I have several times considered giving up my pursuit of theology, for the following reasons:
• Why write something that few will read, fewer will see as a positive contribution, and will otherwise sit on a dusty shelf, which is already weighed down by uncountable books?
• My writing is stuck, anyway.
• I am puzzled regarding how I can use it for others.
• The problems regarding such topics of interest as justification and the nature of the Adamic covenant are mountainous, complex, and probably insoluble.
• The people already discussing said topics keep generating more material than I can keep track of, much less read.
• And what’s the point?
The last item is the most important: Why study theology? I have often pursued it because of a fascination with its beauty, as I have occasionally pursued mathematics. Both involve systems of complexity and beauty, with intricate problems to be solved. Theology can be pursued as a science, adapting the mode of study to the object studied, enabling the student to see God more clearly and appreciate him more deeply.
Solving problems, gaining insight, helping others see—these are good goals. But if these activities change so that they treat God as a problem to be solved more than the Lord to be loved and obeyed, and if they treat other people as needing to be corrected more than to be served, then the whole enterprise needs serious re-adjustment.
Further, science and mathematics are not the only, and perhaps not the best, paradigms for applying to theology. Considering that the Bible consists largely of poetry, poetic prose, dramatic narrative, nightmarish visions, parable, and very little of what we would call sustained logical argument, perhaps the theologian who emphasizes analytical essays needs a great input of non-analytic theology.
And why not give up theology? The biggest reason is that it has profoundly changed for the better the way I see God and other people. For example, before I went to Aberdeen to study, I thought that theology and ecclesiology were what united any given body of believers. What we believe and how we organize ourselves is, no doubt, important, but these criteria do not distinguish the Church from a political party or fraternal club. What unites us as Christians is Jesus himself. It is his faithful activity, and not our poor attempts (largely failures) at obedience. This change in perspective came embarrassingly late in life, but I’m thankful that it came at all.
St. Paul’s own theological letters often break out in doxology. That’s where all theology should culminate.
