Theology

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Written by: Dorothy Lee

Created: 01 December 2023

A strong and solid theological education for clergy is vital for the life of the church.

There are those, I know, who would disagree, arguing that skills in preaching, leading liturgy, administering the sacraments and engaging in pastoral care is all that’s required, without adding all that “irrelevant academic stuff.” These skills can be gained in all kinds of ways, surely, that don’t require the cost and sacrifice of three plus years of academic study.

There is more than one response to this argument. In the first place, the training of minds — the academic side — is not an optional extra. Jesus calls us to love God with our whole being, including our minds (Mk 12:29). Our minds need to be trained, focussed, shaped. Anti-intellectualism is dangerous and leads to people who don’t think issues through but who are led by emotions, emotions they don’t necessarily understand. Theological education is not attempting to turn students into formal academics. Instead, it’s opening up worlds that will engage, shape and broaden the mind — and also, therefore, the heart.

Secondly, the purpose of theological education is not primarily to teach skills. Its aim is the formation, and even transformation, of those who believe they have a vocation to holy orders, and other ministries. This formation has a number of crucial elements. It means being formed into a kind of leadership that is profoundly theological and spiritual which begins with the study of the Scriptures. Understanding the Bible is not simply a question of my response to individual passages and how they connect to my life. It’s far bigger than that.

The study of Scripture involves learning at least one biblical language — in most cases, this will be Greek but Hebrew is also encouraged — so that the sacred text can be read in the original languages, with awareness that every translation has its own bias. It means studying the social and religious contexts out of which the texts arise and which enable us to discern meaning for our very different contexts. It involves exploring the different genres of literature that the Bible contains (on a wide spectrum) and the literary ways in which the story or the discourse or the poetry is told, to tell the Bible story in our own diverse environments. It includes developing an awareness of the diversity of Scripture within its overarching unity, enabling it to speak to many different settings and situations today.

Equally important is knowing the development of theology in the historical life and experience of the church. Understanding the ecumenical creeds, for example, enables us to grasp the centrality of affirming God as holy Trinity — Father, Son, and Holy Spirit — and also Christ as both divine and human. Learning the history of these debates in those crucial early centuries, when the church was so often under persecution, is critical for our grasp of the theology. Learning about the Reformations of the sixteenth century helps us to grasp the centrality of grace within the life.

One of the things church history teaches us is how different contexts, cultures and genders bring their own insights to bear on studying Scripture. Our Western context has often ignored the Eastern church which is every bit as old and revered as ours. We’ve also tended to assume whiteness as the norm, when in fact Christians across Africa and Asia vastly outnumber us. We’ve assumed maleness to be another norm, setting aside the insights that women bring to theology and spirituality. Theological education expands our horizons beyond the narrow bounds of Western white male structures and symbolism.

On a somewhat more practical level, theological education gives insight into spirituality, sociology, psychology, missiology and pastoral care. Students need to learn how society functions and how the human mind and emotions work. Theological education unveils the rich veins of Christian spirituality down through the ages. It teaches how mission works — how it has sometimes failed in the past by being associated with colonialism, and how it needs to become contextualised and focussed not only on individual conversion but also on social transformation and care for our endangered environment. It teaches the elements of pastoral care and the theology which should undergird it.

Yes, there are indeed skills to be learned in the process of theological education. But these skills are the outward manifestation of a profound sense of theology, an awareness of where the evangelical centre of our faith lies. That centre is a broad place that incorporates not just the individual but also the community and indeed the whole creation.

In one sense, such learning is a life-long process and not just for the formal years of theological education. Our clergy and ministers need to be aware of the need to continue their own education beyond graduation and ordination. They need to be learners all their lives. The word ‘disciple’ means a student and we never move beyond that role as followers of Jesus Christ. We need always to be open to learn, to discover new ways of understanding the faith, new insights from the Scriptures, new abilities to comprehend the world we live in. The model of Mary of Bethany sitting at the feet of Jesus to learn from him, above all other duties, is a wonderful picture of where the centre lies in discipleship and ministry (Lk 10:38-42).

It's true that life is much more complex now and the old model of ordinands living together for three or four years while they study and pray is no longer viable. The church can’t afford it and ordinands are often married with children and don’t have the same freedoms. We need to think in new and imaginative ways about how that formation can happen, without forsaking academic and theological rigour, and without abandoning the focus on learning together in community.

However we do it, in what shape or form for the future, theological education will remain essential for the vigour and well-being of the church in its God-given tasks of worship and mission.

Dorothy Lee is Stewart Research Professor of New Testament at Trinity College Theological School (Melbourne) with a particular interest in the narrative and structure of the Gospels—especially the Gospel of John—and women’s ministry in the New Testament.

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Written by: Sydney Tooth

Created: 01 December 2023

One day in class a student asked me a question. While that’s standard in any class, this time I wrestled internally with how to reply. I didn’t know the answer, but should I admit that? I’m the lecturer after all. I should know these things. And I’m a woman in an overwhelmingly male profession with overwhelmingly male students. If I admit I don’t know, would that undercut my credibility? Would that justify those who think I shouldn’t be doing this? Should I try and just make something up, see if anyone calls my bluff? After a deep breath, quelling the internal monologue, I simply replied, “I’m sorry. I don’t know, but I’ll see what I can find and come back to you.” I didn’t think much of this exchange (other than fighting my own imposter syndrome) until later a student approached me to thank me for being so honest. This student then shared that thought they shouldn’t ever say “I don’t know” as someone training for ministry as they had never seen someone in church leadership do so. They said seeing someone in my position admit a lack of knowledge was surprising and freeing for them. That experience shocked and saddened me at the time, but I’ve now seen this play out repeatedly among my students. Another time, a student told me they were afraid to test out new ideas or initiatives because there was “the way” things “should” be done and because they weren’t given any permission to try and fail; it had to be a success if they were going to try anything new.

These two interactions highlight what I think are some fundamental problems that theological educators should be pushing back against. One problem I see in the current landscape is a desire to look impressive or to come across as competent and effective in ministry. This plays out in multiple ways, such as popular Christian figures claiming academic credentials they do not actually have or a desire to recruit and influence “the best and brightest.” At the same time, in many of these circles there has been an alarmingly consistent unwillingness to admit when a mistake has been made or to clearly name harm that has been done. We also see this occur where leaders neglect the perspective of those under their care, assuming that they have the “correct understanding” of things. I think those of us involved in Christian ministry and education are often afraid to admit our limitations and weaknesses. One of the most helpful books I’ve read lately is Kelly Kapic’s You’re Only Human. Kapic focuses on the very human quality of finitude and how our nature as limited beings is not a curse or something to be overcome but is instead a gift from God, the only one who is infinite and unlimited. Living out our finitude requires humility—an understanding that we cannot possibly do it all, for we were not designed to do so. It also requires patience and discipline to regard our limits as blessings rather than hindrances and to not be afraid of revealing those limitations to others.

There are challenges here for theological educators and for church leaders alike. Too often theological education can serve to puff up rather than humble. We’ve all encountered the fresh student who overfills their sermon with quotes from Calvin or appeals to “the original language” while communicating little of real pastoral value. One possible antidote to this problem could be encouraging a culture of theological educators who regularly admit their own shortcomings and limitations, thus forming the same practices in their students. I would love to see a greater emphasis across the theological education sector of training students to try new things, with wisdom, and to not be ashamed of failure. I would also love to see more church leaders give themselves and those under their care permission to show weakness.

To enact this vision, we need to ask: What’s the goal of theological education? Perhaps the obvious answer is to be equipped for ministry. There is something utilitarian in this answer, though, as if the only benefit of education is to walk away with a set of strategies and specialist knowledge that can be directly applied. At times, however, theological education does not look particularly useful.

“How will this help me practically in my ministry?” is a fair enough question, but it reveals that we have failed in communicating the real goal of education. Ask most theological educators what they want for their students and I guarantee you’ll hear something along the lines of wanting students to be personally transformed through their time at theological college. Truly valuable theological education grows students’ characters even more than their knowledge. While there are of course skills and information that are important for one’s ministry training, what is most important is letting that knowledge form one’s habits, thoughts, responses, and interactions.

Theological education can be particularly suited to exposing limitations as students grapple with deep and complex theology, battle with the new grammar of ancient languages, and are stretched by pressured deadlines and demanding assessments. The formative impact of intentionally helping students to seriously consider and value their finitude would be significant. It would force one to grow in patience, recognising that learning is a lifelong process and that it’s impossible to have all the answers or to always do the right thing. It would encourage leaders to actively seek out other perspectives and to listen well to those under their care. And, hopefully, it would open the door to a greater willingness to acknowledge our mistakes. The simple sentence, “I was wrong” can make a significant difference in the culture of a church or institution. A setting where mistakes are accepted, real apologies are quickly and sincerely offered, and clear repentance and change is at work is a place that models the power of the gospel.

For myself, I hope among everything important and helpful my students learn they learn how to say, “I don’t know.” I hope they are bold enough to acknowledge, even value, their limits and to model that for their congregants. I hope they are endlessly curious about God and about people, wanting to grow in knowledge in order to love better. I hope when they get something wrong they are clear and honest in their apologies and take active steps to right the wrong. I hope they can bear cheerfully with others’ limits and not expect more of people than is reasonable. Like what is said of Abraham in Hebrews 11:8, I hope they might be courageous enough to obey and go, even when they don’t know exactly where they’re going or how things will turn out.

Sydney Tooth (PhD, University of Edinburgh) is Lecturer in New Testament and Greek at Oak Hill College in London, UK. Her research interests lie in the Pauline Epistles, especially Thessalonians, and Christian eschatology. She is a co-host on the Two Cities Podcast.

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Written by: DR Madison Pierce

Created: 01 December 2023

Surely there is a sense in which nothing stands outside the concept of “theological education.” As a child, I learned the gift of love and security reflected in the actions of my parents. This taught me about God. As I grew and learned about the natural world—the rocks and seas and animals—I learned about the intricacies of creation. This taught me about God too. And I could, of course, go on forever.

The idea that we learn about God through a near limitless number of avenues is a beautiful reflection of the expansiveness of God and his reach. Nothing is beyond his grasp, and thus every moment is a moment with him

and a part of our theological education. And yet I am a professional theological educator, and I do not believe that nature walks alone equip us sufficiently for ministry.

So what is the difference? Why in a created world that reveals God should someone pursue formal theological education? And why in an era where information is so readily available? What value is added by spending countless hours sitting in a classroom, studying, reading, and writing?

These are the questions of so many today. Seminary and other forms of theological education are supposedly the ways of the past. The future is learning through being in the world and through curating one’s own educational experience online.

So, again, what makes formal theological education different? Three things come to mind.

Theological education provides access to mentors.

When a student walks into a classroom, they have an experience designed by someone with expertise. The readings and lectures—when planned thoughtfully—flow together like a perfectly crafted playlist. The architect of this experience, the professor, raises problems and solutions that shift the tone and weight of the conversation like the move between ballad and bop.

But the professor is present for the experience of this oscillation. They gently guide the student through experiences of dissonance with what they previously held to be true, and when the student has that moment of connection with the material that represents growth and understanding, the professor can affirm the progress. Other students watch and participate in this process by asking their own questions and bearing witness

Nevertheless, some professors do not curate these kinds of experiences, and they do not deserve to be called “mentor.” They understand their primary role to be one of content delivery, and a student would learn just as much from that professor if they found their content in a video on the internet. Mentoring takes time and demands love in the classroom and beyond.

Theological education provides access to peers.

Although I myself am a professor (and hopefully a mentor), I firmly believe that the most important people in my students’ education are their peers. In the illustration I provided above, I shared a relatively vertical picture of education—a professor teaches a student—and although I named the presence of others, I gave the impression that they were bystanders.

But the best “lectures” that I have ever delivered were not me at a lectern and students voicing their assent to my brilliant ideas; they hardly qualify as lectures at all. On those days the students internalised the material. They engaged together—each from their own perspectives— and they participated in a dialogue. On those days, I simply facilitated a conversation, offering clarifications and raising questions when necessary. At the risk of belabouring my musical metaphors, on those days, I sang the melody, and my students joined me in rich harmonies. Their voices add fullness and diversity.

Even so, some educational environments do not always celebrate and facilitate the diversity of their students. They value assimilation—catechesis is both cultural and doctrinal. These environments do not welcome students to share who they are within the classroom and thus allow meaningful peer to peer learning. In those environments, peers reinforce the professor’s position because it is the only one that is valid.

Theological education provides access to formational experiences.

No matter how rich one’s classroom experience may be, theological education demands other opportunities for learning and spiritual formation. Many of these experiences draw upon the presence of good mentors and peers, but they centre spiritual growth rather than intellectual growth.

For the new information that students receive to sink deep within their bones, they must see it in action. In chapel, they hear preaching that reflects the goodness of God in a particular text in Scripture. This brings together their homiletics, biblical studies, and systematic theology lectures, and more importantly, it nourishes their souls. In their dining hall, they eat with students from other backgrounds; they break bread and pray for one another. They model charity, and they build relationships that will hold them together during in-class disagreements. Similarly, in the hallways, students hear professors laughing with colleagues and other students, and they see them with their children and spouses. In some environments, faculty, staff, and students are neighbours. Together they serve in local government and provide for the marginalised. Through this, they attest to God’s redemptive work in the world. These experiences also bear witness to the gifts God has bestowed to those in our midst. Hearing a peer singing or preaching or praying allows us to give thanks for how they have been equipped by God. Likewise, standing alongside those gifted in hospitality and exhortation presses us to develop those gifts in ourselves. But some theological programs have little to offer students outside the classroom. Students grow in knowledge and understanding of a certain kind, but their education is not embodied. The ties between the classroom and the church remain invisible.

When these benefits—good encounters with mentors and peers as well as other shared experiences—are not present, the difference between formal and informal theological education is diminished because they press us beyond our natural associations. In other words, they give us access to new things.

The breadth of this may vary depending on where our theological education takes place, but even in small denominational training schools, you should expect to encounter those whom you would not meet otherwise— people with knowledge of other theological traditions, regions, cultural backgrounds, and life experiences. But the limitations in certain styles and venues of theological education require students to choose their environments carefully. Practical considerations, such as degree length and cost, cannot—and should not—be eliminated. But formal theological education is a once-ina- lifetime opportunity that will lay the foundation for decades of ministry. In some cases, waiting a year or two (or five) might provide additional financial stability or an opportunity to relocate for residential education. These investments truly are not possible for everyone, but they should be considered by all desiring to pursue ministry.

At its best, formal theological education provides additional categories and language for our informal theological education. Our mentors and friends help us to put language to what we have observed in the world. And we worship together.

Madison N. Pierce (PhD, Durham University) is Associate Professor of New Testament at Western Theological Seminary (Holland, MI, USA). She also is New Testament Editor at Reviews of Biblical and Early Christian Studies and a co-host of The Two Cities podcast. Her research interests are the Epistle to the Hebrews and early Christian interpretation.

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Written by: CLARE DEEVES

Created: 01 September 2020

Theology from the Couch, a recent online event from Western Australia, featured a talk from Clare Deeves on the blessing of being adopted as God’s child in Christ. She was kind enough to let Essentials rework it into an article.

In the Lord’s Prayer Jesus teaches his disciples to pray, ‘Our Father in heaven’, and in Ephesians 1 we read that in love God the Father ‘predestined us for adoption to sonship through Jesus Christ, in accordance with his pleasure and will.’ There is a stunning change of place involved in this adoption. Think of what we were before God adopted us (whether we knew it or not): deserving of wrath, far away, without God and without hope in the world, slaves to sin. And it is God’s pleasure and will to adopt us! Now we may—and should!—call God our Father, and take our place with him, as his.

Read more: Adopted by God the Father