Don’t Know Much Theology

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A parishioner once recommended to me a particular book on theology he was reading. I was honest,

“Thanks, Vince. But I struggle with reading and comprehending most writing about theology!”

He cocked his head, “Huh. That surprises me, Rev. Heidi.”

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His confidence in me was gracious, but theology classes were the hardest for me. And I went to divinity school at the University of Chicago, which has a reputation for being so academic that its unofficial motto – printed on many a tshirt on campus – is “That’s all well and good in practice, but how does it work in theory?”

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If you weren’t sure (and I often am not), theology asks questions like: Who is God? What are human beings? Who is Jesus Christ? What are we supposed to be doing? What is Baptism for? What did Jesus mean when he said, “This is my body”? What is the relationship between all these things? Etc. etc. etc.

I tried a class called “Incarnational Theology,” hoping a theology of bodies and carbon-based matter might be something I could wrap my mind around. (Not really.)

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A class on Reinhold Niebuhr that I took with one of the most respected and loved professors in Swift Hall was a fuzzy blur of words that I understood but had trouble making sense of. I remember almost nothing from that class (at least that I’m aware of) except the image of the book cover.

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In Preaching, the professor’s final notes for me suggested I strive to preach “more theologically.” I wasn’t sure what she meant. (I suppose I should’ve asked.)

I did better studying the Bible, the history of religion, and memoirs, like Dorothy Day’s The Long Loneliness or Langdon Gilkey’s Shantung Compound. i.e., Theology in Real Life!” (to borrow the name of a long-running column from Reader’s Digest). The Bible, too, is primarily stories, poems, letters, and narrative, which is natural water for swimming in for a former English major like me.

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But theology has continue to show up on my doorstep. Those incomprehensible questions show up every Sunday, at every baptism, funeral, wedding, sickbed visit, and casual conversation, whether in my office, at Starbucks, or in the parking lot. My Wednesday night Bible study class tosses theology back in my lap every week because of something they’ve read in Revelation, Ephesians, or Job. Sometimes I go back to my divinity school books or I call a Theological Friend. Sometimes I sit and think on my own, maybe with a scriptural text, The Book of Common Prayer, or a memory of my lived experience of walking with a family through a death or tragedy, a divorce or an existential crisis, a question about prayer or the Holy, or a joy.

I understand more fully what my professor, Dr. William Schweiker, meant when in about 2004 he said, with grave urgency to my Theological Ethics class: “If we aren’t extremely careful and clear in how we use words and their meanings, people will get hurt.”

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It’s probably impossible to become a parish priest and THEN take classes in theology. Still, I sometimes wish I could go back to seminary now, with all the wisdom and experience I now have inside this brain of mine, and try to read all those books again. I would have my own stories and memoirs to hang them on this time.

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Comments

  1. Bradley Pace says:

    Me too. I keep thinking I’ll walk over to Purdue and grab a class (mostly religious studies/history stuff) or drive to Indy and visit CTS. But who has the time?!? Eeeeek.

    Always love your ruminations anyway. Thanks Heidi.

  2. Yes. Yes! YES! I actually had the opportunity to experience this on a small scale. Thanks to a generous wife who allowed me to take six months off after my curacy, I spent my days reading many of the books I was “supposed” to have read at Emory. And it was wonderful to have experiences or stories to make sense of what I read. I hope to continue the practice. Holy reading I say.

    Thanks for your reflection. It’s actually strangly comforting to read about someone else who feels like theology went a bit over their heads until they got into ministry. I never admitted while in school, but I felt it over and over again as I struggled to make sense of it all.