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  • Great Theologians. John Owen. Reformed Catholic and Renaissance Man

    John Owen. Reformed Catholic, Renaissance Man, Carl Trueman (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2007), 132 pages.

    (Review copy courtesy of Ashgate Publishing).

    Johnowenportrait_3 Somebody once described reading John Owen (17th Century Reformed theologian) as being like stirring porridge with a plastic spoon. That’s both unfair and true – he is hard reading because he is engaging with the sharpest minds in Europe on some of the most contested and complex problems of theology. His writings are exhaustingly exhaustive, his theological arguments are mathematically (at times mechanically) precise. His learning in an age before information overload was both deep and wide, ranging across the Western tradition of theology and philosophy. His writing on the Being of God, woven throughout much of his Works is a metaphysical tour de force; the treatises on the Holy Spirit and spirituality remain classics of Reformed spiritual theology.

    It is one of the strengths of Carl Trueman’s book that he places Owen in his historical context as a Reformed Catholic and Renaissance Man. In other words Trueman severely qualifies the title ‘Puritan’ as applied to Owen because it is too narrow, too constraining both of his theology, and of his preferred sources for theologising. Thus Owen’s pneumatology should first be understood in its proper systematic context, which is Owen’s deliberately constructed Trinitarian framework. Only then is his encyclopedic treatment of the Holy Spirit to be held up as one of the most authoritative Reformed Orthodox spiritual treatises of the vastly productive, theologically argumentative 17th century.

    41zcvtti1l__aa240_ Likewise, when Owen argues his powerfully, at times overwhelmingly persistent biblical theology, he is participating in a Europe wide campaign of polemical and constructive theology now described as Post Reformation Reformed Scholasticism. These Reformed theological and intellectual armaments were aimed at Arminian, Socinian and Roman Catholic errors. But even here Trueman is impatient with broad brush special pleadings by over-enthusiastic Reformed fans of Owen. While targeting obvious doctrinal errors in Roman Catholic teaching, he nevertheless valued and used much Roman Catholic learning, theology and biblical scholarship that was free from such errors. He was a discriminating admirer of Bellarmine, the most influential, able and erudite Jesuit apologist in Europe at the time. In other words Owen was a discerning and not ungenerous theological opponent, whose aim was fixing truth rather than discrediting opponents.

    Now by ‘Catholic’ Trueman means one who holds the wider church tradition, its historical and theological diversity, yet its ecclesial continuity, as an indispensable source of theological wisdom, second only to Scripture in authority. Trueman makes a lot of Owen’s library catalogue to show the breadth of interests of this renaissance man – I particularly like the idea that alongside theological tomes Owen had books on parliamentary procedure (he preached before parliament), gardening, music theory, the life of silk worms and the advantages of warm beer!

    Following the initial chapter on Owen as Reformed Catholic and Renaissance Man, Trueman goes on to examine Owen’s theology in three more chapters. In chapter 2 the conception of God Owen sets out in such intricately argued detail is thoroughly Trinitarian – the deity of Christ and of the Holy Spirit, co-equal with the Father, are foundational presuppositions of Owen’s theology of God. In the third chapter, the covenant of grace and catholic christology, are placed at the centre of Reformed dogmatics – the foundational conception of God as sovereign, revealed in Christ for the salvation of those elect from eternity, defines the nature and means of atonement and justification. The article by which the church stands or falls, justification, expounded with forensic precision by Owen and explained with scholarly relish by Trueman, bring this study to a close in its final chapter.

    Each chapter is closely argued, considering Owen’s historical milieu and engaging Owen’s writings with which Trueman is obviously and impressively familiar. Carl Trueman is one of several prominent historical theologians seeking to overturn the revisionist view that post Reformation European Reformed Scholasticism of the 17th and 18th centuries was the imposition upon an earlier Calvinism, of metaphysical categories, Aristotelian rationalism and arid biblical proof-texting in contrast to the Reformed Calvinism of earlier generations.

    This apologetic and reactive thrust is felt all the way through Trueman’s book, and it gets in the way at times. For example, Owen’s spirituality is almost incidental, so that he does indeed come over as a cerebral, polemical, meticulous logician, using massive learning to establish what at times are quite speculative metaphysical concepts (such as the Covenant of redemption, or Owen’s construal of intra-Trinitarian relations). Again, Trueman is brilliant on John Owen’s contribution to the developing expertise of Reformed hermeneutics, but Owen’s fusion of speculative metaphysics controlled by biblical exegesis and Reformed dogmatics, argues a richer vein of spiritual experience than comes over in some of these patiently disentangled controversies. But that’s perhaps to ask for another kind of book which Trueman has already shown he can write. His Legacy of Luther is just such a consideration of historical context, theological exposition and intellectual biography. And his earlier book on Owen also provides some of the balance. But this book is in the series Great Theologians, and Owen’s greatness has deep spiritual roots as well as high metaphysical reach.

    Trueman03 This treatment of Owen is, despite those comments, a very impressive example of how to answer those who accuse later Reformed Scholasticism of turning an earlier purer Calvinism, into an iron-cast predestinarian system. Trueman allows Owen to be understood as a man of his own times, defended from anachronistic criticisms by modern anti-Reformed and pro-Reformed writers and readers alike. So both R T Kendall’s revisionist thesis of original authentic Calvinism degenerating into later scholasticism, and J I Packer’s claim that Owen is a Puritan of the Puritans of the Banner of Truth school, are carefully and authoritatively corrected. Trueman is himself a scholar of the Reformed persuasion – but his Reformed stance is solidly grounded on historical and theological scholarship of the highest order.

    This is an important exposition of a theologian beginning to be taken seriously after centuries of neglect by mainstream academic theology – which as Trueman’s book demonstrates, has been an irony and injustice, for Owen was cutting edge in his own theological engagements and scholarship.

  • On not taking myself too seriously

    Dscn0068 I have recently been confused with a really learned, Edinburgh New College, nae kiddin, seriously scholarly looking former Princpal of said august New College. Brodie has detected a similarity between my physiognomy and that of the as yet unnamed academic. (By the way, do any of you remember using the word physog or fizzog as a word for face?)Anyway, semantics aside, you can see the two pictures, and read the comments over here at Brodie’s place. – and you’ll understand why I am yet again posting this self portrait of a Scottish hillwalker clothed for the local climate. It’s the hat that gets them talking, and laughing – and clearly Brodie missed previous showcases.

    I have no comment on the similarity between the two aforementioned portraits until I know who the learned gentleman in Edinburgh purple is.

  • When Christ-like living gets the world’s attention, witness happens.

    Saturday morning spent reading the paper at Moyna Jayne’s while having breakfast. What a civilised way to start a weekend. Then for various reasons we found ourselves in one of our old stamping grounds – Whiteinch.

    Anita_manning8687_2 What used to be Whiteinch Baptist Church is now, of all things, an antiques auction room called Great Western Auctions, run by Anita Manning, auctioneer, of BBC Flog It! fame (pictured). So went in to have look cos there was a sale on. And there standing at the back, with TV cameras and all the other paraphernalia were the team from Flog It! Now I know of church buildings that have been converted into night clubs (at least two in Aberdeen), a garage repair shop, a furniture warehouse, restaurans, or flats, or even a small church converted into a family home. But an antique auction room? What does that say about the life expectancy of traditional expressions of church now considered antique?

    When I went to Partick Baptist Church in 1976, the Whiteinch church had just closed and most of the membership joined the fellowship at Partick. Some of them were memorable characters, people of a generation now gone. As Whiteinch Baptist Church closed, these good folk, many of them getting on in years, were some of the first to feel the finality of sociological changes brought about by urban re-developments, secular affluence, changing social habits, and that crisis of confidence that has since seeped deeply into the mindset of Christians used to privileged respect from the wider society, and not used to being marginalised by more powerful and persuasive voices representing a quite different kind of gospel.

    The presence of a TV crew in a former Baptist Church building, recording an episode of daytime TV devoted to discovering we can get money by selling pieces of our family or personal heritage, was an irony not lost on me. Somewhere along the line, that part of us that valued the past, respected our heritage, and relativised money in the scale of values, has been subverted. In a neat reversal of Jesus’ words, selling granny’s china and grandad’s medals becomes an act of secular wisdom, a pragmatic realisation of resources, which can go towards the new flat screen telly. 

    Store up for yourselves treasure on earth, for where your treasure is there will your heart be also. Don’t store up treasure in heaven – you might never see it.

    But then again. Maybe it isn’t such a bad thing to let things go that are no longer useful, or that used to be important in the life of a previous generation. If there was an edition of Flog It! that specialised in helping us to trade in on, and change into usable currency, some of our religious practices and ways of being Christian and approaches to Christian community, what would we be prepared to flog? What in our traditional ways of doing things, should be let go so that the resources they tie up can be used differently? What is now antique about the way we represent Jesus to the world? What would contemporary discipleship look like?

    Cross If we could relinquish our hold on granny’s china (or its ecclesial equivalent), I can become quite cheerful about the prospects for Christian witness. If as Jesus disciples we actually live within his teaching, act out of a character formed and transformed by habits of following Jesus that are somewhere near the values of the Sermon on the Mount, and speak and act out of a world-view that has Calvary in the background and the empty tomb in the foreground, then we might just be strange enough in our lifestyle, character and conversation to attract attention. And when Christlike living gets the world’s attention, witness happens!

  • Eucharist: The Real Presence, and the real presence

    Cathedral_1_sm_2 Years ago Ken Roxburgh and I went to a clergy retreat at Scottish Churches House in Dunblane. It seemed like a good opportunity to maintain a rich friendship while also sustaining two people working through the rigours of being Scottish Baptist ministers. The programme looked good, and the speaker was Bishop John V Taylor, writer of several award winning books including The Go-Between God, still a book so stimulating and original that it draws the reader into the same adoring wonder, about God and the world around, that seemed to captivate its writer.

    Well anyway, at the first meeting with the good Bishop, the two dozen or so clergy were told that the Bishop had decided (no communal discernment allowed – he was a Bishop!) that it would be a silent retreat. This wasn’t on the publicity, and alarmed most of us – but the Bishop, as is their wont, wasn’t into negotiation. No talking or conversation outside of set devotional times – and meals also to be taken in silence. That kind of put the dampers on Ken and I, who had come to talk, to pray, to listen and learn – but not to be silent for 48 hours! Apart from the careful handwritten notes, written in a John Menzies A5 spiral notebook, used by Bishop Taylor to guide us, with slow spiritual deliberation, through the several retreat talks, two further less pious memories dominate.

    80270 The first was the near hysterical inner reaction I had to sitting at breakfast table, surrounded by another 7 hungry clergy, in a room devoid of human chatter, listening in the imposed semi-silence to the sound of muesli being chomped, coffee being slurped and toast being munched – and being reminded of feeding time in the byre when I was a boy on the farms! The second was the wonderful game of football Ken and I watched at the Dunblane Hydro in order to have at least one evening’s conversation between friends who had gone to some trouble and expense to spend some time together. Anyway we is Baptists – and it’s a point of principle to uphold the freedom of the individual conscience in matters spiritual

    315aegfzzcl__aa240_ I was thinking about John V Taylor again recently. His book The Primal Vision written 40 years ago was an early foretaste of what has become a major theological discipline in its own right – missiology. Here is J V Taylor’s take on what gives the Eucharist both its missiological and its witnessing function within the church, written by a man whose missionary vocation made him one of Africa’s most sympathetic interpreters:

    "So many of our Eucharists fall short of the glory of God because while purporting to concentrate on the Real Presence of Christ, they seem to be oblivious to the real presence of people, either in the worshipping family or the world around. To present oneself to God means to expose oneself, in an intense and vulnerable awareness, not only to him but to all that is."

    The real presence of other people at the eucharist, and a Christlike intense and vulnerable awareness of God, and all that is – including these my sisters and brothers, around this table, and beyond, to those sharing with me the space and resources of this God-loved world. A properly eucharistic theology inevitably means we present ourselves to God, in response to divine love, and for the sake of the world.

  • Sean’s meme – I have read enough …….

    Here’s my attempt to respond to Sean’s meme here.

    I have read enough…..

    1. I have read enough Thomas Merton to know that silence and solitude are not self indulgent pursuits of the ultra-spiritual, but the necessary disciplines to self giving love, that make it possible to have a self worth giving.
    2. I have read enough Kathleen Norris and Esther De Waal to know that the Rule of St Benedict  provides a framework of spirituality that takes the ordinary routines of life and integrates them into a spirituality that values stability founded upon, and community centred upon, the Word of God read and lived together.
    3. I have read enough Chaim Potok, Elie Wiesel and Abraham Joshua Heschel, and the apostle Paul, to know that my own Christian faith is deeply indebted to, genetically connected to, the life and thought of God’s ancient people Israel as they emerged from their encounter with God.
    4. I have read enough George Herbert to know that words used with pastoral precision and poetic craft, in the 17th century as the 21st, become sacraments of truth and gifts of grace.
    5. I have read enough James Denney to know that ‘the last reality of the universe is eternal love, bearing sin’.
    6. I have read enough novels by Anne Tyler, Gail Godwin and Carol Shields to know that when it comes to understanding what goes on inside us, what drives our deepest family relationships, what is the meaning of forgiveness and of love as costly self-expense, what to make of disappointment, how to hold on to friendship faithfully but not possessively, how to creatively use or destructively express anger, how to live through broken trust and learn to trust again, just how to make something of that whole fankled emotional liability we call the human heart, then these women novelists are far more perceptive guides than most pastoral theology I’ve read – much of it still written by men!
    7. I have read enough Jurgen Moltmann to know that he isn’t the last word in systematic theology, and that I don’t always agree with him, but his is a passionately written theology of the Passion, drawn from a conception of the Triune God defined by intra-Trinitarian love that is kenotic, passionate and redemptive – and therefore liberating.
    8. I have read enough Karl Barth to know that I’ll probably never be able to read all of Karl barth, but it won’t be because I’ve stopped trying.
    9. I have read enough of Rick Warren.
    10. I have read enough of Julian of Norwich to know that her Revelations of Divine Love constitutes one of the high points of medieval theology, one of the masterpieces of Christian mysticism, one of the most profound reflections on the cross ever written, and is the first major theological writing by a woman in English.
  • Warning – prolonged rant, Part I

    Ml_bh Every month we pay our TV Licence by direct debit. As a fully paid up licence holder I am entitled to express my response to Micahel Lyons, Chairman of the BBC Trust, who makes the unqualified assumption he knows what I want. He says, and I quote,

    "What [the public] want to hear…is every pound is being squeezed to get the maximum value. And the BBC is going to be more disctinctive in the future. The BBC needs to be more distinctive doing things that other people don’t do, and also those things it does do, doing them in a distinctive way."

    Blockcybermen_2 I am SO tired of the asumption that what I (a member of the public) want is value for money at all costs. And I am even MORE tired of the assumption that value is index linked to pounds sterling. I value the BBC for reasons that have nothing to do with money. In any case, value for money is such a subjective judgement. I happen to think that a couple of million spent producing quality drama is better value than half that amount spent on reality TV productions. Dr Who or X Factor, which is best value for money?

    _43015935_latprog_2 Simon Rattle conducting the Berlin Philarmonic or Spooks? Eastenders or Panorama, Casualty or Newsnight? Or again, take televised sport. The major sporting occasions are not value for money if it means the BBC has to outbid huge commerical interests to bring major events to terrestrial TV, and thus slash the budget for other forms of TV programme much more representative, educational, culturally significant – all of which are themselves fairly subjective judgements. And I am, unabashedly, fitba daft masel’, like!

    I’m not against reducing wasteful spending; or reviewing staff levels in relation to technological change; nor am I critical of any major public institution which must change in order to remain effective, adaptable and secure in its cultural and social role as an institution supported by and accountable to, the public. The BBC has an obligation to be financially prudent, but also a duty to preserve its fundamental values – which are not all financially calculable. Yes, include value for money in discussions about value; but also include values which are not indexed to finance, which indeed might cost significantly in order to preserve and promote precisely these values.

    _44127193_monksap203b Like reporting on violence against Buddhist monks in Burma; or attempted genocide by stealth in Darfur; or the double standards of objecting to nuclear development in developing countries while new generations of nuclear weapons are commanding major budgets in the West. That kind of reporting will never be value for money – it’s too important for that. So don’t make value for money, filthy lucre, the benchmark value of any public I belong to.

    Less factual, news based programmes is one of the key proposals, and where staff cuts will be deepest, according to the BBC’s own News Programme. Now whatever else I expect, and value, from the BBC, naive as it may seem, I expect quality reporting which is politically independent, accurate and current, reflective of the realities in our world and informed about how they impinge upon our own cultural, social and political life. I expect the BBC to have some of the best correspondents, some of the most informed and reflective minds engaging with the events, people and circumstances that shape our history as today’s news becomes yesterday. Good quality news coverage, factual documentaries whether political, current afairs, the arts, natural history or whatever, should not be reduced to release funds for more populist agendas. This is the hard dilemma of major educational and public institutions – do you give what is demanded, or seek to offer that which influences the culture out of which such demands come? Should the agenda be populist or elitist? Important questions – and not to be short-circuited by reducing everything to making sure every pound is squeezed to get value for money. There are other, more valuable values to be cherished.

    I know, there is another side to all of this – but maybe Part II tomorrow.

  • An honest day’s work – and a fair day’s pay?

    Db880_2  A visit to The Museum of Scottish Country Life was a journey back in time to my first 16 years of life in the 50’s and 60’s. I lived in rural Ayrshire and Lanarkshire and spent my growing up years on farms, where my father was a dairyman. I found myself looking at farm implements now consigned to a museum, that I used to handle, and used to earn pocket money during the summer holidays. I recognised and knew the names of such exotic implements as harrowers, grubbers, reapers and binders, mole-traps, turnip chippers, sheep shearing scissors; and watching a video of milking in the 1950’s – something I used to help my dad with when I was 10, and before I went on the school bus!

    Scythes_203_203x152_2  The Y shaped scythe was nearly as big as me and I was paid 2/6d (12 and a half pence!) a day to cut down the profusion of thistles in the fields where the dairy herd grazed. The draining spade, with its enormous left hand blade, I used to jump on when I was small and allegedly helping my dad re-cut the draining ditches of the silage fields.

    The milking apparatus, complete with four chrome cups lined with Alfa Laval rubber sheaths, a pulsator, a rubber can gasket and a hose for fitting to the vacuum pump – I remember helping to do the milking, pasteurising the milk, sterilising the equipment, mucking the byre and hosing it all down on a daily basis. I could assemble the milking equipment with its complicated network of hoses and fittings with practised ease by the time I was 10.

    Fordson_super_major_1964 I was driving a tractor in the fields by age 12, and in the various farms became familiar with several makes of tractor – all of which I saw at the Museum of Scottish Country Life. The David Brown (always called the Davie Broon, first picture above), the Massey Ferguson which was the regular mechanical work-horse, the Nuffield which was a big brute of a thing, and the impressively new Fordson Major, (pictured here) which for a while the farmer didn’t let anyone drive but himself!

    File0119 You can follow the history of the plough – from single blade drawn by horses, to early tractor drawn triple bladed, all the way through to the modern left foot, right foot, multi-bladed swivel versions. An important family picture shows my dad using the horse drawn plough. I’ve posted it again just as a piece of personal indulgence – and because it captures formative years in the development of my own values, my view of working people and of work, of money and what it costs to make a living by the labour of human hands, and my admiration for the sheer tenacity of those who worked the land when mostly what was available was their own resilience, stamina, and yes, pride in their work. My favourite passage in the Wisdom of Sirach pays tribute to farm labourers like my dad:

    He sets his heart on ploughing straight furrows,

    and he is careful about fodder for the cattle.

    Sirach, ch.38.26

    That sums up my dad’s work-ethic – in my best moments I hope something of that pride in doing the routine things well, and doing an honest day’s work is genetically transferable. And I also wonder what an honest day’s work is worth for a man who worked up to 80 hours a week – more than the meagre pay-packet he brought home – always, but always, unopened!

  • Central heating, Morton’s rolls and Die Hard seagulls

    One of the long term failings in my make-up is that when I come off a long period of working too hard, and take a holiday – the first few days I am like a bear with a migraine discovering somebody’s been eating my porridge. So I don’t live to any agenda, structure, timetable, plan, schedule or any other device that hints at control.

    Thm_bg_logo Aye, but then what happens when the central heating gets its service on Monday, and goes on the blink on Tuesday, eh? And both days I’m told the gas engineer will come anytime between 1pm and 6 pm so I can’t go out? And the shower is at best a cool tepid, but I give thanks that the blessed boiler had at least taken the chill off. With studied patience (one of several under-developed fruits of the Spirit in my life) and pious resignation, (one of the carnal attitudes that occasionally surfaces) I took to the sofa with a book, made a cafetiere of coffee, watched the rain run down the windows, made a veritable vat of lentil and herb soup, and descended to the depths of cultural vacuity by watching some daytime TV. The gas man came, fixed the solenoid, then it stopped again, replaced the valve, but it needs a pump -so the gas man will come Wednesday as well – three days of non agenda living huh? Holiday not dancing to anyone else’s tune, eh?

    11055  Still – by Tuesday afternoon, leaving our cool home (the word cool means cold, not trendy), Sheila and I went to Lochwinnoch for a brisk, healthy, stress-busting walk. At the side of the loch a couple had come to feed the birds – gulls as it happens. What impressed me was the fact that it was Morton’s rolls they’d brought. Not your imported doughy, synthetic dissolve in your mouth baps, and none of your healthy high fibre bran and wholewheat curling-stone rolls either.

    No – the real thing, Morton’s rolls. These folk had come to ‘feed the birds’. And not your Mary Poppins London pigeons, more your Die Hard Lochwinnoch seagulls, complete with grubby vests.For those who don’t know, Morton’s rolls are the Rolls Royce of the roll industry. When someone in Glasgow says they are just going to get the Rolls, it isn’t the car they mean. A Morton’s roll is better than Somerfield’s SO GOOD and Sainsbury’s TASTE THE DIFFERENCE rolled into one! (rolled – get it?). Crusty, light, requiring enough Lurpak butter to leave visible tooth prints a minimum of umpteen millimetres deep.

    A different class of gull at Lochwinnoch – discerning scavengers from rural suburbia by the loch. I came back feeling that the world is still a surprisingly good place to be.

  • Colin Gunton, The Barth Lectures – a guide to the Matterhorn

    Colin Gunton, The Barth Lectures (London: T&T Clark, 2007), 285 pages, £25.

    (Review copy courtesy of T&T Clark)

    41llnvifl__bo2204203200_pisitbdp500 I met Colin Gunton only once, at a P T Forsyth symposium at King’s College, Aberdeen. Since then I’ve read most of his published volumes. I am also an amateur reader of Barth – by which I mean Barth is a kind of theological hobby, a source of stimulus and refreshment, and of spiritual sustenance, to be read now and then, even studied for a while, but not allowed to absorb mental energy and time I need to give to much else that my life is about!

    Reading Barth is my equivalent of remembering to increase the proportion of organically healthy theology in my diet, to prevent that dangerously convenient trend towards over-processed stuff with artificial flavourings! Barth is wholewheat, high fibre theology; Barth is to the theological palate, what dirty carrots from the farmer’s market are when compared to those washed, watery, flavourless, peely-wally, plastic packaged supermarket baby carrots!

    Colin20gunton20with20pimms Back to Gunton. This is an unusual, and unusually enjoyable book for several reasons. First, it is a lasting memorial to Colin Gunton’s skill and passion as a theological educator, because the contents are the recorded and transcribed lectures Gunton delivered to post and undergraduate students at King’s College, London. Second they were so faithfully heard and transcribed that those privileged to be there, can hear the voice, envisage the face, recall the energy and passion of Gunton in full theological flow. Third, the book is one person’s transcribed and edited account (Paul Brazier) of the views of one of the best British theologians in a generation (Colin Gunton), expounding the 20th Century’s most influential European Protestant Theologian (Karl Barth). Fourth, because the lectures are recorded pretty much verbatim, and with diagrams and charts and explanatory sections and questions for further discussion, the book reads often like a handbook to major divisions of the Church Dogmatics, with short focused sections making up carefully structured chapters. This series of lectures provide as accessible a way up into Barth’s higher altitudes as I know.

    Barth is a huge presence in the interchanges, suggestions and counter-suggestions of theological blogs. Those who want to encourage others in their reading of Barth know well that some of the most important works are also the most theologically demanding, bordering on the forbidding. Not this one – I think Gunton on Barth through Brazier, rendered into lecture note form, works extremely well as a way of enabling ordinary theological mortals to follow Barth’s complex, prolix, brilliant, dense, unrelentingly demanding and endlessly inviting theology, and know that the view after the hard climb is worth the effort.

    The first 75 pages set Barth’s Dogmatics in their intellectual and historical context, of Enlightenment philosophy, ascendant 19th Century liberal theology, the cultural and theological crisis of the Great War, the Romans commentaries and Barth’s critical appropriation of Anselm. Much of this is available in secondary literature elsewhere, and not so selectively and tendentiously as Gunton’s treatment here. It’s still good stuff though, from a teacher completely at ease in 19th century continental theology and philosophy.

    Then chapter by chapter from the Triune God, to the being of God, the doctrine of election, and on to the hugely impressive work of Barth on Christology and soteriology, where Gunton is at his theologising best. Reading this book isn’t only an exercise in hearing a theological lecturer tell students about Barth.It’s to overhear and visually imagine a conversation between Gunton and Barth, complete with head nodding affirmation, raised eyebrows of surprise and quips of humour. But also to hear a significant number of corrective comments and courteous demurrals,the whole performance charged with intellectual energy, alive with restless but reverent curiosity. Thankfully Brazier hasn’t edited out Gunton’s lecturing mannerisms, and on page 145 he makes the statement-question of every good theological teacher, ‘You see…..you see’. Gunton, and Barth through Gunton, conducts theological education in the tradition of John the Evangelist – ‘The Word became flesh and dwelt amongst us…. and we beheld His glory’. You see?

    ‘Behold the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world.’ You see?

    The20incomparable20matterhorn I’ve read a number of books on Barth, the intellectual background and development of his theology, and each one with their own take on how best to tackle this theological Matterhorn. Von Balthasar, Berkouwer, Torrance, Webster, Busch, McCormack, Hunsinger, Dorrien – now if pushed to say which were the most helpful guides for me in my amateur mountaineering amongst the Dogmatics, they would be Busch’s The Great Passion, Webster’s Barth in the Outstanding Christian Thinkers series, The Cambridge Companion to Karl Barth. And now these distilled discourses of Colin Gunton, The Barth Lectures. But not because Gunton gives a definitive interpretation, or a comprehensive survey – he does neither.From the others I learned a lot about Barth – but it is just as important to learn what Barth was about. These lectures demonstrate how to engage with Barth, to use him as a massive presence to be tackled because he is there, and then to start climbing.

    The Introduction by Stephen Holmes is an affectionately respectful eulogy, honest about the limitations both of the book’s form and content, but enthusiastic about the book’s value. This, together with Christoph Schwobel’s Foreword, enables two of Gunton’s friends to offer some evaluation not only of this volume, but of the theological impact of Gunton’s teaching – perhaps best gauged by those, like these two, who learned from Colin Gunton a lifelong commitment to doing theology, and doing it well, because ‘as to the Lord’, which indeed it is!

    I always carefully choose the book that will accompany me through Advent – this year I think I’m going to let Gunton guide me through Church Dogmatics 59.1 ‘The Way of the Son into the Far Country’. Then during Lent and towards Easter, perhaps he can take me further through 59.2 and 59.3. and the meaning of ‘The Obedience of the Son of God’.

  • Autumn Haiku

    86291165_3iynst4w Decided to play around with inner feelings of being on holiday in autumn. The profusion of yellow, gold and brown, the windy wet drizzly day, the crab apple tree in our front garden, and the increasing irrelevance of harvest thanksgiving as a liturgy for local, rural agriculture in a globalised world – all combine to create a mood mostly playful but with an elegiac hint of Autumn’s annual reminder to us all! I’ve always liked autumn in a kind of sorry to see summer go sort of way – the changing colours of trees and garden, the sense of season’s coming and going, the rhythm of vitality in spring, maturity in summer, fruitfulness in autumn and dormant rest in winter. And maybe also because my roots are in country rather than city. In any case, here’s some of the inner conversation going on just now.

    Autumn Haiku

    Windy autumn rain.

    Showers of yellow falling leaves;

    trees prepare to sleep.

    .

    Like much too early

    frosted scarlet Christmas balls,

    crab apples hang down.

    .

    Harvest fruit gathered;

    winter storage, dated since

    globalisation.

    .

    A fruitful autumn,

    like ripe middle aged people,

    well preserved wisdom.

    .

    A fruitful autumn,

    like well preserved people,

    middle aged wisdom.