As I wrote in my last post, it was perhaps in 2006 that I
first became open to critiquing my beliefs, and at that time only in limited
areas. But it was when I began teaching at Australian Lutheran College that
these initial cracks began to form into chasms.
As far as my first year was concerned (2010), most of my
energy was consumed learning the ropes and getting used to my new calling. As
is often the case with beginning lecturers teaching courses for the first time,
I was often only a couple of lectures ahead of schedule. It was also a rapidly
changing work environment, and before too long I was no longer the new kid on
the block. Professionally and socially, however, it was a great place to be,
despite the various stresses and pressures. But even though I can’t remember in
too much detail what I was thinking that year, I must have begun reading in a
number of areas that would prove to have life changing consequences.
First and foremost was contemporary historical Jesus
scholarship (something I only did to a limited extent at Notre Dame). This
reading had no immediate connection with my current teaching areas (liturgy,
spirituality), nor would it become a focus on my doctoral studies. But it was
something I did to find answers for a number of questions which had been bothering
me for some time now.
A key issue related to the doctrine of Christ’s ‘second
coming’ (something I discuss at much greater length in my post “An Advent
Analysis: refiguring the return of Christ”). I became aware that many biblical
scholars now recognize that (a) Jesus believed the ‘end’ would come within his
or his disciples’ generation, (b) much – but not all – of the New Testament
operates with this presupposition, and (c) since this obviously didn’t
eventuate, the church has had to reinterpret these early expectations in a way
that protected Jesus from error. Obviously, this observation strikes directly at
orthodox belief, but despite that fact, I became increasingly convinced that
critical, and not orthodox, scholarship was more direct in dealing with these
matters. And because this critique called into question both the reliability of
the New Testament and its central figure, these were not views I could voice
with approval in front of students or even staff. As a teacher of theology in
the LCA I was now in dangerous waters.
I remember the disquiet caused by these new avenues of
thought. In the early months of 2011, as we spent many hours working in the back
yard of our seminary owned residence, I began to wonder how long we would
remain to enjoy it. Four years before my resignation I already had a sense of
where things might be heading.
Later in the year a further step was taken. I took my part in teaching a series of evening classes for members of the church,
a regular fixture of ALC’s program, and was asked to propose a topic. I chose
several that fell within the orbit of my competency, but also added a third
option – the ‘New Atheists’. I was urged to go with this choice as it was
considered to have more interest value. This proved to be a bit of a tightrope
experience, as it was assumed my task would be to defend the faith and
offer a robust response to the criticisms levelled at religion by Dawkins,
Hitchens and company. But in quite a few instances, I was in agreement with
their basic critique, directed as it was against realist conceptions of the
bible and Christianity, even if I was put off by their frequent
misrepresentations of ‘ordinary’ Christianity, or the belligerent tone of their
assault. So the approach I took for the evening classes was first and foremost to
understand the phenomenon of the New
Atheism. As I wrote in a series of articles published in The Lutheran the following year:
We did not undertake to present a
sure-fire way to refute and demolish the atheist platform. Our task was more
difficult: to listen carefully and understand their arguments and reasoning as
best we could. We didn't simply want to strike at their Achilles heel; rather,
we wanted to face up to the very best the new atheism has to offer. http://www.lca.org.au/an-unholy-trinity.html
As it turned out, most of the participants appreciated this modus operandi, and since the others
already knew in their own minds why the New Atheists were wrong, my job was
made that little bit easier.
Another issue occupying my thoughts at this time concerned
the biblical accounts of the birth of Jesus, and the doctrine of the
incarnation which has traditionally been dependent on it. The view held by
many scholars that Matthew and Luke’s infancy narratives (Mt 1:18-2:23 and Lk
2:1-52) were at the least heavily embellished, and at the most pious fiction, persuaded me more than the orthodox attempts
to defend them. A host of reasons mounted concerning the fictive flavour
of these two passages (which popular piety usually rolls together as one): the
infancy narratives contradict each other on too many basic facts; they are
historically implausible and historically unsupported; they lack attestation by
the rest of the New Testament; they invoke naïve cosmology; they turn Old Testament
passages into prophecies in order to ‘fulfil’ them; they are deliberately modelled
on Old Testament narratives; they give Jesus divine ‘cred’ for a Greco-Roman
audience; and finally, you can find out all of this by reading reputable
biblical scholarship, and not only ‘radical’ theologians or unbelieving critics
(who themselves often draw on standard works of biblical scholarship!).
The claims just noted here one after the other are something
I’ll flesh out more in later posts. In terms of my faith journey, however, I
now had serious doubts about two key aspects of traditional belief about
Christ: his earthly beginnings and his final coming.
Then in October of 2011 I attended a ‘Hermeneutics
Symposium’ (a conference on biblical interpretation) which gathered many
Lutheran pastors and a number of overseas guest speakers. This was of deep
interest to me, as I was well aware that the conclusions one arrives at about
this or that biblical text or theological position is often determined by one’s
methodological approach. How you read
the bible will influence what you
think it is saying. What you bring to
a text has a lot to do with what you take
out of it. The conference was also stimulating because by this time I knew
I’d be taking a year off for study in 2012, with some kind of focus on
hermeneutical issues. However, it was also apparent that even though the
speakers were personally well versed in 20th century interpretation
theory, the range of ‘permissible’ views remained very narrow. It’s as if the
LCA wanted to show that it was abreast of hermeneutical developments while at
the same time hanging on to the safety of biblical inerrancy. One small incident sticks with me. During a
question time, I raised the matter of the contradiction between the two infancy
narratives, just to gauge if there was a willingness to take such questions on
board. I can’t remember what answer I received on the floor, but later on a
fellow LCA pastor/theologian in effect told me that such questions were
basically out of order. That’s right – in the LCA there are questions that you
simply should not raise in public.
Anyway, it seems that from 2011 onward, issue followed
issue, like an avalanche. It was a big step when I started to read and reflect
on the very human dynamics of belief itself (something to explore more fully
down the track). I came to realize that both the intense need as well as the amazing
capacity for human beings to believe is a plausible explanation of how
faith in any doctrine came about - the resurrection included. Once that
happened I started seeing far more clearly how ‘faith’ of any kind helps us connect
the dots of experience meaningfully and conquer chance and contingency with causes
and reasons. Faith simplifies the bewildering complexity of earthly existence, maintains
a ‘meaning framework’ for interpreting the joys and vicissitudes of life, and
sets our lives within a much grander narrative. And this is no bad thing at all
– it’s just very human. And once we believe, our perception and experience of
the world is then tailored to fit our belief system, and in turn becomes
increasingly immune and resistant to contrary information. Like a spiritual
immune system beliefs are remarkable resilient and can normally maintain themselves
in the face of any challenge or contrary viewpoint. But as I said, I want to
unpack this in a future post.
Next time I want to recount how I began taking refuge in the
works of liberal and progressive theologians, to see if there was a way, as
they appeared to do, of maintaining a life of commitment to the church in the
face of serious doubt. In a similar vein, I’ll briefly touch on my year of doctoral
studies (without boring anyone’s pants). But I’ll also share how I became aware
of a growing collection of books written by ex-pastors, and my discovery that I
was not alone in this journey.
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