Ann Althouse has an interesting little post about a confrontation between a regular street evangelist and some passing students.

The smugly religious and the smugly non-religious have a lot in common, both are fully convinced of their positions, even as it’s a little like talking to 7 year olds. Well, maybe worse than that. Those kinds of people tend to make up stuff rather than admit ignorance.

Evangelists, anyhow, are a bit like the sales department. They have the glossy flyers, and the spiel, and can steer conversations, but they’re often not the best at describing the fullest picture of a religion. Need to go to the support department for that, or maybe talk to an engineer.

I know this isn’t the point of that post, yet I’m thinking more about the post title quote.

Jealousy is an interesting word as we use it with the Christian God. First off the premise of the question is not quite right. Jealous is used of God only in the Old Testament where, of course, gods abounded of all kinds. The monotheism of that time didn’t dismiss the existence of other gods, maybe even open to their reality of some kind or another. It said God is the God of all things, including other gods. God is the one to be in relationship with.

To add, whether or not other gods exist in reality isn’t as much of the point. People were, in fact, serving other gods. The Israelites became worshippers of idols. Now, in a way, that’s less like having an affair and more like looking at pornography, but it’s still moving devotion away from the covenant source and towards a extra party. We become jealous when our love’s interest is focused elsewhere. It’s not about the other person, it’s about “our” person.

Jealousy is also an interesting word applied to God because it fills us in on God’s personality. God has emotions. That’s interesting, even if divine emotions are hard for us to grasp. It also says that God’s devotion to humanity is one of love. Jealousy is an emotion that comes out of a love for another. Far too often we’re told God is this passionless judge, marking down our sins and ruling a judgment based the facts of the case. But, a jealous God isn’t a judge, he’s a lover. He’s wanting his people because he desire’s their relationship, and they find their fullness, their peace, only in him. He’s jealous because he seeks them, and because objects of devotion other than him lead only to heartache. He wants the best, so he moves and acts out of his love, which sometimes has an element of anger in response to straying.

God is holy. God is love. These aren’t two sides, these are the same thing, expressed in relational pursuits. He is whole. He wants our wholeness. He’s jealous if we seek that elsewhere. Because there’s no where elsewhere it can be wholly found.

Just realized my website doesn’t show the sidebar in IE. Considering I last messed with that sidebar a good while ago, I guess it’s been like this for a fair bit of time.

I guess I’ll have to open the hood and wiggle things around, see if I can get this all back in shape–making sure not only those riding the firefox can see the whole content, but also those who are Explorers of the Internet.

I’m not really a Wal-Mart fan. But, I have to admit this is more of an aesthetic thing. There’s a fair amount of disdain for Wal-Mart in certain circles, but the fact is that it is a very convenient place, price and selection, for folks who have tight finances.

It’s also a pretty big employer, and while there’s a reputation that it doesn’t treat employees right, there’s a fair amount of mixed reality involved.

Have no idea why I had this in my bookmarks, but apparently I found it interesting at some point a while back, and so I’m passing it on. It’s an article about what it’s like to work at Wal-Mart:

Considering this is a company that is helping families ride out the economic downturn, which is providing jobs and stimulus while Congress bickers, which had sales growth of 2% this last quarter while other companies struggled, you have to wonder why. At least, I wondered why. And in that spirit of curiosity, I applied for an entry-level position at my local Wal-Mart.

Going undercover at Wal-Mart

I’m not a scientist, though the descriptions of my MBTI type always say I’d thrive in that field. Of course, they leave out that I probably should have done significantly more math work.

Still, I am intrigued with it, and adding to the intrigue is the fact that in current theological studies, interaction with science is a pretty hot pursuit. Not in terms of creationism, ID, evolution, or other combative interactions that are popularized. Rather, there’s a huge theological interest especially in physics. Pannenberg himself turned the last fifteen years or so to really pour his focus into science and theology discussions.

There are a lot of reasons for this, but a big reason is that there’s some curious realities in contemporary science that help describe, and indeed push for more deeper understanding, of God’s work in this world; not just with the particular science areas, but also in his work with humanity in Christ and Spirit.

That’s probably why at some point last year I bookmarked the following link. What does it mean to be saved? That’s not just a future reality, it’s a change in all our reality that affects future, and present, and past–with the reality of our future status with God, literally redefining what happened to us all along. There’s a whole lot more to be said on this, but in keeping with my new goal of shorter posts, I’m just going to post the link, which has absolutely nothing to do with theology.

Think of it as the undo button.

I liked what Jonah Goldberg wrote on Michael Jackson, so much so I’m going to copy it and paste it here, not because it’s a commentary on a public event, but because it contains some quite interesting moral, and indeed spiritual, thoughts on who we are as people and a society.

Generally speaking, I’m a believer in the rule that we should not speak ill of the dead. Or at least we should wait a decent interval before doing so (if we never spoke ill of the dead, history would be meaningless). But, I must say I find the media’s instinctive rush to sanctify Michael Jackson disgusting.

Look, I understand that Michael Jackson was an “icon.” I understand that some people loved his work and that many people who never met him believed they loved the man too.

But I didn’t, and I’m hardly alone. If Michael Jackson were just another famous person, I’d probably stay silent and let the pro forma celebration of his memory roll by without comment. (For instance, I have no problem whatsoever with the media taking a moment to pay respects to Farah Fawcett).

Sure, I liked the Jackson Five. I liked Thriller, too, when I was a teenager. Michael Jackson was an “icon” for me too.

But let’s pause for a moment on that word “icon.” It seemed the consensus adjective for the news networks. NBC ran a special on two “American Icons” – Fawcett and Jackson. Every cable network (including Fox, for the record) used the word “icon” to describe him as if this was some sort of safe harbor, a word everyone could agree on. “Love him or hate him,” the implied logic went, “he was an ‘icon.’”

Yes, well, maybe so. But that doesn’t let you off the hook. Even though the term sounds neutral, it isn’t. An icon, technically speaking, is a religious symbol deserving of reverence and adoration. The networks may not have intended to use the word that way, but they certainly showed an unseemly amount of reverence and adoration for the man.

I think part of it is the narcissism of our celebrity culture. Here was a guy so many of “us” read about in People magazine for so long. His passing, therefore, isn’t a loss in the sorrowful sense of the word, but in the selfish one. It’s a loss of an interesting subject, a creature to gossip about and to fill a few minutes on E or Entertainment Tonight.

Everyone likes to invoke Lord Acton’s axiom that “power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely.” But nearly everyone forgets that he coined this phrase not to indict powerful men, but to instruct the historians who write about them. Historians tend to forgive the powerful their transgressions. Likewise, journalists (for want of a better word) tend to forgive the famous.

Calling Michael Jackson an icon doesn’t let him off the hook for anything. But to listen to the news anchors you’d think it absolves him of everything.

I say: Who cares who his famous friends were? Who cares what a “fascinating” person he was? If you want to talk about his death as an end of an era, have at it. But that’s not what the Barbara Walters set is doing.

I know that Michael Jackson wasn’t convicted of the despicable crimes he was accused of. And that’s why he never went to jail. Three cheers for the majesty of the American legal system. But in my own personal view he wasn’t exonerated either. Nor was he absolved of his crimes because he could sing, moonwalk or sell 10 million records. (Though many of us suspect the money and fame he made from those things is precisely what kept him out of jail).

And, while I merely think he was a pedophile, I know he was not someone responsible parents should applaud, healthy children emulate nor society celebrate.

And while we’re at it, his relatively early death wasn’t “tragic.” He was one of the richest people in the world. He spent his money on perpetual childhood and he was perpetually with children not his own.

Meanwhile, in the last ten days, we’ve seen or heard of remarkable people who’ve given their lives for freedom in Iran. We’ve heard of innocents killed because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. In the last decade, America has lost thousands of heroes in noble causes and thousands of innocent bystanders who were denied the simple joys of life through no fault of their own. Those deaths are tragic, and we’re hard pressed to think of more than a handful of names to put with the long line of the dead.

If anything, Michael Jackson’s life, not his death, was tragic.

Every year at the Oscars they show a montage of people who died over the previous year. Invariably, the audience only applauds for the really famous people. This has always offended me. Not necessarily because the famous people don’t deserve praise but because it’s so clear that the audience is clapping for the fame. Michael Jackson had many accomplishments. But the press is sanctifying him because he was famous, deservedly so to be sure, but not because he was good. So much of the coverage seems to miss this fundamental point, as if being famous made him good.

I feel sympathy for Jackson’s family and friends who understandably mourn him. But I can’t bring myself to mourn him any more than I mourn the random dead I read about in the paper everyday. Indeed, I confess to mourning him less.

Every channel says this is a sad day for America. I agree. But not for the same reasons.

For a long while I’ve collected interesting pages to blog on later, bookmark them for reference, but the later never comes. So, I’m going to just go down that list of bookmarks, not worrying so much about commentary, unless there’s conversation.

The first one is sort of interesting. Wolfhart Pannenberg, the theologian I studied this last quarter, has an article on gay marriage.

Pannenberg is an interesting voice on this topic because his whole understanding of sin, salvation, holiness, and eternity with God is not based on a conservative, fundamentalist legalism. Rather, he starts with an anthropological foundation, looking at the human search for identity. Sin is not a breaking of laws, and random rules, it is a pursuit of that which seems to promise identity but does not. Only God is our source of self. This doesn’t mean we lose ourselves, but rather we find ourselves open to other, and open to God, and open to ourselves as who we are truly called to be in eternity, through the life of God in our lives.

He comes at the topic of identity and sin from a different direction, from an entirely different context. As is among the most profound theologians of the last 50 years or more.

Making him an interesting voice on any topic.

I’ve forgotten how to blog.

It’s not enjoyable anymore.

It’s part of my continuing frustration of seeming to speak seemingly significantly more than people are interested in listening.

And, as I’m apt to do, I take that reality and focus it back on myself.

Interesting builds interest.

And, in my narrowing range of discussion, and my lengthy way of going about it, I’ve become now even uninteresting to myself.

Looking back over my blogging–which includes this one, the four year long Present Matters, the essentially 2 year long Learning to Dance, and occasional other ones–I’ve noticed the patterns of my own interests. More than that, however, I’ve noticed the pattern of my own spiritual development. That’s shaped not only how I talk, but what I talk about.

Early on I wrote a lot on politics. I’ve not written on politics for a long while. Mostly because I see how it makes other people significantly less interesting. And, honestly, politics makes people betray what they would otherwise value in themselves. It’s hard to talk about politics without engaging in scorn false-witness, frustration, or any of the other qualities of partisanship. I have never once read someone talking about politics who was truly consistent in how they respond to various sides, and I realized I didn’t enjoy writing, or myself, when I was most engaged in politics. This is the case even as I have sharpened, I think, my own political sense and probably have some thing to add.

But, that’s that. And I’ve tired of talking about church now too. My thoughts on church have also sharpened, but there’s no present context I’m leading in and there’s no real audience who is particularly interested in what I have to say. Who am I? That’s the question indeed. What I’m not is a salesman. I hate camps and conferences and putting in time to see if people could pay attention. I hate talking just to be heard and expose myself just to be seen. I’m a nobody (and that’s not said with any self-derision) who every once in a while steps out to see what voice I have. Or if I’ve learned enough to say anything worthy of a hearing.

That’s clearly not true yet.

The problem is I’ve gotten into this cycle of writing out of the hope of being heard, which is partly because I’m concerned about my own professional status and partly because I really am interested in actual conversation.

I’m not enjoying it. And that’s a problem for me, because I only write in an interesting way and only write in a fruitful way when I’m not caring about what people think or if they read, but instead am writing out of a free enjoyment of sketching thoughts with words. I have to be free, and I’m not free.

Scripture says that where the Spirit is, there is freedom. So, where is the Spirit? Where is my expression?

I’m looking around for that. And I see some barriers lurking about in my being that might need crashing down.

It might not be pretty. Or maybe it will be. All I know is I need to find that expression again–that ‘me’ again–who has been absent from this blog and absent from most of a lot of things, able to be dredged up when needed, and able to play the part when it seems suitable.

My worry is that I’ve lost that ‘me’ and it belongs to a season past. Which is frustrating because what those previous seasons lacked, this present one has in full. So, I’m thankful for so much, even as I miss so much of my own being.

I need to write, to sketch, to explore, to find the freedom and courage of the writing again.

I have to find the way of being free. And find my way of being free with God.

Otherwise, I’m going to be drifting into a real persistent, pervasive creative emptiness. Which will, I have no doubt, echo in a whole lot of directions before long. And I can’t let that happen.

Prayers are, to be sure, appreciated.

Added a bit to my conclusion, a bit that better sums up the paper as a whole:

God is holy. In saying that we are not saying God is separate, or distant, or full of isolated wrath. God’s holiness is who he is. His holiness and his love are unified in his being, his self is holy and his self is love. He is the all-encompassing reality; the infinite whose eternity is a totality of being. In himself he derives his self, needing no one else, nothing else, to give him identity. He has his self in his own self, and as such is the only true identity, from which all other selves find their meaning. Sin is the attempt to derive our selfhood from some other source, a source that may promise life and wholeness and identity, but apart from God can only deliver death, and emptiness, and nonidentity. We are faced continually with our own nonidentity and our own finitude. In the face of this, a perception which begins in the earliest stages of our development, we form responses which seek to overcome our isolation, asserting ourselves on others, and in doing that finding some meaning in a defensive posture against the world. Our egos clash against God’s being. We seek to become what he is, and we are left wallowing as what we are. Wallowing in despair, and also in conflict, as rampaging egos collide in constant attempts at meaning, deflecting and dismissing others, causing more and more ego response in return. Sin abounds.

God does not retreat from this. He continues to reach out. Grace abounds even more. In his holiness, in his selfness, he offers himself to humanity, maintaining an exocentric openness to the world as the hope of salvation. This is seen in the earliest revelations. God reaches out and asks for trustworthy responses so as to embrace his people as reflections of his holiness. They do not understand, and continue to soil themselves with self-definition. But in his holiness, God so loves the world he sends his son. Jesus—God and Man—is the very image of God’s love and his holiness. In his life, in his teaching, in his sacrifice, in his resurrection we see the wholeness of true identity. In this coming to us, God makes possible a holistic restoration for our own identities. We are not left to our egos, but can find freedom with God in his eternal being—becoming truly who we are in the power and life of the Spirit.

In the fullness of God’s being we encounter the fullness of God’s rule, and as we participate with him in our renewed exocentric identity we become more and more open to others, more and more open to God’s being in our life. Jesus promised the kingdom, and the Spirit came upon the earliest church. Peter was no longer the fearful man who was so insecure of his identity that he would deny his fellowship with Jesus in the face of even the barest opposition. He became a preacher, reaching out to the world in the fullness of the Spirit’s gifts, expressing the Gospel with power and wisdom and courage. Peter became a new man, in the light of the Spirit’s arrival, holy in his identity as finally identifying wholly with Christ, in holy expectation of God’s reign, which he was already experiencing in the power of the Spirit.

Peter said to them, “Repent, and be baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ so that your sins may be forgiven; and you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit. For the promise is for you, for your children, and for all who are far away, everyone whom the Lord our God calls to him.” And he testified with many other arguments and exhorted them, saying, “Save yourselves from this corrupt generation.”

So those who welcomed his message were baptized, and that day about three thousand persons were added. They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers. Awe came upon everyone, because many wonders and signs were being done by the apostles. All who believed were together and had all things in common; they would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as any had need. Day by day, as they spent much time together in the temple, they broke bread at home and ate their food with glad and generous hearts, praising God and having the goodwill of all the people. And day by day the Lord added to their number those who were being saved. (Acts 2:38ff.

Such is God’s being realized among us, the gift of the Spirit, life in the kingdom. It is this life that is a life of true holiness. A life with God, for God, lived in fullness and an indescribable wholeness. This emerging holiness is our dance with God.

The conclusion to my paper on holiness:

In the fullness of God’s being we encounter the fullness of God’s rule, and as we participate with him in our renewed exocentric identity we become more and more open to others, more and more open to God’s being in our life. Jesus promised the kingdom, and the Spirit came upon the earliest church. Peter was no longer the fearful man who was so insecure of his identity that he would deny his fellowship with Jesus in the face of even the barest opposition. He became a preacher, reaching out to the world in the fullness of the Spirit’s gifts, expressing the Gospel with power and wisdom and courage. Peter became a new man, in the light of the Spirit’s arrival, holy in his identity as finally identifying wholly with Christ, in holy expectation of God’s reign, which he was already experiencing in the power of the Spirit.

Peter said to them, “Repent, and be baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ so that your sins may be forgiven; and you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit. For the promise is for you, for your children, and for all who are far away, everyone whom the Lord our God calls to him.”

And he testified with many other arguments and exhorted them, saying, “Save yourselves from this corrupt generation.”

So those who welcomed his message were baptized, and that day about three thousand persons were added. They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers. Awe came upon everyone, because many wonders and signs were being done by the apostles. All who believed were together and had all things in common; they would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as any had need. Day by day, as they spent much time together in the temple, they broke bread at home and ate their food with glad and generous hearts, praising God and having the goodwill of all the people. And day by day the Lord added to their number those who were being saved. (Acts 2:38ff)

Such is God’s being realized among us, the gift of the Spirit, life in the kingdom. It is this life that is a life of true holiness. A life with God, for God, lived in fullness and an indescribable wholeness. Our emerging holiness is our dance with God.

Sometimes it’s a beautiful thing to not have to feel like updating a blog regularly. Getting lost in reading, in life, in being. Distracted from issues and themes, even the nice sorts of things, that provoke a need to share. I guess I’ve been private these days, reading a lot, a lot of theology.

Reading a lot of Wolfhart Pannenberg. Today was my last class on the theology of Wolfhart Pannenberg. We had to turn in a brief reflection paper on his approach to theology today, with our major research paper due in about a week and a half. So, I might be away for a bit again as I consider the topic of holiness in Pannenberg.

I know. You’re anxious to hear what I come up with.

Well, for now I’ll sate your Pannenbergian appetite with my reflection on his method.

Reflections on Pannenberg’s Theological Method

It is not particularly insightful to note that Wolfhart Pannenberg is among the most important theologians of the last century. While not well-known in wider circles, his influence has radically shaped the study of theology in the second half of the twentieth century, and all indications suggest he will be a major influence in theology during the next fifty years or more. Because of this, taking note of his theological method is particularly worthwhile, not least because a great deal of his own emphasis over the years has been precisely on ideas related to theological method. His contributions have not only been in his conclusions but his approach, his values, his priorities that have steered his voluminous thinking.

This has, of course, been a topic of intense study and conversation for at least forty years, ever since his Revelation as History made shock waves in the theological world, prompting the follow up text from interested scholars titled Theology as History. As such, there can be hardly anything new said about Pannenberg’s theological method. Rather than engage in reflective repetition about the major aspects of his method, my goal in this paper is to make notes of the particular aspects of Pannenberg’s writings which have been enlightening and helpful as I have read, in quite whelming fashion, a significant amount of his writings within a relatively brief amount of time. In this brief reflection on Pannenberg’s method, therefore, I would like to highlight what has been particularly helpful in my study of his works. While a few of these points have been explicitly noted in other places, I have, I believe, picked up various nuances in his method that are not, seemingly, always intentionally highlighted by either him or his more well known assessors such as Grenz or Shults. These nuances, however, are underlying themes that seems to affect how he treats certain subjects, and helps tie together seemingly divergent strands.

Pannenberg is indeed a systematic sort of theologian, taking his bearings with initial forays into particular approaches, exploring and introducing these, then developing them over the course of years. This is most evident in his understanding, and use, of history. This topic he first introduced in the early sixties and then proceeded to engage critics both explicitly and implicitly, forming more developed theology. This approach is, we can say, a kind of research program which can be suitably understood less as assertions of various conclusions, even as they are often argued quite forcefully, and more as proposed theses, subject to examination and scrutiny. These proposed theses, however, are not isolated facts, each pursued as a sort of way to fill a theological closet. Rather, these theses propel Pannenberg in certain directions, inciting study in relevant fields, though not entirely obviously relevant to other theologians.

It can be assumed this building of knowledge upon certain theses is a sort of foundationalism, yet rather than building a structure upon an assumed presupposition of knowledge, Pannenberg is developing a coherent model of knowledge that uses certain theses as starting points and more immediately approachable paths of understanding. He can play loosely both with the various foundations of both experience and with Scripture, allowing for interaction, dialogue, and re-examination of each aspect as different ideas are propelled into the study. This systematic, yet open approach is indeed a form of post-modernism, but not the more popular versions of such that insists upon no foundations and deconstruction. Indeed, Shults is right to fit Pannenberg into a model of postfoundationalism, even as the model must make allowances for Pannenberg’s particular interests and approaches. Pannenberg is his own theologian, forging his own method and way.

A major question in regards to this idea of an early research program introduced then developed is how much Pannenberg changes over the course of forty years of theological contribution. In other words, can we see an “early Panennberg” in contrast to a “later Pannenberg”? In my estimation, while this may be a useful distinction made for most thinkers, Pannenberg seems to have been almost entirely consistent with his major proposals, and while there are certain adjustments and corrections, for the most part a study of his early writings is oftentimes a very efficient way of gaining insight into his later writings. This is the case because as earlier “proposals” that setup the basics of his thought, his earlier writings are generally more approachable introductions to a particular topic and his approach to them. This is not to say that there are not occasional corrections and changes, insisting on an awareness of when Pannenberg wrote a particular piece, but rather that his early writings should be cautiously understood as essential guides to understanding his later thought, and outside of noted change, can be assumed as reflective of his later, more mature, thought. A good way of understanding his development is less in terms of change, correction, and different focus, and more in terms of a “thickening” of thought.

This is an important point to note especially in contemporary study of Pannenberg. It would be easy to see a study of his three-volume Systematic Theology as a sufficient source, compiling the mature arguments of an extended career. Yet, rather than being a complete summary, the Systematic Theology is more of a Pannenberg concentrate, a focused and particularly dense, treatment of more narrow theological topics. It is, in my estimation, authoritative but not comprehensive, serving as a necessary but not sufficient study of his thought. Each particular subject requires a broader study of Pannenberg’s contributions in order to better understand, and often more easily understand, his theology. This is true not only because of the narrow focus, and Pannenberg’s tendency to use the Systematic Theology as a response to often un-noted criticism, but also because of another curious feature within his method that might be worth more examination. There is a certain quality of “once said, always said” in Pannenberg’s work. Unlike some theologians who take a particular stance then re-introduce it from various perspectives and repeat it in various works, Pannenberg has a tendency to assume knowledge of his other works, and does not seem to be motivated to help readers by repeating earlier arguments. If this quality is indeed the case, and I acknowledge it is arguable, this makes for a distinctly different understanding of his broader method and larger contributions. It is indeed a key point in regards to an examination of such works as Christiaan Mostert’s God and the Future.[1]

In this work, Mostert builds his understanding of Pannenberg’s theology based on the idea that in Pannenberg “God’s being is God’s rule,” a point that is most fully made in Pannenberg’s Theology and the Kingdom of God, appears in other earlier works, but makes no substantial contribution to the Systematic Theology. Does Pannenberg’s later apparent disinterest in this rather radical assertion mean he has moved away from the idea? Or does Pannenberg assume that what he said earlier is still the case and so the initial emphases are not discarded as much as they are extremely important interpretive keys to understanding Pannenberg’s developed thought? My tendency is to assume, with Mostert, this latter reality as it seems this is apparent in a variety of ways through Pannenberg’s writings.[2] This is, indeed, a leap of methodological interpretation, however, that takes a great risk. In attempting to have a significantly better understanding, there is the fair possibility of profound, and indeed naïve, misunderstanding.

A key for understanding Pannenberg’s method is to realize that while much of theology has been foundationalist, Pannenberg’s own approach can better be considered in terms of his priority for God as foundation. Because of the nature of God, however, we cannot assume knowledge of God from which to build our edifice of theology. Instead, God is less of a foundation and more of a center, with the Trinitarian God functioning as a central sphere around which knowledge, we might say, orbits. Everything is relative, except the God who is, in himself, the only self and as such the only true constant from which all other forms of knowledge must refer and are provisional until the full revelation of God’s reality.

This has various implications that we see in Pannenberg. The first is that because of God’s centrality, all knowledge is subject to theological assessment and theological dialogue. Theology is, for Pannenberg, a public discipline that can never be limited to a narrow ghetto of specifically religious topics.[3] This fact raises some particular difficulties and critiques. The main difficulty is that it insists upon a breadth of almost unimaginable knowledge, with the goal basically to know “everything about everything.” Indeed, Pannenberg is certainly astounding in his own knowledge and use of broad sources but rather than truly knowing “everything about everything” it should probably be stated that Pannenberg more accurately knows “much about much.” This leads to two critiques. As a public theology that insists on broader interaction, Pannenberg is limited in scope by both time and space, facts which he seems to acknowledge as realities but not as problems to be fixed. A theology that dialogues with broader scholarship is always in need of continual development, as those broader disciplines are themselves constantly in flux. One difficulty already in reading Pannenberg is that his primary source material derives from current academic interest of mid-20^th century Germany. Insisting upon the same narrow boundaries in Pannenberg’s study might be more relevant to Pannenberg’s particular insights, but significantly, and increasingly, less relevant to Pannenberg’s preferred method. To maintain Pannenberg’s theology, the theology must continue to engage in contemporary scholarship with an eye to both past contributions and developing knowledge.

This is also apparent in Pannenberg’s social situation as a post-World War II German theologian. Unlike Moltmann, Pannenberg has seen little interest in moving beyond this context, preferring to instead form deep roots within his own soil. While he is, apparently, open to hearing critiques from broader sources, his own dialogue even as late as his Systematic Theology reveals that he does not make use of much contemporary scholarship outside of his own contexts.[4] While a substantive critique, this does not need be one that undermines Pannenberg’s project. Rather than dismissing other contexts, there is a strong sense in Pannenberg that he embraces his own context as being the ground of his own knowledge and experience, and thus the field in which he is best prepared to fight. At the same time, rather than dismissing other contexts as irrelevant—something his apparent disregard might suggest—it is significantly more appropriate to see Pannenberg as a model for his method, and understand that he would heartily encourage scholars in theology and other fields to take up his project within their own fields of context and expertise. Indeed, I get the sense he would applaud the persistence of his method, which is not contextually limited, more than he desires to see his particular answers as becoming a hardened theology. As such Pannenberg’s limitation of context is not as much a weakness as it is a challenge, a challenge to others to take up in their contexts and expand the breadth of theology through manifold contexts and disciplines.

Another key nuance in Pannenberg’s thought that is very rarely explicit but is, indeed, implicit in almost every category of discussion is his rather decided anti-authoritarian stance. Pannenberg is no Moltmann to be sure, a vocal prophet eager for active debates on public themes and willing, it seems, to join arms with those seeking to make visible, political, changes within a troubled world. Moltmann’s stance has made him more explicitly critical of church structures and governments which alienate the underclass, making him more obviously useful for those interested in ecclesial reformation. Moltmann is certainly ecumenical, as he will stand with anyone who shares his concerns, and can be equally critical of those churches who seem to miss the mark, without regard to a narrow denominational perspective.

Pannenberg is significantly more ecumenically minded in the traditional sense, seeking a renewed unity in the Church, one that acknowledges distinctions in the bond of a greater unity. He loves the church in its traditional forms, and is seemingly unwilling to dismiss these forms just because of historic frustrations and mistakes. Yet, the greatest mistake he seems to emphasize is the terrible impact that authoritarianism has on almost every aspect of true fellowship, leading to significant ego distortion and thus increased sin through the church and into society. This anti-authoritarianism is a significant point to make especially in regards to interpreting his thoughts on ecclesiology.[5]

Finally, it seems noteworthy to continue, briefly, considering Pannenberg in comparison to Moltmann, as these two theologians seems to have had a very similar starting place, but have developed in seemingly divergent ways. Rather than being opposed, however, it is my thought they are not entirely as far apart as might be assumed, but instead represent two different approaches to theology that can be seen as complementary. Indeed, a comparative study of the method of both Pannenberg and Moltmann would be extremely insightful for the development of theology in our age, and the forms it can appropriately take.

Essentially, a big distinction comes with Pannenberg’s key methodological emphasis on theology “from below.” Pannenberg starts with anthropology.[6] This leads to some key differences. Pannenberg tends to be more concerned about “our” perspective, approaching theology through our location as humans trying to better understand ourselves and the world. This is worked out in a significantly stronger development of individual sin and being than in Moltmann. Pannenberg is certainly interested in the topic of human fellowship, but this tends to be founded upon his interest in humans as individual participants in ego formation. Moltmann is much more concerned, it seems, about “them,” the outsiders, the others, the strangers, the abandoned and dismissed. His concern is seemingly not at all with the realities of individual sinfulness as much more interested in societal structures and relationships. Basically, we can say that Moltmann’s interest is in “suffering humanity” while Pannenberg’s interest is in “sinful humanity.”

Pannenberg is, as such, less interested in theodicy, especially as he sees history as incomplete revelation, and thus we cannot fully understand the presence of evil until God’s final, full revelation. We are to trust in God’s promise rather than seek a present explanation. Moltmann, of course, is constantly interested in the question “Where was God during Auschwitz?” This leads him to ask particular questions concerned with God’s perspective, rather than primarily emphasizing human perspective as Pannenberg does. For Pannenberg, the emphasis is again more on human perspective, how are we to live in the midst of a yet unrevealed reality.

Moltmann has become well known for his perspective of Christ on the way. For Pannenberg, in contrast, his stronger interest in anthropology and lesser interest in justifying God leads to what can be a contrasting position. For Pannenberg, the emphasis is “humans on the way,” overcoming sin and moving increasingly in tune with God’s perfect being. This is not a Pelagian emphasis on works and our own self-motivation. It is, rather, an emphasis on the human perspective in light of the work of God in this world, a perspective which, according to Pannenberg, is the only one we can fully know and thus is the best starting place for our theological endeavors. As such, it seems quite important for emerging theologians to take strong note of both Pannenberg and Moltmann for guidance in the pursuit of a holistic theology for future generations.

Bibliography

Grenz, Stanley J. Reason for Hope : The Systematic Theology of Wolfhart Pannenberg. 2nd ed. Grand Rapids, Mich.: W.B. Eerdmans Pub.Co., 2005.

Mostert, Christiaan. God and the Future: Wolfhart Pannenberg’s Eschatological Doctrine of God. New York: T&T Clark, 2002.

Shults, F. LeRon. The Postfoundationalist Task of Theology: Wolfhart Pannenberg and the New Theological Rationality. Grand Rapids, Mich.: W.B. Eerdmans Pub., 1999.

Wong, Kam Ming. Wolfhart Pannenberg on Human Destiny. Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2008.