Saturday 31 January 2009

Elementary Math

How much is 300,000 euros divided by TWO?

300,000 / 2 = ___________

(Hint)


(Answer: 0 euros.)

Monday 26 January 2009

An Unforgettable Dinner




If ever the platitude "a picture speaks more than a thousand words" applies, it does so here. What in the world is happening in this picture?

We'll, we've been on the deserted island for way over a month by this time. Almost everyone's lost a lot of weight. The competition that preluded this (brim-)full-course meal involved oily liquid, as those of you with keen eyes can notice. We had to transfer a lot of melted butter in our mouths. Anyway, the two best competitors (Markku on the left) were entitled to -- get this -- a four-hour Roman style dinner on the beach under the evening sun, accompanied by a private chef (I don't know where they got him from), real chairs, a grill, and -- get this too -- the remaining competitors chained to a bench a few feet away from the table. They had to witness the entire feast without a bite (we offered the meal to them, but the production crew didn't allow it). The women -- Jasna, Mira, and Elena -- were really good sport about it. In fact they gave us some culinary suggestions.

And boy did we have a lot to choose from. You can see rye bread, white bread, cheese and other toppings, eggs, beef and pork and chicken in various different forms, olives, potatoes, sausages (HK sininen all the way from Finland!), fish (silli etc.), rice, sauces, most fruits you can name, and so on. For drinks we had water, beer, red wine, white wine, mineral water, club sodas, and (naturally) whisky and brandy. For dessert -- well we started the whole meal with strawberry ice-cream so it wouldn't melt, but in addition to that we had chocolates (managed so smuggle a few for the women), cakes, and Cuban cigars.

Every fifteen minutes we'd take a "break" (=run into the jungle, our bodies weren't used to food), and all through the next night I wanted to throw up but refused to on grounds of "not wasting it". Really, an unforgettable experience. One of the many we experienced during those 44 incredible days (summer of 2005).

Saturday 24 January 2009

In the Air and Under Water




This is what it looks like when a three-year-old boy falls into water from 10 feet. How did he ever get that high? Uncle Jason threw him, of course. The first picture looks cool but kind of scary. But the second picture, a closer shot, reveals that the patient -- Benjamin -- is fine. He's more than fine!

Thursday 22 January 2009

Reflections on Jaroslav Pelikan's "The Emergence of the Catholic Tradition"

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

Two more items remain to be discussed in this last part. The first involves “forcing categories of later thought upon earlier eras” and my inability to understand what the author means by this. The second is a weakness in his analysis of Boethius’ Consolation of Philosophy – a weakness which does not, however, cast a shadow on the author’s expertise but rather serves as a gentle reminder (to any reader in awe with his theological and literary finesse) that no one is perfect.

“Mind Your Century”

Pelikan habitually reminds us, the readers, and himself, the historian, “not to superimpose later categories of thought” to earlier centuries.

For example, as regards the doctrine of the Eucharist, this means that “the effort to cross-examine the fathers of the second and third century about where they stood in the controversies of the ninth or sixteenth century is both silly and futile” (p. 167). Later: “It is incorrect … to attribute to Augustine either a scholastic doctrine of transubstantiation or a Protestant doctrine of symbolism, for he taught neither – or both – and both were able to cite his authority” (p. 305). On another topic: “It is too facile to dismiss this [the theory of the indwelling Logos] as ‘Pelagianism before Pelagius,’ for it did not really fit into the categories of the Western development” (p. 285).

On one hand, the principle of “not superimposing later categories” and the principle’s implementations above sound reasonable. Yet scruples against this principle remain, to some degree.

For we clearly cannot mean that earlier generations could have nothing to say about later generations’ interests, or that later generations cannot (and should not ex principio) seek the opinion of earlier generations. Is not much of theology “bound” (or aided) by this way, in that it seeks the faith of “our forefathers in the faith”?

My question, therefore, is: What are the ground rules for deciding when it is possible and when it is not possible to do so? If Pelikan follows some clear-cut methodology, he does so silently, and neither my skill nor time allowed its explicit recovery.

Boethius and his Consolation of Philosophy

For those of you who don't know him, Boethius was a Christian philosopher who lived in the 6th century. He was tortured to death in 525 by the king of Ostrogoths. His Consolation of Philosophy is one of the timeless world classics.

Unfortunately this last part must be updated later. Here in Dar es Salaam (where I'm writing), I do not have C. S. Lewis' The Discarded Image. In it he explains, as a literary historian and critic, why he does not believe that Boethius wrote his Consolation of Philosophy in prison, as many - or most - have supposed.

Consquently, if it can be showed that it is doubtful that Boethius wrote it in prison, the question posed by perplexed Christians and excited secular philosophers, "Why would Boethius, in the hour of his death, find consolation in philosophy, and not in theology?" becomes irrelevant.

It's not that he doesn't find consolation in theology (or simply "faith"); it simply means that he - as a free Christian writer - wanted to write a book on the consolation of philosophy. Writing a book, "The Pleasure of Movies" does not mean you don't think books are pleasurable. In fact you may think books are more pleasurable than movies.

Tuesday 20 January 2009

Reflections on Jaroslav Pelikan's "The Emergence of the Catholic Tradition"

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

Open Questions, #1: Mystery vs. doctrine

In my earlier essay on Bernhard Lohse’s A Short History of Doctrine, I mentioned the relationship of “doctrine” and “mystery” as one question that intrigues me, and to which I hope to find some light during the course of the new studies I have undertaken. What do we mean when we say, for instance, that “doctrinal formulations do not seek to ‘unravel’ the mystery”? So, naturally, as I flipped through Pelikan’s pages I was on the lookout for glimpses of light. None were forthcoming, unfortunately.

For a split second I thought I saw something in Gregory of Nyssa’s treatment of the mystery of the Trinity:

“Even Gregory of Nyssa, philosophically the most brilliant and bold of the three Cappadocians, stopped short of providing a speculative solution for the relation of the One and the Three [within the mystery of the Trinity] or of the distinctions between the properties of the One and those of the Three.”

Gregory’s fundamental axiom was, in his own words: “Following the instructions of Holy Scripture, we have been taught that [the nature of God] is beyond names and human speech. We say that every [divine] name, be it invented by human customs or handed on to us by the tradition of the Scriptures, represents our conceptions of the divine nature, but does not convey the meaning of the divine nature in itself.” (p. 222.)

So, doctrines (“our conceptions of divine nature”) do not touch the mystery (“convey the meaning of that nature in itself”). Why, then, do we bother speaking about it? And where, if anywhere, is it possible to reach the “nature in itself”?

Does Pelikan offer a tentative answer in the end of his treatment of the mystery of the Trinity?

“Gregory of Nyssa was willing to look for rational supports in his reflection on the One and the Three; but if none were forthcoming, it was most important to [quoting Gregory himself] ‘guard the tradition we have received from the fathers, as ever sure and immovable, and seek from the Lord a means of defending our faith.’ The dogma of the Trinity was enshrined in the liturgy and, if one read them aright, documented in the Scriptures. Now it was the task of theology to defend it, to reflect upon it. In one sense, the dogma in of the Trinity was the end result of theology, for it brought together many of the themes of the preceding development. But in another sense, it was the starting point.” (p. 223–4, italics mine.)

I am still left puzzled and frustrated. However, as I glance at the content pages (disposition) of volume two, The Spirit of Eastern Christendom, the titles of some chapters leave me hopeful: “Knowing the Unknowable”, “Images of the Invisible”, and “The Mystic as New Theologian”. We'll see.

Open Questions, #2: Free will vs. predestination

Another question I was hoping to find answers to was the ever frustratingly difficult doctrine of predestination – predestination in general and Augustine’s beliefs about predestination in particular.

But I left the building in exactly the same condition I had entered it: lost in a doctrinal maze and openly grudging the ambivalence of Augustine’s treatment of this difficult topic.

My experience of reading Augustine’s City of God is similar to that of Pelikan’s. It seems frustratingly ambiguous. Sometimes Augustine seems to side with free will; but soon after he’ll put forth a strong doctrine of double predestination.

Pelikan writes: “As part of the apologetics in his City of God, Augustine sought to distinguish the Christian-Pauline understanding of predestination from pagan fatalism, arguing that the decisions of the human will were part of the ‘order of causes’ included in the divine prescience. But even in this book he came eventually to include the human will in the order of effects of the divine predestination.” (p. 297.)

Augustine received opposition from orthodox theologians to his doctrine of predestination even during his own lifetime:

“Fundamentally, the objection was that Augustine had resolved the paradox of inevitability and responsibility at the expense of responsibility, and that he glorified grace by belittling nature and free will. [Quoting Faustus of Riez] ‘If you pay careful attention, you will recognize clearly and abundantly how through the pages of the Scriptures sometimes it is the power of grace and at other times it is the assent of the human will that is asserted.’ Grace and freedom stood in antinomy… which ‘the rule of the church’s faith’ did not permit to resolve at all. It was a violation of the rule of faith and of the teaching of the fathers to teach, as Augustine did, that God called only the elect in accordance with his decree.” (p. 320.)

According to Faustus of Riez, the Augustinian doctrine was not merely novel and heretical, it was finally heathen. It was a “fatalistic theory”. It spoke a great deal about grace, but “in the name of grace [Augustine] preaches fatalism”. “But fatalism,” Pelikan comments, “even under the guise of the Christian doctrine of predestination, would lead to conclusions that any Christian would find repugnant” (p. 320).

It is this fatalistic shadow that has worried so many Christians thereafter, and which any account of predestination - be it Calvinist or Catholic - must seek to overcome.

In times of theological “battle fatigue” I am tempted to say in unison with Faustus, “the rule of faith does not allow its resolution”, or with Cassian – paraphrased by Pelikan – “[b]y the goodness of the Creator there still remained the capacity to initiate the will for salvation. The mistake was to reduce the complex and diverse operations of God to a single formula such as Pelagian synergism [human free will and divine providence work together] or Augustinian predestinarianism [divine providence predestines other to heaven and others to hell].” (p. 324.)

Pelikan concludes, “the paradox of grace, which had lain at the center of Augustine’s theology, was not resolved” (p. 328), but “Augustine’s anti-Pelagian doctrine of grace became the official teaching of Latin Christianity” (p. 329).

Yet “[m]uch of Western theology since ... has oscillated between these two poles [notions of human merit and initiative vs. strict providence], and we shall have to write its history (to paraphrase Whitehead’s epigram about Plato) as ‘a series of footnotes’ to Augustine” (p. 330).

It may be worth adding, that in many ways “Augustine managed to hold together what Augustinians have often tended to separate” (p. 306).

Sunday 18 January 2009

Reflections on Jaroslav Pelikan's "The Emergence of the Catholic Tradition"

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

Though much of what I read in Pelikan’s first volume was familiar content-wise, I did learn a few new things. The first concerned the “parousia” (Christ’s return to earth), the second involved the surprising chronological relationship of some major doctrines (infant baptism, virgin birth, original sin), and the third regarded the Byzantine emperor Justinian (482/3–565) as “a theologian”.

The delay of Christ's return

The first generation of Christians was expecting the imminent return of Christ within its own lifetime. When it became apparent that this would not happen, they were very much “shocked” – or so I have always thought. But Pelikan says this is not the whole truth.

“It would be a gross exaggeration of the evidence to describe the eclipse of the apocalyptic vision as ‘catastrophic’ for the generation that followed the apostles. Any such description is based on too simplistic a view of the role of apocalyptic in the teaching of Jesus and in the life of the church. Nor is it corroborated by later texts, for one looks in vain for proof of a bitter disappointment over the postponement of the parousia or of a shattering of the early Christian communities by the delay in the Lord’s return.” (p. 123–4.)

What the texts do suggest is “a shift within the polarity of already/not yet and a great variety of solutions to the exegetical and theological difficulties caused by such a shift” (p. 124).

What is more, the evidence suggests that the hope for Christ’s return did not eclipse as quickly and as completely as some theologians have indicated in the past. Lastly, there is “striking evidence not only that the millenarian hope continued in the church after the apostolic age, but also that, probably from the beginning, it stood in tension with other descriptions of the reign of Christ, which were not as privy to the details of the timetable for this reign.” (p. 125.)

Why do we believe this?

Then to the second piece of new understanding I received. I, like presumably many other Christians, have always thought (subconsciously or consciously) that the doctrines/teachings of the virgin birth of Jesus and of infant baptism developed upon a prior understanding of the fall and original sin. Human nature carried the consequences of Adam’s fall (original sin), and thus, because Christ was a perfect (sinless) human being, he had to have been vouchsafed from original sin (hence the virgin birth) and mankind could be cleansed of it through baptism (hence infant baptism).

Pelikan, however, argues that this is not the case: first came the practice of infant baptism and the belief in the virgin birth, then came the speculations and teachings about the fall and original sin.

“Two themes from the cultus [life and practice of the church] probably deserve to be singled out for their bearing upon the dilemma of Christian anthropology: the confession of the virgin birth of Christ and the practice of infant baptism.”

He continues: “Both themes were present in the life and language of the church before they were ever exploited for their anthropological import; at least there appears to be little or no warrant, on the basis of evidence available now, to argue that they were derived from a previously defined theory of the fall and original sin. But given their increasingly secure place in cultus and confession, they became the premises from which conclusions could be drawn about the fall and original sin.” (p. 286.)

Emperor of Byzantine, Justinian I

Third and last on my “something new” list is Justianian I, emperor of Byzantine. I must confess that I knew nothing of him prior to my engagement to Pelikan’s monographs.

Least of all did I know that he could be described “[i]n many ways [as] the most representative spokesman for catholic orthodoxy in the East” (p. 341). Not only because he was a “Christ-loving Christian emperor”, but because – and here Pelikan quotes H. Beck – in Justinian, “as hardly ever again in a Byzantine emperor, politics, administration, and theology are combined” (p. 341).

Some may find this description appalling and sinister; I find it inspiring.

Other authoritative sources tell me that he is considered a saint in amongts Eastern Orthodox Christians, and is also commemorated by the Lutheran Church.

Friday 16 January 2009

Reflections on Jaroslav Pelikan's "The Emergence of the Catholic Tradition"

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

The ethical element

“Faith, hope, love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love” – to which Pelikan adds, “[yes] love, and not faith, certainly not doctrine. The church is always more than a school”. But “the church cannot be less than a school” either (p. 1).

Here one thinks of people emphasizing God’s “unknowable depth”, his “unknowability” as it were. Theology which describes God in terms of “what he is not” is called “negative” theology (apophatic theology). “God is not a person in the same way that we are,” it is said. Yes, it is true, God is much more than a person; but he is not less than a person. True negative theology is fully aware of this, as C. S. Lewis points out in a humorous analogy in his essay “Transpositions”.

Theology and ethics are inseparable (p. 1), just as “faith” and “works” are inseparable. One may add: also, just as “intellectual” and “moral” virtues are inseparable. Inseparable does not, however, mean indistinguishable: you can talk about one (theology, faith, intellectual virtues) without the other (ethics, works, moral virtues).

Much early defense of Christianity was not doctrinal, but ethical in nature. For example, one of the most widespread accusations against the “new sect” (Christianity) was the charge, “most impious and barbarous of all, that we eat human flesh” or “loaves steeped in blood”, as one early defender of Christianity, Theophilus of Antioch, explains (p. 28). The basis of this accusation was the language used by the Christians to describe Christ’s presence in the Eucharist, or Holy Communion, suggesting literal cannibalism.

Ambrose, in his dispute with Symmachus, defended Christianity on the basis of its “antiquity of morals”, not years (p. 35).

Pelikan summarizes: “Concerned as they were with ethical questions as much as with doctrinal issues, the apologists also sought to prove and defend the superiority of the Christian ethic” (p. 38).

How is the Church holy?

The church was holy because Christ was in it; therefore it was called “the spouse of Christ” or “the body of Christ”. “[T]he holiness that was the gift of the indwelling Christ also had to be an attribute of the members of the church” (p. 157).

Susanna, “a figure of the church” for Hippolytus, exhibited the freedom of sins that belonged to the true holiness of the church and of its members. Cyprian, too, saw the story of Susanna as an allegory of the church and its purity, both moral and doctrinal. Yet Cyprian and Hippolytus became involved in grave doctrinal controversies about the holiness of the church and of its members. Cyprian’s conception, which was “more profound and more complex”, became the norm for mainstream Christianity to this day.

Pelikan quotes Hamel: “For Hippolytus the church is the holiness of the saints, whose holiness is guaranteed by the unconditional purity of its members from sins of the flesh. But according to Callistus [echoing Cyprian], the church does not lose its character as ‘church catholic’ even when unworthy members remain within it.” (p. 158.)

In later years, in the name of their demand for holiness, the so-called “Donatists” felt obliged to separate themselves from the vast body of those “who called themselves catholic Christians” (Donatists wanted to claim the title “catholic” to themselves). “[F]or there could be no fellowship between the church of Christ (the Donatists) and the synagogue of Satan (the catholics)” (p. 309). But again, the guiding principle of Cyprian was ratified anew, this time reworked by Augustine to meet the challenge of the new schism.

Outside the mainstream

Another major schism (dispute within the church) was between the so-called “Montanists” and the catholic Christians. My sympathy, in a reserved fashion, for Montanism and for Tertullian was reawakened as I read Pelikan’s treatment of them. Montanism’s center was moral, not doctrinal.

“Montanism asserted that the gifts of the Spirit were absent in the church on account of its moral laxity” (p. 100–1). “This would be the quality in Montanism,” Pelikan explains, “that attracted men like Tertullian”, a former spokesman and ardent defender of catholic Christianity. “Not for its theological novelty, if any, was he drawn to it, but for its moral zeal” (p. 101).

“Outside the Mainstream” was one of the most informative and exciting chapters in this first volume. However, I cannot remember reading whether Tertuallian’s “Montanism” was discovered during his lifetime or at a later date. Was he excommunicated or did he die a saint but be remembered a heretic? In addition, though Montanism did part company with the church in the doctrine of the Trinity (see p. 104), it was not clarified in what way, exactly, was Montanism’s view of charismata (“the gifts of the Spirit”, above) found wanting.

Pelikan himself concludes: “The history of the church has never been altogether without the spontaneous gifts of the Holy Spirit, even where the authority of the apostolic norms has been most incontestable. In the experiences of monks and friars, of mystics and seers, as well as in the underground religion of many believers, the Montanist heresy has carried on a sort of unofficial existence.” (p. 108.)

Could one add to the list, “in the experience of Pentecostals and charismatic Catholics”? It would, indeed, be very intriguing to find a well-done comparative study between the history and teaching of Montanism and of the modern Charismatic movement.

Wednesday 14 January 2009

Reflections on Jaroslav Pelikan's "The Emergence of the Catholic Tradition"

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

What is Dogma?

What is dogma or doctrine? Dogma is what is “believed, taught, and confessed” (p. 3).

By relating what is confessed to what is taught and believed, the author seeks to take account of how doctrines have developed. Without setting rigid boundaries, he identifies what is “believed” as the form of Christian doctrine present in devotion, spirituality, and worship; what is “taught” as the content of the word of God extracted from the witness of the Bible and communicated to the people of the church through proclamation, instruction, and churchly theology; and what is “confessed” as the testimony of the church, both against false teaching from within and attacks from without, articulated in creed and dogma, polemics and apologetics (p. 4).

The relationship between what is believed, taught, and confessed is subtle – and sometimes impossible to unravel. “[D]octrine has developed back and forth between believing, teaching, and confessing” (p. 5).

Pelikan offers a salutary critique of modern Protestant histories of dogma. “Since most of Protestantism had concluded its confessional development by the middle of the seventeenth century, there could not be a history of Protestant dogma, but only a history of Protestant theology.” Furthermore, “their [Protestant dogma’s professed histories’] arbitrariness becomes especially evident in the terminus ad quem assigned to the study: the last (or the latest) council or confessional document of a particular branch of the church” (p. 4).

One thinks immediately of, for example, Lohse’s A Short History of Christian Doctrine and its concluding chapter on the German Lutheran “Barmen Declaration” (1934).

What history of doctrine is not

This said, Pelikan agrees with Lohse that history of doctrine is not to be equated with the history of (speculative) theology.

“Christian doctrine is the business of the church,” he says (p. 3). If the historian forgets this, he “runs the danger of exaggerating the significance of the idiosyncratic thought of individual theologians at the expense of the common faith of the church” (p. 3). The history of doctrine is not to be equated with the history of X (X being “interpretation/ hermeneutics”, “the church”, “ecclesiological politics” or whatever, see p. 61), but X may affect the former, and it is the task of the serious historian to determine when and in what measure it does so.

In speaking about the opposition to “the Nicene faith” after 325 AD, Pelikan writes: “The story of this opposition has been told often, though not always well. Many accounts of the development of doctrine during the half-century from Nicea to Constantinople lose themselves in chronology and political history. As we indicated [earlier], the political history of these decades is in many ways more important – and in most ways more interesting – than the doctrinal history. Yet a development of doctrine there is, and one which can (keeping as much of the chronology in view as can safely be determined from the documents) be traced in its own terms.” (p. 207.)

This, too, is a revealing instance of the author’s methodology which, despite its self-imposed limits, does not downplay the importance of non-doctrinal influences.

Augustine, one of my favourite theologians – both intellectually and as a person – receives a superlative-filled praise which, however, ends with a salutary qualification. What is genius compared to doctrine?

“[T]here is probably no Christian theologian – Eastern or Western, ancient or medieval or modern, heretical or orthodox – whose historical influence can match his. Any theologian who would have written either the Confessions or the City of God or On the Trinity would have to be counted a major figure in intellectual history. Augustine wrote them all, and vastly more. He was a universal genius.” (p. 292.)

But then the qualification: “Yet genius is not so rare as all that – and, more importantly, not so pertinent as all that to the history of the development of Christian doctrine as that which the church believes, teaches, and confesses on the basis of the word of God” (p. 292–3).

Monday 12 January 2009

Reflections on Jaroslav Pelikan's "The Emergence of the Catholic Tradition"

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

The Emergence of the Catholic Tradition (100–600) is the first volume of Jaroslav Pelikan’s five-volume history of Christian doctrine, The Christian Tradition: A History of the Development of Doctrine. Jaroslav Pelikan (1923–2006) was the Sterling Professor of History Emeritus at Yale University and the author of numerous volumes on the history of Christianity.

His The Christian Tradition is truly a massive project, written in clear understanding of its challenging magnitude, as the very first (sober) sentence of volume one’s preface attests: “The Emergence of the Catholic Tradition begins the publication of my history of Christian doctrine, which I hope to complete in five volumes within the next decade” (p. ix).

New quotation system - easy to read

This first volume is based on a study of the primary sources in the original languages – Greek, Syriac, and Latin. The most striking, most original, and most welcomed methodological trait of the whole series is – from the point of view of the average reader – the total absence of not only references to sources within the text but also of all footnotes whatsoever.

The author uses a system of marginal annotations, a system I hope catches on in future monographs too. It serves the interest of both the scholar and layman simultaneously, “without intruding the apparatus of erudition on the reader who is not interested (not yet interested or no longer interested) in the footnotes” (p. x).

The author's strengths

The author’s command of English is excellent, making reading both easy and exhilarating. The dialogue, say, between Greeks and early Christian apologists is at times hilarious, but Pelikan masterfully shows it to be relevant to the development of doctrine (see, for example, the chapter "The Christian Dispute with Classical Thought"). As an example of the author’s style, here is a most clever, apt, concise, and humorous ending to his treatment of the Trinitarian so-called homoousios-homoiousios debate:

“By saying that Christ was ‘of the ousia’ of the Father and ‘like [the Father] in ousia,’ they were, he [Athanasius] continued, ‘settling themselves in opposition to those who say that the Logos is a creature.’ And this was finally the doctrinal interest for which homoousios had been a symbol – coined by the Gnostic heretics, dictated by an unbaptized emperor, jeopardized by naive defenders, but eventually vindicated by its orthodox opponents.” (p. 210.)

The author’s primary sources are, in addition to the ordinary apologetics and "against heresy" material, liturgical and exegetical in nature (see p. 11). He does not “psychoanalyze” the authors of his sources, thank God. He shows wholesome reserve, as psychoanalyzing is, indeed, a questionable tool, especially when wielded across the distance of several centuries.

(As a side note, I will have to make a decision regarding the approach I will take in my own dissertation on John Paul II’s and C.S. Lewis’ conceptions of love. Biographical treatments are undoubtedly needed, and contrary to Pelikan and his subject matter, I and my “subject matter” share closer proximity in time. Although both men, Lewis and John Paul II, left behind a considerable body of personal material (in form of texts), caution must be used as I analyze it.)

Continuing with the author’s strengths, it must be stated that he shows remarkable impartiality and objectivity when dealing with sensitive questions – and this characteristic stands out even without counter-examples, such as Bernhard Lohse, still lingering in my memory. Pelikan, it seems, has refused to borrow “Lohse’s Lutheran lenses”, and nothing in the first volume comes even close to a blatantly one-sided statement, such as Lohse’s, “All the appeals to tradition cannot alter the fact that nowhere does tradition count for less than it does in the Roman church” (History of Christian Doctrine 1985, p. 211).

I was aware of Pelikan’s biographical background and the major transition in his later life. However, without this knowledge, there is little in this first volume that could betray his personal denominational affiliations.

"Church catholic"?

The only exception to this was the expression “church catholic”, which appeared over and over again (e.g. p. 123) and by which I take him to mean the “early Christian mainstream church”. The word order – “church catholic” instead of “catholic church” – stands out.

Why would he use such a clumsy (and revealing?) word order? To make an ecclesiological point (“the early Christian church is not the so-called Catholic Church”)?

If so, it is at the expense of proper English – after all, the volume is named The Emergence of the Catholic Tradition and not The Emergence of the Tradition Catholic – and perhaps invites suspicion of feelings of inferiority. Similarly, I find it amusing that we modern Protestants or non-Catholics insist on saying the Roman Catholic Church instead of simply the Catholic Church (meaning, “Rome has no exclusive rights to the word ‘catholic’!”).

In the next part we move on from more general observation to the substance of the book, to dogma itself and a few interesting dogmatic themes.

Saturday 10 January 2009

Dialogue in a Dream

I saw some intense dreams the other night. But as I awoke, I could not remember anything about them. Except for one short dialogue between a man and a woman. They obviously knew each other very well. The woman was sad, because she felt the man did not love her.

Woman: "I love you! Why don't you love me?"

Man: "You're in love with me. You don't love me. I'm not in love with you. But I love you."

Thursday 8 January 2009

Maralyn Mathias (In Memoriam)



A very wonderful woman, Maralyn Mathias, past away last Sunday, 4th of January 2009. For the past 18 months she was suffering -- or living -- with ALS disease, a fatal neuromotorical illness which slowly shuts down all bodily functions. The congnitive function or intellect is usually spared, and Maralyn's blog which she kept during her illness is a remarkable proof of this.

Jesus, thank you for Maralyn and Jim. Embrace her, and comfort and strengthen him. Be with their family.


Below is the last post she wrote just before her death which was published posthumously by her family.

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Thirsty for Jesus

[Written early on New Years Day 2009]

Water is essential to life, and even though food will no longer propel down my throat, I’m still drinking. Amazingly, I don’t feel hungry … but I am thirsty, and I’m drinking as much as I possibly can. Without divine intervention, I will get to heaven some time within the month.

These 18 months since my ALS diagnosis have been the worst and best of my life. Worst because of my deteriorating body … best because of my relationship with Christ.

And I’m beginning to see my friendship with Jesus like water when I’m thirsty … so essential to life. He is the real “living water” referred to in John 4:1-26.

I have many lovely friends, but I’ve never before known a Friend SO close. Every day we have smiled, laughed, and cried together. And he has comforted me. I’ve asked his opinion, and he has nodded one way or the other. His close friendship has given me many new perspectives on this earthly life that I had never considered before. He’s been closer than my skin.

This intimate friendship was essential to the writing of this blog. He nudged me and said, “Don’t plan ahead” (totally contrary to my nature). “Let me teach you as we go. I will pick the topics. Just trust me! I’ll show you what to write.”

Let me tell you, for a “Type A” girl, that was tough … at first … until I saw that he really would supply the ideas and insights. It’s been an amazing ride. So if you’ve been blessed by this blog, thank him!

The only thing that makes me sad is realizing that this intimate friendship with him has been available to me all throughout my life, and I never chose it until now. I missed it … big-time! I guess I was always so busy with my lists, projects, plans and events that I was too occupied to be open to such an idea. Oh, I did my devotions, but so often because I knew I “should.” That’s a different thing. Now I long to be with him, to feel his hug, to hear his voice, to see his smile. It’s so different.

Here’s a piece of motherly advice: Don’t wait until you have a terminal illness to seek a true friendship with Jesus. He’s ready! It takes setting aside some less important things. It takes listening. It takes openness. But it’s so worth it! I hope you become literally thirsty for Jesus.

Soon I’ll be in heaven, and it will be great to see the scenery, gardens and mansions. It will be great to hear the singing and see what’s on the banquet tables. BUT! I can tell you, the thing I’m most looking forward to is meeting my Best Friend face-to-face for the very first time. I’m trying to imagine the thrill...

Postscript: Seventy-two hours after writing this, Maralyn Mathias peacefully left this earth to meet her Lord. Her ability to swallow had stopped shortly after completing the above paragraphs. Nevertheless, she remained alert and even communicating with her husband, Jim, and other family members until her final 20 minutes of life. Her last breath was drawn at 10:35 a.m. on Sunday, January 4. She was 59 years old.

Her memorial service will be held on Saturday, January 10, at 10 a.m. at Christian Life Fellowship, Port Edwards, Wis. Visitation will occur at the church on the previous evening (Friday) from 4 to 7 p.m. and again on Saturday morning starting at 9 a.m.

A scholarship in Maralyn’s name will soon be established at Continental Theological Seminary in Brussels, Belgium, where she and Jim served 1987-2000. The specific account for receiving memorial gifts (in lieu of flowers, please) will be announced shortly by e-mail to all subscribers of this blog.

Wednesday 7 January 2009

Queen and Princess




These pictures say it all. It is clear that the Queen and Princess of my host-family have a sublime bond between them. I cannot wait to see what kind of person Daniella grows up to be. She has a strong will and a robust mind. And yet she is vulnerable and gentle at the same time.


Monday 5 January 2009

Discussion Continues...

The first of my three political theory questions that I posted some time ago has received several new comments.

Do contribute to the discussion, everybody! This is a joint venture.

Click here.

Sunday 4 January 2009

A New Year in Africa



This is a short obligatory update. The year 2009 began, for me, in Tanzania. I have been here for one month now. It feels like it just fly by. Five more months of efficient work and play to look forward to. I function and work so much better in a country where the sun rises and sets early. It's been 4 years since I went to bed and got up as early as I do now, willingly.

Some time ago I found out, to my relief, that I was indeed accepted into the University of Helsinki. My dissertation plan (comparative study on two Christian giants' conception of love) was ratified at the same time.

The next four years will be spent in love. Reading about love, writing about it, talking about it, thinking about it, and - to the best of my abilities - living it.

Thursday 1 January 2009

Triple Party 2009



Yesterday was a great day. We had three reasons to celebrate: Benjy turned 3 years, Daniella 1 year, and history (since Christ's birth) 2009 years. (It's incredible how well Danny and Sirkku timed their kisses.)

Oskar (on the left), is going on his first ever safari this weekend, to Mikumi National Park.

Safari, in Swahili, means simply "a trip". But Oskar's safari will include some amazing animals, too.