sense of good timing are all necessary for the skilled craftsperson.

There is also, and perhaps most importantly, a kind of wisdom that arises out of participation in such a process. It is a wisdom that grows from knowing the elements so well that any little divergence is keenly felt. Appropriate action is automatically taken to correct any problem. The candlemaker knows beyond thinking, and may know so well that she/he finds it difficult to articulate what is known. That is why in learning the art it is best to be face-to-face with the candlemaker in order to observe as well as listen.

In spiritual formation, who is the candlemaker? Ultimately God is the Candlemaker. God draws souls to himself, meets us in prayer and in life’s circumstances, and continually works to bring us to completion in Himself. God’s patience, perseverance and wisdom are immeasurable.

God also chooses to work through persons who have been formed through their own dipping and drying process. They are able by God’s grace to be present to others who are also on the way. Perhaps they can be called God’s apprentices in the art of soulmaking although they are apprentices, these persons must never abandon the process of their own soulmaking. It would be disastrous.

The Goal

The candlemaker’s task is nearing completion. What remains is to cut the candles from the frame, snip the wick that holds them together, place them where they are most needed and light the wick. The candles, which for so long have been united, are now separated. If not, they cannot be lit. A candle may be lovely to look at, but its ultimate purpose is to bring light. Even though they no longer need to be connected in the same manner, the candles maintain the same essence, for the wick has not changed.

In the spiritual journey there comes a point where we are each alone. No one else can truly experience what we are called to experience. No one can come face-to-face with God for us. We must do it alone. Even though there is an essential unity, oneness and connectedness among those on the journey, there is also a call to rugged individualism.

Candles come in a variety of sizes with differing purposes. All of them go through the same formative process. All will burn, but not all in the same place. In wisdom the candlemaker discerns what types are needed where and sets out to provide for that need. So, too, God has placed within each of us a call to become who we are intended to be. It is written on the very core of our being. Each is to be transformed and to be a source of light. The specific purposes and settings will differ. One must trust in the wisdom of the Candlemaker and be attentive to the call arising from within and from without.

When the candle is fully formed, cut from the frame, standing alone, it is ready to be lit. The candlemaker knows when that moment arrives. So also God knows when we are ready to be a flame. We become Light from the spark of the One who is Fire. This is the essence of transformative union. God and the soul are one. The candle is still a candle. The soul is still a soul. God is still God. The human being does not lose her/his humanness; personality is not obliterated. Rather, it is made both whole and holy.

As the candle burns, the wick begins to curve. It bends to make way for the new wick being exposed due to the burning. The tip of the wick eventually burns itself out and is no longer in the flame. Perhaps this speaks of an attitude of gracious humility. The soul is only concerned with the flame of God’s light. It will continually move out of the way in order for the flame to burn even more brightly.

In the actual spiritual journey, the process of becoming a fully formed candle, burning with the flame of God is probably cyclical in nature. We must experience the dipping and drying, the heat and coolness over and over again. It is a continual pattern of increasing insight, awareness, repentance, humility and trust in God’s mercy.

What is the task of the wick, of ourselves? It is to surrender to the process. What else can the wick do but give itself completely? It trusts in the wisdom of the candlemaker who sees the completed form even before it is begun, knows exactly what is needed to reach that goal and guides the process with a tender, confident hand. We are called to simply rest in God, the infinite Candlemaker, who creates lights of beauty beyond imagining.

Hopefully, the usefulness of an image such as candlemaking to illustrate the process of spiritual formation is obvious. Not only do examples stimulate interest, but they are easily remembered. The intangible becomes a bit more tangible. By pointing to a reality beyond themselves, images and examples offer encouragement to persevere on the spiritual journey. Healing and transformation into Christ-likeness can replace the chaos and emptiness so common in both the inner and outer worlds. Possibilities of developing creative tools to communicate the truths of spiritual formation are endless. Now is the time for the church to respond. The need is obvious. The invitation is open. The challenge remains.

What Makes Spirituality Christian?

by Steve Harper

Dr. Steve Harper is professor of Spiritual Formation and Wesley Studies at Asbury Theological Seminary.

“Spirituality” is a popular term today. As I have browsed through bookstores, I have seen it connected with such topics as nutrition, aerobics, business management, stress reduction, counseling, marriage enrichment, recovery programs, human sexuality, and religion. Publishers and authors seem to think that if they can associate a particular topic with its respective “spirituality,” they will sell more books! Likewise, the daily talk-shows regularly parade across the screen a wide variety of gurus and spiritual “experts” in the never-ending quest to help the American people feel better, transcend their circumstances, overcome past abuse, find their true selves, and know God. Everyone from Jerry Falwell to Shirley MacLaine uses the word. And therein lies our dilemma.

Somewhere along the line it is inevitable, natural, and essential to ask, “What makes spirituality Christian?” We need a controlling perspective to provide boundary and guidance. In a culture where spirituality is attached to everything from soup to nuts, we must have some idea of what it means when it is connected to the Christian life. We must be able to speak authentically of “Christian” spirituality, otherwise we are merely putting a thin veneer over a wildly undefined phenomenon. In this article I hope to provide a general framework to assist you in developing a spiritual life which is characteristically and genuinely Christian. Because the readers of this journal come from a variety of traditions, I must speak generally, trusting that you can take this framework and interface it with the distinctives of your own theological and ecclesial systems.

Furthermore, it is important to speak generally as a means of reminding ourselves that just as we must avoid a spirituality that is unbounded, we must also avoid any definition of Christian spirituality which imprisons it in a single tradition, denomination, or point of view. In fact, I have come to believe that Christian spirituality can provide a basis for true ecumenism at the very time in history when “labels” mean less and less to people. Christian spirituality provides an avenue for mutual appreciation and united activity in Jesus’ Name. Christian spirituality offers us the opportunity to discover how large, deep, and rich the Body of Christ really is! But none of this can happen as it should unless we wrestle with the question, “What makes spirituality Christian?”

Preliminary Considerations

I want to begin by acknowledging the suspicions of some of my Christian friends when it comes to spirituality. For more than two decades I’ve encountered sincere Christians who believe that spiritual formation is simply too vague, and that it offers too many opportunities to go off on tangents. I would not be honest in this article if I did not acknowledge that this has happened. As I have ministered across America and in a number of foreign countries, I have occasionally been embarrassed by something that was being believed and being done under the umbrella of “the spiritual life.” In a few cases, I have felt that the aberration was serious enough to confront and correct. To say it another way, not everything which occurs in the name of Christian spirituality is genuine. The folks who have concerns are not without justification. I want to acknowledge that right up front. In the final section of this article, I will return to the issue in greater detail.

However, at the same time, I must point out that exaggeration or aberration is not sufficient to dismiss the serious consideration of a topic. Anything which is genuine can be counterfeited. For example, our Roman Catholic friends can point to numerous errors regarding the Mass or the veneration of Mary. Likewise, our charismatic colleagues can speak long on the excesses of that movement. Mainline Christians can describe what goes wrong when you emphasize institutionalism too much. And evangelicals can testify to the problems which arise when the authority of Scripture is interpreted in a narrow or legalistic way. Christian spirituality is not exempt from error. But rather than use this as grounds for dismissal, I believe we should use it as proof that serious scholarship and thought must attend our use of the concept.

Second, we must also recognize that spirituality is not the exclusive possession of Christianity. Spirituality is a quality of human life, because human beings are made in the image of God. It is the imago dei which forms the basis for all considerations of spirituality. Because of this, writes Benedict Groeschel, “the individual is increasingly aware of a spiritual craving within.”[1] The fact that we are made in the image of God not only means that we have this yearning for the divine, but that we have the capacity to respond to God. Adrian van Kaam calls the yearning our “aspiration for transcendence” and describes spiritual formation as “how people respond to this aspiration.”[2] Groescehl is again helpful as he calls the spiritual life, “the sum total of responses which one makes to...God.”[3]

Every person, therefore, has a spirituality precisely because he or she is essentially spiritual. Every religion has a spirituality because it attempts to describe the nature of God, of human beings, and the ways in which human beings respond to God. Even conservative Christians acknowledge this dimension of spirituality. For example, E. Stanley Jones has noted, “the Way is written not merely in the Bible, but also in biology. The demands of religion and the demands of life are the same. The Way, then, is written in our nerves, our blood, our tissues, in the total organization of life.”[4] Likewise, Lawrence Richards recognizes that “spirituality is a term broadly applied across the range of religions.”[5]

We must not miss this. If we do, we will not see the more comprehensive understanding of spirituality which pervades human existence. We will make the mistake of narrowly viewing the Christian faith as “spiritual” and other religions as “unspiritual.” Again, we must begin by recalling that spirituality is connected to human existence, not to religion per se. This is St. Augustine’s description of the “restless heart.” It is Wesley’s understanding of prevenient grace, at work in general and particular ways long before a person professes faith in Jesus Christ.

On a practical level, this should encourage us. It means that every person we meet has already been created for God! The God-shaped vacuum is really there, and the capacity to respond to God is given to everyone. In our evangelism, for example, we will get farther with people as we take the time to acknowledge the ways in which they are already “on the journey.” As we celebrate the ways in which they already yearn for God, we can lovingly lead them to Jesus, the Incarnation of the God for Whom they yearn! To put it another way, as we seek to win persons to Christ, this universal understanding of spirituality cuts through any notions of triumphalism, because we are constantly aware that the Holy Spirit always gets there first!

These preliminary considerations enable us to approach the question, “What makes spirituality Christian?” The first consideration validates the importance of the question and the need to provide definition and boundary. The second consideration enables us to ask the question with a solid theology underneath us—theology of imago dei and a theology of prevenient grace. It also enables us to approach the question with the spirit of humility.

Primary Convictions

No single article can fully grasp the magnitude of the question, “What makes spirituality Christian?” No single article can completely answer it either. Within arm’s reach, I probably have several thousand pages of attempts to answer this question. And the books keep coming out!

To remember that is a means of recognizing the profound mystery with which we are dealing. We need that in a highly analytical culture. We also need to remember that the answer is conditioned in part by the one who proposes it. Spirituality has objective dimensions, some of which I will work with in this section. But spirituality also comes via the interpretation of the author, preacher, testifier, etc.

This means I must tell you a little about myself, so you will have a context for understanding why I answer the question the way I do. In brief, I would say I am an ecumenical evangelical reared (and at home) in the Wesleyan tradition. By “evangelical” I bear witness to my belief in historic Christian orthodoxy. I believe the Bible is the Word of God. I believe that Jesus is God’s only-begotten Son. I believe all the doctrines expressed and implied in the normative Creeds of the church. By “ecumenical” I communicate my belief that Christian orthodoxy winds its way through every age and through every legitimate ecclesial expression. Consequently, I am a pilgrim in search of true Christianity wherever I can find it. I do not limit myself to Methodism, or even Protestantism. I thrill at exploring the richness of the faith in the classics of Roman Catholicism and Eastern Orthodoxy. I rejoice in every believer (living or dead) who sheds light on my path and deepens my devotion to Christ as Savior and Lord. By “Wesleyan” I mean that I have found a theological home—a place to locate myself—as a means of describing and nurturing life in Christ. I look upon John Wesley, the early Methodists, and the conservative Wesleyan tradition which emerges, not as a wall, but as a “window” through which to look in order to see Christ and the church better. As the ecumenical, evangelical, and Wesleyan components converge, I embrace the perspective which enables me to provide an answer to the question, “What makes spirituality Christian?”

In this article I will provide four primary convictions related to the question. Taken together, they will frame my answer but not exhaust it. Again, no article can do that. But I do believe it is possible to set forth key consensual parameters which enable us to speak of “Christian spirituality.” At the end of my examination of each conviction, I will state briefly what response we can make which will enable the conviction to be a formative experience in our lives.

First, spirituality is Christian in relation to the Christian story. To say it another way, it is the Christian story which interprets spirituality, not spirituality which interprets the Christian story. As people guided by the revelation of Scripture and twenty centuries of responsible tradition, we bring certain understandings to the table, understandings which enable us to speak more specifically about the spiritual life. By way of reminder and summary, I would mention the following: the nature of God (as Trinity), the nature of humanity (as imago dei), creation, fall, covenant, the cycle of exile and return, Incarnation, redemption, church, Kingdom of God, and consummation.[6]

Once we have worked our way through these classic doctrines, we will define spirituality differently than people in other religions do, and differently than adherents of various “new-age” movements do. The reason is this: we begin with revelation, not metaphysics. And more precisely, we begin with revelation as it comes to us through the Bible. In determining what makes our spirituality Christian, we do not begin with the nature of being (philosophical ontology), we begin with the gospel (biblical hermeneutics). The starting point makes all the difference. It shapes the question in a new form—not “what does it mean to be spiritual?”, but rather “what does it mean to be Christian?”

This means that the story itself is formative. Tell me what you think it means to be Christian, and you will already have begun to specify what you believe it means to be spiritual. To say it another way, theology is transformational. What we believe about the journey and what we experience on the journey are the inhaling and exhaling of spiritual breathing; they cannot be separated. This is one of the mistakes some make who would put spiritual formation in the category of “practical” theology. Yes, it is that. But it is also intrinsically biblical, historical, systematic, developmental, etc. Spiritually becomes “Christian” when it is viewed through the lens of the Christian story.

Given this, our response is to increasingly familiarize ourselves with the Christian story through devout and deepening study of the Bible and the secondary devotional literature which enriches our knowledge and piety. This is why we cannot define spirituality as “my experience of God.” My experience of God may be wrong! It may be conditioned by bad teaching, by past abuse and present dysfunctionalism, etc. Spirituality is highly experiential, but it is not exclusively so. I submit my experience to the story as revealed in scripture and tradition. I commit myself to be a true “disciple”—which means “learner,” all the days of my life.

Second, spirituality is made Christian in its relation to Christ. If you are familiar with spiritual formation literature, you know it falls into two broad categories: theo-centric and Christo-centric. Theo-centric literature uses a lot of “God” language to communicate its ideas. Much of this type of literature is valid and helpful. Even Christian writers have employed such language and style to write devotionally. But if our spirituality is to be overtly and substantively Christian, we need the benefits of Christo-centric literature as well. Christian spirituality is not merely metaphysical; it is Incarnational. We are people who believe that the Word became flesh and dwelt among us (John 1:14).

Dr. William Barclay expertly develops his commentary on the Prologue of John’s Gospel, (1:1–18). He shows how the concept of Logos was already present in Jewish and Greek thought. When he comes to 1:14; he writes, “This is where John parted with all thought which had gone before him. This was the entirely new thing which John brought to the Greek world for which he was writing. Augustine afterwards said that in his pre-Christian days he had read and studied the great pagan philosophers and their writings, and that he had read many other things, but he had never read that the Word became flesh.”[7] Barclay calls the phrase, “the Word became flesh,” staggering new and unheard of.[8]

Barclay provides a good analogy between the first century and the twentieth, between theo-centric and Christo-centric spirituality. The Logos corresponds to theo-centric spirituality. That is, it was a general concept known to many people, and one which incorporated numerous truths. But to say that the Logos became flesh is to compare with Christo-centric spirituality. That is, it takes all that the general idea communicated and puts it into a staggeringly new framework. This is precisely what Christian spirituality does: it draws on all that is generally beautiful, good, and true concerning the spiritual life. But it puts it into a radically new framework—the Incarnation. In Jesus we see the fullness of God in human form, and we see spirituality revealed in its finest sense.

In a day of “new-age” monism[9] this Incarnational focus is as radically new as it was in the day when John declared the Logos to be manifested in Jesus. And it is no less controversial. E. Stanley Jones has called this “the scandal of particularity.” It flies in the face of syncretism (as we will see in the final section of the article). But it is a position we must take if our spirituality is to be genuinely Christian. Edward Yarnold confirms this as he writes, “The highest and unique instance of God’s self-giving is his entry into the world in the person of Jesus Christ. The highest and unique fulfillment of the human capacity for God is found in the life of Jesus Christ.”[10] Benedict Groeschel further underscores this seminal truth by saying, “The center of Christian spirituality is the Incarnate Word of God. He is the center, not as a point of gravity, but as a single source of light in an utterly dark and lifeless universe. Just as He is the source of light and life to the material creation (John 1:3), so is He the source of salvation and spiritual life.”[11] Groeschel goes on to note that this Christological center and our relation to it (Him) forces us to ask, “How Christian is my spirituality?” Just as Christ divides time into B.C. and A.D., so too he becomes the line of demarcation between the general and the particular in Christian spirituality.

This truth not only applies to his person, but also to his work. Unfortunately in our day there is a rising tide against Christ’s atonement. It is a rejection not only of Christ as the mediator, but also of the need for an atoning sacrifice as described in orthodox Christian theology.[12] At stake here, for Christianity in general and Christian spirituality in particular, is the nature of sin and the process by which the grace of God operates to forgive us. Spirituality must address the question of one’s right relationship with God. A theology (and experience) of sin and redemption is intrinsic. Christian spirituality asserts that human beings are sinful and that Christ died for our sins. In both his person and work, Christ makes spirituality Christian.

Our response, of course, must be to “abide in Christ” (John 15). Christian spiritual life is life in Christ. It is living in Christ and having Christ living in us.[13] I have come to define Christian spirituality as the lifelong process of abiding in Christ and bearing the responsibilities of that relationship. If Jesus is indeed the Alpha and Omega (Revelation 1:8 and 22:13), he must be the starting point, guide, and culmination of our spirituality.

Third, spirituality is made Christian by its church connection. At the core, this means that our spirituality can never be purely individualistic. We are people of Covenant. As such, we are people of creed and community. We affirm the faith declared through the Apostles’, Nicean, and Athanasian Creeds, as well as those later formulations which are in harmony with them. Furthermore, we are people of particular faith traditions (e.g. Lutheran, Calvinistic, Wesleyan), each of which professes orthodox belief and the Christian experience which flows from it.

To be sure, our ultimate authority is the Bible. But Bishop Kallistos of Diokleia rightly points out that “We read the Bible personally, but not as isolated individuals...We read in communion with all other members or the Body of Christ in all parts of the world in all generations of time...Book and Church are not to be separated.”[14]

But today they are! And the spirituality which emerges from the separation is simultaneously erroneous, individualistic, and unaccountable. I will never forget Dr. Robert Cushman, one of my doctoral professors at Duke University, saying that the main problem with contemporary theology is that it is “free-lance”—that is, it is operating with no connection or accountability to the Church. I could not agree more! There is great irony here. Evangelicals are frequently accused by liberals of being triumphalistic in their focus upon Christ and the presentation of him as the Savior of the world. But what could possibly be more triumphalistic than the assertion that it is possible to produce good theology which stands apart from and in contradiction to two thousand years of orthodox interpretation?

Here is one place where Christian theology is general and Christian spirituality in particular are in great danger of being captured by cultural ideology. It is the danger of open-ended, free-floating, radically independent individualism. Spirituality will never be fully Christian adrift from the Church. In the presentation of truth and the spiritual life which flows from it, we are not free to re-invent the gospel, but only free to proclaim it as it has been handed to us by the Church. When we presume an authority to step outside twenty centuries of tradition and advocate “another gospel,” we have the civil right to do so, but not the ecclesiastical right. Spirituality is made Christian by its connection with the Church.

Our response must be to be devoted churchpersons. When I joined my denomination, I took the vow to uphold it with my prayers, presence, gifts, and service. So long as I remain a member, I am not free to violate those vows or to substitute rank individualism for them. Likewise, those of us who are clergy stand in the line of apostolic succession—the vocational priesthood which has always had two primary tasks: guiding people in the ways of God and guarding the gospel. If I abdicate the guardian role through self-avowed assertion of my own views, I sever spirituality (and ministry for that matter) from its vital context.

Fourth, spirituality is made Christian by its grace-orientation. Those of us in the Wesleyan tradition understand theology as an “order of salvation.” The order itself is the story of grace: prevenient, converting, sanctifying, and glorifying.[15] With respect to Christian spirituality this means that we are always responders to God’s prior action. Ours is not a spirituality of human effort or merit—i.e. “working our way up to God.” Rather, it is a spirituality of “having been found” by God and living in ever-increasing gratitude for “God’s coming down” to us. To say it another way, we grow spirituality as we respond to grace.

Such response is made possible through the use of the means of grace, often called the spiritual disciplines. John Wesley called the means of grace “the ordinary channels of conveying [God’s] grace unto the souls of men.”[16] In our day, Richard Foster has refocused and renewed our interest in the spiritual disciplines, showing how they shape the inward, outward, and corporate life of Christians.[17] Grace thus becomes the priority and the means of living the spiritual life.

This understanding of grace is what lies at the heart of viewing Christian spiritual formation as a journey. Lawrence Richards rightly notes that “Spiritual life must be nurtured...Spirituality does not come automatically.”[18] In the history of Christian spirituality that journey has been defined in many ways. Those in the mystical school have described it in terms of purgation, illumination, dark night of the soul, and union with God.[19] As we just saw, Wesleyans emphasize the order of salvation, which is itself a journey motif. Persons in the Reformed tradition frequently use the paradigm of God’s Providence and our response to it as a means of articulating the journey.[20] Christian educators and psychologists connect the human journey and the spiritual journey by showing how the spiritual life is lived in relation to childhood, adolescence, adulthood, midlife, and older age.[21]

Kept in the context of everything we have said up to this point, it is possible to define Christian spiritual formation as the process of becoming fully human.[22] This process is enabled through imitation (of Christ and the healthy examples of godly people) and penetration (as the grace of God is mediated to us by the Holy Spirit). Understanding spiritual life as a journey sanctifies every age and state of life, and it puts every age and stage of life into its proper graced relationship to God. Benedict Groeschel gives a useful summary of all we have been saying in these words, “To develop spiritually as a Christian means to grow as a child of God according to the example of Christ and His grace.”[23]

We respond to grace by abandoning all efforts at self-salvation and the legalisms which can so easily provide false limits and comforts. At the same time, we do not erase the role of our will in making obedient and faithful responses to God’s movements in our lives. To say that Christian spirituality is grace oriented does not mean we are passive. It simply means that “Jesus is Lord” and we are always content for it to be that way! It means that we never “outgrow” our reliance upon God, we never come to a spiritual state which enables us to live henceforth on our own.

To be sure, there is much more we could say about making spirituality Christian, but these are my primary convictions regarding the matter. When we utilize the Christian story, focus on Christ as the center and source of our spiritual life, maintain accountability to and community in the Church, and live by grace throughout our lifetime, we will have gone a long way in understanding and experiencing Christian spirituality.

Problematic Challenges

Such a view of the spiritual life is not universally affirmed or supported in our time. In fact, the question “What makes spirituality Christian?” is one given to me as an assignment to address by those who recognize that the spiritual life is being wildly reimagined in our day. If Christian spirituality is to continue to exhibit its distinctiveness (a quality which some view as narrow and obscuranist), the above characteristics will not be absent. At the same time, those characteristics are under fire on a number of fronts which must be recognized.

Perhaps the most pervasive is syncretism. In the past twenty years we have witnessed an unprecedented attempt to blend all things into one, universally-accepted reality. Traditional beliefs and values are not seriously questioned and often undermined. Categories of “right” and “wrong” are threatened by an attempt to make everything an “alternative.” With respect to Christian spirituality in particular, the syncretists would have us merge our views with virtually all others—especially those of the great religions of the world, and even the most-responsible advocates of “new age” perspectives. The end result would be a kind of B’hai spirituality—a view of reality and a resulting experience that puts Christianity and Christ in a respected, but not distinctive position.

As I view the issue of syncretism, the main problem with it (but not the only one!) is that it tries to answer what Christianity (and other world religions, for that matter) leaves as mystery. As far as I can tell, the Bible holds in tension Christ’s declaration that he is “the Way, the Truth, and the Life” (John 14:6) with the uncertainty of how that is so in each and every case. The main problem of syncretism is that it falsely authorizes human beings to make conclusions about things known only to God. To be sure, there are questions of how one religion relates to another, questions of the validity of those religions, and questions about ultimate destiny. But they are questions about which we have insufficient revelation. What we do know is that Jesus claimed to be the Son of God and the Lord of life. The role of Christian theology in general and Christian spirituality in particular is to proclaim what we know and to remain humble before what we do not know. Syncretism is, at best, a human answer to questions beyond human knowledge. At worst, syncretism is simply wrong—analogous to blind men who each defined “elephant” by the single part he was holding. We recognize the serious challenge of syncretism, but we also recognize it to be essentially presumptuous in relation to depth of the questions it tries to answer.

Christian spirituality is also facing the challenge of feminism. Womens’ issues have become such a focal point in the church and society it is almost impossible to say what you mean without being misunderstood. Let me try. I believe that many women’s concerns today are valid and that the church needs to take them more seriously than it has. Furthermore, I believe there is a legitimate Christian feminism in which the orthodox faith is upheld even as the problems and possibilities of women are forthrightly advanced.

There is a radical feminism in the land which not only damages the Christian faith, but actually ends up undermining the femininity it claims to uphold.[24] In terms of Christian spirituality it has contaminated theology and experience by redefining the Godhead, the person and work of Christ, scripture, and the church—to name a few.[25] In its most extreme forms it has (by its own declaration) remade Christianity into something entirely different from its orthodox precedent. In fact, orthodoxy is seen as an obstacle to “Woman Church.” As far back as 1978, advocates of radical feminism were openly saying, “perhaps the demise of the church is in fact the first step in the emergence of the new planetary consciousness, karma as it were...Feminist women would not be losing much if they lost the church.”[26] It doesn’t take much effort to see why radical feminism is a challenge to the kind of Christian spirituality we have described.

The main problem of radical feminism (but again, not the only one) is that it would substitute one extreme for another.[27] If we concede that Christianity has been too “male” (a charge which can be made, but not universally or unboundedly), we cannot conclude that the answer is to make it “female.” Equal time is not an adequate base for theology or spirituality. Exchanging one excess for another will not bring us closer to the truth. Furthermore, we are on slippery ground whenever we begin to define our theology or our spirituality in terms of this-world categories like gender or race. While God cannot be less than our best examples of humanity, He is surely more! We must take divine attributes as our starting point, not human characteristics.

We also face the challenge of consumerism. With respect to Christian spirituality the danger is presenting Christian formation as essentially positive and pleasant, quick and easy. Evangelicals face this danger as much as liberals, because the danger is not theological per se. It is cultural. It is the temptation to cater to certain groups with the message that “you can have it your way.” We must remember that Christianity in general or the spiritual life in particular is not simply about getting your needs met, it is about getting your life changed. It is not merely about blessings, but also about responsibilities. It is not just about improvement; it’s about transformation. Authentic Christian spirituality cannot avoid the Cross. Consumerism poses the threat to water down the spiritual life on the one hand, or to “market” it on the other in a way that promises maximum benefits for minimal investments.

Finally, we face the challenge of ceremonialism. This is the contemporary term for the ancient problem of having the form of godliness, but denying its power (II Timothy 3:5). It is going through the motions for motion’s sake. It is “playing church.” It is dabbling in discipleship. It is making spirituality superficial. It is substituting performance for reality. To use Jesus’ words, it is hypocrisy. We become play actors, people who pretend to be what we are not—people who can slip in and out of our “spirituality” depending on where we are or what day it is. In its corporate manifestations it is our ritual or spontaneity divorced from authenticity. It is the vain attempt to honor God with our lips when our hearts are far from Him (Isaiah 29:13). If Christian spirituality becomes ceremonial, it will die—and it ought to! For we will have traded in essence for illusion.

What makes spirituality Christian? Good question! It is a question that demands close examination and lifelong reflection. I hope these thoughts will spark your own in-depth, creative exploration. No one has forced us to be Christian or to live a spiritual life in consonance with the Christian faith. If we choose to name ourselves after the Christ, and if we choose to hold membership in the Body of Christ, let’s do our best to be who we say we are and to practice a spirituality worthy of the name “Christian.” May God help us all to do just that!

Notes

  1. Benedict Groeschel, Spiritual Passages (New York: Crossroad, 1986), 13.
  2. Adrian van Kaam, Fundamental Formation (New York: Crossroad, 1983), 20.
  3. Groeschel, 4.
  4. E. Stanley Jones, The Way to Power and Poise (Nashville: Abingdon, 1949), 1.
  5. Lawrence Richards, A Practical Theology of Spirituality (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1987), 11.
  6. Les Steele, On the Way: A Practical Theology of Christian Formation (Grand Rapids: Baker Book House, 1990), chapter one, “The Christian Story”, 15–24. Steele draws on the writings of people like Gabriel Fackre, James Fowler, and Frederick Buechner (in addition to his own insights) to expand most of the items I have put in my list of emphases.
  7. William Barclay, The Daily Study Bible: The Gospel of John, vol. 1 (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1955), 44.
  8. Barclay, 45.
  9. A metaphysical concept that “all is one”—that is, that all reality is a participation in one ultimate reality. Thus, all religions and spiritualities are essentially the same.
  10. Edward Yarnold, “The Theology of Christian Spirituality,” The Study of Spirituality (New York: Oxford University Press, 1986), 14.
  11. Groeschel, 17.
  12. There are too many sources of this rejection to cite here. Several examples are R. N. Brock’s Journeys by Heart: A Christology of Erotic Power (1988), B. Harrison and C. Heyward’s Christianity, Patiarchy, and Abuse: A Feminist Critique (1989), and John Hick’s The Metaphor of God Incarnate: Christology in a Pluralistic (1994).
  13. Maxie Dunnam, Alive in Christ: The Dynamic Process of Spiritual Formation (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1981).
  14. Bishop Kallistos of Diokleia, “How to Read the Bible,” The Orthodox Study Bible (Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 1993), 765.
  15. I provide a fuller treatment of each aspect of grace in my book, John Wesley’s Message for Today (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1983).
  16. Albert Outler, The Works of John Wesley, Volume 1, Sermons 1–33 (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1984), 380. John Wesley’s sermon “The Means of Grace”, paragraph 5. I also explore each of the means of grace in my book, Devotional Life in the Wesleyan Tradition. (Nashville, The Upper Room, 1983).
  17. Richard Foster, Celebration of Discipline (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1978).
  18. Richards, 15.
  19. Evelyn Underhill, Mysticism (London: Methuen, 1911).
  20. Robert Ramey, Jr. and Ben Johnson, Living the Christian Life: A Guide to Reformed Spirituality (Louisville: John Knox/ Westminster, 1992).
  21. Groeschel does a very good job in connecting human and spiritual development. He also provides a quality portrayal of purgation, illumination, and union. Les Steel’s book is also valuable in connecting Christian education and spiritual formation. In this regard, mention must also be made of Christopher Bryant’s The River Within (London: DLT, 1978) and Iris Cully’s Education for Spiritual Growth (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1984).
  22. Rachel Hosmer and Alan Jones, Living in the Spirit (New York: Seabury Press, 1979), 30.
  23. Groeschel, 29.
  24. Ronald Nash, Great Divides (Colorado Springs: InterVarsity Press, 1993), 61–76.
  25. Kenneth L. Woodward, “Feminism and the Churches,” Newsweek, February 13, 1989, 58–61.
  26. Richard L. LaShure, “Changing the Subject: The Promise of Feminist Theology,” Occasional Papers, Volume 1, No. 21, October 25, 1978 (Nashville: The United Methodist Board of Higher Education and Ministry), 6–7.
  27. Points like this are presented clearly by evangelical spokeswomen such as Elizabeth Achtemeier in “Where are These Radical Feminists Coming From?” reNews, February 1994, 10–12 and Leslie Zeigler in “Christianity or Feminism?” Transactions, Volume 2, No. 3, July 1994, 1–4.

Three Modern Faces of Wisdom

by Ben Witherington, III

Dr. Witherington (Ph.D., Durham) is Professor of Biblical and Wesleyan Studies at ATS.

In a lengthy book I have traced the development of the Biblical Wisdom tradition. There Wisdom was seen to take many faces and forms.[1] I looked at the development of Biblical Wisdom in both form and content during the crucial period of 960 B.C. to A.D. 100. This development involved a movement from personification in Proverbs 8 and elsewhere in early Jewish literature to a localization of Wisdom as primarily found in Torah, and finally in the early Christological hymns (especially John 1), to the idea of Wisdom becoming incarnate or essentially embodied in a particular person, the Son of God.

Also examined was how OT wisdom seems primarily to be expressed in such forms as aphorisms, dialogues, or extended instructions from a parent to a child, or a teacher to a pupil. Yet, there were some few examples of parables in the OT corpus and other forms of narrative wisdom speech such as that found in the prologue and epilogue to the book of Job. In the ministry of Jesus the parable apparently becomes the primary wisdom vehicle for expressing his thoughts, with a significant quantity of aphorisms also to be found in the arguably authentic teaching of Jesus. It was also noted how in the Christological hymns some of the forms and content used in the Wisdom hymns in the sapiential literature were taken over and used to speak of the career of the Christ. All of these developments in form and content reflect a living, growing body of literature which was both oral and written in character.

Striking is the fact that by and large this whole corpus is a form of material that intends to force the hearer into reflective thinking by the use of figurative language — whether by simple comparison, simile, metaphor, extended analogy, parable, or even personification. Biblical Wisdom literature then primarily engages in the art of moral persuasion, using an indirect method and a pictographic form of speech to lead the hearer or reader to a particular conclusion. Beyond simple reflective thinking the sages were urging their audiences to certain sorts of attitudes and actions towards God, fellow human beings, everyday life in general, and the whole of creation.

In the light of what I have learned in tracking the pilgrimage of Biblical Wisdom, I intend in this essay to take one further step and examine some of Wisdom’s modern faces and forms. The approach will be to critique these works in light of what has been learned from the Biblical Wisdom material. I will be confining myself to three recent attempts to consciously appropriate Biblical Wisdom material in the service of various modern concerns such as inter-faith dialogue, the constructing of a modern Wisdom Christology, and finally the use of Wisdom material to construct a feminist Sophia theology. Close scrutiny will be given to the following works each in turn: 1) John Eaton’s The Contemplative Face of Old Testament Wisdom (Phila. Trinity Press Int., 1989); 2) Leo D. Lefebure’s Toward a Contemporary Wisdom Christology, A Study of Karl Rahner and Norman Pittenger. (Lanham Md.: Univ. Press of America, 1988); and 3) Susan Cady’s, Marian Ronan’s, and Hal Taussig’s Wisdom’s Feast: Sophia in Study and Celebration (San Francisco: Harper and Row, 1989)[2]

I. Well-Traveled Wisdom

John Eaton’s book The Contemplative Face of Old Testament Wisdom is certainly one which in various ways the Biblical sages would have been proud to own. He argues convincingly that there are numerous themes and motifs common to Wisdom literature orginating in widely differing settings and contexts. In one sense this is hardly surprising since it is characteristic of Wisdom literature that it focuses on the recurring ordinary and even extraordinary experiences humans have when interacting either with nature or other human beings.[3] Eaton’s book is also written with an eloquence and clarity of style that reflects a person who has taken to heart the urging of the sages to learn the art of speaking (and writing) well. This perspicuous form is somewhat beguiling for in the end, as will become apparent, the author wishes for the reader to draw conclusions about Wisdom to which few if any early Jewish or Christian sages would have assented.

The trajectory of Eaton’s work is not the same as my study Jesus the Sage and the Pilgrimage of Wisdom, for his aim is not to illuminate Wisdom in general by means of the elucidation of the Biblical tradition, but rather by a “sample of the world’s wisdom treasures ... to illumine our appreciation of the old Hebrew Sages.”[4] This in itself is a worthy goal, but as becomes apparent the presupposition behind this approach is not merely that Biblical Sages drew on international wisdom material, which is certainly true, nor even that there are notable and striking parallels between both the form and the content of Biblical and extra-Biblical wisdom material which is also indisputable, nor even that there is some wisdom and truth in all of the great world religions which most would agree on, but that ultimately there are no definitive revelations of Wisdom or the God of Wisdom.

Eaton believes there are numerous worthy human approximations of true Wisdom which transcends them all, and that various of these non-definitive revelations are inspired by God. This becomes especially clear in the book’s last page where one hears:

As Christians enter afresh into this heritage of witness to Wisdom, they can go beyond the shallowness and glibness with which the Incarnation is often presented today. Here is an invitation to the immense depths in the message that the Word became flesh; an invitation also to proclaim it afresh in terms of the profoundest intuitions of all the world’s artists and lover’s of truth. .. Wisdom will not let the religions close out the air and spaces, the great lights and darks and deeps, the myriad creatures which like us are in the hand of God. So Wisdom calls to the great religions, make disciples one by one, takes them each on a personal pilgrimage, not to end in isolation, but in the communion of infinite love.[5]

In short Eaton attempts to use Wisdom literature, which does indeed have a more universal or international character than other portions of Biblical literature, to get beyond the scandal of particularity especially as it is found in the world’s three great monotheistic faiths (Judaism. Christianity, and Islam). This effort, while in some respects laudable in view of the way “particularity” has been used as a justification for the mistreatment of people of other faiths, is in the end misguided.

The three great monotheistic religions are historical religions, religions deeply rooted in what they believe are God’s particular and unique acts in human history through a Moses, or a Jesus, or a Mohammed. They are not primarily philosophies of life or methods for achieving inner peace. In all three of these great monotheistic religions Wisdom literature is used in the context of and ultimately in the service of the particularistic agendas of these respective faiths. Thus in early Judaism, Wisdom is said to begin and and end with the fear of Yahweh, not just any conception of God, and in due course it is urged that Torah, a revelation for a particular people, is the very embodiment and definitive revelation of Wisdom. In early Christianity Wisdom is so particularised that it is virtually identified with one person — Jesus Christ. Likewise in Islam, wisdom literature is seen as something which supports and expounds the unique and particular revelation in the Koran, and which aids and enhances the highly particularistic confession “There is one God Allah, and Mohammed is his prophet.”

It is not enough to note Wisdom parallels between religions. One must also ask how that similar sounding material is used and in what sort of contexts. In the three great monotheistic religions wisdom is not finally seen as an alternative to particularism but as a tool for expressing and expounding it. Nor is particularism merely tacked on to a more international corpus of literature. Eaton as much as admits this when he says

It was often supposed that the tradition changed from a secular to a religious outlook, from advice for self-advancement to a piety of fearing God, from a wisdom that is only human skill to a divine Wisdom that seeks and blesses us, or from brief detached proverbs to longer poetic discourses. But many of the supposedly later characteristics match features of teaching far earlier than Hebrew wisdom, especially in Egypt. It is better, then, to think of the tradition in Proverbs as the unfolding of a philosophy and world-view which did not change in essentials.[6]

This means two things: 1) The international wisdom literature early Jews, and later early Christians and even Moslems borrowed especially from Egypt and made their own was not purely secular to begin with. Indeed the categorization of ancient wisdom as either secular or sacred is an anachronism, an imposing of later western categories (not unlike the Enlightment distinction between the natural and the supernatural) on near eastern sages who basically would not have agree with such distinctions. Von Rad was basically right to argue that “the experiences of the world were for her [Israel] always divine experiences as well, and the experiences of God were for her experiences of the world.”[7] 2) The use made of international wisdom by the early sages of the three monotheistic religions by and large seems to be a matter of “plundering the Egyptians,” i.e. the taking and reshaping of such international Wisdom to serve one’s own particular faith and its agendas. It was not really a sort of early inter-faith dialogue, or an indirect way of suggesting that all religions are ultimately one. The Biblical sages who produced Wisdom literature would surely have repudiated any attempts to use their literature in a manner which lessens or dismisses the scandal of particularity, for that is just the opposite of the way they have used international wisdom ideas and forms.

Things become even more difficult when one attempts to compare or draw close parallels between near-eastern monotheistic wisdom with far eastern wisdom which often works in the service of some form of pantheism or even ancestor worship. Here the contexts are even more radically different from one another than is the case with wisdom in the three monotheistic faiths, and to take the far eastern wisdom out of its context skews both its intent and its trajectory. For instance, the Taoist agenda hardly comports with the Biblical Wisdom teaching when it urges: “Banish wisdom, discard knowledge, and the people will benefit a hundred-fold.”[8]

A wise sage of the twentieth century, G.K. Chesterton, in the course of a discussion about comparisons made between Buddhism and Christianity, once said the following:

There is a phrase of facile liberality uttered again and again at ethical societies and parliaments of religion: “the religions of the earth differ in rites and forms, but they are the same in what they teach.” It is false; it is the opposite of the fact. The religions of the earth do not greatly differ in rites and forms; they do greatly differ in what they teach ... It is exactly in their souls that they are divided ... They agree in machinery; almost every great religion on earth works with the same external methods, with priests, scriptures, altars, sworn brotherhoods, special feasts. They agree in the mode of teaching; what they differ about is the thing to be taught.[9]

Obviously, this broad generalization will need some qualification, especially in regard to wisdom literature, as Eaton has ably shown. My point is however, that the argument of Chesterton is essentially correct. The way the major world religions differ is more profound and essential to their being than the ways in which they are similar, and simply concentrating on certain wisdom parallels both alleged and real to the neglect of the differences only obscures the larger issues. At the end of the day orthodox Jewish, Christian, Moslem, or Buddhism sages will have to agree to disagree on various fundamental issues that are at the very heart of their respective faiths.

If art is a mirror of the human soul, it is a striking fact that these various religions have produced very different sorts of great art. Consider again what Chesterton has to say in the following rather long quote.

Even when I thought ... that Buddhism and Christianity were alike, there was one thing about them that always perplexed me; I mean the startling difference in their type of religious art. I do not mean in its technical style of representation, but in the things that it was manifestly meant to represent. No two ideals could be more opposite than a Christian saint in a Gothic cathedral and a Buddhist saint in a Chinese temple ... the Buddhist saint always has his eyes shut, while the Christian saint always has his eyes wide open. The Buddhist saint has a sleek and harmonious body, but his eyes are heavy and sealed with sleep. The medieval saint’s body is wasted to his crazy bones, but his eyes are frightfully alive. There cannot be any real community of spirit betweeen forces that produce such symbols so different as that ... The Buddhist is looking with peculiar intentness inwards. The Christian is staring with frantic intentness outwards ... It is just here that Buddhism is on the side of modern pantheism and immanence. And it is just here that Christianity is on the side of humanity and liberty and love ... I want to love my neighbor not because he is I, but precisely because he is not. I want to adore the world, not as one likes a looking-glass, because it is one’s self, but as one loves a woman, because she is entirely different. If souls are separate love is possible. If souls are united love is obviously impossible. A [person] may be said to love himself, but he can hardly be said to fall in love with himself, or if he does it must be a monotonous courtship ... Love desires personality therefore love desires division. It is the instinct of Christianity to be glad that God has broken the universe into little pieces, because they are living pieces. It is her instinct to say “little children love one another” rather than to tell one large person to love himself. This is the intellectual abyss between Buddhism and Christianity; that for the Buddhist ... is the fall of [humanity], for the Christian is the purpose of God, the whole point of his cosmic idea ... The oriental diety is like a giant who should have lost his leg or hand and be always seeking to find it; but the Christian power is like some giant who in a strange generosity should cut off his right hand, so that it might of its own accord shake hands with him.[10]

Chesterton has touched on several critical points here that have direct bearing on the discussion of wisdom literature and Eaton’s treatment of it. It is the characteristic of the three great monotheistic religions, that they do not try to resolve the problem of the one and the many by some sort of pantheism. All three agree that while God may be and is in sometimes and some ways immanent in human history and human lives, that God is essentially transcendent and distinct from both creation and creature, not least because God existed before there were any creation and creatures. No one who has read the Biblical Wisdom corpus carefully can deny that this sort of theology which asserts the essential distinction between creator and creation exists in this literature. Indeed it is one of the major motifs of Biblical Wisdom literature. Under such circumstances then, contemplation in the three great monotheistic religions which relies in part on this Wisdom theology, must be essentially a journey outward, not a journey inward.

Another reason why there is so much stress placed in Biblical Wisdom on what may be called creation theology is that it was believed that God had implanted a moral structure and order into both human affairs and indeed into the affairs of the natural world as well.[11] It is by close examination of these external aspects of creation and creaturely behaviour that one may learn something by analogy about the greatest distinct external reality beyond humankind — God. In this world view the One remains transcendent One, but the many may have fellowship and communion with that One, without either being absorbed into the One, or on the other hand without the One simply being thought of as inherently immanent in all things and beings. It is this healthy tension between the One and the Many that characterizes these monotheistic faiths.

In this context mysticism amounts to communion with the One, indeed an experiential communion that goes beyond human description or understanding, while not going against that understanding. What mysticism does not amount to in the monotheistic religions is either a gained awareness that there is a little bit of God in all things, or that God and I are in the end one being. Thus, in the end one must reject what seems to be the larger underlying thesis of Eaton as incompatible with the Biblical world view that was shared by both early Jewish and Christian sages, and later by Moslem sages. The scandal of particularity can not be overcome through comparisons with other world religions’ wisdom literature. It does not follow from this however that there is not much of great merit to be learned from Eaton’s work, and I must now turn to a discussion of various aspects that are most helpful as I seek to discern possible modern faces of Biblical Wisdom.

It is one of the great merits of Eaton’s work that he offers balanced judgments about various thorny issues that constantly arise in the discussion of Wisdom literature. The evidence of this is clear in his refusal to see Biblical Wisdom in simplistic secular versus sacred categories. Rather as he says “The fear of the Lord” ... is a pervading value in Israelite wisdom.”[12]

The fact that Wisdom was often generated in the court or royal circles does not suggest its basically secular character for as Eaton says

The connection with the government does not mean that the teachings would be a kind of early Civil Service manual. The ancient point of view was that government in society depended on the divine order that animated all creation. What rulers were desired to learn, first and foremost, was the way of right and true harmony with this cosmic order ...[13]

Eaton also offers a very careful handling of the personified Wisdom material in Proverbs and later early Jewish sources. He is, in my judgment quite right not to see this material as early evidence for goddess worship, or the suppression of the same in early Israel, but rather “This Wisdom, then is the Creator’s thought, plan and skill which gives form and order in the universe.”[14] It is then a personification of an attribute or even an activity of God. The personification is feminine no doubt in part because of the form of the word hoktnah, but also perhaps in part because male sages in a patriarchal culture would often personify something beautiful and winsome by drawing on the images, ideas, and ideals they associated with the human female. Proverbs 31, which may well be about Woman Wisdom, is perhaps a paramount example of this sort of approach. Personification is a means of making something which is in itself rather abstract more concrete and approachable or personal. It is very doubtful that the sages were trying to argue for “a feminine dimension” to God by using such language. The goal was to say something about God’s Wisdom and its character, not about God per se. In short the Woman Wisdom personification was not an attempt at theologizing, but rather of personalizing an otherwise abstract activity or attribute of God.

Eaton also rightly, in my judgment, points out another plausible reason for the personification of Wisdom. The sages wanted their disciples to have a personal, indeed intimate, relationship with Wisdom. They wished for their followers to be ravished by and in awe of the grand design and order that God had and implanted in creation.[15]

Eaton is also right to stress that in Biblical Wisdom the call to contemplation or meditation on Wisdom was not seen as antithetical to the call to action. Indeed the word often translated “meditate” in a Wisdom or Torah psalm like Ps. 119, sih, indicates a vocal activity, a recitation, not merely a silent reflection upon something and in Ps. 1 the word haga, also translated meditating has as its basic meaning the making of a murmuring sound.[16] In the Biblical world of the sages even contemplation involved a doing. Furthermore, the call to contemplation was not seen as an end in itself, but often as the right and wise preparation for action. This means that in the Biblical tradition the aim or function of contemplation is often somewhat different than is the case in far eastern wisdom, where withdrawal from the world into inner self and inner peace is often a major function of contemplation.

The Biblical sages believed that the ultimate source of peace and Wisdom lay outside the individual and could be gotten at by reflection on the created and creaturely world and finally on the Divine Being beyond one’s own being. While it may be true in some far eastern wisdom that “Beyond discursive reasoning, one contemplates till the gap disappears; one dies to self, becoming one with what is contemplated, and so with universal reality,”[17] this is at most only partially true of what the Biblical sages saw as happening in contemplation. Communion one could have with God, a real spiritual bond, but the creator-creature distinction could never be finally dissolved in any system of thought in which the deep awe and reverence for the Divine Other was an essential trait.

It is also notable that in Biblical Wisdom, apart perhaps from some portions of Ecclesiastes, history is not trivialized by urging mere resignation to whatever happens.[18] To the contrary, the sages offer up different courses of actions which can lead to different outcomes — vindication or punishment, long life or a short miserable existence, much trouble or peace of mind. Though there were obvious exceptions to such generalizations, as Job makes painfully clear, nonetheless under certain normal conditions there was truth in what the Biblical sages urged. They were not for the most part fatalists in the way they viewed human life. To the contrary they thought different courses of action normally led to different consequences precisely because there was a moral structure to reality.

Finally, Eaton is right in not hastily dismissing the possibility that at least some of the Biblical sages were groping toward a positive view of the afterlife, beyond the usual “Sheol is the land of the dead” sort of thinking. Indeed as he points out one might well expect such a development precisely because in Egyptian wisdom material there is evidence of such a view of the afterlife. If Israel borrowed from the treasures of Egyptian wisdom, and it did, it should not be surprising to find the first signs of a groping toward a similar view of the afterlife as well.[19]

One may be grateful for Eaton’s fine and well-written effort to force us to think again about Biblical wisdom in the context of international wisdom literature. Even if one may disagree with some of the conclusions to which Eaton sees this project as leading, nonetheless he is raising many of the right sort of questions, offering balanced judgments, and in the end forcing the reader once again to wrestle with the larger issues of the dialectic between context and content in the study of Biblical Wisdom Literature.

II. Logos Logic

On first blush it might seem that an investigation of the theologies of K. Rahner and N. Pittenger would not prove very fertile ground for a discussion of the modern faces of Wisdom, or to put it another way the influence of Biblical wisdom material on modern theologizing. Apart from some adaptation of the concept of Logos Christology as it is found in Jn. 1 and in the teachings of some of its subsequent exponents like Justin Martyr, there is very little conscious reflection on the sages or wisdom traditions in the works of these two scholars. Yet L. Lefebure has unearthed some interesting data to show how the influence of a Wisdom sort of approach to life has affected these thinkers and it will bear further scrutiny.

After a cursory presentation of some major aspects of the Wisdom literature, drawing selectively on some of the scholarly discussion, Lefebure launches into a full scale study of first Rahner then Pittenger in two Chapters which make up the real heart and bulk of this book. His motivation for examining the Wisdom material is that he believes it has great relevance for current discussions on a host of theological issues, particularly the matter of Christology. He remarks “It is my contention that the understanding of Jesus Christ as the incarnation of Lady Wisdom can offer a basis for expressing his significance for Christians today.”[20]

His motivation for choosing these two influential Catholic theologians for his study is apparently because Lefebure finds them intriguing and they are two notable figures in his own faith tradition. In point of fact a host of other theologians even just among Catholic theologians might have been chosen who more directly and extensively draw on the Biblical Wisdom corpus of literature (e.g. E. Schillibeeckx, H. Kung, R. Schnackenburg). Nonetheless, Lefebure does unearth some interesting data from the writings of Rahner and Pittenger.

There are certain fundamental assumptions that undergird Lefebure’s work, for some of which he seems especially indebted to Rahner. For instance, there is repeated evidence of Lefebure’s commitment to religious pluralism, relativism, and universalism. This leads Lefebure to interpret a crucial text like Proverbs 8:22 to mean that God acquired Wisdom, following B. Vawter,[21] rather than that God possessed or created Wisdom,[22] to avoid subordinating Hokmah totally to Yahweh. Lefebure goes to some lengths to avoid the particularistic emphases of various Biblical Wisdom texts.

This agenda also leads Lefebure to understand Jn. 1 to mean that Jesus is the incarnation of Woman Wisdom, a general ordering principle revealed previously in all of creation and ultimately in all religions. Jesus on Lefebure’s view is not the Logos per se but only perhaps the clearest or highest manifestation of the Logos/Woman Wisdom. Consider for example the following argument of Lefebure:

Jesus as the epiphany of the Logos can transform human lives precisely by being the effective presence of the creative, revelatory, and salvific power of the cosmos. If the Logos who is incarnate in Jesus is also present throughout all of history offering life and light to humans, then we do not have a “moralism” based simply on human efforts ... On the basis of a Logos Christology, both Rahner and Pittenger will challenge Bultmann’s restriction of the area of grace to the historical proclamation of the Gospel; both will insist that the availability of salvation outside of an encounter with Jesus or the Christian Church in no way implies a Pelagian reliance on the sufficiency of human efforts alone.[23]

The last sentence of this quote is especially telling. Lefebure is at least in part attracted to Pittenger and Rahner because of their arguments against historical particularity in regard to the matter of salvation. It is striking how Lefebure wants to talk about the Logos who is incarnate in Jesus, rather than as Jesus. Further, one may also note here and throughout Lefebure’s analysis of Rahner and Pittenger the deliberate blurring of the distinction between a doctrine of creation and redemption, such that it is assumed that the natural theology one can deduce from examining creation or general human experiences, both religious and otherwise, can in itself be saving.

Missing from this whole discussion is the repeated NT emphasis on active faith in Jesus Christ as the means of salvation for the world, and the impetus for the missionary orientation of early Christianity. Likewise missing is the Pauline assumption encapsulated in Rom. 1 that not only have all sinned and fallen short of the glory of God, but that Gentiles outside of Christ, though they have had revealed to them the reality and power of God in creation, have exchanged the truth about God for various forms of idolatry and false religion.[24]

Instead Lefebure, following the lead especially of Pittenger, but also of Rahner, wishes to speak of “anonymous Christians,” by which is meant people who are saved in other faith traditions with no conscious faith in or affirmation of Jesus as Saviour.[25] Again this argument is ultimately grounded in the assumption that Jesus is but a, even if the most perfect, revelation of the Logos of God.

In many ways it is ironic that Lefebure, or for that matter Rahner, should choose Johannine Christology as the starting point for a wisdom theology of universalism, for it is precisely in this Gospel where one hears most strongly and clearly “I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life; no one comes to the Father except by me.” (Jn. 14:6). Not only is Lefebure’s exposition of John 1 not consonant with Johannine theology elsewhere in this Gospel, it is also not the most plausible reading of Jn. 1, either as a pre-Johannine hymn fragment, or as it is used in the Fourth Gospel.

In Jn. 1, the sort of universalism Lefebure is interested in championing is clearly not the thrust of that particular passage. It is Jesus as the Logos, not the Logos in Jesus that is seen as the universal saviour in Jn. 1, and this sets the tone for what follows in this Gospel. The point of the passage is to say that the Logos, who took on a human nature, and thus became Jesus, was and is God. This Logos pre-existed as God though the Logos was not the exhaustive representation of the deity.

The Logos is seen in this early Christian hymn as a pre-existent divine being, not merely a personification of the attributes of God and/or God’s creation. The point of the passage is to argue for a certain sort of particularism, not a primus inter partes state of affairs.[26]

Furthermore, it would be skewing the whole drift of the Biblical trajectory of Wisdom to argue from the Wisdom corpus for a sort of universalism. If anything, the Biblical Wisdom material became more particularistic as time went on, as is shown not only in the works of Ben Sira or the Wisdom of Solomon but especially in the NT attempt to make Jesus “the Wisdom of God” climaxing with Jn. 1. Yet even in the earliest layers of aphoristic Wisdom in Proverbs there is already seen the evidence of a stress on a particular God, Yahweh, and that that God’s resources and instructions are in essence the alpha and omega of Wisdom.

My point is that this sort of Wisdom approach not only does not do justice to NT passages dealing with Wisdom, but it is also very doubtful that it does justice to the OT and Intertestamental Wisdom corpus either. There is a significant misreading of the Biblical data when Lefebure, quoting J. D. Levenson, wishes to maintain that

In all likelihood the Wisdom teachers considered the gods of the gentiles, or at least of the sagacious and ethical gentiles as not different in kind from YHWH, the God of Israel. Perhaps they thought the different gods were really only different names for the one all-pervasive reality, which can be intuited in general human experience.[27]

In light of the evidence carefully reviewed in my book Jesus the Sage, this judgment can only be seen as modern wishful thinking, anachronistically projected back on the early Jewish sages. These sages were in fact, to a very significant degree, upholders of the particularistic Israelite religion of their day, and they used international wisdom material in the service of that agenda. Even in Ecclesiastes and Job, despite heavy criticism of false assumptions about life that certain sorts of Wisdom teaching had generated, one does not leave the context of an essentially Yahwistic faith.

Yet another underlying assumption of Lefebure’s work is that the sages neglected, minimized, or even in some cases rejected the claims of special revelation in an Israelite context, in favor of the scrutiny of human and natural experience as the proper guides for behaviour and faith. Lefebure also seems to argue that the sages believed that special revelation came to Israel mainly if not only in the form of Woman Wisdom, perhaps in creation, but also in the sage’s instructions.

To draw such a conclusion neglects a crucial factor — even within the earliest collections of Biblical Wisdom material there is evidence that the sages did not see themselves as offering an alternative world view to that of the legal, prophetic, and historical traditions of Israel. Their concern was to speak about ordinary recurring human experiences, as an additional source of guidance to the other sacred traditions. This seems to come to light in a saying like Prov. 29:18 where we read “Where there is no prophecy/vision the people cast off restraint, but happy are those who keep the torah.” D. Kidner has argued that the law, the prophets, and the Wisdom traditions overlap here. Certainly there is no sense here, or elsewhere in Proverbs that they are seen as competitors.[28] If the the Law is not in focus in this saying (Torah may well mean simply “instruction” here) the saying may well be suggesting that Wisdom instruction is offered when there is no current revelation/prophecy/vision to guide the people at the moment.

To suggest that the Wisdom tradition provides resources for those who wish to reject the claims of special revelation, and put in its place reasoned reflection on current experience is surely to try and appropriate this literature in a way that the Biblical sages would have rejected. They were not simply trying to teach that people must “recognize the complexity and ambiguity of human experience and to discern for themselves what stance is more helpful at any given time.”[29] They were also imparting a body of instructions, many of which they saw as clear and immutable directives regardless of one’s circumstances. In particular teachings about reverencing Yahweh, and listening to such authority figures as parents, kings, and sages appear in Proverbs over and over again. There is a delicate balance in this literature between an encouragement of individual discernment and an affirmation of the necessity of hearing and heeding various sorts of wisdom traditions and wise people. Furthemore, as has been pointed out repeatedly, from at least the time of Ben Sira on, there is a strong stress on revelatory Wisdom, Wisdom that comes to the sage by means of divine inspiration. It may even be that the Woman Wisdom figure in Proverbs reflects the first tenative steps in this direction already.[30]

At many points Lefebure’s analysis of Rahner and Pittenger is telling. He is especially on target when he critiques both of these Catholic theologians for their failure to articulate the political dimension of Biblical teaching, and in particular their failure to appropriate the material found even in the Wisdom corpus that demands justice and equity from rulers, judges, and individual believers as well. Though the sages were no revolutionaries, they were nonetheless critical, sometimes severely so, of various unjust aspects of the status quo in Israel. That their criticisms are part of an in house discussion, may well have made it more telling for it is likely that a good portion of the OT Wisdom material arose from royal circles, perhaps even from the King’s counselors as the sayings found in Prov. 25:2ff. would lead one to suspect.

Lefebure has done a fine job of highlighting the political implications of the Wisdom literature.[31] He is right to urge that “while the sages did not envision the transformation of the political and economic structures of their society, their repeated demands for justice contained principles for the criticism of political structures of society.”[32]

Lefebure also is most helpful in pointing out the internal weaknesses and inconsistencies of Rahner’s arguments for the definitive and normative character of the revelation of God in Jesus Christ as a religion meant for all people on the one hand, and his arguments that God intends for salvation to reach people in their own various religious contexts and traditions.[33] This seems to be a case of having one’s cake and eating it too.

A further major contribution of Lefebure’s study is both his telling analysis of the influence of A.N. Whitehead on theologians like N. Pittenger, but also his illuminating discussion of how process theology provides a certain substratum or basis for modern feminist theology, including Sophia theology as well. He maintains that “what unites Whitehead and feminist thought is ‘the emphasis in both on experience as a process of becoming in which entities are engaged in self-creation.’“[34]

The way this appropriation is played out is made clear in the works of feminist scholars like M. Thie, M. Suchocki, S. G. Davaney, and P. Washburn to mention but a few. What is seen as especially crucial about process theology is its rejection of the idea that there are certain eternally given unchanging and authoritative teachings, traditions, or truths by which believers must always be bound. Rather some feminists and process thinkers share in common a “dedication to process rather than stasis, to egalitarian structures of social order rather than monarchial ones, an openness to the future a critique of concepts of absolute power and authority, a new view of interrelationships.”[35]

Lefebure argues that the way that Wisdom material is used in this sort of feminist context is that

The wisdom tradition’s use of experience as a critical principle of evaluation offers a precedent for contemporary critical feminist reflection upon the Bible. Fiorenza argues that the criterion for feminist Biblical interpretation “is not a revealed principle or a special canon of texts that can claim divine authority. Rather it is the experience of women struggling for liberation and wholeness.”[36]

Yet Lefebure is quite right to point out that this hardly does full justice to the Wisdom tradition. While “Fiorenza’s use of experience as a critical counterbalance to the received tradition finds precedent in the sages, ... the sages themselves would probably not acknowledge a sharp dichotomy between reflection on experience and claims of revelation ... Moreover the later wisdom tradition did acknowledge a genuine divine revelation in the events of the history of Israel.”[37] It is doubtful that even the earliest Jewish sages doubted or disputed such a view. Indeed, it is highly unlikely that sages especially in the royal court would have been likely to reject or dispute the sacred historical traditions which provided the very basis for the Israelite monarchy.[38]

Students of Biblical Wisdom material will find a good deal of very stimulating discussion on Wisdom, and its uses in the modern era, especially in the final Chapter of Lefebure’s study. Especially his discussion of the Feminist appropriation of both Pittenger (and Whitehead, and Cobb) and the Wisdom literature is enlightening and it prepares for the analysis of a fullscale treatment of Sophia/Hokmah by three feminist scholars, to which I intend to turn in the final section of this Chapter. As a parting comment on Lefebure’s study however, one may well question whether the modern attempt to appropriate the Biblical Wisdom tradition in the service of modern agendas of religious pluralism, relativism, and universalism in fact does justice to those traditions.

Indeed it often seems to be a matter of defacing and distorting rather than faithfully re-presenting the true face of the Biblical Wisdom traditions. In the end, even the Logos ideas as they are enunciated in Jn. 1 do not seem to support the logic of these sorts of arguments.

III. Hagia Sophia?

Certainly the most controversial of the three books being examined in this final Chapter of our study is Wisdom’s Feast, which is a 1989 revision and expansion of the 1986 book by the same writers entitled Sophia: The Future of Feminist Spirituality.[39] Like its predecessor this book, though written primarily for the educated lay person, intends not only to draw on the fruits of the scholarly debate about certain portions of the Biblical Wisdom corpus but to take the next step of appropriating some Wisdom material for the Church in the service of promoting a certain kind of feminist spirituality, in particular Sophia spirituality. Not surprisingly then, over half the book is devoted to presenting sermons, Bible studies, liturgies, poems, and songs that use and promote that sort of appropriation of Wisdom. The primary concern here will be to engage the book at the level of whether or not the use being made of Biblical Wisdom material in Wisdom’s Feast is consonant with its original meanings, purposes, and trajectories. In short, is this book based on a sound exegetical and theological understanding of the Biblical data or does it amount to a misappropriation of this data?

The authors of Wisdom’s Feast make clear that they are particularly indebted to scholars who may fairly be said to represent a vocal radical minority in the scholarly community’s discussion of Wisdom literature. In particular this work relies heavily on various works of Burton Mack, including Logos und Sophia: Untersuchungen zur Weisheitstheologie in hellenistische Judentum, and his later study Wisdom and the Hebrew Epic.[40] It also draws from J. C. Engelsman’s The Feminine Dimension of the Divine[41] as well as various of E. Schussler Fiorenza’s important works, especially In Memory of Her.[42] Often there seems to be an uncritical reliance on various of these sources without a meaningful interaction with scholars dealing with the same data that come to strikingly different conclusions.

The authors of Wisdom’s Feast make quite clear that there are certain key texts that are relied on to produce a sophiaology — in particular, Proverbs 1:20–33; 3–18; 4:5–9; 8:1–36; 9:1–6; Wisdom of Solomon 6:12–17; 7:7–14; 7:22–30; 8:1–18; 9:9–11; 10:1–21; 11:1–26; Eccles. 1:9–14; 4:12–18; 6:18–31; 14:20–27; 15:1–10; 24:1–29; 51:13–22; Baruch 3:29–38; 4:1–4. From the NT the key texts are the Christological hymns found in Col. 1:15–17, and especially the prologue in Jn. 1; 1 Cor. 1:24–30; 2:6–8; and James 3:13-17. In addition to the use of these texts the authors also insert the name Sophia in place of Jesus in various Gospel texts (e.g. Jn. 13:1-20; Lk. 5:1–11).

It will be seen from the list of texts mentioned above, that a good deal of sophiaology is either based on texts that are for Protestants and Jews extra-canonical and for Catholics deutero-canonical, or is based on texts which do not directly mention a persona or personification called Wisdom/Hokmah/Sophia. For example, in James 3:13-18, there does not seem to be any attempt to portray Wisdom as a personal figure or personification, much less a goddess.

In addition to the canonical and extra-canonical resources listed above there is also a reliance on the Gnostic Gospel of Thomas, in particular Logion 77 which reads in part “Cleave a piece of wood, and I am there. Lift up the stone, and you will find me there.”[43] This text seems to be crucial for the authors for throughout they wish to insist that Sophia is a divine presence that suffuses all things. In short they either assume or urge throughout this work a pantheistic, or panentheistic view of deity. This concept is frequently conveyed by means of a key term like “connectedness” or by the phrase “the web (or fibers) of life.” There is no attempt at critical reflection on whether the Gnostic material, or a panentheistic view of God, might or might not be consonant with a Biblical view of God and Wisdom.[44]

One of the most fundamental assumptions and assertions in this work is that “Sophia is a real biblical person ... a female goddess-like figure appearing clearly in the scriptures of the Hebrew tradition and less directly in the Christian Gospels and Epistles.”[45] Though at times the authors seem to affirm they are speaking about the development of a literary figure Wisdom, or another way of naming the Biblical God elsewhere known as Yahweh or the Father, more often the claim quoted above is made, leaving the impression they believe they are talking about a real and second deity. The issue becomes further confused when the NT data is used and Jesus is either seen as Sophia (called Jesus-Sophia), or in some case the name Jesus is arbitrarily replaced by the name Sophia in various texts. Too often the Biblical data’s historical context and content does not receive the careful attention and respect it deserves, but rather the Biblical sources are used as a quarry from which certain gems can be garnered to bolster the larger agenda of promoting panentheistic sophiaology.

Though I have dealt with the issue in some detail in Jesus the Sage,[46] it is well if I ask again the question — Is the portrait of Lady Wisdom as painted in texts like Prov. 8 intended to represent a “real person” or is it rather a personification of an attribute of God or perhaps God’s creation, or both? In the first place one must note that various texts in Proverbs use different Hebrew forms for the word Wisdom. For instance, in Proverbs 1:20 the feminine plural noun hokmot is used and this is followed by feminine singular verb forms. This may be because here there is what has been called an “abstract plural” (like the word kindness).[47] As OT scholar Kathleen Farmer says “Since the Hebrew plural is often used to indicate an abstract concept, we might conclude from her name that this figure represents all wisdom wrapped into one symbolic character.”[48] Using the sort of logic found in Wisdom’s Feast however one would think that the reader would be obliged to think of several deities (due to the plural noun here), and because of the gender of the word, female ones.

In Proverbs 8:1 there is the noun hokmah, feminine singular in form followed by feminine singular verb forms. Yet it seems that the author of Proverbs is talking about the same thing in both Proverbs 1 and 8, despite the variety of forms. This should caution us against making too much out of either the form or gender of nouns in a language in which all such substantives have variable genderized forms.

In fact, there is no likelihood at all that the Biblical writers were talking about a goddess, for various other key words in Proverbs are used as synonyms for hokmah, and no one is arguing for a deity called “Torah” (Instruction) or “Binah” (Understanding). Nor presumably would one wish to insist that Dame Folly was a “real person” much less a goddess simply because the technique of personification is used. In Prov. 1:20–33, 8 and 9, Wisdom and Folly are spoken of as comparable though opposite figures that one should alternately follow or flee from. This is why it is that it is both right and reasonable to conclude as K. Farmer does that “In these units both wisdom and folly are personified; they are pictured as if they were women engaging in human forms of activity.”[49] In short what one says about one of these figures one must also say of the other for they are both spoken of using the same sort of grammar of discourse.

It is also critical to point out that while it seems likely to be true that the author of Proverbs 8 may be drawing on some of the Egyptian material that describes Ma’at in similar terms, it is not sufficient to note such parallels and then assume that because Ma’at is treated as a real deity in the Egyptian sources that the author of Proverbs 8 must be making the same ontological assumptions about Wisdom. The crucial question is how the author uses such borrowed data, and on that score the evidence is not at all favorable to the conclusion that the author reflected or intended to foster or even was trying to suppress the worship of a real deity called Hokmah.

It is frankly surprising considering the main agenda of the book, when we find it admitted near the conclusion of Wisdom’s Feast that “in Jewish-Hellenism, Sophia was incorporated into the tradition in a way that preserved Jewish monotheism and resisted divine dimorphism — the myth of the divine couple. .. “[50] This is as much as to concede that the Biblical data does not encourage goddess worship, not even under the name of Hokmah.[51]

One of the favorite texts often quoted in Wisdom’s Feast to support the books agenda is 1 Cor. 1:30. This text however is talking about what Christ was made by God for believers by means of his death and resurrection.[52] The intent is to say something about what Christ became for believers, not to offer reflections on the gender of God and certainly not to encourage goddess Sophia worship. The Paul who wrote 1 Cor. 1:30 is also the Paul who wrote 1 Cor. 8:6, affirming a Christian adaptation of traditional Jewish monotheism.

In 1 Cor 2:7 there is not even a personification of wisdom. Rather there wisdom is said to be something which God decreed before the ages. In the immediately preceeding verse Paul has indicated that this sophia from God is something that may be contrasted with human sophia. As 2:10 makes clear it is something one receives by means of revelation through the Holy Spirit. Even more strikingly in 2:10 Paul says that what the Spirit is revealing is ta bathe tou theou, which is then called in 2:11 ta tou anthropou, which the JB rightly translates “the qualities of anyone.” The context makes clear that an attribute or quality is being discussed. It is not a “divine figure, a mythological person of feminine gender” being discussed here or elsewhere in Paul’s letters.[53]

That Jesus is exalted as the embodiment of God’s wisdom in various places in the NT, in particular in the Christological hymns, few scholars would care to dispute. As I have traced the trajectory of Wisdom in the Bible, it appears that the focus became more and more particular, until the focus is on one particular human being — Jesus. The Wisdom language is used to add lustre to or to exalt him. It is attempting to say that all of God’s Wisdom ultimately points to and is truly embodied in Jesus. The author’s of Wisdom’s Feast as well as other advocates of sophiaology seek to reverse this trajectory by arguing as follows: “Since the early portraits of Jesus, including those in the New Testament, made such extensive use of Sophia’s characteristics, it is both justified and in the spirit of that process to put Sophia into the now much more familiar Jesus stories as well.”[54] This assumes that Jesus points to, or is a mere manifestation of Sophia, not the reverse.

This is surely to miss the point of the pre-existence language not only in Jn. 1, but also for instance in Col. 1 and Phil. 2 as well. In those hymns it is the Son of God who pre-exists and is God’s Wisdom, and he continues to embody that wisdom once he takes on a human nature and becomes Jesus. What once was seen as a personified attribute in the OT is now seen as a real divine person — the Son of God, who takes on a human nature, and reveals divine Wisdom in person on earth.

At some point the advocates of sophiaology will also have to come to grips with the fact that if one inserts Sophia into various Gospel texts, one is in fact making the rather Gnostic or docetic move of denying the essential humanity and historical character of Jesus. This is certainly to violate the intent and spirit of the Gospel texts, as well as their historical givenness.

There are various tensions or even contradictions to be found in Wisdom’s Feast if one looks hard enough. On the one hand one is told “to encounter Sophia is to encounter the divine as female”[55] but on the other hand one hears “We do not really mean that God is male when we use masculine pronouns and imagery, and we do not really mean that God is female when we use feminine pronouns and imagery.”[56] This latter quote is certainly nearer the mark than the former and it properly raises the issue of God language, to which I now turn briefly before concluding.

The authors of Wisdom’s Feast may be commended for being one, among now a chorus of many who properly force one to rethink the issue of God language. If the Church wishes to continue to see the Bible as providing a normative guide for the way that it is to speak about God, it must continue to do much more serious reflecting on many matters.

Firstly, the Church must consider meaningfully the issue of whether it is true that all language about God is analogical and/or metaphorical. It is clear enough for instance when a Biblical writer says that Yahweh is like a warrior fighting for Israel that an analogy is being drawn. This means that there will be a, or some point(s) of contact between the two things being compared but in other respects they are quite different. Analogies or similes are not straight forward identity statements. One must also bear in mind that Wisdom speech is almost always metaphorical and analogical in character.

Often such analogies, similes, or metaphors are intending to speak about either an activity or an attribute of God without making ontological much less gender claims. C. Westermann’s helpful study[57] The Parables of Jesus in Light of the OT shows just how often such comparisons are made in the Bible, and how in a vast majority of cases it is an event or activity in one sphere that is being compared to an event or activity in another. Whether activity or attribute is in focus, the use of feminine or masculine imagery of God in the Bible to speak of these things does not in the final analysis either raise or settle the issue of what sort of gender language ought to be predicated of God as a being. Even in the case of an important text like Is. 49:15, it is clear from the context that God is not being called a woman, but rather God’s attachment to and pity for God’s people is said to be analagous to the attachment and compassion of a mother for her breast-feeding baby. Such language tells us a lot about how God relates to humankind, but it gives very little guidance on the question of whether God ought to be named or addressed using male or female language.[58]

It is one thing to say God has certain attributes or performs certain activities, it is quite another to say God is such attributes or activities. In short what is predicated of the part is not necessarily predicated of the whole. This means that the predication of feminine or masculine attributes or activities to God does not in itself provide any warrant for calling God as a being by certain sorts of female or male names.

In the God language debate a great deal more attention needs to be paid to the issues of the names, not merely the attributes of God. While it may be contended that even names are metaphorical to some extent, it is not, clear that this is completely the case. For instance, it is one thing to say that in some respects God is like a father, it is another thing to call God Father, and make that an identity statement.

In the Semitic tradition so often names are not mere labels but rather connote something about one’s very nature or character. Thus, it would be very surprising indeed if this were not so in many cases in the Bible when God is named. What Yahweh, for instance connotes, if it is indeed a short form of ehyeh asher ehyeh, however is probably not something about God’s gender, but probably that God reveals God’s character in part through divine future deeds. The fact that God in the Bible is not given a female name (El Shaddai probably not being an exception to this rule) may be very significant. It may say something about how the Biblical writers really viewed the very being of God.

On the other hand, it can and has been argued that the use of male language of God simply reflects the great condescension of the one true God revealing the divine character in a thoroughly patriarchal setting. The real problem with that sort of argument is that all or almost all of the surrounding cultures in the ancient near east were strongly patriarchal in character and yet many of them called deities by female names. Israelite religion, and for that matter Christianity, stands out from many of its contemporary religious competitors in this regard in that they do not give God female names, while nonetheless using female imagery to speak of the actions or attributes of God (cf. e.g. Jn. 3:3, 5–7; Dt. 32:18). I doubt that this is because early Judaism and early Christianity were simply the most androcentric religions of this period of antiquity. Some other explanation needs to be provided to adequately explain this datum. One needs to ask what was it about the experience of the Biblical God shared by both women and men in the Biblical era that led to this remarkable phenomenon? This question deserves far more attention than it is usually given, perhaps because the assertion “all language about God is metaphorical or analogical” is taken without proof as an indisputable truth.

For the Christian person who takes the NT as providing at least a pattern if not a mandate for the way God should be addressed, doubtless the calling of God Father will continue, not least because it appears likely that this is indeed the way not only Jesus addressed God (as abba) but also the way he taught his disciples to address God.[59] Yet it must be remembered that the term Father is a relational term. That is, a person is a father only in relationship to his children. One must then ask the question, does relational language say only something about how God acts towards us, or does it also say something about how God is? When speaking of God as an eternal being existing before the creation of the world and before the existence of human beings, would it be appropriate for us to call the deity Father, when God at that point had no human children? It would seem not, and if this is the case then our use of the term Father says something about God’s role or what God became once there were humans, not what God is in God’s divine being.[60]

Marianne Meye Thompson has recently put the matter very well: “By speaking of God as Father, we do not mean that God marries, procreates, or is ontologically male. In fact no responsible theologian would argue (or ever has argued) that God is in essence and being male. God is without gender, for gender belongs to physical bodies.”[61]

This brings us back to the original quote above from Wisdom’s Feast about God being neither male nor female. It seems appropriate to distinguish between the roles God assumes in relationship to us, and God’s gender. The Bible does not seem to insist that God has a gender, much less a male gender. In short the Bible is not lobbying for a male, female, or androgenous deity. R. R. Ruether is also right to warn “We should guard against concepts of divine androgyny that simply ratify on the divine level the patriarchal split of the masculine and feminine. In such a concept, the feminine side of God, as a secondary or mediating principle would act in the same subordinate and limited roles in which females are allowed to act in the patriarchal order.”[62] This criticism certainly must be applied to Sophiaology since Wisdom is clearly seen as subordinant to and dependent on Yahweh in so many ways in the OT.[63]

It would appear then that Jesus’ use of the abba language intended to convey to us that God relates to us like a loving Father would, and that that relationship is a very intimate and positive one. It may of course be objected that for people who have been abused by their human fathers it becomes very difficult to relate to God using the language of father. Indeed it has also been argued that since a patriarchal culture is inherently repressive and abusive of women that one ought to eschew using male language of God for this reason as well. These sorts of cries of hurt and abused individuals must be taken very seriously and treated with great care and sensitivity.

The question I would want to raise is about the appropriateness of doing our theology, or creating our God language primarily in reaction against certain abuses or misuses of the predominant language used of God. For example, if the shoe was on the other foot, and a person had been abused by his or her mother, would one also want to argue that one should avoid calling God mother or “she” for this reason? This strikes me as an argument that fails to take note of the time honored dictum Abusus non tollit usum. The abuse of something does not rule out its proper use. Thus while it is no doubt true that sometimes male God language has been used in abusive ways, ways that suggested that women are somehow less in the image of God than men, the real question is whether this is always necessarily the case. One will also want to ask should the example of a bad and abusive father dictate to us how a person should or should not talk about God? The answer to this must surely be no, since there are both positive and negative images possible of fathers and mothers. There are both good and bad fathers and mothers and when such language is predicated of God it is understood to mean that God relates to us as the best of all possible parents.

Yet lest one try to circumvent the problems that gender language causes when applied to God by dropping all gender language of God, it must also be urged that the use of gender language of God is important, not least because God as the Bible presents the deity is not merely a force, or a process, but a personal being. To call God merely a parent, rather than say a father, is in the end to de-personalize God. Gender language is perhaps the most personal way one has to describe a being, including God. A human being does not have some sort of neutral core of his or her identity called personhood that is entirely separate from his or her sexual make-up. Gender says something essential about who a person really is, as does one’s gender specific roles. It is probable that the Biblical writers thought that by using such language they also were saying something essential about God’s character, without wishing to assert God is either a female or a male being. Working carefully and prayerfully through these sorts of issues is crucial for the future of the Church as it ministers to both women and men. One can only hope that in the ongoing discussion of God-language, Wisdom will inform all the decisions made. It is also my hope that all of the Biblical images and names for God will be used in the Church, and in this way at least a less monolithically androcentric picture of God will be conveyed.

In this essay we examined three different faces that Wisdom seems to be taking in our era. We have attempted to critique them in regard to whether they faithfully represent or mis-represent the views and trajectory of the Biblical Wisdom corpus. No doubt the sages would all have been pleased that the struggle to find a wise approach to life still continues in the midst of a chaotic world, even if they may have disagreed with many of the ways the Biblical wisdom material is now being appropriated.

Notes

  1. Jesus the Sage and the Pilgrimage of Wisdom (Minneapolis: Fortress 1994).
  2. I am well aware that the latter of these three works is not a scholarly but rather a popular work, but is shows how a certain way of thinking about Wisdom matters can develop.
  3. Cf. the discussion in the first chapter of Jesus the Sage.
  4. Eaton Contemplative Face, 21.
  5. Eaton Contemplative, p. 142.
  6. Eaton Contemplative, p. 4.
  7. G. Von Rad Wisdom in Israel (Nashville: Abingdon, 1988 rpr.), p. 62.
  8. Tao Te Ching 19. Cf. Eaton Contemplative, p. 66. The following saying he quotes about the necessity of reaching a state of inactivity, by unlearning all one has learned, also hardly sounds like something a Biblical sage might urge.
  9. G.K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy (Garden City: Image Books, 1959), pp. 128-9.
  10. Chesterton Orthodoxy, pp. 130-32.
  11. cf. Vod Rad Wisdom in Israel, passim.
  12. Eaton Contemplative, p. 89.
  13. Eaton Contemplative, p. 4.
  14. Eaton Contemplative, p. 86.
  15. Cf. Eaton Contemplative, p. 87.
  16. So Eaton Contemplative, pp. 101-03.
  17. Eaton Contemplative, p. 40.
  18. Contrast the quote by Eaton Contemplative, p. 61 from the Chinese sages — “Resign yourself to the sequence of things ...”
  19. Eaton Contemplative, p. 116.
  20. Lefebure toward, p. xiv.
  21. Cf. chap, one of Jesus the Sage for a detailed discussion of this issue.
  22. Cf. Lefebure Toward, pp. 12-13. This has far reaching implications for the way this author treats the Wisdom tradition.
  23. Lefebure Toward, pp. 50-51.
  24. Cf. pp. above.
  25. Cf. Lefebure Toward, pp. 246ff.
  26. Cf. above pp.
  27. This quote comes from Levenson’s The Universal Horizon of Jewish Particularism (N.Y.: The American Jewish Committee, 1985), p. 6. Cf. Lefebure’s discussion Toward, p. 242.
  28. Cf. D. Kidner The Wisdom of Proverbs, Job, & Ecclesiastes (Downer’s Grove: InterVarsity Press, 1985), pp. 175-76.
  29. Footnote missing in print version.
  30. Cf. pp 102–103 above.
  31. Cf. Lefebure Toward, pp. 200ff.
  32. Lefebure Toward, p. 209.
  33. Lefebure Toward, p. 248.
  34. Lefebure Toward, pp. 238-9.
  35. P. Washburn “The Dynamics of Female Experience: Process Models and Human Values,” in Feminism and Process Thought (N.Y.: E. Mellen Press, 1981), p. 87.
  36. Lefebure Toward, p. 225–6.
  37. Lefebure Toward, p. 226.
  38. Cf. Chap. 8 of Jesus the Sage.
  39. For an interesting discussion of the effect this book is having on the Protestant Church, in particular United Methodists (two of the authors, Cady and Taussig are Methodist ministers) cf. L. Haferd “Some pray to Sophia: United Methodists divided on worship of female” The Akron Beacon Journal, Sat. Sept. 1, 1990, pp. B1 and B4.
  40. The former work was published by Vandenhoeck and Ruprecht in 1973; the latter by the University of Chicago Press in 1985.
  41. Philadelphia: Westminster, 1979.
  42. Subtitled A Feminist Theological Reconstruction of Christian Origins, N.Y. Crossroads, 1984.
  43. Used on pp. 136-7 of Wisdom’s Feast.
  44. The authors cite, but do not meaningfully interact with the helpful work by D. Good Reconstructing the Tradition of Sophia in Gnostic Literature (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1987). Crucial here is the appropriation of texts life Wis. Sol. 7:22ff. with the assumption the author is talking about deity per se, rather than an aspect or attribute of deity or of God’s creation.
  45. Wisdom’s Feast, p. 10.
  46. Cf. the discussion of Proverbs 8 in Jesus the Sage, Chapter 1.
  47. Cf. K. Farmer Proverbs and Ecclesiastes. Who Knows What is Good? (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1991), p. 51.
  48. Farmer Proverbs, p. 28.
  49. Farmer Proverbs, p. 20.
  50. Wisdom’s Feast, p. 166.
  51. It should be noted that the back cover of the book quotes a review from The Christian Century magazine which says of the earlier book now incorporated into Wisdom’s Feast that it is “a provocative, exciting, exploratory attempt to introduce the goddess into the lives of contemporary women.” This assessment seems to me to be largely correct. This agenda becomes especially clear near to the end of the book where the writers discuss tactics as to how to slip sophialogy in the Church’s worship quietly, suggesting that they know that if it is openly presented it will be seen as contradictory to the essence of Christian faith (cf. pp. 192ff).
  52. Cf. pp. above.
  53. Wisdom’s Feast, p. 162.
  54. Wisdom’s Feast, p. 147.
  55. Wisdom’s Feast, p. 188.
  56. Wisdom’s Feast, p. 163.
  57. I would demur from Westermann’s conclusion that this is always the case — compare his The Parables of Jesus in the Light of the OT (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1990), pp. 150-151. Sometimes surely attributes of God such as God’s hesed are referred to as well as events or actions.
  58. Is. 42:14 is even more clearly an example of a simile where the point of comparison is the activity of groaning not the fact that the analogy is drawn with a woman groaning because of labor pains.
  59. On Jesus’ probable use of abba cf. my The Christology of Jesus (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1990).
  60. One may wish to debate the issue of the eternality of the Son of God, but that is not directly relevant here, for I am discussing what is appropriate language for us as ordinary mortals to use of God and our relationship to the deity. On any showing, the NT insists the Son of God had a very unique relationship to God, which in many respects goes beyond what a normal human relationship to God can be.
  61. “Speaking of God: a Question of God Language” Catalyst 17:3 (1991), pp. 1, 7, 8, here p. 1 and 7.
  62. R. R. Ruether Sexism and God Talk, p. 61.
  63. Cf. the exegesis of Prov. 8 pp. 113-14 above. Even in that text Wisdom is not likely seen as an independent co-creating being.