Why I want to study and teach theology

'A certain couple once built a house. They set it on solid foundations and made it proof against all weathers. But in their haste to take up occupancy, they made no provision for access to the front door. To enter, they simply leaped up onto the doorstill and yanked themselves in. As they began to feel more at home, however, they decided to make their comings and goings more convenient. First, they built a short flight of steps. These served well for a while, but eventually they replaced them with a small, plainish porch on which they could sit and contemplate the excellences of their house. In good weather, they even entertained friends there with wine, cheese, and conversation.

Soon enough, though, they tore down this porch and built a much lager one. They gave it a roof supported by carpenter Gothic columns; they surrounded it with intricate railing; they provided it with a wide, low-pitched staircase; and they decorated it everywhere with gingerbread ornamentation.

Many years passed, during which they enjoyed both the porch and the house. But then, on a cold and stormy night, the woman came to the man as he sat by the fire and shook a sheaf of bills in front of him. "Have you ever considered," she said annoyedly, "how much we spend on the upkeep of our porch? For something that's usable only four months of the year- and not even then, if one of us is sick- the cost-benefit ratio is appalling. Between the dry rot and the peeling paint, not to mention the lawsuit your friend Arthur brought against us when he caught his ankle in the gap left by those missing boards, it's more trouble than it's worth. Tear it down and let's go back to the way we started: no porch, no steps, no nothing; just up into the house by one leap."

My parable, obviously, is about the relationship between faith and theologizing. Equally obviously, it is more an allegory than a parable...the house in which the couple lived represents faith- the simple act of deciding to trust Jesus...on the other hand, the various accesses, plain steps or fancy porches, that they added to their house stand for out attempts at theologizing- that is, for any and all of the explanations we come up with when we try to render our house of faith more intelligible, more attractive, or more acceptable to the intellectual tastes of our neighbours or friends.

Inevitably, any author who tries to interpret Jesus' parables will spend most of his time on the porch. He will, of course, take it for granted that there is a house of faith to which the porch should remain firmly attached, and he will, if he is wise, make it clear that only the house can provide a completely safe place in which to live. Nevertheless, since the woman in my parable came to such a dim view of porches, a few comments on her objections would seem to be in order...

It is tempting simply to agree with her. So much of what both the world and the Church consider to be essential message of the Gospel is simply interpretation. It is generally assumed that Christianity teaches that people cannot be saved unless they accept some correct, or at least some Official Boy Scout, understanding of what Jesus did or said. Take the atonement, for example- the scriptural insistence that our sins are forgiven by trusting a Jesus who died on the cross and rose from the dead. The usual view is that this trust inevitably involves accepting some intellectual formulation of how Jesus' death and resurrection could possibly have achieved such a happy issue out of all our afflictions. You know: he was able to bring it off because he was both God and man and so he could bridge the gulf that sin had put between the two; or, his death was effective because it was a ransom paid to the devil; or, it did the job because the power of his sacrificial example softened even hard hearts and moved people to better behaviour; or, his resurrection solved the problem of sin because it brought about a new creation in which sin had no place. The point is not whether any of those interpretations is true, or even adequate (some are more so, some less); it is that none of them is strictly necessary for laying hold of the atonement Jesus offers. All you need for that is to believe in him...your subsequent understanding of how such a simple yes can do so vast a work may make you glad, sad, scared, or mad; but in no case can it be what saves you- or, for that matter, condemns you...

Still, interpretation, like porch-building, is practically inevitable. We are, after all, thinking beings, and we think about everything we do, up to and including the act of faith: almost no one lives out an entire lifetime simply by leaping into the ungarnished doorway of the house of faith. Accordingly, the woman in my parable was advocating a rather more austere lifestyle than most of us are in fact willing to put up with. Let's see, then- assuming that her husband took exception to her comprehensive demolition plans- what might be said for his more tolerant view of the situation.

...To begin with, it is mostly just a fun thing to do in good company on a warm afternoon when your kidney stones are not acting up. If it is taken much more seriously than that- if it is seen as the center from which life derives meaning- it will fail us in precise proportion to our need to make it succeed...

Once someone devises a system or theme for building the porch to his faith, the temptation is to continue the work of construction whether it serves the purposes of the house or not. Hence all the theologies that manage to take the Gospel of grace- of forgiveness freely offered to everyone on the basis of no works at all- and convert it into the bad news of a religion that offers salvation only to the well-behaved. Hence, too, all the moralistic interpretations of the parables: sermons on the duty of contentment from the Laborers in the Vineyard, and little lessons in loveliness from the parable of the Good Samaritan...

Still, having made those concessions, the man in my parable would insist that porch-building, whether it is inevitable, worthwhile, tasteful, expensive, or not, is a fact. Most people who have faith have some intellectual structure tacked in front of it. But precisely because that is true, those who invite others to visit or stay in their house of faith are faced with a difficulty: the only way to get guests to the door is to walk them across the porch. Theologizing may not be a saving proposition, but it lies between almost everybody and the Saving Proposition Himself.

Accordingly, he would point out that there is something to be said, no matter how much or how little porch you have on your faith, for keeping that structure as attractive and sound as you can...above all, its floorboards must be all in place and all nailed down tight. It will not do for anyone to leave spaces in the decking- to install only the scriptural boards he likes and to omit those he doesn't'. A theological porch must include every side of every scriptural paradox. A system, for example, that is all love and no wrath is no better than one that is all wrath and no love. In either case, the unsuspecting guest is liable to break an ankle because of what was left out.
But enough. My parable was as much, ro more, for me as for you. If you will try not to insist that my porch be exactly like yours, I shall resist the temptaion to force mine on you. All i really care about is that both our structures have no missing boards...'