Church and Academy [5]

The Role of the Scholar in the Church

To some extent, this is a continuation of the previous post in the series. I’ve already mentioned a variety of things that scholars (I have biblical and theological scholars in mind) should do in the ecclesial context. In this post, I want to limit the scope of the conversation to the scholar’s role in a congregation where he or she is a member.

A long-time faculty member of Abilene Christian University’s Department of Bible, Missions and Ministry recently told me he had resisted the establishment of an ACU magisterium (that is, giving ACU profs. too much teaching authority) at the church where I’m now a member. There are many ACU professors at this church, including many of my department colleagues, who serve as teachers. His intention appears to be futile. But more, I think it’s mistaken.

Why would anyone resist scholars teaching—or even being the presumed teachers—at a local church? Why would anyone entrust the theological education of university students to professors whom they would not also especially entrust with the theological education of church people?

As always, my church tradition looms large in my thinking. It looms large in any attempt among Churches of Christ to limit the influence of formally educated biblical scholars and theologians. If you come from where I do, the reason for such a limitation is fundamentally a populist impulse that animates our vision of the church. We don’t need scholars to teach the church because anyone who is capable of understanding the Bible is capable of teaching the church (other presumed qualifications notwithstanding)—and in the Restoration Movement tradition, everyone is capable of understanding the Bible on their own, without formal training. Scholarship, therefore, is not necessary in the first place, and it is certainly not a criterion for identifying teachers of the church. This underlying perspective still predominates in the twenty-first century to a considerable extent.

But there are other reasons to resist a magisterium that values the distinctive contributions of scholarship. Three stand out:

1. The narrowing of teaching authority by disregarding gifting and other kinds of understanding. The reasoning goes: if the church validates the need for scholars to teach the church, then scholars will arrogate teaching authority to themselves. The church will learn not to appreciate the wisdom of teachers who do not have academic qualifications. The role of the Spirit will be obscured, and the gifts of knowledge and teaching will be reduced to the attainment of formal education.

2. The disconnection of the teacher’s role from equipping the saints as teachers. Because scholars do not teach in the church in order to cultivate more scholars—that activity is restricted to the university or seminary—relying on scholars for teaching will result in a failure to equip the church for the work of teaching. However much church members learn from their scholarly teachers, they will not become scholars and will not, therefore, become teachers of the church.

3. The relationship of scholarship to the full spectrum of the church’s learning capacity. What scholars are able to teach the church that others in the church are not able to teach is a kind of knowledge that is inaccessible to a large portion (the majority?) of the church. Specialized, technical knowledge is of no use to church members who cannot evaluate it and ultimately results in scholars making appeals to the authority of those who can—themselves.

All of these reasons point to legitimate concerns but fall apart under scrutiny. Stated as they are, they treat possible consequences as necessary. But I don’t think I’ve constructed a straw man; these statements represent the disposition of large parts of the church, at least in the US American context. They point toward an overall sense of fear about what the “professionalization” of theological education in the church inevitably effects.

It seems to me that pastoral sensitivity addresses all of these perceived risks. That is, scholarship alone is never a sufficient qualification for teaching in the church. And not for nothing, “pastors and teachers” in Eph 4:11 refers to a single role. Conversely, pastoral sensibility alone is not a sufficient qualification for teaching in the church—nor is any other important consideration, such as spirituality, communication skills, emotional intelligence, or practical experience.

I think the greater concern is not what the church risks by relying on scholars for teaching (when that is an option) but what the church risks by conceiving of the teaching role without scholarship playing an essential role. We’ve seen the consequences a million times; ignorance (a lack of information or understanding) has devastating effects.

All that said in the abstract, I’m thinking about the role of the scholar in the church concretely and personally.

I’ve experienced the challenge not of determining the role of the scholar in the church but of being a scholar in the church who has to find a place. Regardless of one’s tradition or local church practice, scholars have to decide how to position themselves. Most recently, I’ve found myself in a (largish) small group situation where I have to decide when to speak up and when to hold back. Interestingly, this group includes other professors, including biblical studies faculty. A number of the members are church teachers, including some who aren’t Bible scholars.

My approach to new church contexts is to go slow, say little, and listen a lot. This is essentially a missiological posture: become a learner first, understand the culture, and form relationships before doing anything else, especially teaching. Interestingly, a group leader has already encouraged me to speak up more. This leader, who is not a biblical scholar, also reflected on the challenge that biblical scholars face when it comes to deciding what to say in a setting like ours, where everyone is encouraged to chime in with relatively uninformed personal reactions to the biblical text. I appreciate both the invitation and the generous implication that I’m being careful not to shut down the conversation. As it happens, that’s something I’m always careful about, though the line between making space for diverse perspectives and correcting blatant misperceptions is difficult to walk, especially when misperceptions proliferate in the absence of scholarship.

In any case, what I’m actually focused on is learning the dynamics and expectations of this group in order to determine what role I should play. In part, I’m watching my colleagues in theological studies to see what role they choose to play. I’ve been fascinated by the general tendency to leave scholarly input to the side. Of course, they may be approaching the situation the same way I am. Or they may simply want a place to be a member without doing their day job. So the observation is of limited value.

I’m also curious about both the leaders’ and the other members’ engagement with the biblical text. What do our discussion questions presume about interpretation? What do participants’ answers presume? What relevance does theological scholarship have for our understanding? What happens when it plays no role in our conversation?

For example, we’ve been focusing on a different expression of the fruit of the Spirit (Gal 5:22–23) each week. Last meeting, we were discussing faithfulness (pistis). Our three discussion questions were, roughly: (1) What Old Testament story comes to mind when you hear faithfulness? (2) Where do you see faithfulness expressed in the life of Jesus? (3) How did you practice or experience faithfulness this week?

The underlying question is, what does faithfulness mean? But of course, we aren’t simply turning to a lexicon for the definition. In practice, the question is, what does faithfulness mean to me? I’m constantly squirming when this is the approach to biblical language because what the English word faithfulness means to me may have little to do with the Greek word in the context of its usage. Not that referring to a lexicon solves this problem. Far from it. Rather, here is what I basically have in mind when we interpret a biblical term:

1. How words mean in the first place (semantics)

2. How words are used in a historical context (lexicography)

3. How a word is used by an author in a writing (discourse analysis)

4. How a word is used in the New Testament (intertextual analysis)

5. How a word in the New Testament is used to translate a word or idea in the Old Testament (canonical analysis)

6. How translation of a term conveys meaning (translation philosophy)

7. How a term is understood by a reader (hermeneutics)

8. How a term has been understood by readers (history of reception)

9. How a reader’s theology shapes understanding (theological interpretation)

10. How a term affects a reader (reader response)

Of all the words Paul used to represent the fruit of the Spirit, pistis is the one that stands at the heart of his letter to the Galatians (it appears 22 times). I’ll spare you the details, but relative to the other terms we’ve discussed, pistis conveys something quite specific in Galatian.

Moreover, our first discussion question is one Paul himself answers: “faithful Abraham” (Gal 3:9)! The fact that this answer did not come up in our discussion was dumbfounding. And, our second discussion question focuses on Paul’s primary concern in Galatians: the pistis of Jesus Christ. Surely we need to consider how Paul represents the faithfulness of Christ in order to understand the word in Gal 5:22!

Of course, I might have made these observations as we talked. There were a lot of people in the room, and almost everyone had something to say. I chose not to comment, instead paying attention to how the conversation played out. The reader-response approach dominated.

I’m not dismissing how a term affects readers—what it brings to mind, how one responds to it, what one makes of it. In fact, my academic work has focused on the role of the reader in the production of meaning. Nor am I suggesting a small group shouldn’t focus on that question. That is for leadership to decide. What I am wondering is how I should participate in the conversation as a scholar when the other nine concerns I have in mind require considerable explanation and make many naïve responses to the term dubious, if not problematic.

The question changes little in other situations, whether a more formal Bible class or a discussion of a sermon over lunch. What role does scholarship rightly play? Is it dispensable? When?

I have feelings about the question but not an answer. I don’t suppose there is just one answer. But I think it’s a serious question, especially for churches (church cultures, church members) that treat scholarship as dispensable.

I’d love to hear your thoughts.