Just finished week 3 of spring semester. Beginning to establish a
routine. Life is good. Life is also confusing, but I think that is part of what
makes it good.
My task this semester is to figure out my life, by which, of
course, I mean that I need to figure out how I want to frame my research, which
is in part to say, I need to figure out my complementary concentration.
Theoretically, that should be simple. I came into the program planning on doing
Second Temple Judaism and/or Early Rabbinics as my complementary concentration.
I still have a general interest in these fields, but my questions have
shifted...or rather, the questions that I have attempted to squash over the
past several years have found their way to the surface and refuse to be
ignored.
Earlier in the week, my friend "interviewed" me for an
assignment in his theater as pedagogy class. One of the questions was to
describe a moment when I had experienced doubt in my faith. I spoke
about what I call "my crisis of faith," which was not a
"real" crisis of faith but rather a crisis of call, when I found
myself torn between what I had believed to be my call--to be a pastor--and
where my interests were then taking me--academia. In the midst of this
conversation, I acknowledged that the real struggle of faith occurred earlier,
in my first semester of college, when I first encountered an academic study of
the Bible, which shattered everything I had ever believed about the Bible. I
obviously came out the other side with my faith intact, but I honestly don't know
how I navigated that struggle. As I told my friend, it is almost as if I
"blacked out" the whole thing, as if it was too traumatic.
I mention this conversation because I think it illustrates how I
have traditionally dealt with the schism between faith and academia in my
life...I attempt to separate the two, focusing on biblical scholarship without
bringing my faith into it, except perhaps on the peripheral. And I think that
is, at least traditionally, what is expected in biblical studies. We are “hardcore”;
we learn all these languages so we can analyze the text, but for the most part,
we ignore the “practical” applications. Faith never enters the equation. In
fact, we don't even admit to having faith most of the time, as if faith is some
sort of weakness, something shameful.
And ignoring my faith, separating it out from my academic work,
has in many ways allowed me to preserve my faith. It doesn’t matter if I
essentially disprove the historical validity of the entire Bible as long as I
keep it separate from my faith life. I can still go to church, go to Taize,
pray. Because while the Bible may not be “true,” it doesn’t matter, that only
applies to my academic life.
But let’s face it, compartmentalizing like that is time-consuming,
exhausting and not entirely successful. I haven’t been able to actually listen
to a sermon, and take it seriously, in years.
I get too frustrated by the general lack of academic engagement pastors
exhibit in their sermons. And it’s not just my inability to keep the academic completely
out of the sanctuary. I still feel like the wind is knocked out of me whenever
I encounter a new academic theory that further compromises the facticity of the
biblical stories of my youth. Sometimes I wonder what my threshold is, how much
of the Bible can be “untrue” before I end up like Bart Ehrman, bitter and
rejecting my religious faith?
In other words, I am finding it increasingly difficult to keep my
two selves, the academic and the believer, distinct. And I find myself
wondering more and more why these two selves can’t be one integrated whole. Why
can’t my faith influence my scholarship? Why can’t my scholarship influence my
faith?
Thus, as a result, I have a confession to make: I have went
"fluffy."
While it is not yet official, I am leaning strongly toward
Christian Spirituality as my complementary concentration. My initial impression
of my first class, which I call Old Testament Spirituality but is official
title is Biblical Issues in Christian Spirituality, was that spirituality is all
about experiences and feelings (said in complete disdain). And I
am still trying to figure out how to “think spiritually,” as I say, that is,
how spirituality frames its questions. But I think, when done properly, Christian
Spirituality allows one to read and analyze the biblical text and then figure
out how to apply that to one’s faith life.
In other words, I can be both a Christian and a biblical scholar,
and the two do not have to live in opposition or be sequestered from one
another. I can ask what the text meant and what it now means. Instead of just
complaining about the terrible ways Christians read and use the Hebrew Bible, I
can actually do something about it. I can be both “hardcore” and “fluffy.”
