Alister McGrath in The Science of God (Eerdmans 2004) devotes some space to salvaging the notion of theological dogma, which has gottten a justifiably bad rap in the West over the last four centuries or so.  Rather than a tool for inquisitorial repression, dogma is better seen as a way of setting generous definitions for the boundaries and content of Christianity.  It is a truism, but one needing constant reiteration, that communities with no boundaries and no content save the idiosyncratic  opinions of its members have little survival value.

The quotation is found on pp 188-190.

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...I believe that Christianity cannot avoid theoretical reflection and formulation, however tentative.  Yet this is by no means universally accepted, and would be vigorously contended by some.  There continues to be resistance to the notion of a 'dogmatic' Christianity, reflecting unease about the very nature of 'dogma', as well as the idea of shutting down what ought to be an ongoing discussion...

There are a number of particularly important factors which create this sense of unease and distrust about doctrinally shaped approaches to Christianity.  Among these may be noted the lingering concerns about the relation between dogma and conflict, as in the European Wars of Religion and the fading impact of the 'History of Dogma' movement, which argued that theoretical developments within Christianity were something of an historical aberration, resulting from a malignant Greek influence on the development of Christianity as it expanded from Palestine into new geographical  territories.

I respond with three points in arguing for the inevitability of doctrine:

1.  The demand for an 'undogmatic' Christianity often seems to amount to little more than imposing a global embargo on critical reflection in matters of faith.  It represents a retreat from precisely the kind of intellectual engagement which makes Christian theology such a genuinely exciting and challenging discipline.  Instead of encouraging Christians to think about their faith, it represents a demand that they suspend use of their intellectual faculties in any matters to do with God, Christ, or human destiny.  Precisely because human beings think, they will wish to develop theories concerning the nature of God and Jesus Christ--whatever form those theories may take.

2.  Some use the term 'undogmatic Christianity' in a highly invidious manner, meaning something like "an understanding of Jesus Christ which is opposed to the official teachings of the Christian faith'.  Yet the ideas which are held to displace these are generally as dogmatic as their predecessors.  It is a new set of dogmas that is being proposed, not the elimination of dogma as such.  Theoretical statements, whether implicit or explicit, lie behind all reflection on the nature of God or Christ.  To pretend that they do not is to close one's eyes to the pervasive influence of theories in religion, which must be honestly addressed and acknowledged at every point.

3.  To demand an 'undogmatic' Christianity often involves confusion over the tone and substance of Christian doctrine.  'Dogmatic' can rightly be understood as meaning 'enclosed within a framework of theoretical or doctrinal beliefs', and in this sense, I must insist, reflects some integral themes of the Christian faith.  Yet the term can also bear the meaning of 'uncritical', 'unreflective', or 'authoritarian'--referring, in other words, to the tone of voice in which Christian theological affirmations are made, rather than to their substance.  I have no in terest in supporting shrill, strident, imperious and overbearing assertions of Christian doctrine, which demand silent unthinking compliance on the part of their audiences, and lead to conflict and tension.  Yet I remain convinced that such statements are necessary and legitimate, while insisting that they can and should be stated more graciously and humbly.

In the American Episcopal Church, the Eucharist has largely supplanted the Daily Office as the liturgy of choice.  Many congregations omit the Office entirely as a form of public worship.  This is largely the case in my own parish, where Evening Prayer is sometimes a last-minute substitution when no priest is available to celebrate a weekday Eucharist.  The Office has become a form of private prayer, recited by relatively small numbers of people with a conscious commitment to spiritual practice.  This is obviously not an ideal situation, but probably inevitable given the liturgical history of the last 50 years or so.

Anglican priest Gary W Kriss stresses in this essay that even private recitation of the Office has a definite communal aspect, even if we must sometimes remind ourselves of it.  So it is not merely an exercise in spiritual introspection.  Click here for a handy on-line tutorial  in praying the Office.

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A number of years ago, while I was on a sabbatical, I spent a week at St Alban's Cathedral in England...where the whole staff is actually expected to be present  [at Matins and Evensong].  The Dean...liked to say that we prayed the Office for ourselves and for those who did not.  When he spoke of those who did not pray the Office, he was not referring to people who were simply unable for some reason to pray it.  I am quite sure that he was referring to everyone who was not praying Morning Prayer, whoever and wherever they were.

From his perspective--and I think that this is the correct understanding of the intention behind the Book of Common Prayer--reading the Daily Offices of Morning and Evening Prayer is everyone's responsibility.  What the Prayer Book envisions is the whole company of Christian people praying the offices morning and evening, every day, either with others in church, or wherever they might gather, or even by ourselves.

Whether one does this with other people or alone, he or she is in fact praying the Office communally, because we are praying the same Office that everyone else is praying, even though we may be separated in space and even time.  The Office is part of "common prayer"--common prayer is not ordinary prayer, it is communal prayer, the prayer of everyone, the prayer, in fact, that everyone says together.  So even when we are alone, we are praying it with all of the other people who pray it.  And we do so not merely because we have promised to do so, not merely because it is a good thing to do.  Rather, we do it precisely because is is something that the whole Church is called to do.  In fact, when we pray the Office, the purpose is not our own personal spiritual growth and fulfillment.  It may be, indeed it should be, spiritually enriching in a personal way to keep this rule of prayer, but that is a peripheral benefit, and not at all the basic purpose.

Effective with this month's posts, no new titles will be added to the inner sidebar's "Older Posts" section, which will,  however, remain up for your convenience.  Please consult the blog archive for more recent posts.  I am also adding labels to all the posts, allowing them to be accessed via the "Categories" section.

The newly ordained Fr Robert Hendrickson is a curate at Christ Church in New Haven, Connecticut.  He blogs at The Curate's Desk and in this post addresses the longstanding question of how one can simultaneously be Anglican and Catholic.  A tip of the biretta to Society of Catholic Priests.

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At the parish I serve, we hear Confessions, offer daily Mass, believe strongly in the Real Presence, say the Daily Office, offer Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament, and hold Our Lady in high esteem. These are all integral parts of a Catholic faith that sustains this community. They point toward “the thing itself” which we hold dear – that we worship a living God that condescends to come among us.
We are also a parish that has women serving as priests, has long supported LGBT causes, supports a degree of freedom in matters of conscience such as birth control.
For some, this seems like a case of serious cognitive (or at least theological) dissonance. Yet this is the joy of Catholic Anglicanism. We balance holy tradition with reason and Scripture in such a way that the individual is neither left unmoored to their own devices (as with much of mainline Protestantism) nor denied the dignity of conscience (as with much of Romanism). This kind of Generous Orthodoxy, to purloin a term, is supported by the comprehensive underpinnings of a creedal theology and Prayer Book Catholicism.
Our first concern is “the thing itself.” This means that our worship and service are directed toward the Holy One. All that we have we offer in worship, praise, and thanksgiving. It also means that we trust in a competent God that can handle the many issues that divide the Church today.
I believe that Catholic Anglicanism offers the best of traditional Catholicism and also offers substantial and distinctive contributions to the life of the Church.

Angels in popular culture, especially in New Age circles, have acquired an existence largely independent of established spiritual traditions.  Angels can be prayed to so as to receive spiritual or material benefits, and it is commonly thought that relatives or even household pets become angels after death.  A welcome corrective is provided by Pope Gregory I in one of his sermons (Hom. 34, 8-9:  PL 76, 1250-1251). 

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You should be aware that the word "angel" denotes a function rather than a nature.  Those holy spirits of heaven have indeed always been spirits.  They can only be called angels when they deliver some message.  Moreover, those who deliver messages of lesser importance are called angels; and those who proclaim messages of supreme importance are called archangels. 

And so it was that not merely an angel but the archangel Gabriel was sent to the Virgin Mary.  It was only fitting that the highest angel should come to announce the greatest of all messages.

Some angels are given proper names to denote the service they are empowered to perform.  In that holy city, where perfect knowledge flows from the vision of almighty God, those who have no names may easily be known.  But personal names are assigned to some, not because they  could not be known without them, but rather to denote their ministry when they come among us.  Thus, Michael means "Who is like God?"; Gabriel is "The Strength of God"; and Raphael is "God's Remedy".

Whenever some act of wondrous power must be performed, Michael is sent, so that his action and his name may make it clear that no one can do what God does by his superior power.  So also our ancient foe desired in his pride to be like God, saying:  I will ascend into heaven; I will exalt my throne above the stars of heaven; I will be like the Most High.  He will be allowed to remain in power until the end of the world when he will be destroyed in the final punishment.  Then, he will fight with the archangel Michael, as we are told by John:  A battle was fought with Michael the archangel.

So too Gabriel, who is called God's strength, was sent to Mary.  He came to announce the One who appeared as a humble man to quell the cosmic powers.  Thus God's strength announced the coming of the Lord of the heavenly powers, mighty in battle.

Raphael means, as I have said, God's remedy, for when he touched Tobit's eyes in order to cure him, he banished the darkness of his blindness.  Thus, since he is to heal, he is rightly called God's remedy.

For today's commemoration of Bishop Andrewes we have a passage from a 1605 Christmas sermon preached before King James I.  It well illustrates Andrewes as a theologian with very deep catholic and patristic roots.  It can be found, along with much other useful information on Andrewes, on the Anglican Eucharistic Theology website, accessible under the "Anglicans" section of the outer sidebar.

For "the Word" He is, and in the word he is received by us.  But that is not the proper of this day, unless there be another joined unto it.  This day Verbum caro factum est, and so must be "apprehended" in both.  But specially in His flesh as this day giveth it, as this day would have us.  Now "the bread which we break, is it not the partaking of the body, of the flesh, of Jesus Christ?"  It is, surely, and by it and by nothing more are we made patakers of this blessed union.  A little before He said, because the children were partakers of flesh and blood, He also would take part with them--may we not say the same?  Because he hath so done, taken ours of us, we also ensuing His steps will participate with Him and with His flesh which He hath taken of us.  It is most kindly to take part with Him in that which He took part in with us, and that, to no other end, but that He might make the receiving of it by us a means whereby He might "dwell in us and we in Him".

Frederica Mathewes-Green is a member of the Antiochian Orthodox Church.  A convert from Anglicanism, she is in a good position to explain Orthodox spiritual practices to Western Christians.  In The Jesus Prayer:  the ancient desert prayer that tunes the heart to God (Paraclete Press 2009), she gives a wealth of advice on how we may incorporate this prayer into our own spiritual practice.  Pp 80-82 deal with the objections some beginners--or even more experienced folks--might have with the notion of beseeching Jesus for mercy ("Lord Jesus Christ, son of the living God, have mercy on me").  As the excerpt below demonstrates, it all depends on how we interpret the word "mercy".

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People newly introduced to the Jesus Prayer often think:  Why should we continually beg God for mercy?  Can't we be certain that he has already forgiven us?  What, do we have to grovel?

The problem, I think, is that we are imagining a prisoner in court, begging the judge for mercy.  It is up to the judge whether to kill this man or free him, and she is justifiably angry.  His only hope is to squirm and plead, and beg her to be lenient.

Picture instead the man in Jesus' parable (Lk 10:  30-37) who was robbed and beaten on the road to Jericho, then left for dead.  His helplessness was so extreme that he was not even able to ask passersby for mercy, and the priest and scribe passed by on the other side of the road.  Yet, the Samaritan saw him and had compassion, and rescued him from death.

That's the kind of "mercy" the Jesus Prayer asks for.  We are not trying to get off the hook for a crime, but recognizing how the infection of sin has damaged us.  Revealing all the extent of our illness to the heavenly physician, we seek his compassionate healing.

The word in Hebrew is hesed, which has the sense of long-suffering love.  The prophet Hosea married a woman who was a prostitute.  Though she betrayed him many times, he kept seeking her and drawing her back again to himself.  This is hesed love, long-suffering love, a love that is valiant and breaks through the walls of self-love and pride.

In Greek, the word is eleos, and many of the Western liturgical churches still pray in Greek, "Kyrie, eleison," that is, "Lord, have mercy."

A listener in the ancient church would have heard a resonance between eleos and elaion, the word for olive oil.  Your experience with olive oil might be limited to salads, but in the ancient Mediterranean world, olive oil was used in a wide variety of ways, and filled essential roles.  A wick placed in a clay lamp filled with olive oil could burn and illuminate the darkness.  Medicinal herbs were combined with olive oil for healing; the Good Samaritan "bound up [the beaten man's] wounds, pouring on oil and wine" (the latter for the antiseptic quality of alcohol).  Olive oil would also be a medium for fragrant herbs in the making of perfume.  And of course it would be eaten; in a region where there were few sources of fat, olive oil provided essential nutrition.  Sufficient fat in the diet conferred a health glow, and the psalmist thanks God for giving "wine to gladden the heart of man, and oil to make his face shine" (Ps 104:  15).  This poetic echo between eleos and elaion contributed to a richer sense of "mercy" than we perceive in English.

I would guess that the majority of Christians I talk to don't particularly feel a need for mercy.  They might think of repentance as an initial step toward salvation, but that once you have become a follower of Jesus Christ, once you're baptized and going regularly to church, you're set for life.  There's still plenty of work to do, of course--work for the poor, for justice, for the church, for your family--but as far as you go, personally, you're pretty much done.

In the contemporary West, repentance is now considered an introductory activity to life in Christ (if it's considered at all); in the East, repentance lasts for a lifetime.  Salvation means healing from the sickness of sin, and we are always seeking to confront the sin that infects us, and to be healed at ever deeper levels.