CHAPTER 1

WALTZING THE TWO-STEP

~ A Hopeful Theological Method ~

Learning how to dance and learning how to "do" Christian faith have a great dealin common. The theological potential in this connection occurred to me someyears ago, when I was introduced to country-and-western dancing. Before then, Ihad not paid much attention to country music, but the dancing looked like a lotof fun. With some encouragement from friends, I decided to take lessons.

The instructor tried to reassure us by saying how simple this kind of dancing isto learn. We began with the two-step. "All you need to know," the instructorsaid, "is two sets of steps. The first is slow, the second quick: slow ...slow, quick-quick, slow ... slow, quick-quick." After a brief demonstration(which really did make it look easy), he reminded us that two-stepping is onlyone kind of country-and-western dance. So we also learned steps for thetraditional waltz, which requires a different kind of count: one, two, three andone, two, three, and so on. The underlying rhythm of a given piece of musicdetermines which of these steps to follow.

I had much more trouble with the two-step than I did with the waltz. The conceptof two-stepping seemed easy; actually performing the steps was hard. Afterseveral instructional sessions over a number of weeks, I still wasn'tcomfortable with matching the two-step count to the rhythm of the music. Iremained hopeful and tried my best, but I grew increasingly frustrated with mystumbling feet. I started to avoid two-stepping music and waited for waltzes.

Then one day, after complaining about my apparent lack of two-stepping ability,a friend made a deceptively simple suggestion. "Just use the waltz count for thetwo-step," he said. This confused me at first—how can you count to three for atwo-step? Then I tried it, with the slight modification he recommended. Ratherthan "one, two, three and," I tried "one, two, and three and, one, two, andthree and." It worked. Adding the extra "and" in the count made my feet move abit more quickly on the "ands" and a bit slower on the numbers, matchingprecisely the rhythm of the music for a two-step.

Not everyone has the same kind of trouble with the two-step as I did, and forthose who do, two-stepping to a waltz count may not work as well as it did forme. But I gained two insights from that experience. First, the rules of dancingare meant to help you dance better, not the other way around. Dancing wellserves the dance itself, not the rules. After all, the point is to learn how todance, and if you can learn to dance by fudging the rules, so much the better.Second, by learning how to two-step by using a waltz count, the world of dancingopened up for me in a new way. Before long, I was whirling around the dancefloor without bothering to count at all (or even look at my feet!). The rulesslowly faded away and only the dancing remained.

I soon carried those insights off the dance floor and into my theological work.I realized that dancing with God, just like the two-step, requires someinstruction. We need to learn the "dance steps" of the divine-human encounter.Yet these rules and procedures in theological traditions are tools to help usdance in encounters with Divine Reality, not the other way around. The point isthe encounter itself, and if the given procedures at hand prove troubling orless than helpful, it's probably time to adjust the procedures.

Rule fudging certainly seems appropriate for something like dancing; it seems abit less so for questions of theological method. Hardly anyone I know wouldinsist on making the rules for two-stepping more important than actually doingthe two-step. Yet in the history of Christian theological traditions, religiousrules and procedures have sometimes eclipsed encounters with Divine Reality,which those procedures were designed to facilitate. Consider the place of honorgiven to the Bible in theological method. What do we do when a theologicalinsight—uncovered in prayer, perhaps—casts some doubt on the usefulness of aparticular biblical passage? Or consider a particularly well-loved and cherishedliturgical tradition, a particular phrase learned in childhood, perhaps, or astylized gesture. What do we do when that tradition creates friction in how ourcommunity feels moved to worship together? In situations such as these, someChristians continue to rely on the biblical text and the liturgical tradition atthe expense of their own experience; others feel compelled to abandon thoseancient touchstones altogether. As I discovered on that country-and-westerndance floor, there is another option. We could choose to waltz the two-step.

Whenever Jesus addressed this kind of dilemma, he refused both the staticpreservation of tradition and its outright disposal. Consider his apparentviolation of Sabbath observance, to which Jesus responded with a creativeinsight we would do well to take to heart. "The sabbath was made for humankind,"he said, "not humankind for the sabbath" (Mark 2:27). Note that Jesus didn'tdisparage the Sabbath just by breaking some of its rules. Likewise, in myexperience with country-and-western dancing, I did not abandon the two-step justbecause I learned how to do it better by using a waltz count. In fact, just theopposite is true in both cases: The two-step and the Sabbath are taken moreseriously by adjusting the rules to achieve them.

Human beings are frequently tempted to follow the procedures of religioustraditions whether or not those procedures actually facilitate encounters withDivine Reality. We might do this for reasons of comfort and safety or perhapswe're simply unaware of alternatives. This approach carries the risk ofmistaking the procedures for the encounter itself, as if the point is to masterthe rules. Worrying only about the rules of religious traditions is not sodifferent from learning the two-step count without ever stepping foot on thedance floor. The result is a static, rather wooden form of religious faith thatseverely limits our ability to recognize an encounter with Divine Reality whenwe stumble into it. And we will stumble, as the many stories from Christiantraditions illustrate. Remember the conversion of the Apostle Paul, who didn'tmerely stumble but fell to the ground in an encounter with the risen Christ(Acts 9:4).

If we manage to avoid an obsession with rules and procedures, we might slip intothe opposite dynamic and be tempted to forgo any instruction for the dance atall, preferring instead to make it up as we go along. Innovation certainly hasits place, both on the dance floor and in the life of faith. At the same time,the excitement and energy such innovation generates can tempt us to ignore themethods and insights of previous generations. Americans seem particularlyvulnerable to this latter temptation, which our history of courageous pioneeringand creative invention clearly demonstrates. In fact, very little of Americaninventiveness would have been possible apart from the many generations ofEuropean inquiry, investigation, and experiment that preceded it. In theologicalterms, try reading the gospels without any reference to the history of Israel;those gospel stories would make very little sense.

Both of these temptations have always marked the Christian theologicallandscape, but they are particularly well ensconced today. Some Christiansclearly fret over the prospect of abandoning historical traditions while othersno longer find those traditions useful or insightful. Anglicans have come torealize that Christian theology evolves over time and is never quite finished,and that while inventiveness plays an important role, Christian faith is not amatter of creating the resources we need from scratch. Situating ourselves onthat creative edge of faith is the work of theological method, or how we "do"theology. Like any discipline or skill, the method for engaging in the work oftheology relies on a variety of tools. Broadly speaking, those tools include theHebrew and Christian scriptures that make up the Bible, our creeds andliturgies, and our own experience and desires as we interact with those aroundus and the wider society in which we live.

Forging an adequate theological method from these basic tools has alwaysinvolved considerable reflection and multiple modes of analysis in Christianhistory. The earliest Christians lived without any canon or officiallyrecognized collection of Christian scripture. Christian communities scatteredthroughout the Roman Empire learned from their own insights, turned to theguidance of local leaders and occasionally to a circulating letter or treatisefor discerning what it means to be a Christian and to live a Christian life.This approach to Christian faith and theology took a decisive turn in the fourthcentury, when the Roman Emperor Constantine made Christianity the officialreligion of the empire. Some of those circulating documents, including gospelsand letters by the Apostle Paul, were collected and, after considerable debate,organized into the normative texts of Christian scripture. At the same time,particular church leaders, usually bishops, started to exercise new kinds ofauthority and to meet together to resolve questions about Christian belief andpractice. The Council of Nicaea, for example, meeting in 325, drafted whatbecame known as the Nicene Creed, a baseline for standard Christian belief,which most Anglican communities continue to recite every Sunday morning. Inthese first few centuries, in other words, the texts of scripture and churchtradition developed into two distinct yet interrelated sources of insight forChristian faith. Add to this mix the cultural and political context of the RomanEmpire, and a rather diverse set of tools starts to emerge for crafting atheological method.

Today every Christian denomination and community face new questions and not afew problems in discerning how to do its theological work. Historical researchand developments in the social sciences continually shed new light on biblicaltexts. Appreciating the economic and political contexts in which churchtraditions evolve adds new layers of complexity to the creeds and liturgiesinherited from the past. In a world of global communication, differences inlanguage, custom, and culture become more apparent and highlight the inadequacyof just one perspective. How do all of these various sources, discoveries,insights, and approaches interact? Where can Christian communities turn for helpin evaluating the many different strands of Christian belief and practice? Whatdo we really hope to accomplish with the tools of theological method?

Remembering why we do the work of theology can sometimes prove as difficult asdiscerning a proper method for doing it. Sorting through the complexinteractions between religion and culture, between historical traditions andcontemporary insights, can quickly obscure the fact that theology begins withdesire—with God's desire. God has fallen in love with us and invites us todance. At its best, Christian theology ought to serve as an invitation into themystery of that Divine Reality, into God's own longing to see each of us thrivewith abundant life. In this sense, Christian churches and their theologicalmethod resemble a dance studio. As students arrive, eager to learn how to movetheir bodies gracefully and rhythmically, they discover a variety of tools attheir disposal: a wooden bar to help them stretch their muscles; mirror-linedwalls in which to evaluate how their bodies move; a stereo to play some music;and the experience of an instructor. A dance studio does not exist merely forthe sake of preserving or displaying those tools; the dance studio puts thosetools to use to help people dance.

Switch metaphors for a moment and consider the work of gardening and homeimprovement, tasks that require good tools. When we're organized and have therequisite space, we'll make sure to store what we need in a toolbox, which wemight keep in a backyard shed. When we build the shed to hold the box thatcontains the tools, we are not therefore finished, as if the purpose of thetools is merely to possess them and find a safe place to store them. The purposeof tools, whether a hammer or a watering can, is to use them for something else,to assist us in our building and fixing, our nesting and playing, our growingand resting.

Like the dance studio and the backyard shed, Christian churches contain avariety of tools. Discerning how to put those tools to use is the work oftheological method. This process includes interpreting biblical texts, engagingwith creedal and liturgical traditions, and incorporating insights fromcontemporary experience. As dance instructors and homeowners know, however, thesame tools can produce widely different results depending on how they are usedand who uses them.

The same thing applies to Christianity. There is more than one way to use thetools of Christian theology, as the wide array of approaches to Christian faithin today's many denominations clearly demonstrates. Anglican Christians usuallyknow that their own dance is similar to but also different from how otherChristians are dancing. Discerning these differences and learning how to dancelike an Anglican takes time and usually a good deal of patience. The tools forsuch learning are readily available, but figuring out how to use them can beperplexing.

Learning Anglican Dance Steps

I like all sorts of dancing. Sometimes free-form improvisation satisfies mylonging to dance and to use whatever skills I have for creativity andinnovation. I also enjoy learning particular steps for a specific form because Iconstantly wish I were a better dancer. Sometimes these desires overlap, likethey did when I learned to waltz the two-step: Innovation improved the rules.Both of these desires play an important role in theological method, and Isuspect many Anglicans experience both of these impulses simultaneously inAnglican approaches to Christian faith. The desire to dance like an Anglicanremains strong, but we're not always sure how to do it.

Inquirers' classes in the Episcopal Church try to address this desire byintroducing the classic touchstones of Anglican theological method. ManyEpiscopalians know these touchstones well enough to admire them: the via media,or middle way between Protestantism and Catholicism; the "three-legged stool" ofscripture, tradition, and reason; and the unifying symbol of the Book of CommonPrayer. Taken together, these touchstones suggest a way to use the tools ofChristian theology, a general method for interpreting biblical texts orappropriating doctrinal insights or shaping our worship. Over time, however,this method poses more questions than it can answer. How do we know when we havedrifted into one of the extremes rather than navigating the "middle way"? Whyhas one of the "legs" of our stool become too short, making us list or wobblewhen we try to sit on it? Can the Prayer Book provide unity when it remainsvulnerable to constant revision and our liturgical language seems so unstable?The Anglican dance studio provides plenty of tools, but it's not entirely clearhow to use them for creating a graceful dance.

This kind of quandary didn't suddenly emerge in the sixteenth-century EnglishReformation. Christians have always worried about using theological toolsproperly and correctly. The Apostle Paul devoted significant portions of hisletters to correcting the theological misconceptions of the Christiancommunities to which he wrote. The gradual emergence of orthodoxy and heresy asdecisive theological categories marked the development of the ecumenicalcouncils, like the Council of Nicaea. The Protestant Reformation, rather thanprompting fundamental reform in the institutional church, generated the profoundfragmentation of Christian identities with which we now live, where eachdenomination offers the promise of "doing" Christian faith better. Each of thesehistorical moments shares the same theological tools, but the method for usingthem looks a bit different in each case.

Anglican anxiety over a proper theological method, while not new, exhibits apeculiar energy. Rather than worrying about being theologically correct,Anglican Christians often worry about worrying too much about such correctness.After all, Anglican Christianity carries with it the reputation of tolerance anddiversity by offering a wide religious embrace (the via media), a well-balancedand sensible approach to theological insight (the three-legged stool), and amalleable yet unifying liturgical tradition (the Prayer Book). Anglicans whoconsider themselves "conservative" as well as those who consider themselves"liberal" can adopt this kind of method, and both groups insist they are doingso "correctly." Before long, Anglican Christians begin to wonder in what,exactly, an Anglican identity consists. What does it really mean to dance likean Anglican?