At some point in the future, Dr. Phillips intends to write a book,
which is tentatively entitled "Laughing at Theology." 
This selection is a rough of the introduction
and first chapter.  This rough draft is not for citation.

Introduction

Can We Be Too Serious about Theology?

Theology seeks to explain the way in which God interacts with the world.

My theology seeks to express how I understand God to interact with the world.

My theology expresses how God interacts with the world.

Only my theology really understands how God interacts with the world.

            On the surface of it, the title of this introduction may sound strange, coming as it does, from the lips of a professional theologian.  A professional theologian asking if we can take theology too seriously will strike many people as the equivalent of a personal trainer asking if we can take diet and exercise too seriously or an attorney asking if we can take the law too seriously, but theology is a discipline unlike any other.  Theologians, both amateur and professional, carry out their discourse in the rhetorical equivalent of the king’s trophy room where the uniquenesses of their game room subject them to unique temptations.  Because theologians attempt to write (or perhaps, translate) the Creator’s instructions manual for the creation, nothing is more practical, more powerful or potentially more dangerous than theology.  On the one hand, because theologians seek to give voice to the mind of God, their task is undeniably serious and, of course, theology must be taken seriously.  On the other hand, however, the question is not really about the seriousness of theology—whether or not theology is serious, but rather a question about us—whether or not we can be too serious about theology.   

            So, can we be too serious about theology?  Yes, we can be too serious about theology, but that’s not an indictment against the theological task of seeking to explain the way in which God interacts with world.  Rather, it’s an indictment against who we tend to be.  Too often, we tend to be people who obscure, calcify and trivialize theological discourse.  Amazing grace becomes a disembodied ideal rather than a transforming presence; love divine, all loves excelling, becomes a useful linguistic construct rather than a liberating experience; and the mysteries of life in the body of Christ become quantifiable spiritual laws.  For many readers who have seen such sad corruption of the theological task more times than they care to admit, the question will be “why?”  Why do we so often take the power of the gospel and translate it into the gospel of power games?  Why does the proclamation of God’s very personal, self-sacrificing commitment to humanity become a dwarfish demand for ascent to impersonal abstractions about God?

            Although “why?” (and its witty counterpart “why not?”) are generally appropriate (though sometimes cynical) entries to dialogue, the most fruitful line of inquiry in this case probably begins with “when,” not “why.”  When do people lose sight of the tranquil sea of grace under the hostile waves of fomenting propositions and when do people fail to hear the sweet rhythms of love amid the cacophony of boisterous assertions?  When is the gospel endangered by those who should be its greatest advocates?   Such tragedy strikes when the gospel becomes co-opted by theologians—both professional and novice—who fail to cultivate the core Christian virtues of self-criticism, humility and repentance.

            This admittedly light (and perhaps surrealistically humorous) volume hopes to reveal how Christians of various traditions (though mainly the Evangelical Protestant varieties with which I am most familiar) become too serious about theology when their commitment to particular theological constructs outdistances their commitment to self-criticism, humility and repentance.  Although I can only cry “mea culpa” to the charge that I am rather impiously gaining a laugh at the expensive of all manner of theologians, the court may find cause for mercy in my own less-than-humble claim to purity of motive.  I want to demonstrate the processes—“name the powers” Walter Wink would say—whereby otherwise perfectly sane and rationale theologians of various traditions—including my own!—develop and eventually entrench within utterly absurd theological positions.  I desire to do so for strictly redemptive (and, well, perhaps partially humorous) motives—to help us all glimpse the self-critical and prophetic spirit of the gospel.  I will be successful in my endeavors if my readers occasionally find themselves laughing at themselves in the self-critical prose of this brief volume. 

            However, before proceeding with my merciless pummeling of the overly serious theologians of the various traditions, I, wretched man that I am, must yield to the temptation to take a few jabs at overly serious theologians in general.  As I said, the task of theology is to seek to explain how God interacts with the world.  While I don’t recall having heard this exact formulation of the task of theology on the lips of any other theologian, I believe that most theologians would agree (although with the prerequisite number of disclaimers, qualifications and nuances) that this description of the theological task is generally acceptable.  Most Christian believers and professional theologians would agree both that the task of theology is significant and that this description of that task is an acceptable beginning point.  I concur.  Theology seeks to explain how God interacts with the world.

            While working under this—or some similar understanding of their task—most Christian theologians begin the task of theologizing by entering into a confessional mode in which they give witness to their convictions.  Their work takes on a confessional tone which either literally or silently asserts that this theology seeks to express how I understand God to interact with the world.  Although I may or may not agree with their specific theological articulations, I (and the overwhelming majority of believers and theologians) would agree that it is appropriate for them to give witness to their understanding of how God interacts with the world.  Witness is, after all, an essential dynamic of the Christian faith; living faith must always bear witness.

            For some theologians, however, bearing witness and gaining the admiration and respect of one’s fellow believers are not enough.  For such folk, simply bearing witness, with all the vagaries and uncertainties implied by that metaphor, is insufficient; they wish, like the prophets of old, to say “thus says the Lord.”  The act of seeking to explain how God interacts with the world is supplanted by the will to speak for God—that is, to speak as God, with all the relish and certainty attendant to that exalted status.  For such people, the changing nature of their perceived task enables them to boldly assert that my theology expresses how God interacts with the world.  While the move from the descriptive task of theology to the witnessing mission of theology raises few eyebrows, this paradigmatic shift from witness to exaggerated witness—and the accompanying move from disciplined boldness to unbridled boast—creates uneasy skepticism in most seasoned and reflective onlookers.  As soon as theologians—or would-be theologians—claim to speak for God, they are taking their own theology too seriously.  Their witness becomes a boast; their proclamation can become manipulation; and the possibility of honest dissent and loyal opposition dwindles away.  Most importantly, self-criticism, humility and repentance become impossible, for the self is identified with God—and since God is never wrong, all capacity for self-criticism is lost.

            Although most of us would allow for the possibility that some individuals do still speak with the voice of God in our complex and harried postmodern world, few of us possess the audacity to take that role upon ourselves—or the foolheartiness to grant it to others.  Still we are often willing to acknowledge the possibility that this exaggerated witness could be true—even if we are unable to overcome the Thomas-like doubt lurking within us in regard to any particular such witness.  While the path between the theologian’s bearing witness and the theologian’s bearing exaggerated witness is rough and steep and few there be who follow it, one need not be a marathoner to traverse the distance from being an exaggerated witness to being an advocate of the absolutely absurd.  Any weak-kneed jogger who has traversed the distance to the exaggerated witness of speaking for God can easily sprint the brief distance to the absolutely absurd and don the fool’s mantle by simply asserting that only my theology really understands how God interacts with the world.

            Sadly, at this point, theology becomes a parody of itself.  The theologian who began by seeking to explain how God interacts with the world has fallen victim to the silent treason of the ego, the hushed tones of grace being subverted by the seductive choruses of self-delusion.  The God to whom one bears witness unwittingly becomes the image in one’s own mirror.  In the cruelest of ironies, in order to withstand the ever-increasing perception of threats from without, such theologians’ observable outer shell often becomes increasingly hard and impenetrable.  As the outer layers of verbal protectionism and intellectual safeguarding accrue, their collected weight has the unintended consequence of making the presumed truths within increasingly less visible and less attractive to those who could otherwise benefit from their exposure.  Too frequently, a host of festering wounds and of encrusted scars not only sadly conceals the glories of divine love but they also regrettably reveal the vitriolic nature of the past theological duels.  Equally ironically, the theologian’s own near-sighted eyes often become so clouded that God and God’s world can no longer be viewed with any clarity.  Of course, the words continue—and often proliferate in ever more stringent tones—even after the witness for Christ is silenced by its own mournful betrayal.  The words “only my theology” are mute witnesses to another reality, a life devoid of the grace enabled and ennobled by humility. 

            Fortunately, one’s journey from witness to exaggerated witness to parody is neither inevitable nor irreversible.  Not all theologians are overly serious theologians.  Many who embark upon the task of theological reflection tread a different path, a path to more effective witness.  That path is paved with self-criticism, humility and repentance; it leads to an ecumenical spirit.  As an almost paradoxical truth, the deliberate cultivation of a self-critical analysis of one’s own commitments and of an ecumenical spirit toward the commitments of others need not diminish the depth of one’s own commitments, but rather should refine one’s capacity for mature commitment.  How can ecumenical generosity and passionate commitment exist within the same soul?  For some, the notion of a committed ecumenist sounds as oxymoronic as the notions of a diligent slacker or a careless perfectionist.  For many, an ecumenical spirit is equated with a dirge of personal commitments, while a full quiver of personal commitments is equated with obscurantism.  Could any conceivable glue bind the poles of uncompromising commitment and charitable ecumenism in tandem?  Yes, and I propose humility, self-criticism and repentance as the essential components of that glue.

            While I have no desire to deny the intrinsic value of Christians bearing clear witness to their varied and deeply held convictions, without the leaven of a humble and introspective spirit, such witness can quickly degenerate into bigotry, obscurantism, and sectarianism.  A passion for witness can become a need for personal conquest; a zeal to convert can become the desire for domination; and fervor for missionary activity can become cultural imperialism.  The only possible immunization against—and, indeed, the only conceivable cure for—such diseased mutations of healthy Christian impulses is the recognition of one’s own sin-sick condition, the diagnosis of which can only come through the spiritual check-ups provided by a humble and introspective spirit.  If self-awareness is the goal, self-criticism is the means.

            This book attempts to foster such self-awareness by providing a sympathetic, but not uncritical, examination of the various traditions.  While I, nor anyone else, could possibly be an active participant in all the traditions discussed in this volume, I have been nurtured by each of them in significant ways.  I would mourn the church’s loss of any of these traditions.  Each has important contributions to make to that glorious institution which is the body of Christ, but I have come to believe that healthy participation in any one of these great traditions is predicated upon recognition of the Church’s need for all of its great traditions.  In an ironic fashion, by mapping out a space for the contributions of other Christian traditions, I carve out a space for my own tradition in the terrain of grace.  My recognition of the collective beauty of the full mosaic of the body of Christ serves as a catalyst for recognizing the intrinsic beauty of my corner of that mosaic.  Without the individual beauty of each small and differently hued piece, the integrated beauty of the larger whole is compromised.  The theological reflection that trains me to recognize the body’s need for all its members also provides me with the interpretive skills to recognize the value of my own tradition’s unique calling within the body of Christ, and to do so without resorting to some pretense of superiority.  So, the cultivation of an ecumenical spirit should deepen and renew our bonds to the traditions which have shaped and formed us.  Therefore, although it may strike some readers as hopelessly naïve, I believe that perhaps the best way to enhance one’s loyalty and fidelity to one’s own tradition is first to seek critical distance from that tradition in order to cultivate an appreciation for other Christian traditions.  Only when one fully comprehends both the contributions of other traditions to the larger body of Christ and the limitedness of one’s own tradition within that body is one truly positioned to appreciate the body’s need for one’s own tradition.  This volume seeks to cultivate that love for the Church in all its forms. 

            Thus, I will begin my presentation of each tradition with four propositions.  The first proposition offers what I see as a sympathetic statement of one of the major generative truth claims which gave birth to that tradition.  I—and, I suspect, most Christians—can comfortably affirm the first of the four propositions which begins each chapter.  In the second proposition, I examine how the various traditions have given witness to their generative truth claims.  Again, I—and, I suspect, most other Christians—can readily affirm the legitimacy of how the various traditions have given witness to their generative truth claims (as reflected in the second proposition).  In the third proposition, I have tried to catch the spirit of those who have given exaggerated witness to the various traditions’ generative truth claims.  I—and, I suspect, most Christians, including the more reflective advocates of the various traditions under consideration—would be unwilling to deny the possibility of other persons making such exaggerated truth claims in good conscience, but neither would I—nor, I suspect, most other Christians—be willing to make such claims for myself.  The fourth proposition of each set demonstrates how even a good idea (the generative truth claim of each tradition) can degenerate into a sad parody of itself in the absence of mature self-criticism.  I would assume that few Christians—even the most zealous advocates of the various traditions—would vocalize such absurd self-parody of their own tradition’s generative truth claims.  However, experience has taught me that many advocates of the various traditions often practice their respective traditions as if they accepted such absurdities.

            While I want to affirm in the strongest possible terms that I am not criticizing the various traditions, I must also affirm in equally strong terms that I am criticizing what the traditions can become in the absence of mature self-criticism.  The criticism in this volume is aimed at the lack of self-criticism within the traditions, not at the traditions themselves.  Each tradition has, in my opinion, made and continues to make important contributions to the Church’s life and witness, but no tradition—regardless of its own legitimacy and maturity—can claim immunity from the abuses of its own worst impulses.  In each case, I regard these generative truths as exactly that—truths which generate ongoing faith and reflection.  Sometimes that ongoing reflection is conducted within a context of mature self-criticism which sustains the healthy growth and development of the traditions.  At other times that ongoing reflection lacks such a context and some trajectories of that tradition consequently become gross parodies of the tradition.  This volume is concerned with those gross parodies.

            Finally, for the sake of honesty, I will add a few notes of clarification.  First, some readers will wonder why I have chosen these seven (sometimes overlapping) traditions to examine.  The answer is simple.  I have chosen the traditions which I know best.  I have close friends, brothers and sisters in Christ, who practice the faith as taught by each of these traditions; I have taught students from each of these traditions; and I have worshipped in churches belonging to each of these traditions.  Therefore, I feel some comfort talking about myself and those with whom I am most familiar.  I must be quick to add, however, that I certainly don’t wish to imply that the traditions examined here exhaust the depth and breadth of the Christian faith.  Quite to the contrary, I readily acknowledge that I am examining only a tiny fraction of the body of Christ.  Second, I also acknowledge that my own religious heritage is closely tied to the Wesleyan\holiness tradition.  For that reason, I will begin by examining how that tradition sometimes takes itself too seriously and thus warrants a well-deserved round of laughter at its own expensive.  I trust that when the readers find their self-parodied tradition at the receiving end of a hardy laugh, they will understand that no ill-will is intended.  Finally, I recognize the inherently artificial nature of the developmental schema that I am offering.  It is not a model of any tradition’s actual historical development, but rather a heuristic device for understanding trajectories which the various traditions have sometimes taken.  Since this book seeks to provide only a rapid survey of how the various traditions’ best and worse impulses are related to another, I can only plead “no contest” to the inevitable indictment against this volume as both reductionistic and lacking in historical and theological nuance.  I readily acknowledge that the perceptive reader could take contention with a thousand points within every chapter.  However, I beg the reader’s indulgence for such shortcomings and request that the reader offer this volume a sympathetic hearing that will seek what pedagogical value may be gleaned from these brief caricatures of the various traditions.

.

Chapter 1

The Wesleyan/Holiness Tradition

By the grace of God, our lives need not be characterized by sin.

By the grace of God, my life is not characterized by sin.

I don’t sin.

In fact, nothing I do is sin.

            For those least familiar with the Wesleyan/holiness tradition, the tradition probably brings to mind vague recollections of claims to perfection and sinlessness.  Indeed, in the polemically charged environment of the nineteenth century campmeeting, Baptist, Anabaptist, and Reformed critics of the Wesleyan/holiness movement often labeled holiness preachers as “perfectionists.”  This pejorative, like many pejoratives, finds some support within the history, claims and ideals of the tradition.

            Although the American holiness message found popular expression in the nineteenth century campmeeting setting, the movement owes its origins to the eighteenth century Methodist revivals under John and Charles Wesley in England and Francis Asbury in America—all three of whom advocated the doctrine of Christian perfection, but none of whom made any claims to sinlessness.   In the context of eighteenth century Protestantism, their generative claim that by the grace of God, Christian life need not be characterized by sin served as a counterbalancing truth to the prevalent Puritan claim that all human beings are totally depraved in their sin.  Although a highly educated Oxford don, John Wesley, the primary theological voice behind the Methodist movement, directed much of his considerable religious and pastoral energies toward the evangelization and discipleship of the poor in Great Britain. 

            Wesley’s zealous concern for the poor is nearly legendary, even prompting him to adopt the then radical practice of “field preaching.”  In an effort to bring the gospel to the overlooked poor, Wesley began stationing himself in the fields along key thoroughfares so that he could preach to passersbys on their way to toil in the mines and factories of England’s emerging industrial society.  In addition to such menial laborers, prostitutes, drunkards, petty criminals and other undesirables were also common recipients of the early Methodist message.  Wesley’s concern for the socially and economically marginalized even prompted him to establish Sunday schools with the outwardly secular purpose of teaching literary skills to disadvantaged children.  Wesley feared that without access to education these children were destined to emulate their parents’ impoverished lives.  Since the social structures of eighteenth century Britain afforded few educational opportunities for the truly impoverished, Wesley’s Methodists sought to fill that gap with their own educational endeavors.  A similar concern for the well-being of the poor and disenfranchised impelled Wesley to print books of home medical remedies, to support  orphanages and medical centers, to seek the abolition of slavery, and to demand alms giving from every Methodist.  Even in his old age, Wesley made a routine of publicly begging for money to support the poor and neglected of British society.  Wesley, although himself not truly from the ranks of poor, clearly identified with the poor and saw himself—and the Methodist movement—as called to serve the poor.

            Within his context, Wesley found the Calvinist message of total depravity and unconditional election a hindrance to evangelism.  As Wesley saw them, the Calvinist themes of depravity and election further discouraged an already discouraged populace.  A defeated working class heard the message of total depravity and unconditional election as divine proof that they deserved their fate and that they could do little to improve their lives.  Although both experience and tradition never let Wesley doubt the basic sinfulness of the human condition, he came to view the Calvinist emphasis upon total depravity as debilitating to the poor and to believe that another emphasis was needed to bring hope and reform to the downtrodden people of industrializing England.   Thus, Wesley chose to emphasize the optimism of divine grace over the pessimism of human sin.  For Wesley, human sin was real, powerful and pervasive—a real cause for pessimism, but divine grace was more real, more powerful and more pervasive—a real cause for optimism.  For Wesley, the optimism of grace outweighed the pessimism of sin.  Thus, one of the characteristic themes of Wesley’s message was the generative claim that by the grace of God, our lives need not be characterized by sin.

            In Wesley’s context, this optimistic proclamation of the limitless possibilities of God’s grace—grace so profound that it could free all persons from their bondage to sin!—was intended to offer encouragement to the masses.  Wesley’s proclamation of the optimism of grace evoked a sense of hope and opportunity that was rooted in the essential goodness and unfailing love of God, in grace that was greater than all our sin.  In Wesleyan theology, the grace of God overflows in such unmeasured bounty and such endless abundance that any human being can be freed from a life of sin.  Regardless of one’s social class, personal history or prior moral failings, the wellsprings of grace can emancipate one from the power of sin.  And how far does this freeing grace extend?  For Wesleyans, God’s grace is able to create people who love God and neighbor completely, fully and without reservation.  Nearly all of the spiritually debilitating effects of sin can be overcome in this life.  The limitless resources of divine love and grace can free people to love their God and their neighbors with their whole heart.  Such grace-inspired love within the human heart, such “perfect love” as Wesley termed it, is available to everyone, simply on the basis of faith.  The grace of God can, in spite of human sin, create a perfect heart within believers.

            Although Wesley was reluctant to claim the attainment of such perfection in his own life, he insisted that divine grace made such perfection of love available to all Christian believers.  In many cases, Wesley accepted the testimony of those who claimed to have attained such perfection, and, indeed, many people within the Wesleyan/holiness tradition have given witness to the claim that by the grace of God, my life is not characterized by sin.  While many other traditions may be uncomfortable making such claims for themselves, most Christians would allow for the legitimacy of such witness.  Indeed, most believers have known persons—perhaps many persons—whose lives were not characterized by sin, but whose lives were in fact characterized by love for both God and humanity.  Even though Wesley himself never gave clear witness to having attained such love (even on his death bed, Wesley confessed himself to be the chief of sinners), the generative truth claim of the Wesleyan/holiness tradition has gained creditable witness from several successive generations.

            As with any tradition, the Wesleyan/holiness tradition carries the seeds of its own destruction within its bosom.  The tradition’s generative truth claims were, in Wesley’s eyes, meaningful only in the context of humility, self-criticism and repentance.  Christian perfection was only possible in the context of community accountability and diligent introspection.  Wesley required all those who desired true holiness to join weekly accountability groups which typically opened with the provocative question, “have you sinned since last we met?”  For Wesley, the believer’s perfection in love could only be construed as a testimony to the grace of God.  The Wesleyan message was all about grace, the optimism of divine grace.  Wesleyan perfectionism was never rooted in liberal optimism about humanity’s essential goodness, rather the Wesleyan understanding of sin was, Wesley insisted, only a mere hair’s breadth from Calvinistic depravity (Wesley regularly lent his pulpit to the Calvinistic George Whitfield).  For Wesleyans, apart from saving grace the believer can do nothing but continue to sin—but, for Wesleyans, no human being is ever completely devoid of saving grace.  The major difference between the Calvinists and the Wesleyans (from the Wesleyan perspective) lies not in the Calvinists’ pessimism over sin, but rather in the Wesleyans’ optimism over grace.  From the Wesleyan perspective, the Wesleyan understanding of grace is broader and deeper than the Calvinist understanding.  For Wesleyans, God’s grace is not only active in all human beings, but also offers all human beings the possibility of regeneration and eventually of Christian perfection in this life.  For Wesleyans, God’s saving grace both is available to, and potentially is perfectable in, even the vilest of sinners.

            The optimism of Wesleyanism and its resulting concern for Christian perfection issue forth from an optimism about the effectiveness of divine grace.  For Wesleyans, divine grace is so all-encompassing, so penetrating and so transformative, that its potential is limitless.  Human sin, in spite of its corrupting influence and damning legacy, is devastatingly overmatched by divine love.  The redemptive love of God ensures not only the believer’s eschatological victory over sin, death, and hell, but also the believer’s present moral transformation.  The wealth of Christ’s love not only can overwhelm the impoverishing effects of sin, but can even reverse humanity’s moral bankruptcy.  Even though sin seeks to rob Christians of the image of Christ, sin’s destructive power has been decisively broken in the cross of Jesus Christ.  The provisions of grace far exceed the deficits of sin.  From a Wesleyan perspective, grace can more than compensate for anything and everything that sin has withdrawn from the human race.  God’s redemptive purposes for believers cannot be halted even by all the collected powers of sin.  Grace cancels out and overwhelms sin.  Sin, not grace, is the loser in the battle for the human heart.  Sin is the intruder into the human condition; sin is the dehumanizing factor in human condition; grace can drive the intruder out and grace can restore humanity to the image of God.

            From a Wesleyan perspective, therefore, a denial of the possibility of attaining Christian perfection and perfect love in this life is tantamount to a denial of the miraculous and transformative powers of grace.  An unwillingness to seek perfect love or a reluctance to testify to the attainment of Christian perfection is equivalent to theological surrender.  To doubt the possibility of human beings attaining perfect love is to underestimate, devalue and shortchange the open-ended possibilities of grace; to deny that Christians can experience perfection of love is to deny that God can perfect a human heart.  From a Wesleyan perspective, such doubts and denials call the very character and power of God into question.  Surely, God can perfect a human heart, and to suggest otherwise almost certainly represents a lack of confidence, trust and faith in God, a sort of theological insecurity and cowardice.  For Wesleyans, the key question in regard to human salvation is a question about God, not about humanity.  The key question is whether or not God’s power and desire to redeem from sin are sufficient to redeem fully.  For Wesleyans, the obvious answer is “Yes!”  God’s power and desire for redemption are unlimited.  God can fully redeem human beings from sin in this life.  From such a perspective, a denial not only of the possibility for, but also the experience of, Christian perfection is an act of unfaithfulness, rising almost to the level of theological treason.

            Within the context of the Wesleyan optimism of grace, a claim to perfect love essentially becomes an act of worship, a celebration of the accepted grace of God.  Therefore, on the basis of deep convictions born from confidence in grace, many people from the eighteenth to the twenty-first century have witnessed to the perfection of love in their lives.  For such people, their testimony represents an honest expression of their abiding trust in the transforming and perfecting power of divine grace.  Grace has gone deeper in its redemptive presence than the stain of human sin has gone in its corrupting influence.  In their most mature forms, claims to Christian perfection should never be boasts of human achievement or personal accomplishment, but rather should be testimonies of the penetrating, permeating presence of God’s redemptive love.  Yet ironically, or perhaps predictably, those whose claims to perfection would be most convincing are often those who are least willing to make such claims.  While many Wesleyans were—and continue to be—quite optimistic in their pronouncements about the fullness of redemption and the potential of perfect love, many mature Wesleyans have been—and often continue to be—quite reluctant to claim such perfection of love for themselves (John Wesley is a case in point).  For the spiritually mature, Christian perfection and bad breath have much in common; both are easier to recognize in others than in oneself.   For the less mature, Christian perfection is more like that elusive winning lottery ticket; they, in their excessive optimism, may be quite confident that they have acquired it, but the rest of us suspect that experience will soon show them merely to be indulging in wishful thinking.

            For such cheerfully self-deluded, however, giving witness to a life not characterized by sin can easily give way to the exaggerated witness that I don’t sin.  Of course, few people—even the most delightfully self-deceived—are willing to claim freedom from sin in all its forms, so those who offer an exaggerated witness to sinlessness almost invariably engage in the reductionistic enterprise of redefining sin.  Throughout its history, the Church has typically recognized that the complex and multi-faceted phenomenon of sin requires a complex and multi-faceted definition.  For example, the Catholic tradition has typically distinguished between mortal sin (which brings spiritual death) and venial sin (which is sin, but which does not bring spiritual death).  As a theologian fully rooted in the breadth and depth of the Church’s tradition, Wesley worked with many definitions of sin.  However, as his primary categories, he followed the lead of the Catholic tradition and spoke of sin in a twofold sense: sin “properly so-called” (a willful transgression of a known law of God) and sin “improperly so-called” (any failure to keep the perfect law of God).  For Wesley, the grace of God was able to free believers from the former category of sin (sin properly so-called) as a present reality, but freedom from commission of the latter category of sin (sin improperly so-called) was possible only as an heavenly reality.  For Wesley, both types of sin were to be regarded with utmost seriousness.  Wesleyan piety demands repentance for all sin and wrong doing—even if some breaches of piety are not sin properly so-called.  In the true Wesleyan spirit, sin is never excusable in any form.  Sin, in all of its forms, is to be feared more than death or hell.   

            For Wesley, the characteristic manner of speaking about salvation was positive—in terms of love, not negative—in terms of sinlessness.  This distinction is significant, because, on the one hand, the practice of love, even perfect love, would never preclude the possibility of repentance.  On the other hand, however, the attainment of sinlessness would render genuine repentance unnecessary.  In a mature Wesleyan understanding, Christians—even Christians who attain perfect love—never outgrow the need for repentance.  Christian perfection is always predicated upon a life of ongoing repentance.  Even with love as the consistent motivation and goal of all of one’s life, the limitedness of human knowledge and insight inevitably and invariably results in actions that call for godly sorrow and repentance.  In fact, within a mature Wesleyan framework, repentance and sorrow over one’s failure to live out the perfect will of God find their most profound expression among those who have already experienced perfect love.  Their love for God and humanity increases their sensitivity to any injury or hurt against another regardless of how slight or unintended the wound may be.  Perfect love ought to intensify one’s awareness of the need for repentance, not negate such awareness.  Wesleyans’ dual definitions of sin are important because they allow for a life which is not characterized by sin (properly so-called), but which continues to be characterized by a repentant spirit toward sin (improperly so-called).

            In spite of all of love’s impulses toward genuine repentance, some Wesleyans have given an exaggerated witness to the Wesleyan ideal of Christian perfection and have claimed sinlessness for themselves.  Of course, sinlessness is a lofty—if not unobtainable—goal under any circumstances or definition, but sinlessness is an absolute impossibility as long as one retains any sense of sin as failure to keep the perfect law of God.  Even if such sin is only sin improperly so-called, it remains sin and undermines one’s claim to sinlessness.  If one equates Christian perfection with sinlessness—as Wesley preferred not to do—and if one wants to claim Christian perfection and sinlessness—as many Wesleyans wished to do, then clearly the notion of sin improperly so-called (or sin as any failure to keep the perfect law of God) jeopardizes the very notion of Christian perfection.  Therefore, within this “sinless” trajectory of Wesleyanism, the notion of sin improperly so-called experiences a willful neglect.  Within this Wesleyan trajectory, the “Wesleyan” definition of sin becomes limited to acts of willful disobedience to a known law of God.  This truncated definition of sin simply defines sin improperly so-called out of existence.  Sadly, the demand for humble introspection and repentance is therefore also defined out of existence.  By wielding the sword of redefinition, sinless Wesleyans are able to kill off all but the most flagrant sins, but the sword of redefinition proves two-edged and its assault upon sin improperly so-called often brings about the unintended death of repentance in believers.   

            Of course, even if one engages in genuine introspection using only Wesley’s category of sin properly so-called (a willful transgression of a known law of God), the lingering presence of at least minor transgressions of perhaps equally diminutive laws remains, and calls one to repentance.  Few truly introspective people, particularly those committed to the Wesleyan principle of community accountability, would feign sinlessness even under this truncated definition of sin.  Therefore, the adherents to a sinless Wesleyanism are commonly compelled to develop a highly nuanced set of synonyms for the dreaded “s” word.  Such Wesleyans may “make a mistake,” “err in judgment,” or even “show a lack of sensitivity,” but by drawing upon this vast linguistic pool of euphemistic nomenclature, they can be sure never to “sin.”  A form of impregnable sinlessness is created almost ex nihilo by a few simple strokes of the defining pen.  Perfect love, understood as sinlessness, becomes possible through a drastic reduction of the scope of sin.  Sinless Christian perfection becomes readily attainable as the emergent property of a truncated definition of sin. 

            Of course, this exaggerated claim to sinlessness leaves most thoughtful Christians of all traditions bewildered, for they are unwilling to declare themselves sinlessness even under the abridged understanding of sin as a willful violation of a known of God.  However, claims to sinlessness should hardly be a surprising or noteworthy development when they issue from a trajectory within Wesleyanism that is willing to accept a redefinition of sin which is able to ignore or dismiss all forms of unconscious, unintentional and systemic evil (all such evil fails to meet the deliberately restrictive criteria for sinfulness).  Such Wesleyans can even be found preaching a “holiness or hell” theology.  This variety of holiness theology serves as a thinly veiled threat against anyone who dares to disagree with the doctrine of sinless perfection.  Heaven, the reasoning goes, is a place of complete sinlessness, and as such, is the exclusive property of the sinless holiness folk. 

            The exaggerated witness to sinlessness destroys the spirit of both repentance and ecumenism.  When the desire for sinlessness edges out all other Christian virtues and the traditional virtues of humility, self-criticism and repentance are shed like the skin of some earlier, less evolved, reptilian existence, then an unchecked confidence in one’s own achievement can easily swell into an unqualified claim to sinlessness.  In fact, some people within the holiness tradition have been unwilling to pray the Lord’s prayer because its plea for forgiveness is deemed inappropriate for those who possess an unshaken confidence in their own sinlessness.  Of course, when such self-confidence is enthroned by a wholly unhealthy absence of self-awareness those who imagine themselves to possess such sinless perfection become so “Wesleyan” that in many significant ways they cease to be authentically Christian.  Such holiness advocates are often able not only to avoid all introspection, but they also often deem themselves uniquely qualified to cast stones at the supposed sinfulness of other Christian traditions.  These verbal stones, which bear the unseen but undeniable inscription F-I-R-S-T, should—but seldom do—serve as self-indictments of a tradition’s hopelessly misguided trajectory, of a good idea gone to seed and withering under the midday sun.  To be fair, many branches of Wesleyan family tree, including some of its holiness twigs, do avoid the mindless trap of claiming sinlessness.  But some Wesleyans do not avoid such exaggerated claims; some Wesleyans do claim sinlessness.  Among those who succumb to the sirens of sinless perfectionism, all capacity for self-criticism, for introspection, for humility and for repentance dies—and beside the desiccated corpses of these Christian virtues lies the equally desiccated optimism of grace, having died like a flower uprooted from the moist soil which once sustained it.  Apart from the nurturing culture of a humble and repentant spirit, the optimism of grace lacks the nutrients which enrich and enliven its witness; it dies the death of a thousand trivializations and insincerities. 

            Because claims to sinless perfection leave little room for the Wesleyan dread of sin (the sinless need not fear sin!), little remains behind to hinder one’s exaggerated witness from becoming complete parody of the tradition’s generative truth claim.  Those who claim not to sin are commonly observed operating from the unconscious, but deeply formative, assumption that in fact nothing I do is sin.   On the face of it, such a claim is completely absurd—and admittedly, no one would vocalize such a claim.  However, the power of sin is real, powerful and pervasive even among those who claim to be sinless.  When sin shows its ugly head in the life of a “sinless” Wesleyan—and in the absence of self-critical introspection, sin quickly comes to call—how must that self-deluded “sinless” Wesleyan respond?  By denial, of course.  By drawing upon an ever growing repertoire of sin-free nomenclature, any seeming transgression can be labeled as an honest mistake, as a harmless error, or as some other inoffensive misnomer.  By drawing upon such terminological inexactitudes (as Winston Churchill would call them), any infraction can be smugly dismissed as a non-sin.  Sin can be wisped away by a stealthy series of well-honed rhetorical slights of hand.  Of course, even though such rhetorical ruses may be able to stave off one’s impulses toward repentance, they cannot stave off sin itself.  Indeed, most of us recognize that sin thrives in an environment devoid of genuine repentance.  Ironically, to consciously deny sin is to unconsciously welcome sin.  Self-deception provides fertile soil for sin.  In the absence of repentance, sin, which should be only an occasional visitor at the Christian’s doorstep, becomes master of household.  When sin is denied, it proliferates and comes to dominate. 

            The perplexed onlooker may wonder how one could so thoroughly deny the presence of sin.  How could one assuage the pangs of conscience, overlook the admonitions of scripture, and ignore the wise counsel of the godly?  By drawing the conclusion that nothing one does is sin—and the theological latticework is already in place to allow one access to this pinnacle of absurdity.  When sin is defined only as that which one does not do (intentionally violate the known law of God in undeniable ways), then nothing one does is sin because one never intends to sin.  Sin becomes divorced from consequences, community standards and every other external measure.  Sin is reduced solely to a matter of the individual’s intention and because the sinless would never intend to sin, any apparent ethical breach or faux pas is clearly something other than sin.  Sin becomes completely trivialized as solely a state of mind (intentionality) within the individual human mind and the Wesleyan message has become a parody of itself.

            In a deeply saddening irony, in the absence of self-critical introspection and honest dialogue with the other traditions of the Christian faith, the Wesleyan/holiness tradition can betray itself.  The very impulses which gave rise to the tradition, the desire to be free from sin, can become the very agents which enslave the tradition to sin.  Those who wish to be freed from sin can seek that freedom in a manner which assures their continued bondage.  By severing the optimism of grace from a repentant and humble spirit, the advocates of sinless perfection drain the life blood out of that optimism.  In their desire to protect the doctrine of Christian perfection from the nasty realities of life in a fallen world and to secure themselves against the ever present need for repentance, some trajectories within the holiness movement have unwittingly protected their doctrine and secured themselves against the very means of grace that could offer them the liberation they seek.  The freeing grace they desire can only arrive via the avenues they have blocked.   If grace can bring freedom from a life characterized by sin, that grace must travel a road paved by repentance.

            Of course, the ongoing need for repentance in the Christian life is hardly a novel insight, but it lies forgotten by the advocates of sinless perfection.  Humanity’s tendency toward such convenient memory losses is neither new (as Adam’s and Eve’s forbidden brunch demonstrates) nor limited to any single tradition (as subsequent chapters will demonstrate), but they are correctable.  By the collective habits of the human mind, our respective traditions tend to select different memories for suppression.  Our best defense against our own tradition’s tendency toward selective memory is self-conscious reflection upon, and self-critical dialogue with, the traditions of others.  By the providence of God, such deliberate concern for the generative truth claims of other traditions may enable us to withdraw the plank from our own eyes.  We must remind ourselves that the narrow magnification of a single truth may appear to bring that truth into sharper focus, but it does so by excluding all other truth from view—and wisdom reminds us that the significance of any single strand of truth is most clearly discernible only in the context of the threads and fibers that connect it to the larger tapestry of faith.  Over amplification of a lone cord or of a sole player within the symphony of truth destroys the harmony and balance of the entire symphony.  When nurtured within a composition of mature introspection and supported by a full orchestra of traditions, the optimism of grace and the hope of freedom from a life characterized by sin contribute to the symphonic beauty of the whole, but when extracted from the larger composition and isolated from the larger orchestra, they take on an irritating rasp.   

            The advocates of sinless perfection could quickly learn the error of their way by simply engaging in conversation with the Christians around them.  The Calvinist tradition, which has significant sympathies for Wesleyanism’s positive doctrine of sanctification, could remind the sinless Wesleyans of the importance of a more inclusive definition of sin.  Calvinism’s pessimism over sin is rooted in its emphasis upon the presence of what Wesley would call sin improperly so-called, sin as any failure to keep the perfect law of God.  For advocates of sinless perfection, the Calvinist tradition stands able to remind Wesleyanism of a part of its own heritage that lies dying from benign neglect.

            If the advocates of sinless perfection would engage in conversation with the Lutheran tradition—to which they owe their most basic Protestant assumptions, they could be reminded of the importance of the confession of sin as an essential component of Christian life and worship.  Again such confession is an essential aspect of their own Wesleyan heritage (Wesley followed the Anglican practice of placing confession before every celebration of the Lord’s Supper), but is an element of their heritage which they have learned to ignore. 

            If the advocates of sinless perfection would engage in conversation with the Anabaptist tradition, they could be reminded of the danger of seeking refuge in the realms of theory.  Their Anabaptist brothers and sisters could remind them that the Christian life is best measured in terms of love and service to others.  This Anabaptist emphasis upon the actions of the faithful could warn these misguided Wesleyans about the dangers of expending their energies in rhetorical defenses of a doctrine of sinlessness.  Anabaptists impulses would emphasize the importance of right practice and the centrality of love.  Again, these emphases are present in the Wesleyan tradition, but are muted by misguided theological concerns to safeguard the ideal of sinless perfection.

            If the advocates of sinless perfection would engage in conversation with the Pentecostal tradition, they could quickly be reminded that the gifts and graces of God are always given for the sake of service.  The Pentecostals could remind sinless Wesleyans that the self-centered quest for personal sinlessness is profoundly misdirected.  The Pentecostal insight, that the Spirit acts in the lives of individual believers for the sake of others, could provide an important corrective to the Wesleyans’ mistaken emphasis upon individual achievement.  Wesley, the servant of the poor, would be pleased with a renewed focus on service.

            If the advocates of sinless perfection would engage in conversation with the larger Evangelical tradition, they could be reminded of the glories of forgiveness.  Rather than treating forgiveness as an experience of the past, these misguided Wesleyans could regain an appreciation for forgiveness as an ongoing experience.  Wesley, the death bed confessor, would have approved.

            If the advocates of sinless perfection would engage in conversation with the fundamentalist tradition, they likely could face the query, “Is sinless perfection biblical?”  Although sin gets bad press in the Scriptures, it makes frequent appearances and sinlessness is limited to a single most remarkable character.  Apart from the guy who died on the cross, sinlessness is not a human trait in Scripture.  Wesley, the man of one book, would certainly approve of a return to the Scriptures for answers.

            These imagined conversations between sinless Wesleyans and the mature advocates of other traditions should well illustrate an essential theme of this volume—the ironic, but profound, truth that dialogue with other traditions often has the effect of making one more true to one’s own tradition.  In each case, if sinless Wesleyans had engaged in honest, self-critical dialogue with Christians from related traditions, that dialogue could well have enabled them to recapture neglected truths within their own tradition, truths which could have spared them the eventual embarrassment of parodying their own tradition.  A lack of self-critical reflection has caused some Wesleyans to betray and to discredit the very ideals which they have sought to promote.  Hopefully, I have shown how honest, self-critical dialogue with other traditions could have enabled these Wesleyans to avoid such parody of their own ideals and in fact could have even increased their faithfulness to their own ideals.  I now wish to turn my pen to other traditions in order to demonstrate how the phenomenon discussed in this chapter is not unique to Wesleyans.