The promise of Lutheran biblical studies.

The one who does much 'work' is not the righteous one, but the one who,
without 'work,' has much faith in Christ. The law says: "Do this!", and
it is never done. Grace says: "Believe in this one!", and forthwith
everything is done. (1)

This means that faith is security where no security can be seen; it is,
as Luther said, the readiness to enter confidently into the darkness of
the future. (2)

"The nerve of failure" and "the faith of loss" point to a situation in
which the idols are broken and the gods are dead, but the darkness of
negation turns out to be full of rich possibility. Out of the
nothingness which has swallowed up all tradition there comes nihilism
but also the possibility of a new ecstatic consciousness. (3)

Many readers of this journal will recall with pleasure bygone days of conversation or study in St. Louis with the Christ Seminary-Seminex faculty. There, generations of students first glimpsed the promise of Lutheran biblical studies. That exiled faculty nurtured a promising tradition, and its great cloud of witnesses pointed to a "better hope" (Heb 7:19). Among them, Robert H. Smith has made consistently notable contributions. Always a popular teacher, Bob exercised much influence through the classroom. While I never had the privilege of a formal class with Bob (his sections always closed early!), I have enjoyed a lengthy conversation with the honoree about the meaning of the New Testament. Bob also has contributed to church and academy over the years through valuable publications. I cannot forget the excitement of reading Easter Gospels when it first appeared, a fine testament to the strength of the Seminex tradition of biblical scholarship. (4) May Bob and other readers find in this essay an equal dedication to the promise of that tradition.

Earliest Christologies

Christ stands at the center of scripture in a Lutheran understanding. Such a sensibility implies both inquiry into the earliest detectable understandings of the meaning of "Christ" and ongoing concern with Christology as a basis for theology. Q, Mark, and Paul preserve perhaps the earliest theological understandings we have of Jesus of Nazareth. (5) The following paragraphs focus especially on their understandings of Jesus, for these seem to agree in an essential way. This agreement provides the basis for christological and hermeneutical reflections in the second half of the article, viz., explorations of what Lutheran faith and commitment means today in dialog with earliest Christologies and contemporary culture.

Jesus in Q. In recent years there has been a major interest in the theology of Q. (6) Many dramatic claims have been made for this early tradition on the basis of only hypothetical formats. Complex and not entirely compatible, these claims have not had adequate time for scholarly testing. Still, it is possible to say something about the Q community's understanding of Jesus.

The Q tradition has been analyzed into two major types: wisdom elements and apocalyptic elements. Various stratigraphies of these elements have been proposed, but a strong argument suggests that the wisdom elements preceded the apocalyptic. Paul's 1 Corinthians also shows a mixture of these two elements. This fuller form of Q (with both wisdom and apocalyptic elements) is the basis for our discussion. Q may have attained this form by the time of Paul, because passages such as 1 Cor 6:2 seem to presuppose views found in Q (e.g., Luke 22:29-30). (7)

Several "christological" aspects of Q (using the term loosely to refer to its views of Jesus) are important for the present reflections: the linked missions of John the Baptist and Jesus, their equality in the mind of the Q community, the focus of their messages on preparation for God's kingdom, the distinction between Jesus and the Son of Man, the absence of the word "Christ" in Q, and the lack of Passion Narrative and resurrection accounts in the Q gospel. This is not a comprehensive list, but it suffices for purposes of this discussion.

That the missions of John the Baptist and Jesus were firmly linked is ascertained by both formal and substantive analysis of Q. Formally, John's and Jesus' ministries are articulated already by the stage of [Q.sub.2] (finished probably no earlier than 54 C.E.). In the understanding of J. Kloppenborg and B. Mack, [Q.sub.1] (the earliest Q stratum) did not contain the preaching of John the Baptist. John's eschatological message marks it as a later articulation. (8) [Q.sub.1] has no christological perspective, unless its framework lies within Judean wisdom speculation.

The equality of John and Jesus as messengers in the mind of the Q community is expressed substantively through passages like Luke 11:49-50, which contextualize their work within the overall purposes of God. The content of their messages--repentance and preparation for the imminent arrival of God--is identical. There is, of course, chronological difference between the two figures. This is acknowledged by Q, as in Luke 7:28, but 7:35 reminds of the larger context.

The focus on their messages as preparation for God's kingdom, then, is consistent with other early conceptions found in Mark (1:4, 15). This focus begins to shift already in Q with the unclear relationship between Jesus and the Son of Man. The problem is apparent through a comparison of Luke 12:8 and Matt 10:32. Matthew's rendition, "So every one who acknowledges me before others, I also will acknowledge," identifies Jesus and the Son of Man; Luke's version does not. Because Luke is generally agreed to supply the less edited text of Q, Luke simply hands on an earlier view that Jesus would be recognized and honored by the Son of Man. (9)

The word "Christ" did not appear in Q, as far as can be seen. Perhaps this reflects some of the ambivalence found in Mark 12:35. For Mark, as we shall see, the word refers to anointing by the Holy Spirit. Q is more interested in revelation than in spirit; in line with a wisdom orientation, Q sees Jesus as a revealer (Luke 10:21-22). "Holy Spirit" in Luke 10:21a and 11:13 is redactional. Otherwise, identifying Jesus as Christ may have been a Judean preoccupation (though see Rom 1:3). The Q community shows little interest in a relationship to David. (10)

Most significantly, perhaps, Q lacked Passion Narrative and resurrection accounts. By focusing on Jesus' words exclusively, the center of gravity in this tradition was maintained quite differently than in Paul or the Synoptic Gospels. The theological ramifications of gospel structure have been discussed in numerous publications. This treatment concludes by observing that Q's Christology (if we should call it that) primarily underscores Jesus' importance for revealing God's eschatological wisdom and the true way to repentance. This way involves participation in God's eschatological reality by others (the Q sermon of Luke 6:20-49). The poor and dispossessed will be especially privileged in this new arrangement (Q beatitudes). As I have shown elsewhere, these beatitudes likely come out of the hopes for liberation celebrated at Passover. (11) This insight needs to be explored with reference to a larger compass of Q material and cannot be done here.

Jesus in Mark. The key that unlocks the "good news of Jesus Christ" in Mark is surely John the Baptist's comment in Mark 1:8, "I have baptized you with water; but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit." (12) Jesus' own experience crystallizes around the reception of the Spirit through his baptism.

John's baptism takes place in the wilderness, on the fringe of Judean society. Unlike the other gospels, Mark does not tell us why Jesus comes for baptism. There is not a disclaimer here as in Matthew--Jesus really did not need it (Matt 3:14-15). For Mark, Jesus is wholly identified with the penitent. Yet his experience is different. As he comes up out of the water, the heavens are torn open, the voice comes, and the Spirit descends upon him (Mark 1:10-11). In his anointing with the Spirit, Jesus as the "Spirit-Baptizer" has been identified. This is how Mark understands the word "Christ": God's Anointed is at the same time an Anointer of others. Like Elijah of old, Jesus bestows God's Spirit upon others (1 Kgs 19:16; 2 Kgs 2:9-10; Mark 1:8; 6:15; 9:4, 11, 12, 13; 15:35, 36).

Mark's framework of thinking is dominated by Judean eschatology. The coming of the Spirit marks the beginning of eschatological struggle with evil. The Markan temptation story, brief though it is, announces that the campaign against Satan and the forces of evil has begun. It will continue in the narrative as Jesus is recognized by and casts out the demons. Its most insidious aspect is indicated when Jesus himself is accused by powerful Jerusalem scribes of being in league with Satan (3:22). The struggle for God's kingdom cannot be straightforward when powerful interests and leaders oppose it.

Jesus is particularly concerned with the outcast and powerless. He has a word of power for them. The Greek noun and verb forms for "power" (root dyna-), make significant appearance in this gospel. Especially noteworthy are the following instances: After the hemorrhaging woman is healed, "he perceived that power had gone out of him" (Mark 5:30); "such powers are coming about through his hands" (6:2); "until you see the kingdom having come in power" (9:1); "if you can! All things are possible to the one who believes" (9:23); "all things are possible with God" (10:27); and so on.

Jesus does not shoulder the work alone. He calls disciples and empowers them with the Spirit. Like Elijah, Jesus anoints others as well: "So they went out and proclaimed that all should repent. They cast out many demons, and anointed with oil many who were sick and cured them" (Mark 6:12-13). Even those who are not in Jesus' immediate entourage can join the struggle (Mark 9:39).

Summoned from a seemingly ordinary existence (Mark 6:3) by a God on the fringes, Jesus powerfully injects the Spirit of God's kingdom into the dynamics of his contemporary society. A new community dedicated to the coming of the kingdom is born.

Jesus in Paul. For Paul, as for Mark, the life of Jesus (as much as Paul knows of it) represents a distinctively new experience of God. For Paul also, the encounter with God leads to intensive involvement with the marginal--this time in Greco-Roman society. As Paul says, "not many of you were wise by human standards, not many were powerful, not many were of noble birth. But God chose the weak things of the world to put the strong to shame" (1 Cor 1:26). (13) Paul's God remains unknown to the wise of the world; God's wisdom is foolishness to the world, because it is revealed in the preaching of the cross.

What was Paul's experience that led to this account of God?

Paul's understanding of God undergoes a dramatic development through the revelation that comes to him about Jesus. The Damascus episode is not easily understood, because it tends to be read from the standpoint of the theology of the Acts of the Apostles. This procedure obscures the radical nature of Paul's insight into Jesus.

Before Damascus, it is essential to remember that Paul "as to the law" was a Pharisee (Phil 3:5). This statement suggests that Paul was rigorously concerned to observe the purity laws of Torah in daily life. Such observance meant respecting God's Sabbath, concern for cleanliness, abstention from certain foods, and so forth. Paul based his relationship to God on such observances.

As Paul himself tells it in Galatians, a point came when he realized that his understanding of Torah was inadequate in the light of the Christ. How are we to understand this turning point?

Paul says in Galatians I that he received a "revelation of Jesus Christ" (1:12). In contrast to the dramatic and graphic account in Acts 9, Paul's own statement is muted: "God, who had set me apart before I was born and called me through his grace, was pleased to reveal his Son" (1:15-16). At this moment, the exegete is faced with a decision. The Greek literally reads "in me," but English versions regularly substitute "to me." The matter is usually argued that the Greek preposition en can in Koine Greek also mean "to." This reading seems, therefore, to posit some sort of experience as is recounted in Acts. However, there are interesting grounds for not moving too quickly to vision or external experience. What is revolutionized for Paul through this revelation is his understanding of Christ, and thereby of the God who has called through grace.

Three incidentals in Galatians lead to the translation preference "in me." In Gal 3:1 (cf. 6:17) Paul is regularly translated as saying "It was before your eyes that Jesus Christ was publicly exhibited as crucified!" The Greek is ambiguous. Kat' ophthalmous could as well mean "eyeball by eyeball" (i.e., in respect to Paul's eyes). In chapter 4, Paul says in passing, "For I testify that, had it been possible, you would have torn out your eyes and given them to me" (4:15). Evidently, Paul's eyes had some affliction at that time. Perhaps this is the "thorn in the flesh" to which Paul refers in 2 Cor 12:7. Finally, in Gal 6:11, Paul seems again to allude to his afflicted eyesight: "See what large letters I make when I am writing in my own hand!" What was it that Paul really "saw"? Our thesis is that Paul came through his affliction to an understanding of God's Christ and thereby of God's purposes for the marginal generally. Keep in mind that for Paul this revelation was "gospel" and that it led directly to his mission to the uncircumcised.

The key to Paul's understanding of Christ lies in 2 Cor 4:4, "Christ, who is the image of God." Behind this brief statement is implied Paul's entire understanding of the significance of Jesus. For Paul undoubtedly alludes to Gen 1:26-27 and to the belief that Adam and Eve originally bore the "image of God." Paul calls this image (imago Dei) "Christ." So in 1 Cor 15:49 he can say that "as we have borne the image of the man of dust, we will also bear the image of the man of heaven." Paul insists in 2 Cor 4:11 that suffering is necessary in order to make visible the "life of Jesus." While this phrase could refer to the resurrection, it is more likely a literal reference to the kind of life the earthly Jesus exhibited.

Philippians 2:5-11 brings these considerations into focus. Paul wants the Philippians to have Christ's mind, or pattern, in them. This mind was also in Jesus. When the Christ Hymn (vv. 6-11) is read through the Genesis story, here is the result: "[Christ Jesus] who, though being in God's image, did not think being like God was something to be seized, but he emptied himself by assuming the image of a slave." (14)

Jesus, unlike Adam, did not try to be like God. Because of this obedience, Jesus still bears the original imago Dei. This exegetical result is corroborated by the fact that Paul consistently contrasts Adam and Christ (1 Corinthians 15; Romans 5).

As Paul continues his extrapolations, he comes to see that Jesus' life and image is what all will share (1 Cor 15:49). This idea is strikingly stated in Romans 8: "When we cry, 'Abba, Father!' it is that very Spirit bearing witness with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children, then heirs, heirs of God and joint heirs with Christ.... [God] also predestined [us] to be conformed to the image of his Son, in order that he might be the firstborn within a large family." Jesus is the elder brother of the new family of Adam.

How did Paul come to this insight? Judean eschatology certainly played a role. However, Paul's own experience seems to have been decisive. While this is speculative, it makes sense of the evidence to hand: Paul's eye affliction disqualified him within the Pharisaic understanding of right relationship to God (Lev 21:20; 26:16). (15) Paul became impure, and in wrestling with this shame and veritable extinction he came to see God's presence in the accursed Jesus (Gal 3:13). "For our sake [God] made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God" (2 Cor 5:21).

Paul finds a radical God of mercy, a God intent on showing mercy to the marginal and the lost, in the obscurity of Jesus' life. Paul's understanding of Jesus replicates in a number of respects the hidden Servant of Isaiah 52-53. It also bears uncanny resemblance to Plato's understanding of the perfect, just man:

We must take away his reputation, for a reputation for justice would
bring him honor and rewards, so that it wouldn't be clear whether he
is just for the sake of justice itself or for the sake of those honors
and rewards. We must strip him of everything except justice and make
his situation the opposite of an unjust person's. Though he does no
injustice, he must have the greatest reputation for it, so that his
justice may be tested full-strength and not diluted by wrong-doing and
what comes from it. Let him stay like that unchanged until he
dies--just, but all his life believed to be unjust. In this way, both
will reach the extremes, the one of justice and the other of injustice,
and we'll be able to judge which of them is happier. (16)

Jesus in early christological perspective.

These inquiries point to one evident thing: The earliest Christologies that we can distinguish, in stating Jesus' ultimate significance, attempt to bring out the meaning of his person and work for human community in relation to God. They are not about saying how God was in Jesus. Earliest Christologies pursued intuitions about the fullness of human being and community as perceived through the words, commitments, or life of Jesus of Nazareth. As such, they point to Jesus' true humanity and God's commitment to redeem or restore it in others and suggest ways that Jesus' followers might live in peace with others who are very different (Luke 7:34; Mark 9:38-39). Paul's view of Jesus (bearing the image of the Heavenly Human), perfectly intelligible within a first-century Judean framework, is perhaps the most advanced statement of first-generation Christology: "God was in Christ reconciling the world to himself" (2 Cor 5:18). Paul's view of the Christ-life is equally Jesuanic: "always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies" (2 Cor 4:10). This reconciliation and life have enormous creative effect in this world, not just in the next.

As symbols, earliest Christologies pointed to the reclamation of human being with God and "located" human beings within the redeemed community. Later christological developments, under the influence of Judean wisdom speculation (for instance, John 1 or Col 1:15-17), would articulate Jesus' relationship to the larger cosmos and ultimately Being Itself. Unlike the earlier views, the later tended to separate Jesus from humanity. Earliest Christologies, however, did not purport to inform about the absolute nature of God or the place of Jesus within the divine substance. They do tell about God relative to human identity and purpose. (17)

Contemporary Christian faith, or How do we live with our received symbols?

It is evident within contemporary American churches that many Christians are practical docetists and monophysites. Such views have real consequences. Under the clear influence of a triumphalist dispensationalism, the fundamentalist Christian Right has seemingly consigned historical responsibility and the environment to the devil. (18) Supersessionist or absolutist christological claims, even in mainline denominations, profoundly separate Christians from Jews and Muslims (as well as other religious traditions). If the only real question for most Christians is whether "Jesus was God" (a heresy even in Nicene terms), would we not be well served by reexamining and restating the meaning of our central claims?

To complicate parochial matters, the globalization of culture and consciousness proceeds apace and like an imploding stellar mass imparts to us increasingly dense questions. Everything in the religio-cultural sphere is up for examination. Old socializations have broken down or been abandoned. What will come to replace them? In our globalizing, postmodern condition we face a pluralism of symbols. If all we have are broken symbols, after the analogy of Paul Tillich's "broken myths," how will we live with our shattered fixtures? (19) Should we sweep them away utterly? abandon them for new constructs? Or should we try to find within our heritage--as Lutherans and Christians generally--theological resources that will carry us into new experiences and toward new historical horizons? Such considerations, taken with the foregoing exegetical results, at least urge a rethinking of Christology within contemporary Christianity. Some project of symbol criticism and reconceptualization seems called for. The remaining reflections suggest directions this project might take.

Tillich's definition of symbol has become something of a classic reference point in contemporary theology. (20) His ideas can be brought into fruitful connection with contemporary social-science views. Tillich distinguishes between "sign" and "symbol," though both point beyond the mselves. He argues that symbols differ from signs in important respects: Signs "do not participate in the reality of that to which they point, while symbols do." Symbols refer to realities otherwise closed to humans. Symbols correlate human spiritual concerns with those otherwise inaccessible realities. Symbols are not created but "given." Finally, symbols grow and die. (21) Tillich's "Protestant Principle," related to his understanding of religious language, coordinates theological criticism with the demand of the first commandment. (22) More generally, Tillich's Principle is iconoclastic in the search for organically more holistic symbols. Humans cannot live without symbols any more than they can live without air; however, symbols-as-airway-constriction can only lead to death. Tillich's iconoclasm stands in service of a larger iconography.

Work within the contemporary social sciences gives force to Tillich's insights. (23) For instance, Clifford Geertz sees symbols as having two qualities: (1) serving as "models for" and (2) serving as "models of." As models for, symbols structure relationships in the physical world. Geertz thinks of genes as quintessential models for, but these are not symbols. As models of, symbols represent the world. (24) Culture is comprised of such models of. Geertz writes:

It is, in fact, this double aspect which sets true symbols off from
other sorts of significative forms. Models for are found, as the gene
example suggests, through the whole order of nature; for wherever there
is a communication of pattern, such programs are, in simple logic,
required.... But models of--linguistic, graphic, mechanical, natural,
etc., processes which function not to provide sources of information in
terms of which other processes can be patterned, but to represent those
patterned processes as such, to express their structure in an
alternative medium--are much rarer and may perhaps be confined, among
living animals, to man. (25)

The human being, then, is homo symbolicus (E. Cassirer's term). Malinowski's view that symbols "modify the human organism in order to transform physiological drives into cultural values" finds important application and development in the work of Talcott Parsons. (26) Parsons' "action theory" has much to offer students of religion and theology, because it attempts to articulate all of the dimensions of human being, including the intrapsychic and extrasocial. (27) Parsons sees the physical realm as something distinctively different from the organic. The organic is "organized" at a higher level of information (in exchange for raw energy). Biological drives represent a different kind of "energy." Human beings stand within a third emergent sphere, the realm of action directed by symbolic understandings. Parsons' scheme respects both the complexity of life in terms of its organization and the reality of human freedom (symbolic meanings). (28)

With these conceptions of symbol in mind, we can appreciate the importance of social-scientific definitions of religion, such as Geertz's well-known proposal:

(1) a system of symbols which acts to (2) establish powerful, pervasive,
and long-lasting moods and motivations in men by (3) formulating
conceptions of a general order of existence and (4) clothing these
conceptions with such an aura of factuality that (5) the moods and
motivations seem uniquely realistic

or the more parsimonious and derivative formulation by Robert Bellah, "a set of symbolic forms and acts that relate man to the ultimate conditions of his existence." (29) While these understandings underscore religion's/theology's cultural involvements and functional role, they are not entirely reductionistic, for, while they focus on the function of symbols, seem to make them merely a reflex of human need, and make no judgment about their validity, they root religious symbols within levels of reality and human experience that remain "open." As expressive of ultimate conditions of existence or as conceptions of general order, religious symbols are experienced as participating in reality in the way that Tillich understands them.

The promise of Lutheran biblical studies

What might all of this imply for contemporary Christology and Lutheran biblical studies? For Christians, those for whom Jesus is the Christ, Jesus is a model for ultimate reality (a model for human being, "a model of the godly life") and a model of ultimate reality (what ultimate reality is all about, what its deepest principles are, how humans fit into that reality). Furthermore, Jesus becomes a criterion in dialog with other faiths and other symbols. The project of symbol criticism serves not only to ascertain what is really important within our own tradition but also to evaluate other religious (symbol) traditions. In that dialog with difference, however, there are risks. Perhaps our symbols and traditions also need reconsideration. Jesus becomes an essential criterion for Christian claims about his ultimate significance, especially in terms of whether those claims provide adequate models for and of.

The project of symbol criticism may then proceed to considerations about reconceptualization and even innovation. Our sacred traditions are "broken" in any number of ways, though the acknowledgment of this among Christians is not very clear. We see that our creeds and sacred texts are not absolute perspectives but perspectives on ultimate reality framed under very human conditions. Revelation must come through them--despite them, even--or not at all. They are not the ultimate revelation; at best, they point to it. Yet they remain indispensable, for as whole people it is clear we cannot live without a sense of identity and purpose or without core symbols. We cannot live without them, but how can we live with them? Should we restructure symbols to restore their life-giving power, or do we simply reinterpret them? If we must restructure, how will we do so? Sallie McFague, an important pioneer in raising such questions, has thus spoken of the idolatry and irrelevance generally of contemporary religious language and inquired as to the possibilities and grounds of its revitalization. (30)

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Central to the promise of Lutheran biblical studies is the birthright of asking questions of our deepest convictions and traditions. This is closely related to a Lutheran sensibility about the importance of interpretation and the "central-message hermeneutic." (31) Christ is at the center; that has been our conviction. But for the future this hermeneutic will be challenged to address new questions.

Several tasks seem required as the central message engages the twenty-first-century context. The "meaning capacity" of Christian symbols, including "Christ," must be developed by (1) probing them radically, that is, going as deeply into them as possible, and (2) broadening them out to see their connections to other religious symbols, even non-Christian. Core meanings of Christian symbols should be clarified and restated in ways that leave things open to the ultimate symbols of others. Further, religious symbols should be questioned as to how they contribute to life and living constructively--to enable us, for example, to see Christ in all the world or to bring life out of death. (32) Finally, religious symbols should be queried to provide criteria of health (as an expression of salvation), e.g., in psychic, social, political, economic, or cultural terms.

Biblical scholarship, as it uncovers and explores the original context and meaning of biblical texts, comes to see through cultural anthropology the culturally conditioned contour of biblical values, the compromise of biblical promise by biblical politics (as in the history of racism), or in our times biblical involvement in perpetuating or justifying patriarchy and homophobia. (33) "Bible study" or biblical proclamation cannot simply consist of retracing or restating biblical images and stories, or drawing immediate analogies at whim, without more encompassing and systematic vision. Why we return to these texts, and how we will relate them to our own contemporary questions, requires substantial and intentional discussion. (34) The need for critical perspective and ongoing reflection is ever more pressing. This is not a distinctive Lutheran problem, but because the Lutheran common life is fed so much from biblical study and preaching, the problem for us is acute. The promise of Lutheran biblical studies is profoundly linked, then, with pursuing clarity about the central meaning of the biblical tradition.

Church leaders may be engaged for a long time in building convictional commitment in a pluralistic situation vastly complicated by globalization. We are in over our heads, as Robert Kegan says, with a postmodern, post-traditional, post-just-about-everything curriculum. (35) In the struggle to maintain commitment under conditions of globalization, chaotic pluralism, and cultural relativism, defense mechanisms can become strongly active. Despite knowledge that reality is complex and no one possesses the absolute truth, there is the constant temptation in the modern period by what Stephen Toulmin (after John Dewey) calls "the Quest for Certainty." (36) This quest manifests itself in religious confessionalism, fundamentalism, or traditionalisms of all kinds. Again and again, this quest has led Lutherans to succumb to their twin temptations--hypocritical moralism on the one hand or legalistic orthodoxy on the other. But it also has been a major theme in other cultural spheres as seen in scientism, various totalitarianisms, and increasingly in marketism (belief that the market, market relations, and economic forces are absolute). Other values are driven out and disappear; the richness of life surrenders to fatal reductionism; human being and the imago Dei are debased once again.

Paul Tillich and others are surely right that doubt is as important in the contemporary theological scene as some presumed certainty. We must reclaim Tillich's radical application of the Reformation doctrine of justification by faith to the intellect:

The step I myself made in these years was the insight that the principle
of justification through faith refers not only to the religious-ethical
but also to the religious-intellectual life. Not only [s]he who is in
sin but also [s]he who is in doubt is justified through faith. (37)

Equally important for the coming challenges--as constructive categories for the depth and breadth of God's involvement with creation and redemption--will be Tillich's notions of "catholic substance" and "spiritual community" or McFague's and others' discussions of theological language. (38) Tillich also said long ago with much prescience:

Without trying to repristinate outworn symbols Protestantism must
rediscover the realistic meaning of symbols, must denounce the
misinterpretation of symbols as mere signs, must attempt to discover the
germs of a new symbolism in our present life.... The presence of the
holy in the Catholic cult creates a continuous influx of priestly
substance into Protestantism and humanism, directly and indirectly. The
arts and literature of the last centuries are the main witnesses for
this extremely significant process. (39)

Moreover, the community of God's concern, the Spiritual Community, is larger than the church: "We do not use the word 'church' for the Spiritual Community, because this word has been used, of necessity, in the frame of the ambiguities of religion. At this point we speak instead of that which is able to conquer the ambiguities of religion--the New Being." (40) McFague has suggested that the answer lies in developing a "metaphorical theology," in which the metaphors of religious language interact with the models of theological language. These sensibilities are also found in recent work of Lutheran colleagues who search for new resources to help us relate to changed circumstances. A "critical faith" keeps the meaning of Christology and the center of the Christian tradition fresh, because our inherited certainties have become in some respects absurd, and yet we must still live with them. Only through faithful criticism, searching, probing evaluation, can we ascertain with clarity what is really important. This is truly a central Lutheran commitment and contribution to Catholic life. (41)

Over fifteen years, my Whiteheadian and feminist colleagues at Pacific Lutheran University have stimulated me to think holistically about the fecundity of creation, its restless efflorescence, its propensity to throw up hundreds of half-baked solutions for every one fully cooked, its complex interrelationships. We are left within our provincial world view to interpret all of this. The Christian tradition has been equally fecund, as Ernst Troeltsch long ago showed, and we cannot ignore its temporally conditioned character. We inherit it, but mere iconoclasm does not seem to be the best way. Neither are we called to iconodulism. Our responsibility as thinking-doubting faithful is to live graciously out of that tradition without absolutizing it. It too is full of idolatries and new servitudes. As we come to appreciate other religious heritages, without our old idolatries or imperialistic assumptions, we will find ourselves again within criticism. What is really important in our own tradition? What is important in the traditions of others? Can we forge metafaith languages that do not betray our own faith? Can we achieve a global spiritual iconography? Can we find Christ among us and throughout the whole world? Martin Luther and the Seminex faculty, including Robert H. Smith, taught us to wrestle with the biblical texts until a word of grace and blessing should come for us. Whatever the twenty-first century may bring for Christianity, we can still count on that biblical promise. (42)

1. Martin Luther, Heidelberg Disputation, Theses 25-26, in Martin Luther: Selections From His Writings, ed. J. Dillenberger (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1961), 503.

2. R. Bultmann, Jesus Christ and Mythology (New York: Scribner's, 1958), 40-41.

3. R. N. Bellah, Beyond Belief: Essays on Religion in a Post-Traditional World (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991), xi.

4. Robert H. Smith, Easter Gospels: The Resurrection of Jesus According to the Four Evangelists (Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1983).

5. While Paul antedates Mark by at least twenty years, Paul's christological thought seems more developed than either Q's or Mark's. Therefore, Paul is treated last.

6. See J. Kloppenborg, The Formation of Q: Trajectories in Ancient Wisdom Collections (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1987) and Excavating Q: The History and Setting of the Sayings Gospel (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2000); A. D. Jacobson, The First Gospel: An Introduction to Q (Sonoma, CA: Polebridge, 1992); B. Mack, The Lost Gospel: The Book of Q and Christian Origins (San Francisco: HarperSan-Francisco, 1993); D. C. Allison, The Jesus Tradition in Q (Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International, 1997). As has become accepted scholarly convention, Q materials are cited in this article according to Luke.

7. However, difficulties with this view are discussed in Douglas E. Oakman, "The Lord's Prayer in Social Perspective," in Authenticating the Words of Jesus, New Testament Tools and Studies 28, 1, ed. B. Chilton and C. A. Evans (Leiden Boston Koln: Brill, 1999), 150.

8. Jacobson sees the "Deuteronomic" (apocalyptic) material in Q as generally earlier than the wisdom material; Allison develops a very different tradition history.

9. R. Bultmann, Theology of the New Testament, tr. K. Grobel (New York: Scribner's, 1951-55), 1:29. J. D. Crossan, The Historical Jesus (San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 1991) has elaborate discussions of the Son of Man traditions which are not repeated here. Translations of New Testament passages are either my own or in conformity with the Revised Standard Version tradition.

10. Oakman, "The Lord's Prayer," 151; "Models and Archaeology in the Social Interpretation of Jesus," in Social Scientific Models for Interpreting the Bible: Essays by The Context Group in Honor of Bruce J. Malina, ed. John J. Pilch (Leiden Boston Koln: Brill, 2000), 131.

11. Oakman, "Models and Archaeology," 129-30.

12. H. C. Waetjen, A Reordering of Power (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1989), 67-68; C. Myers, Binding the Strong Man (Maryknoll: Orbis, 1988), 127.

13. See the discussion in W. Meeks, The First Urban Christians (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1983), 51-73.

14. For additional argument, see J. H. Neyrey, Christ Is Community (Willmington, DE: Michael Glazier, 1985), 219-27; B. Byrne, "The Letter to the Philippians," The New Jerome Biblical Commentary, ed. R. Brown et al. (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1990), 794.

15. Pharisees would have taken purity stipulations related to Aaron and the priests seriously. This understanding of Paul's revelatory experience diverges from recent Lutheran approaches, such as G. Bornkamm, Paul, tr. D. M. G. Stalker (New York: Harper and Row, 1971), 23. It also casts an interesting light on Acts 9:8.

16. Plato, Republic II, 361b-d, tr. G. M. A. Grube, rev. C. D. C. Reeve (Indianapolis: Hackett, 1992), 37.

17. For a similar conclusion, though based on study of Jesus and the apocalyptic Son of Man figure, see W. Wink, The Human Being: Jesus and the Enigma of the Son of the Man (Minneapolis, Fortress, 2001).

18. This is evident not only from the popularity of the "Left Behind" novel series by T. LaHaye and J. B. Jenkins but also from the apocalyptic turn in U.S. policy and the anti-environmentalism of the Bush Administration. For the historical roots of this development, see P. S. Boyer, When Time Shall Be No More: Prophecy Belief in Modern American Culture (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1992), or K. Armstrong, The Battle for God: A History of Fundamentalism (New York: Ballantine, 2001), 75-93, 167-82, 214-18, 309-16.

19. P. Tillich, The Dynamics of Faith (New York: Harper Torchbooks, 1957), 50-51: "A myth which is understood as a myth, but not removed or replaced, can be called a 'broken myth.' Christianity denies by its very nature any unbroken myth, because its presupposition is the first commandment."

20. S. McFague, Metaphorical Theology: Models of God in Religious Language (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1982), 96-97.

21. Tillich, Dynamics of Faith, 42-43.

22. Tillich in his European incarnation was especially preoccupied with the relationship between bourgeois faith and the working-class movements. Originally, he wanted to show how Protestantism's Principle, that "no aspect of human existence" is exempted from God's judgment about contradiction and hypocrisy and that "the whole man is the subject of the religious demand and promise," is relevant to the situation addressed by Marxism. Religious socialism, then, wanted to free Protestant tradition from its "antiproletarian past"; "The Protestant Principle and the Proletarian Situation," The Protestant Era, tr. J. L. Adams (University of Chicago: Phoenix Books, 1957), 167, 180; Systematic Theology (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1951-1963), vol. 1, 3-6, 11-15; see also Tillich quote in n. 19 above.

23. It was in philosophy (C. S. Peirce, E. Cassirer) and the social sciences (E. Durkheim, B. Malinowski) that the study of symbol first reached theoretical sophistication. The Pierce-Cassirer approach examined symbols within some kind of classification scheme, e.g., index, sign, icon, and symbol. Smoke is an index of fire. A sign stands for something to someone in some respect. Icons are pictorial representations. Symbols are signs that involve some peculiar subjective attitude. Signs become symbols. J. Heisig's "Symbolism," Encyclopedia of Religion 14 (New York: Macmillan, 1987): 198-208, has been very helpful here; B. Morris, Anthropological Studies of Religion: An Introductory Text (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1987), esp. 218ff., underlies this discussion as well; also E. Casirer, Language and Myth, tr. S. K. Langer (New York: Dover, 1953), 7, 38, 56.

24. C. Geertz, "Religion as a Cultural System," The Interpretation of Cultures (New York: Basic Books, 1973), 87-125.

25. Geertz, "Religion as a Cultural System," 94.

26. Heisig, "Symbolism," 202.

27. T. Parsons, Action Theory and the Human Condition (New York: Free Press, 1978), 352-433.

28. The social sciences have also explored the relationship between religion and ideology. Feuerbach and Marx long ago called attention to need projection and false consciousness. It seems that groups justify their interests through such ideologies and that theology expresses ideology as really as any other group rationalization. Criticism is necessary, therefore, because of our propensity to universalize our own interests, because of our ability to delude ourselves that others hold all of the values that we do, and because of our tendency to dispense cheap grace (to speak indiscriminately, as my grandfather used to say, about "what God loves").

29. Geertz, "Religion as a Cultural System," 90; Bellah, "Religious Evolution," in Beyond Belief, 21.

30. McFague, Metaphorical Theology, 4-14.

31. I am indebted to colleague Lyman Lundeen for the term "central-message hermeneutic."

32. Bellah, "Between Religion and Social Science," in Beyond Belief, 245, 255: "The adequacy of any ultimate perspective is its ability to transform human experience so that it yields life instead of death.... [Tillich's] restless quest for the 'dimension of depth' ... was his great contribution to breaking out of the institutional ghetto and seeing once more, as Augustine did, the figure of Christ in the whole world."

33. B. Malina, The New Testament World: Insights From Cultural Anthropology, 3d ed. (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2001), traces the cultural mortgages. Paul's writings are tightly coupled with contemporary Christian moral understandings and, consequently, not always very highly regarded by women because of his apparent misogyny or gays/lesbians because of Rom 1:26-27 and 1 Cor 6:9; not surprisingly, the ELCA's sexuality studies seem interminable.

34. Cf. Tillich's method of correlation; S. D. Parks, Big Questions, Worthy Dreams (San Francisco: Jossey-Bass, 2000).

35. R. Kegan, In Over Our Heads: The Mental Demands of Modern Life (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1994).

36. S. E. Toulmin, Cosmopolis: The Hidden Agenda of Modernity (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992), 10, 35.

37. Tillich, Protestant Era, x. Tillich links the Protestant Principle necessarily with doubt, Dynamics of Faith, 18: "If faith is understood as belief that something is true, doubt is incompatible with the act of faith. If faith is understood as being ultimately concerned, doubt is a necessary element in it. It is a consequence of the risk of faith."

38. Tillich, "The Permanent Significance of the Catholic Church for Protestantism," Protestant Digest (February-March 1941), 23-31; Tillich, The Future of Religions, ed. J. C. Brauer (New York: Harper and Row, 1966); Tillich, Systematic Theology (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1951-1963), 3: 149-61; McFague, Metaphorical Theology, 14-29; M. Borg, The God We Never Knew: Beyond Dogmatic Religion to a More Authentic Contemporary Faith (San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 1997), 57-79.

39. Tillich, "The Permanent Significance," 29.

40. Idem, Systematic Theology, vol. 3, 149.

41. McFague, Metaphorical Theology, 4-14, 193-94; L. T. Lundeen, Risk and Rhetoric in Religion: Whitehead's Theory of Language and the Discourse of Faith (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1972); P. O. Ingram, Wrestling With the Ox: A Theology of Religious Experience (New York: Continuum, 1997); L. L. Rasmussen, Earth Community, Earth Ethics (Maryknoll: Orbis, 1998). The term "critical faith" comes from G. Theissen, A Critical Faith: A Case for Religion, tr. J. Bowden (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1979); see also his Biblical Faith: An Evolutionary Approach, tr. J. Bowden (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1985).

42. I am grateful for critical responses to drafts of this essay by Gordon Pease and Samuel Torvend. Of course, they are not responsible for my inept use or abuse of their wise critiques.

Douglas E. Oakman

Pacific Lutheran University Tacoma, Washington [e-mail]