There has recently been a silent theological shift at Trinity Western University. Without the knowledge of the majority of students, the Board of Governors has changed the statement of faith that TWU faculty are required to sign. The Bible is now to be regarded as the “verbally” inspired word of God.

Last year, an article in the Mars’ Hill critiqued the fact that professors at Trinity were good at deconstructing students’ faith, but that little was done for reconstruction. Sentiments like this sparked discussion among faculty and decision makers at the university. But will the purpose of Trinity Western University be to create converts or disciples?

In the recent forum entitled, “Is Trinity Western still an Evangelical University?” professors from our religious studies department debated the kind of environment that defines TWU. Dr. Kent Clarke pointed out that “the revised faith statement moves beyond historical evangelicalism and argues that the Bible is to be understood as the ‘verbally’ inspired word of God…[With] the inclusion of this single word, Trinity Western University has moved outside of evangelicalism.”

To teach such a narrow view of Christianity is an attempt to make converts, not disciples. From Calvin Townsend’s POLS 101 assertion that “Ham had sodomized his father Noah,” to long thoughtful conversations over coffee with friends, university has not been about Sunday school answers. When I came to Trinity I had just come off a summer of heavy drinking and was addicted to gambling. The mentorship of a number of professors contributed in changing that. I will be leaving for the LLC next semester with firm convictions with regards to my faith, both in practice and intellectually.

The claim that TWU deconstructs the faith of its students is only one side of the story. To be sure, Trinity does not create Christian converts. After taking classes on biblical criticism and philosophy, it is impossible to continue believing things blindly. Trinity is attempting to create is intelligent and thoughtful Christians.

Jesus did the same with his disciples. Whereas the Jewish leaders of his day simply preached a religion of strict rules and unyielding belief, Christ taught his disciples the mystery of life. Many were unwilling to follow him because of some of the truths he presented. The professors at Trinity do the same; they do not sugar-coat the truth to undergrads. St. Paul declared that Christians must “work out their salvation with fear and trembling,” and Christ gave numerous references to the fact that the Christian walk was difficult and would not always make sense.

Professors at Trinity are simply being honest with their students, showing them that Christian faith is not simple. Blind belief only breeds fanatical converts. The questioning inspired by Trinity professors creates thoughtful Disciples of Christ.

First, TWU is in need of a theological renewal that defines its identity as being rooted in the historic Christian tradition; second, this renewal begins with a set of “blueprints” or sources for the reconstruction of this theological identity; and third, the sources for this renewal, par excellence, are found in the ancient undivided church where we find Christianity united by the creeds and the ecumenical councils.

I couldn’t help but think that what each of the professors was calling for was what Henri de Lubac, a 20th century Catholic theologian, called ressourcement. In a nutshell, ressourcement says that “the renewal of Christian vitality is linked at least partially to a renewed exploration of the periods and of the works where the Christian tradition is expressed with particular intensity.”

D.H. Williams and others, including our own Dr. Allert, have appropriated de Lubac’s ideas into an Evangelical ressourcement. Williams writes: “The Evangelical Ressourcement…is designed to address the ways in which Christians may draw upon the thought and life of the early church to respond to the challenges facing today’s church.”

TWU is not a church; however, that doesn’t mean that we can’t benefit from a ressourcement of our own. So what might a ressourcement for TWU look like? Here are my ideas:

(1) Recovering the sources of the undivided Church. As Evangelicals, we are sitting on a massive wellspring of theological material just waiting to be discovered. It’s time to commit ourselves to “a rediscovery of the riches of the whole of the Church’s two-thousand-year tradition,” (to quote de Lubac).

(2) Sustained theological dialogue within the entire university community. We might benefit from developing some sort of ongoing theological dialogue, such as a journal or regularly-held interdisciplinary theological symposia, where people from throughout the university (including students) can contribute, share and learn. Each member of the community must be given the opportunity to contribute to the process of theological renewal on the campus.

(3) Integration of the life of the mind and the life of faith. Divvying up spiritual development as the responsibility of one department, and theological formation as the responsibility of another divorces these two ‘lives’ and estranges their interdependent development. We might benefit from learning more about the early church Fathers and about their passionate devotion to Christ, rigorous theological reflection and practical pastoral service to the oppressed.

(4) Recovery of the classical Christian texts on spirituality. Thankfully, an ecumenical reading group led by Rob Rhea and Dr. Robert Stackpole has already started to expose Evangelical students to texts outside their own tradition and, more importantly, outside the 20th century. There is huge untapped potential in classic spiritual texts for ministries on campus.

(5) A theology class as core curriculum. Maybe I’m biased, but the fact that an introductory-level theology course is not part of the core curriculum strikes me as odd for a Christian university.

We must realize that returning to the sources of the Christian faith does not make us less Evangelical. I’d argue it actually makes us more Evangelical, that is, more fully centered on the impact of the Gospel of Jesus Christ on the world.

I think it started when I was issued a Hill Pass—the ID badge that grants access to the Parliament buildings and all the perks therein. It was hard not to smirk as I bypassed security with the flash of my badge and went straight for the elevators, casting a glance (likely more pretentious than intended) at those shuffling through the metal detector.

Somewhere between attending elegant catered receptions and joining federal ministers for drinks at the posh Hy’s Steakhouse, an attitude of self-importance was growing in the heart of this young intern.

As current LLC students, we follow a legacy of alumni who have earned a favorable reputation on the Hill. We have placements that span the political spectrum and entertain house guests such as the Honorable Peter MacKay. Our vanity is affirmed when our faces show up in the local newspaper Hill Times or when Justin Trudeau remembers our names.

Yet, at varying stages of our internships, students such as myself come to a realization about our actual smallness and many imperfections. An LLC alum currently working on the Hill likened our eager lot to “batteries:” full of energy and quite expendable. A couple of us realized with dejection that our intern security passes were a different shape than others, proclaiming to the entire Hill community our temporary and subordinate status. No amount of status-faking can turn a vertical Intern pass into a horizontal one.

Occasions to practice humility only increased. Shortly after deciding I was pleasant on the phone, I called Roméo Dallaire’s office and left a detailed message. All was well until the end, when I inexplicably said “Amen” instead of “Goodbye.” Then the first time I attended a reception by myself I absently said “thank you” in response to a man’s introduction. I simply winced and decided it was irreparable.

I’m reminded of Job’s reflection on our meager state: “If the stars cannot be found pure in His sight, then how much less man, who is a maggot, and the son of man, who is a worm!” My vanity was exposed as being truly ridiculous—not only, I’m sure, to the Hill community—but in the eyes of God.

I imagine Him saying kindly to my quickly deflating ego, “Do not be afraid you worm Jacob, you little Israel” (Isaiah 41:14). God acknowledges our lack of prestige and wants us to do likewise. True humility is found in identifying ourselves with the lowliest of things while at the same time recognizing our value as His image-bearers and as His children. This is just one of the unexpected lessons I’m learning along the way, and I’m sure there’ll be more.

The nature of the divine-human relationship, and our attempts to understand it profoundly shapes who we are and, most importantly, how we love God and our neighbour. The primary factor that stops us from understanding the full nature of this relationship is God’s infiniteness and our finiteness: an interesting combination that leaves humanity with more questions than answers.

Chief among these questions is the peculiar gap between promise and human reality: ours is a God who deals both life and death, who causes the rain to fall on both the wicked and the righteous. What then compels us in the face of disillusionment to maintain that God is worth putting our trust in?

If I were to determine a theme, a recurring idea or lesson which has woven its way through my hours of reading and course instruction this year, it would be this: God is a God of people and God meets people in history.

The combination of RELS 101: “Introduction to Old Testament” and RELS 342: “Psalms and Wisdom Literature” has awakened me to how the Old Testament can help our understanding of the gap between the promises of God and the reality of human experience. That is not to say the Old Testament has provided me with answers to these questions, but within its pages are case study after case study of God encountering humanity. From these encounters come stories of praise and lament, victory and defeat, prosperity and desolation. Yet through it all is God, who, though dealing both life and death, calls his people to ‘choose life’ and trust in Him.

In each encounter of finite man with infinite God, there lies exposed the gap between promise and reality; Adam eats of the fruit and does not die, Abraham dies before seeing a new nation, and so does Moses, before entering the Promised Land. However, rising at what seems the end of promise is always the ubiquitous promise of life; from Adam’s seed a Saviour comes who defeats death, from Abraham’s sons a nation is born, and to Moses’ successor, the Promised Land is delivered. What compelled these people to trust in God? Encounters with Him. 

In encountering God, Abraham lived in faith, following God out of the familiar, out of the safe, and out of the comfortable to what ultimately appeared the destruction of God’s promise–the command to sacrifice his own son. This moment in history–-Abraham, knife in hand, ready to slit his son’s throat–epitomizes life in the gap between reality and promise. At this moment Abraham’s faith does not rest in God’s promise but in God himself, and it is then that God provides sufficient sacrifice.

So too, when we live in the gap between promise and reality, God is calling us to encounter and to trust Him. This does not mean a deferential and docile faith, but a bold one that expects, that longs, and that has its hope founded in the revelation of God to us. The worshiper who pleads, “How long will you hide your face from me?” reveals the expectation that God would make himself known to us. And He does. Faith is not engineered, but is the result of encounter with God. God is a God of people.

Tap, tap, tap. Your fingers are rapping on the top of the desk. Your mind wanders. You have a cumulative 47 pages of essays due in the next two weeks. You are past the point of stress. You are hopelessly overwhelmed, near the point of tears or a fit of explosive rage.
How did you manage to land in such an unfortunate situation? The answer is one word, the one word most dreaded (and understood) among college students: procrastination. Simply put, procrastination is the avoidance of a task that needs to be done. In other words, it is destined to be the bane of your existence throughout your university experience.

One study at the University of Toronto concluded that 90 per cent of college students are procrastinators, and over 30 per cent are chronic procrastinators. But its prevalence does not even begin to scratch the surface of the destructive impact it can have on a student’s academic success.

Some of the most common explanations for why students procrastinate include poor time management, perfectionism, fear of failure, boredom and distraction. Many of these are sensible causes, but the underlying reason is more straightforward: we are lazy.
Think back a month ago when you had the chance to begin that awful 14-page research paper. You went out for coffee, you cleaned your room, you started attending every campus event—all in order to escape your inclination to do that obvious, responsible, tedious activity: choosing a topic and compiling sources.

Benjamin Franklin once said, “You may delay, but time will not.” We cannot stop the present from continuously spilling into the future; we can only better prepare ourselves for the future when it comes. Much as I do love Denny’s at 4:00 a.m., developing discipline is part of what university is all about.

So here are a few suggestions to consider when you find yourself bombarded at semester’s end. First, set priorities. We all know some of our professors are more lenient with lateness than others. We must exploit that leverage to its full potential. Secondly, craft an environment away from evident disruption. The busiest Fraser apartment or your dorm lounge is probably not the best place to hope for productive achievement.

If all else fails: down a couple of Red Bulls, ride the buzz until you crash, and then repeat. And I look forward to seeing you at Denny’s.

Climbing is first and foremost humbling. I know I am not experienced. I know I am not physically in shape enough to climb well. I feel awkward on easy climbs and often feel ungraceful and outdone by other climbers. I am at the mercy of nature. At any minute I could fall in my pride to my death. The rope is a lifeline, a saviour. There is a belayer. It is only through his hands that the grace of the rope is able to exist at all.

The last climb I attempted, I was tired and cold. My technique was sloppy and I was groping everywhere for any hold I could find. I reached up for the next hold, pulled my left leg up slightly higher and all of a sudden my footing was gone and my hands supported all of my weight. My arms gave out. I fell. The rope caught me quickly and I hung there in grace. I looked down. The belayer was offering suggestions and encouragement to continue. He had climbed that climb directly before me and knew the route. I wanted to be lowered, having decided already that I wouldn’t make it.

“You can do it Josh,” came the voice attached to the rope below. “You had good foot placement on your right. Just try and get your left foot up a bit higher.”

I hated him.

I fell twice more. That was enough. But the stubborn encouragement continued. Somehow I started to believe that maybe, if I gave it one more shot, I could do it. After hanging for some time in the grace of the rope I felt stronger, more able to accomplish what I had set out to do.

I regained my footing and started up again. My hands were slipping. I swung my left foot up and around awkwardly in a last ditch effort. It held. I pushed up and grabbed onto a new hold. I was there. I reached a position of rest and was able to move on—but how? Perhaps it was the renewed determination, perhaps the belayer snuck in a bit more tension to the rope to give me the boost I needed. I was over it though. Crux one had been passed.

My spiritual journey is at a similar level to my climbing experience. Though my relationship with God is nothing new, I feel that I am still struggling with things that even “beginners” must overcome. Perhaps it is that I am not training enough. Am I spending enough time in the climbing gym (or church)? Am I going out and practicing with other climbers (or believers)? Am I choosing to push myself to new levels or am I satisfied with where I am? Though the journey may leave me battered and bedraggled, I trust that the climb will be worth it; the view from the top will be spectacular.

“Your son was so cute tonight. Is he betrothed?”

The question was asked by one homeschool mom to another, the former with obvious intentions of hooking her junior-high-aged daughter up with a quality junior-high-aged boy. The match fell through when the girl’s family offered a paltry dowry – only a half-dozen sheep! (That last part is false, but only barely.)

My homeschool experience wasn’t always that strange. I did my best to avoid the Civil War dances and I never competed in spelling bees. Despite the occasional oddity, I thoroughly enjoyed life as a homeschooler.

I always had good friends in homeschool groups. My high school years were done through an independent study program with 20 other homeschool students, and we were able to read classic books, debate ridiculous ideas and practice lab sciences together. I never felt like I missed out on the ‘high school experience’: I didn’t care for dances or relationship drama, and I got to play sports and music and be intellectually challenged without any public structure.

My one regret is that I had, and still have, only Christian friends. The sheltered upbringing mostly meant a church-based social life, and I never engaged non-Christians. (I learned the F-word at church in fifth grade, for example.) Homeschooling did not prepare me to share the gospel with unbelievers, and that is a real shame. But when all has been said, I can hold high my Saxon textbooks and proudly say: I am a homeschooler!

When you hear the words “Christian school” what thoughts come to your mind? Sheltered? Uniforms? Bible classes? Small? Cliquey? And what about science class? Hi, I’m Natalie, and I’m a life-long Christian school addict.

Attending the same school for 13 years is easier than it sounds. The secretary and librarian not only know you by name, but also ask you how your mother is doing. You go on missions trips with your classmates over Spring Break, and pray as a basketball team before stepping onto the court.

And sheltered science classes are far from the truth. My small private school introduced me to ideas about science and faith that other students at Trinity did not experience until they arrived at university. (It didn’t hurt that one of my biblical studies teachers is often a guest lecturer at Regent College.) In my senior year, my guidance counsellor even suggested I not attend a Christian university, as to explore the wider world. If Christian school was a bubble, it was never a bubble that I felt I couldn’t pop.

I still shared the hallways with people who didn’t live a godly life, although maybe I didn’t have the opportunity to speak to people who had never before been exposed to it. And perhaps I missed not having a dress code, or graduating with hundreds of strangers, or being stretched by my teachers in all areas of my life.

While there were things I missed, I don’t regret my 13-year addiction.

I’d like to suggest that the public school system – like many structures – has its pros and cons, and that what we take from the public school experience is largely a function of what we put into it. Below are a few pros and cons the public high schooler faces.

Con #1: You are constantly bombarded by foul language. You learn words like ‘damn.’ Words like this do not exist in Christian homes or schools.
Con #2: You discover that some people believe in evolution. This frightens you. You are not sure whether it is a sin to listen as the teacher lectures, so you pray under your breath in order drown out his words.
Con #3: Your school has dances. Dancing leads to other things; other things lead to pregnancy; you would rather not get pregnant; you awkwardly avoid the dances.

Pro #1: There are, in fact, some great teachers. When you reach university, you may discover that you were well-prepared.
Pro #2: People disagree with you. Lots of people. You learn to love them anyway.
Pro #3: You might not get pregnant, but others do. You discover life is messy, but that, crazily, God loves this messy world.

Orthocatholimergent, with an Evangelical on top, is my imperfect aim at coming to some sort of foundation from which to “do” theology and experience God. It’s a foundation, but it’s not what I really want. It’s temporary, I hope, because it’s imperfect and at some points contradictory. I just call it paradox. To understand my theological concoction, imagine that I’m a thief.

On Monday night I steal N.T. Wright and Rowan Williams from the Anglicans, Hillsong from the Evangelicals and church architecture from the Orthodox. I also pick up some much-needed ancient chanting from the Orthodox. Did I mention that I’m ‘borrowing’ some Vatican art?

On Tuesday I nab John Paul II (including Theology of the Body – who knew a single man could write so beautifully about sex?) and Benedict from the Catholics. I then scamper over to the Evangelicals and bag the “personal relationship” with Jesus talk (with conditions) and some more Hillsong (they’re all over the world, what do you expect?). Then it’s back to my personal abbey where I stash all my theological and spiritual loot.

On Wednesday I manage to swipe some Eucharistic theology from the Orthodox and Catholics (again, with conditions). While in Rome I enjoy picking up Balthasar. While in Constantinople, I capture some Basil (the person, not the plant) and the other Holy Fathers. The sacristy is filling up; I’m going to have to move some of this stuff into the confessional.

On Thursday I get some postmodernism (pomo) from the emergents like Rob Bell and then swing over to the Orthodox for some icons and incense. While I’m with the Orthodox, I get some John Chrysostom and his heavenly Divine Liturgy. A little bit of Luther’s theological boldness (Whoa Nelly! What word did Luther just say?! ) will do as well.

Friday night is a party. My abbey is overflowing. Let’s see the loot: some Divine Mercy from the Catholics, some dynamic homiletics from the Evangelicals, some encyclicals from Rome, monasticism and Mount Athos (yes, the whole mountain) from the Orthodox, social justice from the Anglicans and the Theotokos (Mary) from the Orthodox as well.

Saturday I have off. (I’m just getting in touch with my Jewish roots.)

Sunday is the day I bring my loot all together in one giant ecumenical soup and let it simmer in the Divine Liturgy with a dash of Mass and a tablespoon of the Evangelical sermon, a heap of Tradition and a three cup of Hillsong, Matt Maher and Byzantine chanting. Serve with some Orthodox mystery and you have one scrumptious theological feast. Saints Peter, Paul and Mary provide the entertainment, singing a rousing rendition of “For all the Saints in whom their Labours Rest” to the tune of “Puff the Magic Dragon.”

I am a theological thief. I admit it fully and as soon as I find a church to be a part of, I will go for confession, once I manage to unpack the confessional.