Tag Archives: Evangelicalism

It’s more than a sign: ecumenical reflections for today

Church Sign

We put up this sign a while ago.  It tells all those who drive by that Ancaster Village Church gathers at 5pm on Sunday evenings in St John’s Parish Hall.  But for me it represents so much more.  I see it as a reflection of something far greater which is on the move these days.  In simple terms our church rents this space from St John’s Anglican Church.  But for both of our churches this is more than just an exchange of money for the use of space.  We see this as hope and mission.

This afternoon I spent an hour in prayer with the priests of St John’s Anglican.  Praying for this great city with them is positively inspiring. The comedy of me, a sacramentally deprived rebellious Protestant, being welcomed into relationship with them is why, in the words of the Roman Catholic JMR Tillard, I believe, despite everything.

There is something in the ecumenical air these days.  I’m hearing more and more stories which confirm this.  We — as in the Church — are finding partnership, relationship, common purpose, worship, and mission around the highest common denominator.  This is different than my understanding of some past ecumenical dialogues where the commonality was found in the lowest common denominators.  Where the conversation was once founded on the understanding that we couldn’t agree on the big things, so instead we’d look for unity in the small things, we are now realizing that it’s in the biggest thing (person) where our unity is found.  We’re standing around the Table of Bread and Wine with a look in our eyes that says, “this is all we’ve got.  Him.”  In some cases we’re still not comfortable enough to break the bread with each other, but we’re looking at all of those things that exist around that Table of Bread and Wine with a different, more gracious, understanding of each other.

My hunch is that the fall of Christendom has graciously led us to this place.  For that reason, among many others, I welcome our place as the church in exile — the church on the fringe of culture.  Exile helps us remember who we are.  And as we’re remembering who we are, we’re looking around and realizing that we have so many sisters and brothers who might dress a little differently but are on the same team.

A few weeks ago I was honoured to lead communion/Eucharist for a group of ministers and church leaders who reflected at least a dozen different denominations and traditions.  It was Ephesians 4 in real life.  It was beautiful.  We came to the Table together, prayed for each other, and were sent out in mission together.

In three weeks I will once again administer the elements alongside my Anglican friends in their gathering to which they invite our church.  We find commonality at the Table.  It’s incredible.  All of our respective bells and whistles, although they matter and are (mostly) beautifully unique and distinctive, are simply reflections of the one who brings us together and unites us.

There are few things these days which excite me more.

We’ve got a ways to go.  Lord knows there are those within my own tribe who think we ought to tighten up the ecumenical guidelines lest we get too comfortable with those guys.  But whatever.  Redemption is here.  Redemption is coming.  And I’m convinced that one of the greatest ways this world will experience hope is through the church, in and with all her different flavours, coming together as one.

There is one Lord, one faith, one baptism, and one God and Father of all, who is over all, through all, and in all.

How a man I never met inspired this blog

I only saw him once.  I was coming out of a class at McMaster Divinity College in Hamilton, ON, and he was walking from his hole-in-the-wall office to the men’s room.  I remember thinking that he was quite tall.  Looking back I wish that I’d skipped the remainder of my class, approached him, and asked him to go for a coffee.

I’d read some of Clark Pinnock’s books before seeing him that day, the first being A Wideness in God’s Mercy.  The book intrigued me on several levels, but most notably I felt like I was reading into the heart of a man who was truly grappling with the profoundness of the God of love, grace, and mercy.  Soon after that I read Most Moved Mover, one of Clark’s contributions into the foray of openness theology.  Now, say what you will about openness theology, but what struck me throughout the book was not so much the claims therein, but the foundation from which Clark made the claims — God’s love — and the clear love for God and love for the discussion about God which Clark demonstrated through his words.  This was a man who was deeply in love with God.  And subsequently he was deeply in love with the ongoing discussion concerning God: theology.

As those in the world of evangelical theology know, Clark took a beating from many because of his openness theology hypothesis.  The word “persecution” is not too strong as several voices in the evangelical world came down hard on Clark.  Clark, in many circles, was anathematized.

During my time at McMaster Divinity I became friends with some professors and students who were close to Clark before his death in August, 2010.  What I learned from them about Clark did not surprise me.  Clark was a soft-spoken gentle man.  He loved his wife.  He lived a simple life.  And he was very involved in his small local church.  Those in his church didn’t think of Clark as “the theologian,” they thought of him as simply Clark, the caring man who consistently demonstrated his love for Jesus and the church.  I was told that at his funeral it was made very clear that the service was a time for Clark’s family — his church — to celebrate his life and mourn their loss.  And though the academic community showed up by the dozens, the service itself reflected the life of the man for whom everyone was gathered to remember: it was simple; it was about the church; it was about Jesus.

One of Clark’s good friends described for me the years of attack that Clark endured during the heyday of the openness debate.  Clark’s faith was questioned; he was called a heretic; and it was said that he obviously did not love or know Jesus.  Clark was crushed.  My friend put it like this: “Imagine that someone told you, Aaron, that you didn’t love you wife, when the truth is you love her more than life.  That’s how Clark felt when people told him that he didn’t love Jesus.”

The preface and introduction in Most Moved Mover have never escaped my mind.  Here are a few excerpts:

Over the course of my life as a theologian, I have been a pilgrim and have sought to grow as a hearer of God’s word.  Theology has been for me a journey of discovery and, though I have respected them, I have not regarded traditional views as beyond reform.

One’s theology is a work of human construction, even when based in divine revelation, and interpretation requires strenuous effort.  Our interpretations are provisional and truth is, to some extent, historically conditioned and ultimately eschatological.  To paraphrase St Paul,“Now we know in part; then we will know fully.” (1 Cor 13:12)

I think there is always a place for asking questions and for challenging assumptions.  Our God-talk is always open to re-evaluation because mistakes can be made and need correcting.

Responsible faith always asks questions and theology is done when the community takes a real interest in the truth.  Every believer is a theologian at some level and together we can engage in the search for the fullness of the truth made known in Jesus Christ.  It is not enough to repeat traditional formulations of doctrine, which may be adequate or inadequate.  We must persist in searching for the truth to which our traditions point but which they only partially express.

Every generation needs to think about its conception of God — is it true to the gospel, does it communicate and is it adequate for living?

God is not dead, but some of the ways we have presented God are dead.

Clark’s words inspire me, encourage me, and challenge me.  Although I never met Clark, I resonate a great deal with what motivated his task as a theologian.  Clark loved Jesus.  And Clark’s love of Jesus compelled him to never stop figuring out how to put words and actions to a life of following Jesus.  He wasn’t afraid to question the theological status quo, not because he was a rebel, but because to stop figuring it out would have been like never going for a romantic walk with your wife again.  The journey — the theology in process — was both the demonstration and experience of Jesus’ love.

Sadly, Clark’s words also haunt me.  I wish that I could say “sorry” to Clark — sorry on behalf of evangelicals who didn’t process theology very well, who questioned your faith, who questioned your love for Jesus, and who never took ten seconds to get to know the man behind the words.  I pray that Clark’s story haunts me in the best of ways — that I will always remember the importance of process and that I will respect and love those who are also on the journey of figuring it out.

We don’t ever get our theology figured out.  It’s always in process.  And for me, like Clark, the process is both how I find and fall in love with Jesus.

So thanks, Clark.  Thanks for your writing, your witness, and your willingness to process in front of us all.  I can’t think of a better person to honour as I kick this blog off, and  I can’t wait to have that cup of coffee with you someday.