Over the
past few years, I’ve become more and more curious about the fascination some
Christians have with the minutiae of doctrine. Sometimes this doctrine is hoary
ancient stuff from the sixteenth century or even earlier that defines the
historic basis for denominations like the Roman Catholics, Lutherans, and
Presbyterians. Lately, however, the doctrines that fascinate tend to be about
Jesus’ expected return from heaven to judge the living and the dead and all
that.
That any contemporary Christians care much about any but the most basic doctrines ought
to surprise us. We live in an anti-intellectual popular culture where reading
both widely and deeply has fallen out of favor. Shakespeare is someone we
sample in college, not something many of us read or watch on stage anymore.
When it
comes to the Bible, things get worse. In one
of his famous "man on the street" interviews, Jay Leno asks a college
student, "What is one of the Ten Commandments?" "Freedom of
speech," is the reply. Leno asks a girl when Jesus lived. She thought maybe about 30,000 years ago.
Not a promising answer for someone who turns out to be an Art History student.
The fact is, most people seem to think that everything related to
religion—and especially its doctrines—is just stuffy and irrelevant. What does
matter, if anything, are personal spiritual feelings and intuitions.
And yet,
some Christians continue to care deeply about doctrine—about the nature of
Jesus’ presence at the Lord’s Supper (is he spiritually ubiquitous, thus always
present, or is he really the bread and wine—transubstantiation?), for example.
Or, will Jesus return to earth before, during, or after a literal seven-year period
of persecution (the pre-, mid-, and post-tribulation camps among premillennialists)?
Why? What
is the drawing power of learning, holding, and fighting scorched earth battles
for such doctrinal positions? Why do some people—people in the pews, people who
never went a to seminary a day in their lives--nevertheless take the time to
study, read, and argue about these doctrinal positions?
As much as
I wish that there might be a simple answer, there probably isn’t. People
probably get engaged and excited about intellectually complicated doctrines for
a whole host of reasons. It might be for the sheer intellectual delight of
mastering difficult bodies of knowledge. Some people are indoctrinated to
believe doctrinal change represents a slippery slope to perdition. Others teach
in churches or colleges or seminaries where changing your mind—or even raising
difficult questions—is not allowed if you want to keep your job.
But there
is one other possible answer. Christians sometimes concern themselves about
historical doctrines, or esoteric, speculative interpretations of scripture
about when Jesus will return as a way to avoid the heart of scripture. Such
preoccupation is an unconscious avenue for not having to deal with other more serious
matters of the law, and especially the heart of the law, love of God and
neighbor. A focus on doctrine leaves little room for wrestling with practical
questions posed by our wealth and others’ poverty, by our relationship to the
environment, by war in the Middle East, or the ways gun culture or television
violence poison Western culture. I’m reminded of how one of the Teachers of the
Law, one who could even recite the greatest command, was judged by Jesus, in
the end, to be “not far” from the kingdom of God while still apparently missing
the point of the kingdom entirely.
Which makes
me think that whatever the point of holding to doctrines might be—and as I
noted above, there are a few—the bigger issue is always going to be figuring
out how holding them doesn’t get in the way of the main thing.
