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Theological Realism
by jeff lawrence
A woman I know might have become a Christian. She sure seems to be on the right path. She seems to be looking in all of the right places. She seems to be understanding more. She seems to believe. But I am not sure.
It's a strange comment for someone who grew up with altar calls and know-for-sure-now theology. Nevertheless, I am not sure.
Julie and I have talked in depth for months now. She wants to believe. After reading John, Acts, Galatians, Ephesians, Philippians, Job, Romans, and much of Psalms, she understands the gospel intellectually. She agrees that God is the only answer for her problems. She longs for the forgiveness of her past failures. Still, she does not sense that she believes. She wonders if she ever will.
I wonder too. I wonder what God is up to. I wonder if He'll come through for Julie. I wonder if He'll come through for me.
I've realized that my faith is on trial as much as hers. I watch her as she struggles to believe. I listen to the pain in her questions. Her sincere search shakes me from complacency. I am forced to cry out, "God, you promised that those who seek would find, that those who knock would have the door opened to them. You promised."
I need God to come through for Julie. I need Him to reveal Himself to her. I need Him to grant her faith.
I feel like a little kid at the state fair abandoned by my parents, as though they forgot about me and wandered off to something more interesting (like eating corn dogs). All the while, of course, my parents are somewhere nearby but out of my sight and are very concerned about me. At that moment, however, my emotions override what I know to be true, and I question their concern.
And now I question God's concern. Sure, I could use any of the usual excuses for a person's unbelief. She must not really want to believe. She doesn't really understand her own sinfulness or God's holiness. She's blinded by Satan's lies. She's already chosen to reject God. Or God's already rejected her. They seem to work in a theoretical realm of discussion, but here in the high rise world of emails and voice mail that is my office, the answers don't satisfy.
Where is God in the midst of Julie's struggle? She has asked for relief and found none. She looks questioningly at me waiting for an answer, waiting for the answer.
I do not hide my personal struggle from her. There is no sense in doing that (my eyes would give me away anyhow).
It is too quiet as she waits for an answer. I have told her all that I know to tell her. I have no answer. We pray.
After I mouth a short prayer for her, she looks up and asks rather plainly, "What now? Should I just keep going?" "Yeah, just keep going."
Every time I share my faith, I wonder about the outcome. I have not once shared without doubt. I have not once shared without a certainty of failure in my mind. Nevertheless, I continue to share my faith in the hope that some may be brought to belief. I have rejoiced with some that have. And I have been disappointed by many that have not.
A mentor once told me that he wouldn't train someone that wasn't telling others of Christ on a regular basis. It seemed like a rather extreme statement at the time. I saw his point, but surely some just weren't ready yet. Or surely that could lead to legalism. Several years later, I see more clearly why he took his stance. Heartfelt evangelism exterminates pride in a believer. When done out of compassion and a sincere faith, evangelism forces the salesman to put down the "guidebook to sure-thing salesmanship" and trust in God. The best salesman in the world fails at redeeming the hardened heart. As my mentor said, "A drunken plumber who just finished beating his wife doesn't give a rip whether or not you're a five-point Calvinist. You can't wow them with theological knowledge. God must do something, and you have to pray."
Evangelism, I began to see, was a relational issue. As I prayed to God to open the eyes of the blind, I drew near to God in fatalistic desperation at my inability to initiate rebirth. Only He was capable of completing the task that I had begun. True desire to see someone come to faith makes one humble before God.
Theological studies should not separate us from the dependence upon God that is produced by practical struggle, especially the prayerful struggle to see God move in the lives of others.
As theologians in search of truth and biblical accuracy, we should study in the midst of personal application. I should not be allowed to damn someone to hell in the classroom until I've explained to someone face to face that (without Christ) they are damned to hell. I should not be able to teach on predestination until I've prayed with tears that God would regenerate a co-worker who may or may not be of the elect. I should not be able to lecture on the estate of those that have never heard the gospel until I've made a new friend in order to share the gospel.
This application of theology produces what I call theological realism-the application of theological principles so that they maintain both their intended purpose and their intended emphasis. Intense application of theology can help limit us to the intended implications of theological truth. What I mean is this: the study of God when left in the theoretical can lose its implications for humankind. Without fear, we can lackadaisically speculate on the eternal suffering with which Christ threatened his followers. We become more concerned with the location and implementation and extent of this suffering than we do with the fact that most of the world will suffer there (wherever "there" may be!). Without appropriate application, our biblical and theological studies fail to lead us to their intended destination. We become so intrigued by the details on the map that we fail to embark on the journey.
The most dangerous of all believers are those who are blessed with great knowledge and plagued with great pride. These separate themselves from the harsh realities of what they believe and then haphazardly fire away with the missiles of their dogma. They fail to wrestle with their words, and their words never alter their existence.
Rigorous application of scripture purges us of pride and yields us not only less dangerous but also more effective. A theological realist learns through experience to recognize the severe implications of his theological positions. Such a realization dispenses grace into the proclamation of truth softening the manner of communication (but not the message). Application forces us to embrace the jagged truths of the faith, and though we hold them close, we are never comfortable with their sharp edges pressed against our chest.