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Last Fall at the Evangelical Theological Society annual meeting, I presented a paper entitled "Pastoral lessons from Augustine's theological correspondence with women," which was in some ways a followup to my 2008 book Augustine as Mentor. This week that paper was published in the South African theological journal HTS Teologiese Studies/Theological Studies. The abstract appears below and the entire article can be read HERE.
Augustine of Hippo (354–430) was a fourth- and fifth-century monk-bishop who left a great imprint on the spiritual leaders of his day by overseeing the monastery at Hippo Regius and also authoring a significant corpus of letters that were pastoral in nature. What is often overlooked in the study of his pastoral ministry and, thus, the focus of this article, is Augustine’s theological correspondence with 15 different women. Through surveying the themes and issues in these letters, I have endeavoured to show that, though a monk, Augustine did care for women in his pastoral ministry and his letters show that he discussed with women many of the issues of his day (pastoral issues, church matters, monastic ideas, theology, and practical theology) that he also discussed with his male correspondents. In short, Augustine believed that these women were much like his mother Monica – capable of grasping biblical and theological issues – and he valued them as an important part of the church. I conclude the article by summarising Augustine’s approaches to and values for ministering to women. On and off this summer, I have been reading through Duncan Hamilton's biography of Eric Liddell, entitled For the Glory. Liddell, of course, won the gold medal in the 400 meters in the 1924 Paris Olympics and his story was featured in the film "Chariots of Fire." The focus of Hamilton's book is what happened after the Olympics; that Liddell returned to China where his parents had been serving with the London Missionary Society and after a number of years serving as a missionary among the Chinese, he died of a brain tumor in a Japanese controlled concentration camp in 1945. Though Liddell received a good theological education in Scotland before going to China, what struck me from his biography was how he grew as a theologian amid the hardships in China, especially as the Japanese began to control the country more and more. After Liddell's LMS mission station was closed by the Japanese in 1941, he was placed under house arrest and was forbidden from preaching, leading church services, and visiting Chinese believers. It is interesting how Liddell--someone who believed in laboring every minute of the day for God's glory--responded to these constraints. Hamilton writes: Liddell was always scribbling on pads and loose paper, where he put down thoughts and ideas or short quotations that inspired him. His advice to everyone was: "Take a pen and pencil and write down what comes to you." Liddell was widening his knowledge of theology and committing to memory those few books of the Bible he couldn't already quote (p. 247). So Liddell, who was already a divinity school graduate, a Bible teacher, preacher, and missionary, used this season of limited activity to reflect on Scripture in his context of hardship and to grow as a theologian. In the twenty-first century western world, theology is often articulated from the comfort of offices, libraries, and in the stimulating environments of professional societies. Similar to the historical models of Cyprian of Carthage, Ephrem of Syria, and Athanasius of Alexandria, Liddell is an inspiring example of doing meaningful theology in the context of mission and suffering. Finally, what is also remarkable was the pace in which Liddell studied Scripture. He wrote, "Don't read hurriedly . . . every word is precious. Pause, assimilate" (p. 247). With some time on his hands, his approach to the Word was not rushed and he pursued his own sort of lectio divina (divine reading) made famous by the monk Benedict of Nursia and his followers. In short: slow theology in the crucible of hardship and suffering. I've just had the chance today to open Michael Bird's new book What Christians Ought to Believe: An Introduction to Christian Doctrine through the Apostle's Creed. I'm considering adopting it for a course in history of Christianity and also using it for a church small group this fall. As an evangelical Baptist influenced by Anglicanism and also the church fathers, I resonated with much of the rationale for the book and some of the claims in the first chapter: that Scripture contains many creedal statements (e.g. Deut 6:4-5; Phil 2:5-11) ; that the Apostle's Creed summarizes what Christians ought to believe while defending against unhealthy, heretical teaching (e.g. Docetism); and that all Christians, whether they realize it or not, read Scripture within some framework of tradition. To this last point, Bird wonderfully articulates the relationship of tradition and Scripture:
Inasmuch as we all have a "tradition," the creeds arguably provide the best tradition within which to read Scripture. This is because the creeds should be regarded as a biblically generated tradition that meets with the consensus of the universal church about what the main teachings of the Christian faith are. The creeds constitute an attempt to guide our reading of Scripture by setting out in advance the contents and concerns of Scripture itself. The creeds provide a kind of "Idiot's Guide to Christianity" by briefly laying out the story, unity, coherence, and major themes of the Christian faith. In that sense, a creedal faith is crucial for biblical faith and vice versa! In an age of confusion about spiritual truth--within society as well as within the church--an idiot's guide to the faith is a welcomed thing. Why not take a few minutes and reflect on the words and meaning of the Apostle's Creed? I BELIEVE in God, the Father almighty, creator of heaven and earth. I believe in Jesus Christ, his only Son, our Lord. He was conceived by the power of the Holy Spirit and born of the Virgin Mary. He suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried. He descended to the dead. On the third day he rose again. He ascended into heaven, and is seated at the right hand of the Father. He will come again to judge the living and the dead. I believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy catholic Church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and the life everlasting. Amen. Scott Sunquist is one of my favorite writers. I’ve greatly appreciated his previous works, Understanding Christian Mission and the two-volume History of the World Christian Movement. This latest work, The Unexpected Christian Century, effectively grew out of volume two of HWCM and in it he attempts to sketch out the history of global Christianity in the twentieth century. This is a tall order indeed and I appreciate his approach to the “global century” that began with some 80% of the world’s Christians living in North America or Europe and ended with about 60% living in the Global South—the non-western nations of Africa, Asia, and Latin America. In just six chapters—sandwiched between an introduction to world Christianity in the first nineteen centuries and a forward looking epilogue—Sunquist does a commendable job of narrating the story of twentieth-century Christian history. Here’s a brief chapter-by-chapter synopsis: In chapter 1 (“world Christianity”), the key trends in global Christianity at the beginning of the twentieth century area discussed. Chapter 2 (“Christian lives”) focuses on representative examples of global Christian innovators and leaders. In chapter 3 (“politics and persecution”), the global church is considered in the context of twentieth-century politics and discrimination against the church. The fourth chapter (“confessional families”) addresses the four key streams of global Christianity—Roman Catholics, Orthodox, Protestants, and Independent churches. Chapter 5 (“on the move”) captures the crucial issue of global migration and its relationship to Christianity. Finally, in chapter 6 (“one way among others”), the author discusses Christianity’s relationship with other religions in the twentieth-century context. As far as strengths go, I think Sunquist does capture the big picture of twentieth-century world Christianity through his framework in these chapters. In particular, I think the biographical approach of chapter 2 is excellent as he succeeds in putting a face on the global church. While famous Christians like Mother Theresa and Billy Graham are mentioned, it’s also good for the reader to meet lesser-known global Christian leaders and innovators as well. I also thought chapter 4 was an excellent survey of the main expressions of global Christianity, especially the “spiritual churches” (independent and Pentecostal), which comprise the fastest growing faith communities in the world. Indeed, the categories of Protestant, Catholic, and Orthodox no longer adequately tell the story of contemporary world Christianity. My only major critique of the book has to do with the group of world Christian leaders surveyed in chapter 2. The common element for most of them is that they are somehow connected to the World Council of Churches. While the independent churches are highlighted in chapter 4, their leaders do not figure as prominently in chapter 2. Also, I find it problematic that Ghandi was listed and surveyed in this chapter on Christian leaders. Though Ghandi had dealings with Christians in South Africa, Britain, and India and he influenced Christians like Martin Luther King, Jr, Ghandi himself was not a follower of Christ. To sum up, I am grateful for this well-written and engaging book on the global century and am happily adopting it (along with HWCM volume two) as a text for my course, History of Global Christianity II at CIU. As I have studied Augustine of Hippo’s (354-430) thoughts on spiritual formation and discipleship, one aspect that has often intrigued me and that shows up repeatedly in his writings is what he called “making progress.” One Augustinian scholar defined this as when “the inner life of the Christian consists . . . in the ever-progressing renewal of God's image in man” that results in “perfection in love . . . love of God, and in God, [love] of one's neighbor” (Zumkeller 1986:103-104) Following his dramatic conversion, Augustine embraced an ascetic lifestyle in community with other like-minded monks and aimed to pursue victory over the flesh and to grow spiritually through the disciplines of prayer, manual labor, and the study of Scripture. For Augustine, making progress was not simply limited to his spiritual journey, but it also applied to his development as a pastor and theologian. In fact, for Augustine, there seems to be no separation between his spiritual and professional lives. One specific way that he grew as a theologian was through writing. In a letter to his friend and Roman official Marcellinus, he wrote: “I endeavor to be one of those who write because they have made some progress, and who, by means of writing, make further progress” (Letter 143.2). Similarly, in his magisterial work On the Trinity, which probably began as a mealtime discussion in the monastery, he added, “I myself confess that I have by writing learned many things which I did not know” (Trinity 3.1.1). Committed to making progress for a lifetime, Augustine believed that effective spiritual leaders and mentors were continual disciples themselves. As he tangled with the church father Jerome over theological issues, he wrote: “Although it is more fitting that old men should be teachers [more] than learners, it is nevertheless more fitting for them to learn than to continue ignorant of that which they should teach to others” (Letter 166.1). To the church community at Hippo where he pastored for 40 years, he likened his work of preaching to breaking bread: “I feed you on what I am fed on myself . . . I set food before you from the pantry which I too live on” (Sermon 339.3.3). For Augustine, a mentor was a continual disciple. Our lives are about making continual progress in our walks with the Lord and in our professional callings. What about us? Are we growing deeper this week through the disciplines of prayer and Bible study and through fellowship with other believers? For those of us in Christian higher education, are we making progress in the academic disciplines in which we teach? What are we reading, writing, or producing in our fields of study? Are we teaching our students from a deepening reservoir of learning and progress in our own lives? I'm encouraged to see that this thorough resource on diaspora missiology--in part the fruit of the Lausanne Global Diaspora Network gathering Manila last year-- has just been released. Here is a brief description from the publisher which also includes a helpful explanation of what is meant by diaspora missiology: The 21st Century is marked by mass migration. Massive population movements of the last century have radically challenged our study and practice of “mission fields.” Where the church once rallied to go out into “the regions beyond,” Christian missions is currently required to respond and adapt to “missions around.” This volume analyses the development of missions to the migrants and develops an understanding of the contemporary church’s opportunities and responsibility vis-àvis Diaspora Missiology: “a missiological framework for understanding and participating in God’s redemptive mission among peoples living outside their places of origin.” Though I could not take part in the Manila gathering, I had the privilege to write chapter 29 of the book ("The Brazilian Evangelical Missions Movement") in which I summarized some of the key findings from my book Brazilian Evangelical Missions in the Arab World, which was published in 2012. Certainly, a key element of grasping diaspora missiology is to recognize the significance of mission movements origination from all over the world. I'm excited to see this volume available to students as we navigate the changing landscape of mission in the 21st century and the new approaches that are needed. I will be presenting a paper next weekend at the Southeast Regional Evangelical Missiological Society meeting, which will deal with the theme "Mission(s) and the Local Church." I will be engaging the question by looking at historical models of mission sending with a paper entitled, "When the Church was the Mission Organization: Rethinking Winter’s Two Structures of Redemption Paradigm." My abstract follows. Critical observers of mission history will remark that following the sixteenth-century Reformation in Europe, one reason for the overall inaction of Reformed Protestants in mission was the lack of mission sending structures. Roman Catholics on the other hand possessed a number of sending structures—most notably the monastic orders (e.g., Franciscans, Augustinians, Dominicans, Cistercians, and Jesuits) that were formed in the medieval period for the purpose of sending witnesses into the world. So how did mission sending happen and what structures were in place in the early and medieval church prior to the rise of monastic missionary orders? In this paper, I will argue that the church itself was the key organism and catalyst for mission sending. In doing so, I will offer an alternative conclusion to Ralph Winter’s (cf. Winter 1999, 220-229) popularly accepted notion of two structures of redemption in mission history—modalities (e.g., churches) and sodalities (e.g., monastic movements)—and argue that the church was the sole means of mission sending. To make the case, I will highlight the representative examples of four missionary-monk-bishops who served between the fourth and eighth centuries: Basil of Caesarea (fourth-century Asia Minor), Patrick (fifth-century Ireland), Augustine of Canterbury (sixth and seventh century England), and Boniface (eighth-century Germany). Greg Peters. The Story of Monasticism: Retrieving an Ancient Tradition for Contemporary Spirituality. Grand Rapids, MI, 2015. Pp. ix + 278. ISBN: 978-0-8010-4891-3. $22.99 [Paperback]. Reviewed originally in Fides et Humilitas: The Journal for the Center of Ancient Christian Studies (Winter 2016). In this new work, Biola University professor Greg Peters has crafted a work “on the history of Christian monasticism geared toward a ressourcement of the tradition for the twenty-first century” (p. 2). Peters’ book bears resemblance to other introductory works on monasticism—such as Harmless’ Desert Christians (2004) and Dunn’s Emergence of Monasticism (2003)—however, his work has a broader scope and aims to capture the entire narrative of monasticism down to the present day. His interest in making connections (ressourcement) for his tribe (evangelical Protestants) is similar to the goals of Dennis Ockholm’s Monk Habits for Everyday People though Ockholm’s work is limited to reflection on Benedictine monasticism. In a brief introduction, Peters communicates his rationale for writing, offers a definition of monasticism, and then builds a case for monastic spirituality from the Scriptures. The book is divided into four parts and is organized both chronologically and biographically around the lives of innovative monks. In part 1 (“Antony to Benedict”), he spends three chapters discussing the origins of monasticism, distinguishing between anchorites and coenobites, and describing the rise of monastic rules. In part 2 (“Benedict to Bernard”), Peters begins with the sixth-century innovation of Benedict of Nursia and narrates the monastic story and its key players and contexts through the medieval period until the time of Bernard of Clairvaux (d. 1153). Part 3 (“Bernard to Luther”) continues to survey medieval monasticism until the dawn of the Protestant Reformation. Finally, in part 4 (“Luther to Merton”), the author discusses both Roman Catholic and Protestant monasticism from the time of the Reformation through the twentieth-century. Each chapter ends with a brief ressourcement reflection for the modern reader and the closing epilogue offers some thoughts on how monastic values might shape the future of Christianity. In terms of strengths, Peters succeeds in accomplishing his goal of narrating nearly two millennia of monastic history in a personal and inviting manner and the ressourcement portions of each chapter are effective in showing the relevance of aspects of monastic life for modern evangelicals who are not monks. Second, as most works on monastic history begin sometime in the fourth century, Peters does a good job (pp. 6-17) of showing monastic-like spirituality among biblical characters and rooting his narrative there. Third, and quite related, by appealing to Jewish and earliest Christian ascetic practices, he provides a fresh perspective on monastic origins that pre-date the fourth century (pp. 23-34) and makes a good case that “monastic impulse was a part of the Christian church from its very birth” (p. 35). A final strength of the book (parts 2 and 3) was Peters’ ability to guide the reader through the details, people, and events associated with medieval monasticism. The author has filled in the gaps of understanding in a period that is often under appreciated by evangelicals. I do have a few points of constructive feedback. First, in the beginning of chapter 3, Peters seems to suggest that within a developing Christendom paradigm, the Emperor Constantine gave life and support to the development of coenobitic monasticism in the West (p. 54). In my reading of this period, it seems that Christianity’s approved and later favored status actually worked to push spiritual men and women away from such a status toward isolated and cloistered withdrawal in which a new martyrdom could be pursued. So I struggle to see how Constantine or any of the subsequent Christian emperors promoted monasticism. Second, while Peters’ survey of medieval monasticism is a strength of this book, I was a bit surprised at the relative lack of detail given to some monastic innovators in the first few chapters. Specifically, I think the book would have been strengthened by more discussion of Pachomius, Basil, and Augustine and their monastic rules. Also, more space could have been given to Syrian and Egyptian monasticism and semi-hermitic innovators such as Abba Shenoute (d. 466). Finally, one key element of the monastic story that seems absent is the work of missionary monks. Though Peters has discussed Basil (pp. 54-56), Francis (pp. 179-181), Celtic monks, (pp. 88-96), and the Jesuits (pp. 216-19), it seems that their rich cross-cultural missionary work—clear evidence of their active spirituality—has been overlooked. Critiques aside, this is a good book for undergraduate and seminary students—particularly those with little background in monastic studies—that could be read in church history and spiritual formation classes. I think it is also a great resource for members of new monastic communities to inform and deepen their convictions as they engage monastic history and thought. My review of Our Global Families appeared in the January 2016 edition of Evangelical Missions Quarterly and is reposted here with permission. In this new work, Todd Johnson and Cindy Wu offer Christ-followers the tools to understand and engage two families—the Global Body of Christ and the non-Christian, human family. In parts one and two of the book, the two families are introduced and described and the reader benefits from Johnson’s previous work on Global Christian demography—particularly the Global Atlas of Christianity. In part three, Global Christians are exhorted to appreciate the diversity of the Global Church and to truly belong to it, while also pursuing dialogue and common cause initiatives with non-Christians. In the final section, building on the work of others, Johnson and Wu resist the “world changer” language of many evangelical groups and instead propose a humble “faithful presence” approach to being on mission in a globalized world. The authors accomplish a great deal in just under two hundred pages. It is quite impressive that such a large amount of data on Global Christianity and trends could be meaningfully presented for readers with little background on statistics and data. More than a statistics report, the faces and stories of Global Christians and humans are presented in a personal and compassionate way. The practical proposals for hospitality, civil discourse, and meaningful dialogue and deliberate collaboration with peoples of other faith communities are quite convincing and helpful. These ideas are strengthened by personal illustrations from the authors’ lives and ministries. In terms of weaknesses, I do have some concerns in how they define a Christian—“adopting the United Nations’ definition of a Christian as one who self-identifies as such” (p. 5). While evangelicals have surely defined Christianity too narrowly in history along confessional, denominational, or cultural lines (p. 78), global believers must still self-identify according to the gospel of Christ—the good deposit of faith that has been handed down and “believed everywhere by everyone always.” If self-identification is the rubric for authentic Christianity, then how do we evaluate the confessions of Mormons, Jehovah’s Witnesses, or any group that has insufficient beliefs on central teachings of the faith that are inconsistent with Historic and Global Christianity? Second, although Johnson and Wu are writing at an introductory level and raising many subjects, a number of times I was left desiring more in-depth discussions. An entire chapter or section of the book could have been devoted to themes like hospitality, justice, or interfaith dialogue. Perhaps the writers did such a good job of raising the issues that this reader was left wanting more. All said, this book is commendable and I could see it being read in the undergraduate curriculum of intercultural, global, and international studies programs in Christian colleges. Some reflections on prayer and the Lord's Prayer after reading Augustine's Letter 130 to the widow Proba. This was part of a paper I read last week at the Evangelical Theological Society meeting.
In Letter 130 to Proba, a widow whose deceased husband had been richest man in Rome, Augustine writes a short treatise on the meaning of praying without ceasing.[1] Praising her for her desire to pray, he likens her to the desolate widow (1 Tim. 5:5) whose primary calling has become persisting in prayer day and night. Though Proba is not economically poor, she has in a sense made herself poor to the world by putting her hope in eternal things.[2] Addressing the question of what to pray for, Augustine advises Proba to pray for the happy life (vita beata), which included having her needs for health, friendship, and material things met. Ultimately though, the happy life is a craving for eternal life and for the One who is able to give it.[3] Regarding how to pray, Augustine first mentions the attitude and posture of prayer—that we should pray believing that God is good and enjoys answering prayer. In other words, the values of faith, hope, and love ought to undergird one’s approach to prayer.[4] Practically speaking, Augustine urges Proba to pray with few words emulating the Egyptian monks who were able to pray for long periods of time using short sentence prayers. This practice would lead to persistence in the discipline of prayer.[5] For Augustine, the best model for prayer was the Lord’s Prayer. Arguing that it was a thorough and sufficient template for prayer and one that covers the needs of ourselves, friends, families, and even enemies, he writes: “If you run though all the words of holy petitions, you will not find, in my opinion, anything that this prayer of our Lord does not contain and include.”[6] Finally, Augustine added that fasting and almsgiving were useful practices in helping the believer to pray effectively and with focus. Augustine concludes the letter by encouraging Proba to imitate the praying women of Scripture such as Hannah (1 Sam. 1:2-28) and Anna (Luke 2:36-38) and he exhorts her to “pray in hope; pray with faith and with love; pray persistently and patiently; pray like a widow for Christ . . . though you are wealthy, pray as a poor woman.”[7] Augustine closes the letter by asking Proba to pray for him. [1] Cf. Joanne McWilliam, “Augustine’s Letters to Women,” in Stark, Feminist Interpretations of Augustine, 196; also Brown, Augustine of Hippo, 340. [2] Augustine, Letter 130.1-2, 7-8; cf. 1 Tim. 6:17-19. [3] Augustine, Letter 130.4.9, 9.18; cf. McWilliam, “Augustine’s Letters to Women,” 197. [4] Augustine, Letter 130.8.16, 9.18. [5] Ibid. 130.8.15, 10.20. [6] Ibid. 130.12.22. [7] Ibid. 130.14.30-31. |
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