I found this old post by John Marks Hicks. He reflects on a question that I too have considered. I have "grown up" in the Stone-Campbell movement (the Independent Christian Church stream). I greatly appreciate the spiritual heritage that has been handed down to me. There are many Sunday School teachers, my parents, ministers that passed along a rich faith in Christ. Yet, it was not until stepping out and pursuing a seminary degree that a deep and rich grasp of Church history was explored. It is regrettable that within the Stone-Campbell movement, a movement often very concerned with history, "Church History" is often considered something suspicious if not completely irrelevant. Thus I enjoyed this post by John Mark Hicks because I think he expresses something that I have found as well. That Church History for me is something illuminating, liberating and humbling.
Here is the post
I have a vested interest in that question. Partly because I have a Ph.D. in Reformation and Post-Reformation historical theology, partly because I teach academic courses in historical theology, but mostly because I have found the study of historical theology illuminating, liberating and humbling.
Illuminating in the same way that studying my own family of origins shines light on my personal story. The more I understand about my experiences growing up, my own family’s history and the cultural context of those early experiences the more I understand myself. I begin to understand something of why I react at a gut level the way I do. As my unconscious becomes more conscious I am more aware of how many of my feelings and gut reactions are due to earlier experiences rather than reflective engagement with the present. In addition, the more I know about the stories of others, the more I understand them and thus appreciate their journey.
Historical theology can illuminate our theological past; it can describe our theological family of origins. This is a necessary part of developing theological self-understanding. Just as we cannot understand ourselves psychologically without some sense of our family’s history, neither can we understand our own theological proclivities, reactions and preferences without some sense of historical orientation to the faith in which we grew up. It may very well be that the way we read Scripture, what we believe and how strongly we feel about something is more rooted in our history than it is Scripture. If we don’t know our own history–our theological ancestry, we are limited in our ability to understand ourselves as well as others.
Liberating in the same way that acknowledging my family’s past history or patterns enables me to transcend some of the natural pitfalls that are part of my story. Living in ignorance of my own history endangers me since I am unaware of how my lenses have been colored by my own experience or why I react to something so strongly when the present circumstances really do not warrant it. Our own personal stories are often blind to how our histories have shaped us. Blinded, we are thus shackled by the darkness and come to believe that the way we see it is the only way to see it.
Historical theology can liberate us from the chains that bind us and blind us; it can discern the critical difference between embracing something because it is so familiar or comfortable and embracing something because we have authentically heard an alternative and reflectively chosen to believe what we find most truthful. Discernment involves some kind of historical consciousness since history helps us see alternatives. Without historical perspective we are bound to our own limited perceptions.
Humbling in the same way that recognizing how my father and mother pioneered my faith and life teaches me gratitude. Whatever I am and have become is, in part, due to them. They have taught me, trained me, and guided me. In turn, they were shaped by their parents, and thus so all the way down. I am neither the first nor the center of my family, but one part of its history. I owe more than I could ever give back.
Historical theology can illuminate us as we learn from students of Scripture and practitioners of the faith in earlier ages; they teach us and we are rightly awed by their faith, devotion and thought. We would be the most arrogant of people to think that we have nothing to learn from those who read Scripture and worshipped God in the past. We do not have to reinvent the wheel, but rather humbly acknowledge the gifts God gave to his people in the past, enjoy the benefits of that grace left for us, and use that sacred deposit in our pursuit of a mature faith.
I research, reflect on and teach historical theology because it illuminates my own journey in faith, liberates me from the chains of my own blindness, and humbles me before the gifts God has previously given to his people. Whether I’m reading Tertullian, Jacobus Arminius, John Wesley, Alexander Campbell, James A. Harding or Thomas B. Warren, I seek illuminating descriptions, liberating discernment and humbling instruction.
Here is the post
I have a vested interest in that question. Partly because I have a Ph.D. in Reformation and Post-Reformation historical theology, partly because I teach academic courses in historical theology, but mostly because I have found the study of historical theology illuminating, liberating and humbling.
Illuminating in the same way that studying my own family of origins shines light on my personal story. The more I understand about my experiences growing up, my own family’s history and the cultural context of those early experiences the more I understand myself. I begin to understand something of why I react at a gut level the way I do. As my unconscious becomes more conscious I am more aware of how many of my feelings and gut reactions are due to earlier experiences rather than reflective engagement with the present. In addition, the more I know about the stories of others, the more I understand them and thus appreciate their journey.
Historical theology can illuminate our theological past; it can describe our theological family of origins. This is a necessary part of developing theological self-understanding. Just as we cannot understand ourselves psychologically without some sense of our family’s history, neither can we understand our own theological proclivities, reactions and preferences without some sense of historical orientation to the faith in which we grew up. It may very well be that the way we read Scripture, what we believe and how strongly we feel about something is more rooted in our history than it is Scripture. If we don’t know our own history–our theological ancestry, we are limited in our ability to understand ourselves as well as others.
Liberating in the same way that acknowledging my family’s past history or patterns enables me to transcend some of the natural pitfalls that are part of my story. Living in ignorance of my own history endangers me since I am unaware of how my lenses have been colored by my own experience or why I react to something so strongly when the present circumstances really do not warrant it. Our own personal stories are often blind to how our histories have shaped us. Blinded, we are thus shackled by the darkness and come to believe that the way we see it is the only way to see it.
Historical theology can liberate us from the chains that bind us and blind us; it can discern the critical difference between embracing something because it is so familiar or comfortable and embracing something because we have authentically heard an alternative and reflectively chosen to believe what we find most truthful. Discernment involves some kind of historical consciousness since history helps us see alternatives. Without historical perspective we are bound to our own limited perceptions.
Humbling in the same way that recognizing how my father and mother pioneered my faith and life teaches me gratitude. Whatever I am and have become is, in part, due to them. They have taught me, trained me, and guided me. In turn, they were shaped by their parents, and thus so all the way down. I am neither the first nor the center of my family, but one part of its history. I owe more than I could ever give back.
Historical theology can illuminate us as we learn from students of Scripture and practitioners of the faith in earlier ages; they teach us and we are rightly awed by their faith, devotion and thought. We would be the most arrogant of people to think that we have nothing to learn from those who read Scripture and worshipped God in the past. We do not have to reinvent the wheel, but rather humbly acknowledge the gifts God gave to his people in the past, enjoy the benefits of that grace left for us, and use that sacred deposit in our pursuit of a mature faith.
I research, reflect on and teach historical theology because it illuminates my own journey in faith, liberates me from the chains of my own blindness, and humbles me before the gifts God has previously given to his people. Whether I’m reading Tertullian, Jacobus Arminius, John Wesley, Alexander Campbell, James A. Harding or Thomas B. Warren, I seek illuminating descriptions, liberating discernment and humbling instruction.
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