If we are honest with ourselves, such signs of really making a difference are very ambiguous. So also with the signs of institutional growth, although, sorry to say, this seems to provide a basis of confidence—or, conversely, a cause for despair—in many ministries. Institutional growth is the last refuge of ministries that are spiritually sterile. Anniversary sermons regularly point to statistical growth or to the new education wing as evidence that “God has richly blessed this ministry.” But the question that keeps erupting within us, as to whether our ministry really makes any difference, cannot be answered by reference to a debt-free “church plant”—to use the ugly term of the managerially minded.
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Our ministries are not liberated, and we cannot be signs of liberation to others, as long as we are captive to the criterion of effectiveness by which the world would bind us. By “the world” we mean in this instance what Paul describes as “the flesh.” The conflict is not, in the first place, between us who are the saved and others who are the unsaved…. The conflict is within ourselves; it is a conflict between living according to the flesh and living according to the Spirit. Nor is the struggle aimed at our achieving some decisive spiritual victory, although the military metaphor is frequently used in biblical and classical literature. The achievement involved, however, takes on a meaning quite different from our usual talk about achievements. It is always a matter of living out the gift already given. This is the heart of liberated and liberating ministry: to know that our ministry and the goal of our ministry are gifts. We do not need to sniff around the secular criterion of effectiveness in order to be assured that our ministries are legitimated. We and the work we have been given to do are already legitimated and justified by the grace of God. This is God’s sacramentum in Christ and the community he has called into being; it is the premise and the promise on which alone we can act in confidence.
Chapter Four of Neuhaus' Freedom for Ministry, entitled “Authority for Ministry,” deals with the question of ministerial authority and the temptations toward professionalism. The last few pages of the chapter (pp. 67-71) provide the most moving account I’ve ever read of how self-doubt for the minister can be, if not overcome, at least properly contextualized. As alluring as it is to look to various “existent realities” for authorization (say, credentials or certification or competence), Neuhaus says the minister ultimately finds his authority rooted in Christ’s own authority. This causes a level of angst since Christ’s authority is contested in this age and not backed by conventional forms of power or prestige. Thus, the pastor is left in an ambiguous spot. As Neuhaus concludes, “We are premature ambassadors, having arrived at court before the sovereignty of our king has been recognized. It is awkward, of course, and our authority is very much in question. We must resist the temptation to relieve the awkwardness by accepting a lesser authority from another kingdom.”
Christian theology consists of variations on common themes. What makes one theologian or system distinct from another is not always a substantive difference; often it is the eloquence or beauty on display, or the particular articulation of a doctrine, or an especial emphasis on a certain aspect of the whole rather than another.
This is an under-appreciated aspect of doing theology. If every systematic theology sets out to offer something substantially new, we’re in trouble. When you read a work of theology, the author is treading on very well-worn paths. Many others have already covered this terrain. What other book has generated the level of commentary and secondary literature that the Bible has? That doesn’t mean it is wrong-headed for a theologian to take his or her best shot at it. But it does suggest that the author shouldn’t be aiming for—and we shouldn’t be expecting—theological innovation or novelty. Emphasizing a certain overlooked element, articulating a doctrine with fresh verve and clarity, demonstrating its coherence with other aspects of truth—these are more modest and appropriate goals.
Finished reading: The Politics of Gratitude by Mark T. Mitchell 📚
The prose was a little formulaic at points and Mitchell was given to some broad generalizations. I had the sense that he was trying to squeeze his entire political philosophy into the book, which made it a little unwieldy.
Nevertheless, it’s certainly a useful book. Mitchell argues for a “politics of gratitude” rooted in four key concepts: creatureliness (which implies limits), gratitude, human scale, and place. In many ways, Mitchell is projecting a religious/metaphysical vision of reality that ought to inform one’s understanding and practice of politics. It is certainly quite a ways upstream from policy discussion and the like. Whether you view that as a strength or weakness will likely depend on how much you resonate with his theological vision of political life.
While we dare not pander to religious expectations by trying to accommodate every itch and fad (an impossible task, in any case), our thinking about Church and ministry should not be too far removed from responsive tension with the felt needs and hopes of the actual people of God. Tension requires both difference and similarity, distance and familiarity. If our notion of the Church is so different and distant from the community in which we minister, it may well result in interpersonal tensions of confusion and alienation, but it will not result in that creative tension which helps a community to become what it truly is.
Wise words, these. Pastors (and theologians and preachers and…) should be aiming for this kind of “responsive” or “creative” tension that, while not sacrificing all else at the altar of “relevance,” resists the temptation to fly off into the clouds of theological abstraction. Difference and similarity, distance and familiarity—that is the balance to strike. Preaching and theological instruction must, at some point, intersect with the actual world that people live in. Too many preachers walk out of the pulpit patting themselves on the back for their doctrinal accuracy, seemingly oblivious to the fact that their sermon never made meaningful contact with the hearers of that sermon.