From a letter of Martin Luther:

I am persuaded that without knowledge of literature pure theology cannot at all endure, just as heretofore, when letters have declined and lain prostrate, theology, too, has wretchedly fallen and lain prostrate. . . . Certainly it is my desire that there shall be as many poets and rhetoricians as possible, because I see that by these studies as by no other means, people are wonderfully fitted for the grasping of sacred truth and for handling it skillfully and happily.

From time to time my students have used the phrase "hidden meanings" in reference to symbolism and metaphor in works of literature. But when a writer uses a powerful symbol or a metaphor, it's not that meaning is hidden--it's that there is so much meaning that the reader cannot comprehend it all. When the Bible uses symbolism and metaphor in the Psalms, Isaiah, and Revelation, is it to hide meaning? No. The point is that the meaning is so rich and full and mesmerizing that we can't get our minds around it.

The other day I came across this quotation from Augustine Di Noia. I'm emphatically not a Roman Catholic, but I thought his words shed light on the richness of theological mysteries and in a limited way to the symbolism and metaphor used in literature and other art forms.

The crucial difference between the Catholic and common uses of the word “mystery” lies here. When the term is applied to divine realities, the mystery involved is by definition without end. This is not to say . . . that the things of God are permanently or radically incomprehensible and ineffable, but that they are endlessly comprehensible and expressible. Not darkness, but too much light is what we encounter here. That irritating conversation stopper, “it’s a mystery,” doesn’t mean that we have nothing further to say but that we can’t say enough about the matter in hand. The mysteries of faith are so far-reaching in their meaning and so breathtaking in their beauty that they possess a limitless—that is to say, literally an unending and inexhaustible—power to attract and transform the minds and hearts, the individual and communal lives, in which they are pondered, digested, and, ultimately, loved and adored.

Four Views on the Spectrum of Evangelicalism by R. Albert Mohler
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

This is a helpful book, but those who come to it with certain presuppositions will probably not be persuaded to another viewpoint. I read it predisposed to agree with Bauder, and that's exactly what I found myself doing.

Most helpful to me was . . .

1) Bauder's clear, Scriptural critique of evangelicalism's accommodation of non-Christianity.
2) His critique of some forms of fundamentalism (e.g., populist revivalism, hyper-fundamentalism).
3) His laying out of the "idea of fundamentalism," which he believes is really unadulterated Biblical Christianity, while acknowledging that the idea is rarely actualized.

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Albert M. Wolters introduces two helpful concepts in worldview thinking in his book Creation Regained. These two terms are "structure" and "direction."

"Philosophy can be described as that comprehensive (totality-oriented) scientific discipline which focuses on the structure of things--that is, on the unity and diversity of creational givens. Theology (i.e., Christian systematic theology), on the other hand, can be said to be that comprehensive (totality-oriented) scientific discipline which focuses on the direction of things--that is on the evil that infects the world and the cure that can save it. Christian philosophy looks at creation in the light of the basic categories of creation. A worldview, by contrast, is equally concerned with both structural and directional questions."

Much of our theology has been so concentrated on heaven that it invalidates any concern for the earth. Some images in Scripture have even been misconstrued to perpetuate a disregard for the creation, such as the image that in the last days the world will be consumed by fire. But nearly every other time the "consumed by fire" image is evoked in Scripture, it is a fire that purifies rather than burns up, a fire that frees up life rather than destroys it. No doubt, the way we live is shaped by how we imagine the end of the world--whether we think God's final plan is for everything to go up in flames or for everything to be brought back to life.

Creation care is not just about theology. It is about having the creativity to embody our theology imaginatively . . . At its core, creation care is about loving our global neighbor, because the poor suffer the most from the degradation of the earth and the struggle for clean water. For many kids in the concrete jungle of the ghettoes and slums, there can be such a disconnection from creation that they feel disconnected from the Creator.

. . . Part of what we do as we plant urban gardens is reconnect to the beauty of the earth. Kids get to see grass pierce concrete. Their eyes light up as they pull a carrot out of the ground and digging for potatoes can feel like digging for lost treasure. At the heart of it all is a God who so loved the world and who called everything in it good. Our story began in a garden, but it ends in a city--a beautiful restored city the Scriptures describe as the New Jerusalem, coming on earth as it is in heaven.

Common Prayer: A Liturgy for Ordinary Radicals, pp. 302-3

“The purpose of theology - the purpose of any thinking about God - is to make the silences clearer and starker to us, to make the unmeaning - by which I mean those aspects of the divine that will not be reduced to human meanings - more irreducible and more terrible, and thus ultimately more wonderful. This is why art is so often better at theology than theology is.”

Christian Wiman, My Bright Abyss

From Searching for God Knows What:

"When I was a kid and, to be absolutely honest, a teenager and perhaps even a young twenty-something, I believed God was like Santa Claus. I realize grown people should not think God is like Santa Claus, but you wouldn't believe how perfectly convenient it was for me to subscribe to the idea. The benefits were astounding. First: To interact with Santa Claus, I did not have to maintain any sort of intimate relationship. Santa simply slipped into the house, left presents, ate half a cookie, then hit the neighbors'. . . .

Second: Santa theology was very black and white; you either made the list or you didn't and if you didn't, it was because you were bad, not because of societal pressures or biochemical distortions or your parents or cable television, but because you were bad. Simple indeed. Third: He brought presents based on behavior. If you were good, you got a lot of bank. There was a very clear reward system based on the most basic desires of the human heart. Big Wheels, Hot Wheels, Legos. You didn't have to get into the spirit of anything, and there waas nothing sentimental that served as the real reason for the season. Everybody knew it was about the toys: cold, hard toys. Fourth: Kids who were bad got presents anyway.

Perfect.

Slowly, however, everything began to unravel. . . . Truth grew in my mind like a fungus, and though I tried to keep it out, there was no resisting the epiphanies."