Addiction puts the "T" in "TULIP" (for me anyway)

I've spent much of the past 4 weeks reading, thinking, praying, and talking about the 5 points of Calvinist theology, frequently referred to with the acronym "TULIP."  This is because I go to Reformed Theological Seminary, and they subscribe to the Reformed/Calvinist theological tradition.  I must confess that, prior to starting at RTS, I had never really taken an in-depth look at the tenets, biblical basis, and implications of Calvinist theology.  So I'm digging into these things for the first time, and I'm finding it really interesting.  For the next few posts, I'm going to discuss my personal reactions and thoughts about each of the 5 points. Today I'll start with "T" which stands for "Total Depravity."

As I understand it so far, the gist of the doctrine of total depravity is that mankind as a whole, and thus each individual person, is incapable of righteousness before God.  We are capable only of committing sin, because we are under the curse of Adam's original sin, and thus our will is bound.  In other words we are non posse non peccare, or not able not to sin.  Even if the way of salvation were clearly laid out before us, and all we had to do was to choose to walk in it, we would not choose to do so, because we can not choose to do so.

This is admittedly a brief, crude articulation of this doctrine, and volumes have been written by men and women more learned than me, trying to expound what this doctrine does and does not mean.  But for now, I'll move on to my own interaction with this doctrine.

If I try to consider this on a purely theological/philosophical level, I have to say it's somewhat hard to swallow.  I REALLY want to believe that I'm not actually that bad, that I could potentially dig myself out of the hole I find myself in.  Perhaps I need some help here and there, but ultimately I can make something of myself if I try hard enough.

But when I compare this doctrine to my own actual experience in life, I can only cry for mercy.  My experience with addiction and powerlessness convinces me that my will is not, in fact, free.  I am powerless to change the destructive patterns of sin that have dominated my life.  And any other addict who is able to be honest with herself would agree with me here.  The drunk can not choose not to drink. The heroin addict can not choose not to shoot up.  The man who stays up at night worrying can't choose to just stop thinking about his worries and go to sleep.  The woman addicted to others' approval can't choose not to care what others think.  The sex addict can't choose not to think lustful thoughts about other people.  And honestly, I can't believe in free will when faced with my own addictions, because free will is just not true for me, or for my brothers and sisters in (Alcoholics, Workaholics, Sexaholics, whatever-else-aholics) Anonymous.  God, in His grace, uses our addictions to show us every day that we are powerless without Him.  We are constantly and undeniably confronted with the reality of the doctrine of total depravity.

Yet we DO deny it; we all want to believe that if we just get serious this time, we can clean this mess up and get things back on track.  If we just pray harder, try harder, think harder, work harder...  But experience proves us wrong.  If, by God's grace, we are honest with ourselves, we all know that our will is bound, even if our addiction isn't to something like alcohol or drugs or sex.

And this is the key for all of us.  The 12-step tradition recognizes that until an addict recognizes, admits, and accepts the fact that he/she is in fact an addict, recovery is not possible.  That is to say, until I recognize that I can not save myself, I can not be saved.  If there is any hint of self-sufficiency in my mind, I will never accept the grace of Christ as being sufficient for me in all things.  My addictions have convinced me that if I have any hope, it is in a power higher than myself, namely Jesus Christ.

I'd love some comments on this!  Let me know what you think, even if you think I'm insane (which is altogether possible...).  Tune in next time for a discussion of one of the more controversial points of Calvinism, Unconditional Election (known on the street as predestination, or among some, the-doctrine-of-which-we-do-not-speak).  Should be interesting!

One of those BIG questions

Two weeks into my first semester, and I'm already running into some big questions, the answers to which will shape my approach to theology and ministry in a profound way. The question of the day involves just how much we can "systematize" our understanding of God (ie. theology), and how much we should simply accept mysteries as being mysterious.

With regard to this question, I see three possible extremes, and while few would explicitly advocate any of these positions, they seem to represent some of the pitfalls of theological study.

One option is to make theology subject to reason and logic, and seek to eliminate any seeming contradictions, and to systematically explain mysterious concepts like the Trinity and the sacraments. I'll call this systematicism (there may be a "real" term for this already, but I'm not aware of it).

Another option is to pretend that these mysterious doctrines (Trinity, sacrament, atonement, etc.) are not really mysterious at all, but are rather plainly obvious to anyone with the common sense of a muskrat. This view tends to ignore the literary diversity of scripture, taking as literal things that are poetic or hyperbolic, and seeks to end any discussion of theology (even with non-Christians) with the nuclear option of proof-texting and "because the Bible says so, that's why!"* Let's call this one hyper-fundamentalism.

The third option puts too much emphasis on mystery over against reason. It dismisses systematic theology as a waste of time and positive energy, and falls victim to theological and intellectual laziness, stressing that God's "ways are higher than mine." This we dub Christian agnosticism, and, alas, good Anglican that I am, I must confess that this is my natural pitfall.

The common root of all of three of these extremes is ultimately a low view of scripture. Systematicism subjects scripture to human reason; hyper-fundamentalism dismissed the power of scripture to engage the human mind in a profound way; Christian agnosticism, similarly, denies the God-given faculty of reason, and makes the bible into an esoteric spiritual text.

I'm currently about halfway through my first read of the Westminster Confession of Faith, the central doctrinal statement of the English-speaking Reformed tradition. My first reaction to it is that it tends toward systematicism, though that may just be my Christian agnosticism talking. I am starting to really wrestle with these three extremes, and trying to find where the Lord would have me land. How much mystery should I be comfortable with? To what degree should I read the bible, not itself primarily a systematic theological text, from a systematic perspective? Where is the balance between humbly accepting at face value the plain teachings of scripture, and seeking to logically reconcile some of the really "hard" passages?

I have a feeling that over the course of my seminary studies, I will move in the systematic direction, and this is probably a good thing. I don't think I've yet come to fully appreciate the depth and comprehensive nature of scripture, and I look forward to growing in this area. But I have to say, some of the most profound spiritual growth in my life has come through things I don't, and probably can't, begin to wrap my mind around. Things like the work of the Holy Spirit in renewing my heart and mind, the transcendence of liturgical worship, and especially the foundational conviction that Christ is in fact the Lord and Savior of the world...I could go on for hours. I don't think the Lord will ever show me the divine mechanics behind all this; he certainly doesn't do this in scripture, at any rate, and that's ok with me.

In all this, my prayer is that the Lord would give me the grace to humbly submit myself to His Word, and to learn from men and women who have spent their lives seeking to know Him and make Him known. Amen! Lord, have mercy!

*"Because the bible says so," properly used, ought to be convincing for CHRISTIANS, who view the bible as the basis of our faith. But we've all made the mistake at one time or another of simply quoting a proof text, as if our brother or sister had never read John 3:16 (or whatever passage), thinking that will magically convince them that we are RIGHT, dammit. And for God's sake, when you're talking about theology with non-Christians, belittling them for not believing in the primacy of scripture will get you NOWHERE. Try loving them, and go from there in humility.

In the beginning...

So I've just started my first semester as a Master of Divinity student at Reformed Theological Seminary in Washington, DC. My feelings at this point are a mixture of excitement, fear, curiosity, and confidence. I think (hope) this is a healthy mixture, and that each will wax and wane as I move forward on this journey of academic, personal, and spiritual exploration.

I feel excited because I FINALLY feel like I have a somewhat clear idea of where the Lord is taking me, and how to get there. I am not suggesting I have a specific picture of what my life will look like at any point in the future, but I do have a clearer sense than ever of some of the likely characteristics of the life the Lord has called me to. Among these are a focus on discipleship-oriented ministry, building and sustaining the local church, and helping people interact with God through music, art, and liturgy. Much of my excitement stems from my conviction that good theological training will be the foundation of all of these ministries, and my life in general.

I feel some fear because of my less-than-stellar (to put it lightly) academic performance in college. I basically got my ass kicked in my undergraduate program, and the fact that I even graduated is a testimony to the Lord's sovereign grace. There are a lot of reasons, internal and external, for my somewhat embarrassing college transcript, many of which are different or nonexistent today. For one, my reasons for pursuing a bachelor's degree were essentially cultural, and my motivations inherently vague. In other words, I went to college because that's what smart, ambitious, middle-class white kids do, and I didn't take a specific interest in any area of study. I (eventually) chose my major by figuring out which one I had the most credits for, and picking that one (East Asian studies). I didn't REALLY want to pursue a career in that field (though I did feel compelled to pretend to, and even interview for jobs using Japanese despite my inability to read or write in that language at an elementary school level).

As I begin my grad school career (which I swore I would never do), I have a very different set of motivations. I think very few people should pursue seminary degrees, and those who should do so really ought to feel called to it. Most people don't need to spend such incredible amounts of time and money learning the finer points of systematic theology and two dead languages. These are NOT essential to the Christian life, and the VAST majority of Christians throughout history will live and die never having read a word of Calvin or Augustine or NT Wright. And that's probably a good thing. I'm not doing these things because I think they will make me a better Christian, but because I believe that through this course of study, the Lord will show me how He wants to use me to build and strengthen His kingdom by making disciples.

I feel curiosity because this will be new territory for me. I spent the first and largest part of my Christian life in a decidedly Arminian, Pentecostal context; I will be studying in an unashamedly Calvinist context for the next several years. I'm not sure I'll agree with everything I hear and read at RTS, but then I didn't agree with much of what I heard at my church in college either. I hope that in 10 years I will look back at both as places where the Lord strengthened my faith.

The confidence I feel is a new flavor of confidence. In spite of the fears I described above, I am hopeful that the Lord will indeed use this time of focused study to prepare me for what is to come. Because I feel called to go to seminary, I am confident that the purposes of the One who has called me will be fulfilled. I also have begun to see the ways in which He used my turbulent years in college to humble me, to stretch me, to teach me, to refine me, and this gives me hope. My confidence is not in my ability to do well in school, or even that seminary will not be difficult, but rather that where the Lord has called me, He will also protect and sustain me.

I'll hopefully be posting regularly on here as I embark on this new journey. Check back regularly for thoughts, anecdotes, quandaries, and more!