Discerning The Center of Christian Faith

Does the Christian faith have a center? If so, what is it? Is it something needing to be revitalized—and if so, how would we go about doing it?

These are questions which cannot be ducked. Recognizing and honoring ultimate matters of faith—distinguishing them from the mundane—all this is far too important. When we cannot, will not, or do not face them, before long we find that relatively minor concerns are being lifted up, and that things of truly saving significance are getting lost in the shuffle.

For an example: once long ago, when I was a young and fairly reckless pastor of a staid congregation, I attempted to have the flowers in our sanctuary moved from their time-honored place (below the cross; behind the communion table) to a still prominent but less central spot in the chancel.

I believe I can say that this effort stands as the biggest mistake of my ministry. In the minds of a certain element of the membership, everybody knows that God wants the flowers below the cross and behind the communion table; and the fact that I was ignorant on this matter indicated that I might not be fit to be a minister.

I weathered the storm; but I’ve lived through (and heard about) enough ordeals like it to have become convinced: confusion about the essentials is one of the major problems of our time. But why should that be? Isn’t the difference between the center of the Christian faith and the periphery perfectly obvious? Isn’t it one of those things that everyone just knows—with the possible exception of the old guard of a very few extremely staid churches?

Lest we answer too quickly, remember: in the history of the church, the name most frequently associated with the notion that Christian faith has a crucial core and a dispensable outer layer is Adolf von Harnack. In Harnack’s view, the Church’s principle problem was as follows. Early in its life, heresies posed a legitimate threat, requiring a response from the leadership of that day. Creedal dogmas were developed as a counter measure, the philosophical categories for which being of necessity the somewhat limited ones which were available at the time. The dogmatic inheritance which this process bequeathed to the Church was in Harnack’s memorable phrase, “the work of the Greek spirit on the soil of the Gospel.” Necessary at the time, it had the unfortunate result of obscuring the actual person of Jesus and his simple, ethical teachings. For Harnack, these latter, not the church’s theological formulae, constitute the “kernel” of the Gospel—and to be grasped, this kernel must be distinguished from the churchy, creedal “husk” which surrounds it. The upshot: the message of Jesus—regarding the kingdom of heaven, the fatherhood of God, the infinite value of the human soul, and the ethical import of love— only these matters are essential and permanently valid. The rest is not.

Grenz and Rogers Seek the Center

Two recent book-length treatments tackle this issue, though neither has Harnack in view: Renewing the Center by Stanley Grenz and Claiming the Center by Jack Rogers. Given how similar they are, their differences are all-the-more instructive. Both works take history seriously; and both are responses to and attempts to move beyond the liberal/conservative divide which has polarized the American theological landscape for the past century and longer. Labeling the view which takes this divide as a given “the two-party model,” Grenz argues that the opportunities of the present make it passé. For the two-party model persists in assuming that the only thing worth talking about is the dual-to-the-death underway between left and right. “The renewal of theology and the creation of a ‘generous orthodoxy’ in our day requires, however, that theologians move beyond this outmoded schema.”1 There are two difficulties here: for Grenz, such a renewal will only be possible if theologians welcome postmodernity as the crucial key; and he claims that the evangelical theologians are best poised to accomplish it;2 though no indication is given why this should be so.

Rogers’s project directs its hopes, not toward evangelicalism, but toward “mainstream Protestantism.”3 It is here, in “the center,” says Rogers, that we find the greatest number of people struggling to deal with life in all its complexity.

On every significant issue about 75 percent of Protestants are somewhere in the middle trying to make sense out of complex questions and to act responsibly in difficult circumstances.4

The initial hurdle here is that, as is no secret, the mainline churches—and of course Rogers’s (former GA moderator) principle concern is with the PC(USA)—are the ones in decline and the ones in which left/right conflicts rage the most fiercely. But in his view, these conflicts and the attendant loss of members are attributable—not, as is generally assumed, to a clash over the essentials—but rather to a conflict of inessential worldviews. Because of their differing views, “(g)ood, intelligent, and devout people see things differently.”5 Who? Well, the national leadership on the one hand, and the congregational membership on the other. In Rogers’s estimation, these two groups actually share a common commitment to Jesus Christ and a common background in the basics of the faith; it is their disparate worldviews which keep them away from the middle and away from each other. The solution would be for “a majority of both leaders and members to claim the center and reconstitute a common contemporary worldview.”6

So both Grenz and Rogers argue that it is imperative that we free ourselves of the liberal/conservative polarity and work our way toward “the center.” In arguing their respective cases, both give due regard to historical antecedents and developments, beginning with the Reformation in the case of Grenz and with the Puritans in the case of Rogers; both make plausible arguments about how things got the way that they are. And both contain a wealth of useful information and even wise counsel. But on the crucial question of what remains to be done, whether either is ultimately convincing remains to be seen.

Grenz’s Attempt to Define the Center

The Grenz project, beginning as noted with the Reformation, takes us through the Puritans and the Pietists and into the eighteenth century and the beginnings of evangelicalism proper, typified by the phrase “convertive piety.”7 Next we are led into the nineteenth century of the Princeton theologians, and thence into the twentieth, the point at which evangelicalism became defensive and defeated, and hardened into fundamentalism.

The stage is thus set for the new evangelicalism which emerged in the 1940’s. It is here that we see Grenz at his best: the Christian conservatism of the last half century is presented, brilliantly, in the form of three contrasts: Carl F. H. Henry versus Bernard Ramm; Millard Erickson versus Clark Pinnock; and Wayne Grudem versus John Sanders. The first of each contrasting pair represents the movement’s traditionalist commitments; the second its pioneering spirit. In Grenz’s view, the strengths of the movement can be seen in the felicitous contrast between Henry and Ramm— strengths which would have been reprised in the polarity between Erickson and Pinnock, except that Erickson grew more conservative over time. When his turn came, Grudem moved the traditionalist pole even further to the right. In our author’s view, the present-day thinkers which Grudem exemplifies seem to be heading back toward the same kind of narrow fundamentalism from which the founders of neo-evangelicalism were determined to distinguish themselves.

This is a reading of recent history which makes perfect sense. It provides a serviceable platform for making the point Grenz wants to make: evangelicalism functions best when the traditionalists in their midst are creative and broad-minded—enough so as to allow room for their more innovative colleagues to explore roads less traveled. It is a reading which could stand on its own, and which could allow for the discussions at the back of the book, where he deals with problems such as those posed by science and by the non-Christian religions, to name two.

It is puzzling, therefore, that Grenz makes reference, early and often, to postmodernism. Not that he hasn’t considered that subject before.8 For a while now, his has been a prominent voice calling evangelicals to an ambitious journey: one which involves walking together with the postmodernists where they are on track, and parting company with them where they are not.9 No, the puzzle is that he continues that same appeal here. As noted, his thesis doesn’t need it. Moreover, it dilutes his arguments where they are strong and hurts them where they are weak.

I will admit to a bias. I have not (yet) become convinced that the postmodernists have very much to offer. I cite this as a bias, rather than a conviction, because I know whence it comes: from years, long ago, of reading that existentialism offered theology insights it could not find on its own, and which it sorely needed if it was ever to make the Gospel relevant to a contemporary audience. After existentialism, it was secularism, then liberation, and then process. Now it is postmodernism. I would not, as some might, cite this progression of “isms” in order to reject them all. Some of these philosophico-cultural movements have actually had something to offer, though others have not. Existentialism, for instance, proved a useful dialogue partner for theology; as a consequence, books which related it to Christian faith had a relatively long shelf life. Secularism, by contrast, proved less useful: there was an initial flurry of interest; but if memory serves, the discussion had moved on a short five or six years later.

One can affirm all of the explicitly theological claims Grenz makes—regarding the importance of community, for instance—without going into debt to postmodernism. Similarly, one can agree in principle that a theological discussion could be strengthened by engaging with and drawing from the contemporary milieu, without conceding that Grenz has found the right dialogue partner. Right or wrong, the proof will always be in the pudding.

And Grenz’s pudding is lumpy.

Lump #1: The Irresistible Paradigm Shift. One of 60’s-era liberalism’s oft-repeated slogans was, “The world sets the agenda for the church.” Conservatives objected that Christians take their cues from their Lord—and that the world/culture/society is not a reliable guide.

Unfortunately, Grenz makes something of the same mistake: the postmodern condition exerts a powerful agenda-setting influence: it “calls” and “challenges” Christians to move forward and in fact makes it necessary that they do so;10 because of its influence, evangelicals “must rethink” their doctrinal stance;11 altogether, “the postmodern, global context has thrust upon (evangelicals) a new situation.”12 If space permitted, it would be important to explore the anthropology implicit in such statements: they hint at a view of humanity as in no small measure captive to the “spirit of the times,” the latter thrusting itself upon the former, its critical, but still more or less helpless victim. Surely this is an implication that our author does not intend—yet it is there to be inferred every time postmodernism comes up.

Why would that be? There is a famous story from two generations ago about a preaching professor at Union Theological Seminary in New York. As innumerable preaching students have heard it, the prof criticized a student for the way he used an illustrative story. “You relied on your illustration the way a drunk uses a lamppost: more for support than for illumination.” It would not be entirely fair to accuse Grenz of the same thing. Nevertheless, his project relies on the pillars of “the postmodern context” at least as much for support as for illumination—and in a peculiar way.

It is clear that Grenz feels that his insights require something to prop them up, presumably in anticipation of encounters with his more dogmatic, which is to say less sympathetic, readers. It is clear that he does not believe that his treatment of the development of evangelical doctrine will suffice on its own. Thus, in order to convince conservative Christians of their need to embrace the “generous orthodoxy” he commends, something more is necessary: a lamppost which, yes, sheds a measure of light—but which serves another function as well.

Personally, I think Grenz’s proposal would be stronger without the appeals to Lyotard, et al. But he is right to be anxious nevertheless.

Lump #2: The Is/Ought Problem. Our author has rightly portrayed evangelicalism as immersed in and as a product of the flow of history. Call that “the is.” He also flirts with connecting an is/ought with God. “(T)heology’s structuring motif is rooted in the Christian confession of God as triune, and hence must be triune.”13 Here, an ought with us is anchored in an is with God. Unfortunately, not very much of Grenz’s material draws inspiration from that pattern. Much more pervasive are such appeals as: because the church since Constantine has been catholic, we ought to be that way today; because Protestants since the Reformation have preached sola fide, we ought to preach that way today; because Charles Hodge drew upon the science of the mid-nineteenth century, we ought to draw on the very different science of our day; because Carl F. H. Henry… and so on.

This is not Christianity; it’s Churchianity. It presumes that it will be enough to set forth our noble forbears, followed with an exhortation: they did X, Y, or Z back then; we should do X, Y, or Z now. But we have to ask, is talking about Hodge the same as talking about God? If not, then if we start earlier, with the Reformers, and work our way through the Princetonian and on up to the theologians of today—will that be the same as talking about God?

Viewed with those questions in mind, Lump #2 explains Lump # 1. The ought he wishes to commend cannot be derived from the is he so ably describes—which leaves his project insecure and in need of support, which is why postmodernism assumes the prominent role that it does.

The remainder of his problems can be traced to that pair of lumps. To cite just one, Grenz says, “(u)ltimately all theology is, as the ‘postmodern condition’ suggests, ‘local’ or ‘specific.’”14 But if theology is completely local, no one would know whether it was or not (any more than an undiscovered tribe in the Amazon rainforest would know how their climate compares with the weather in Chicago); all we would know would be whatever our low-level perspective allows for.15 And even if the claim which he makes were to happen to be true—though he couldn’t know whether it were true or not—his local perspective would leave him no warrant for using the word “ultimately.” But of course, Grenz, the evangelical, believes that there are certain claims about what is ultimately the case which can and should be made. It is just that Grenz, the postmodernist, finds himself asserting a contradictory thesis even before the sentence in question has run its course.

As a consequence, when we turn to asking what is this “center” which Grenz hopes to renew, it is with something of a sigh of relief that we learn that it is theological in nature and not a center of political power out of which a middle group could dominate those on the periphery— though this has sometimes been the case. Grenz notes that under the influence of the Constantinian model, calls for renewing the center have often served the ends of those believing that they alone deserve to stand in the central positions of power and prestige while others, “whose pedigree may in fact be just as long and whose claim to the ‘center’ equally valid are relegated to the sidelines.”16 Very much to the contrary, the center Grenz has in mind is not, for instance, “the political, social, and cultural center of the nation.”17

Rather, the “center” that is to be renewed is a theological center, and the quest to renew the center involves restoring a particular theological spirit to the center of the church.18

Rogers’s Attempt to Define the Center

When we turn to Rogers, we find a rich and rewarding book, with similarities to Grenz’s as previously adumbrated. But we may as well note at the outset that his center comes very close to the one which Grenz warns the reader not to seek. For here, the center is precisely that group which is not “the 15 percent on the ideological right and the 10 percent on the ideological left.”19 In Rogers’s view, those two factions have gotten the PC(USA) into its endless round of needless squabbles. And because they have, it is time for the potentially powerful big-majority-in-the-middle to reassume its rightful role. His book begins,

(t)he center of mainstream Protestantism is strong. On every significant issue about 75 percent of Protestants are somewhere in the middle trying to make sense out of complex questions and to act responsibly in difficult circumstances. The function of a mainstream Protestant church is twofold: To root people in the biblical tradition and to enable them to cope with the modern world. Most mainstream Protestants want and need guidance in both those arenas, and when they get it, they think and act responsibly.20

So whereas Grenz cautioned against attempts to arrogate the center to one particular party, Rogers makes it clear from the outset that precisely that is his intention.

Bear in mind that although the two works are parallel in their “both/and” approach—contending for both the gospel and postmodernism (Grenz) or both the biblical tradition and the modern world (Rogers)—as was previously noted, most of the points Grenz wants to make do not require authorization by the postmodernistas. This is not the case for Rogers, however. Looking to the middle, with biblical traditionalists relegated to one margin and worldly modernists to another, his project truly needs “both/and”— both the Bible pole and the modernity pole. Of course, this does not mean that he distorts either, nor that there isn’t a point worth making here.

Most modern Americans…are neither conservatives nor liberals. They have been influenced both by conservative values and by liberal insights so that they are clustered somewhere in the center. That position is more difficult to articulate and apply because it is inherently more complex. It is also more adequate to describe and deal with the complexity that is reality.21

No one can tell me that Rogers isn’t onto something very profound here. It is unfortunate, therefore, that he misses the most important part of the picture: contra his claim, it is not the case those in the middle are the only ones that fit his description. I can’t think of a single evangelical I know who is utterly unaffected by “liberal insights;” nor of a liberal untouched by conservative values. All of us are wrestling with all of the above. But if Rogers misses the mark in his three-party model—misses the mark in alleging that unnecessary church fights erupt for no reason other than that a small group of uncompromised traditionalists and an even smaller group of unadulterated modernists don’t have the good sense to keep quiet—misses the mark in presuming that anyone, if not in all of present-day America, then certainly within the PC(USA) at this late date after so many have left, might still fall into one of the extremes he describes—if he misses the mark in all this: then Rogers’s appeal to complexity is…well, simplistic and naïve.

Not because he overlooks the facts; his present effort is to be commended, as are all his writings, for the territory it covers. Sequential chapters introduce six motifs which represent the widely-shared religious worldview of America’s first two hundred years or so. The themes which emerge in the coverage of these six motifs are: the quest for purity; the need for priorities; the question of experience; the interpretation of Scripture; the importance of morality; and the nature of Christian hope.

We can happily admit: as good as Grenz was in presenting the history of evangelical theology, Rogers is even better with the terrain he covers. Denominational history is not my field; but I suspect that no other mainline church has as capable a scholar or as skillful a story-teller as the PC(USA) has in Jack Rogers. He can make the dry fascinating—and the fascinating riveting. Unfortunately, the best church historians do not always make for the best theologians— Harnack being the classic exemplar.

For example, Rogers outdoes Grenz in the self-congratulatory praise he heaps on his “center.” Missing is an appreciation for the radical nature of sin (remember his claim that when the supermajority gets the right advice, it can be counted on to “think and act responsibly”?). Thus, he can place his confidence in “good, intelligent, and devout” church people, who, after all, are not sinful, just uninformed. Once again: Churchianity rather than Christianity.

After his difficult year as moderator of the PC(USA)’s General Assembly, it is tempting to imagine that Rogers would no longer regard church majorities as sanguinely. This does not seem to be the case, however. In an article entitled “Moderator in the Maelstrom,” and with the subhead “Jack Rogers reflects on his stormy year at the helm of the Presbyterian Church (USA)’s General Assembly,” our author makes a startling claim about the crucial beliefs of the Reformed faith.

Central tenets are things that either have to do with our salvation, or that we have worked through to the point where we have a general consensus on them. If something is controversial, by definition it isn’t central.22

As a position taken by a bureaucrat from an organization in the throes of a very public brouhaha, such a statement could be excused. But Rogers was a well-respected and influential scholar before becoming moderator. How in the world, you ask, could he say something so patently contradicted by theology, history, and personal experience?

The answer is “worldview.” If there are disagreements between leaders and members,

(i)t is not that some people are smart and others stupid. Nor is it that some are virtuous and others wicked. It is rather that the worldview that some have adopted has caused them to see life in conservative terms, whereas others have acquired a worldview that gives a liberal interpretation of life.23

No one is stupid; no one is wicked; and…no one is wrong. Members and leaders are in near-complete disagreement, but no one is wrong. But still, there are all those familiar problems: the unhappiness; the lack of direction; the loss of members. Because of them, the need of the hour is for a “contemporary, creative, centrist worldview.”24 One like the one we used to have, but different because life is more complex now. Not necessarily a bad idea. But taking a part to represent the whole, we can envision the worldview Rogers has in mind by considering the part which has to do with the ordination of gays and lesbians.

The stage is set with reminders of the denominational breakup back in 1741, when New Side Presbyterians and Old Side Presbyterians split the church in two.25 “The issue was individual experience versus community norms. Which was more important: experiencing a revivalist conversion, or subscribing intellectually to the Westminster Confession?”26 Happily, a compromise was reached in 1758, one with an important lesson. “American Presbyterianism has always had to have a balance between the validity of individual experience and conformity to community norms.”27 Today’s situation, says Rogers, forms a sufficiently similar parallel: homosexual Presbyterians are asking their denomination to recognize that their individual experience (that is, their sexual practice) is a gift from God, while conservatives resist their appeal in the name of community norms (that is, Scripture as traditionally understood). Therefore, since a compromise was possible in the 1700’s and because the issues are so similar, we ought to be able to achieve one in our day as well.

We can note in passing that the same is/ought problem that plagued Grenz shows itself here as well: should the Presbyterians of today reconcile, like those of 1758? Or divide like those of 1741? History can be read as commending either alternative, depending on which moral imperatives are brought to the reading.

Beyond that simple point, there are many other issues raised here, each one worthy of careful analysis. And if the analysis were sufficiently judicious, it would call attention to the learned, wise, balanced, and/or pastoral features of Rogers’s treatment. But sad to say, none of this would change the bottom line: Rogers’s fundamental slant makes unfair use of the elasticity of the word “experience.” Yes, this term can refer to an encounter with God, as in the phrase “a conversion experience;” and yes, it can also represent the sum total of things lived through, as in “a person’s sexual experience” or even “the experience of a summer in Paris.”

Disagreements about conversion experiences and disagreements about sexual experiences sound like they are parallels; they are not. Multiple shelves in seminary libraries have been given over to books on such questions as, Is an encounter with God like an encounter with a human being? and How appropriate is the term “experience” for such encounters anyway? For Rogers to leap over the issues and place the two under the common rubric “experience” is to prejudice the discussion from the get go. (If his were a philosophical argument, we would say that he has begged the question, that is, assumed from the outset what he is purporting to prove.)

For the record, even setting the is/ought problem aside, how the church dealt with ministry candidates’ spiritual experiences 250 years ago has no direct bearing on how we should deal with candidates’ homosexual experiences today—except in calling attention to the fact that the church used to have better disagreements than we do now. At the risk of a lapse of judgment, consider the paraphrase: one person receives a “touch” from God; another a “touch” from a same-sex partner: surely it is obvious that the two incidents cannot be subsumed under the single category “touch” so as to be treated according to a single set of principles?

Conclusion

A generation ago, Carlyle Marnie used to say, “The Church ought to be solid at the core and mushy at the edges, but unfortunately we’re usually mushy at the core and solid at the edges.”

The core, the center, ought to be where we do not compromise. But if Marnie’s maxim has it right, Christians are forever becoming inflexible regarding relatively unimportant matters (like flower arrangements) while making concessions left and right regarding the essentials.

In its intention, Grenz’s stance is similar to Marnie’s. In particular, Grenz seems to understand full well the dangers inherent in absolutizing some relative configuration of values. His problem, to one reader at least, is in admitting an alien influence into the Church’s core, so that mushiness is sure to follow. Rogers by contrast, holds to a quite different view. He has no concern that a supermajority of the Church might endanger the faith: at least where mainliners in the middle are concerned, they can be counted on to be flexible where appropriate and inflexible where appropriate—and if there is a controversy, by definition it can’t be over anything that truly matters.

Does Christianity have a center? Comparing Renewing the Center and Claiming the Center ought to disabuse us of relying on too simplistic an answer. Even so, a few clues do seem to emerge from our discussion. With both of our authors, we can remember that we are not the first to have to struggle with such questions—though against both, we dare not assume that the ultimate perspective we require can be found simply by rummaging through our collective past. Contra Rogers, we have to bear in mind that we are not the center, no matter how large a majority we might claim to represent; as a corollary, it is imperative that we avoid the temptation to “claim the center” for those like ourselves rather than for something higher than ourselves. Against Grenz, it is important to maintain that, whatever constitutes the latest philosophy the world has devised to understand itself, it can never be an essential part of the Church’s self-understanding.

And against all manner of self-congratulation, it is imperative that we remember that the true center is where we ourselves are judged even as we are granted mercy. If the central issues have been blurred, it is often because we are hoping to escape such judgment—though of course, we end up losing out on mercy in the attempt. Thus, with Marnie, we need to confess that since exactly that is how all of us too often behave—and since our best theologians disagree on what should be done about it—we need the center to claim and renew us, rather than the other way around.

This article first appeared in Theology Matters, Vol. 8, No. 6 (Nov/Dec 2002).