Chapter 3: The Ministry in the Later Patristic Period (314-451), by George H. Willliams.

[George H. Williams is Professor of Church History, Harvard University. Among his books are Polish Brethren, and Spiritual and Anabaptist Writers (Westminster 1995).]

With the sudden cessation of imperial persecution the ministry was obliged to accommodate itself quickly to the demands and the expectations of a patronizing magistracy. With the establishment of the Church in the favor of one Emperor (by 314 in the West and 324 in the East), and the prospect of a rapid enlargement of the membership of the churches and the proliferation of new duties and opportunities and temptations, a new phase in the evolution of the ministry had dawned. In the complete change of religious climate most of the new patterns of priestly behavior and pastoral rule which were to prevail for a millennium in both Eastern and Western Catholicism until challenged by Protestantism were laid down in the period between the Council of Arles in 314 and the Council of Chalcedon in 451.

We began our survey in Chapter II of the two hundred years' development of the ministry after the close of the New Testament epoch by distinguishing three kinds of ministry: the charismatic, the cultual, and the disciplinary. We saw how the cultual ministry, which was originally twofold with protobishops (or presiding presbyters) and deacons, absorbed several of the functions of the other two, until at length only remnants of the first survived, while the presbyterate was in the process of even more radical metamorphosis. For by the Council of Nicaea the old collegiate, disciplinary presbytery in each city was well on its way toward disaggregation. The city "parish" (paroikia 1) was becoming a diocese (though not yet in name) under its bishop while the presbyters were more or less permanently assigned to outlying communities or the regional churches in the case of the more populous cities. These segments of the episcopal "parish" were on their way to becoming parishes in our later sense. Thus presbyters were becoming priests at the very same time they were relinquishing their corporate judicial and disciplinary authority in the bishop's church, while the bishop had become the chief judge; and the law itself was being codified in canons at councils at which bishops alone decreed.

Thus in place of three basic, though overlapping ministries of the primitive church (sometimes concurrently discharged by the same person) we found at the end of the two centuries of evolution three main orders of the clergy: the episcopate, the priesthood, and the diaconate and an ever-growing series of lower orders. Bishops and presbyters together belonged to the priesthood (sacerdotium) in respect to their function at the altar; to the presbyterate, wherever it remained intact as a corporate entity, in respect to local discipline. All three, bishop, priest, and deacon, constituted the clergy, while others pressed for the same dignity, notably the subdeacon (soon to be classed with the major orders). In the meantime, ordination, which set the clergy apart from the laity, had acquired the significance of a kind of second baptism or a second penance in blotting out all but carnal sin (Neocaesarea, canon 9)2, a step toward construing the clerical state as a superior stage of Christian achievement both morally and spiritually, and a step also toward the doctrine of the indelibility of ordination.

Celibacy was becoming more and more a mark of the clergy, though the process was not even, and there were many sections of the Church that limited their scruples to second marriage only. Celibacy had long been esteemed a laudable state for the clergy. It was not, however, until the Spanish provincial council of Elvira (306) that continence as distinguished from celibacy had been made obligatory. Yet in a corresponding Eastern council, that of Ancyra (314), the bishop and presbyter might enter marriage before ordination; only the deacon might do so afterward on condition that he have declared his intentions before ordination.

The evolution of the episcopate as a ministerial order distinct from the presbyterate, virtually completed by the time of the Council of Nicaea, was formalized in the conciliar canons between Nicaea and the Council of Chalcedon, though not without resistance.

It was at the Council of Antioch in Encaeniis (341)3 that the character of the fourth-century episcopate was most clearly and significantly defined. Almost all its canons dealt with episcopacy and were authoritatively made a part of canon law by the Council of Chalcedon.4 These canons made clear that the bishops of a province, meeting semiannually in synod under the presidency of their metropolitan, constituted a collegium with a relationship to the metropolitan much like that of the second-century collegiate presbytery in relation to the bishop of the local church. According to canons 4 and 18 to 23,5 a new bishop is elected and ordained by the metropolitan and the provincial bishops in synod; and, when thus elevated, he enjoys the rank and ministry of bishop even if he is not accepted by the people of his see.6 Yet he may be deposed by the same synod for other reasons. In these canons of an Arianizing council7 the relation of the bishop to his people has been seriously attenuated. In 380 at the Council of Laodicea election by the people 8 was expressly forbidden (canon 13), though the rights of the laity in election survived in many places, especially in the West. In the Eastern Apostolic Constitutions the communal voice in the election of a bishop has been reduced to the thrice-iterated consent of the people and presbytery to receive a synodally chosen bishop as their ruler (archon).9 In the Testament of Our Lord,l0 the formality is reduced to the thrice-recited "He is worthy!" (axios!) which still resounds at the enthronization of a Greek bishop.

With the widening gulf between the bishop and his people went the elimination of the chorepiskopoi and therewith the pattern of greater fellowship and intimacy between bishop and people which had survived outside the great cities. The Council of Sardica (canon 6) decreed (343) that chorepiskeopoi should no longer be appointed; and Laodicea (canon 54) sought to replace all rural bishops with visitors under the supervision of city bishops. It should be remarked that the repeated efforts to control and eventually to suppress the chorepiscopate were prompted in part by the recurrent involvement of the rural bishops, because of insufficient stipends, in part-time economic activities inconsonant with the episcopal dignity. Despite this consolidation the feeling that each (city) bishop stood in succession to the apostles was still largely confined to the apostolic sees. The Syrian Constitutor of the Apostolic Constitutions (c. 380) could, for example, still think even of the presbyters of Antioch (for this would have been his model see) as taking the place of the apostles rather than the bishop. He called the presbyters "the sanhedrin and senate of the church,''11 and he thought of Christ as the universal Bishop and High Priest.l2 To be sure, Chrysostom, Epiphanius, and Theodore of Mopsuestia among others contended that bishops were but presbyters with greater jurisdiction and the power of ordination.13 Jerome and Ambrosiaster were particularly pleased to recall that even the ordaining power had once been exercised by presbyters in ante-Nicene Alexandria. But these were not representative contentions, for the provincially organized and ecumenically minded episcopate had bcome fully conscious of participating in a ministry, as well as a jurisdiction, different from that of their subordinate presbyter-priests.

As we have noted, as early as the Council of Nicaea bishops had taken upon themselves the full responsibility for the authoritative definition of dogma in their corporate capacity as the organ of the Holy Spirit. To this doctrinal function had been added the disciplinary and legislative powers to bind and loose by canons deemed superior in authority to locally received traditions and the consensus of local churches in which the laity and the presbyters had customarily voiced their assent in adjudications and in doctrinal formulations.

The bishops were also assigned local judicial duties by the new Christianized State. In the period of persecutions it had been natural that Paul's injunction not to seek adjudication outside the Christian community should be observed; and usages in this connection were codified in manuals of church discipline. Yet even in the period of imperial patronage, when the ordinary courts themselves came to reflect Christian principles, bishops continued to enlarge the judicial aspect of their office. All Christians, at the beginning of the Constantinian era, were directed (318, 333) to the courts spiritual presided over by bishops; and thus two codes of law and two separate though mutually influential "Christian" systems of adjudication were elaborated in the course of the fourth century. Only in 398 did Emperor Acadius for the East and in 408 Honorius for the West limit the scope of the episcopal court in respect to Christian laymen to those cases in which both parties sought it in preference to the regular tribunal. Canon 9 of Chalcedon was content to constrain clerics from carrying their grievances before secular tribunals (except as a final resort, the throne in Constantinople). In the meantime, bishops had come to be appointed occasionally, as it were ex officio, the emperor's "personal" defensores of the municipalities to protect the local populations, Christian and otherwise, from any unfair practices of the local or provincial officialdom of the Empire. At Chalcedon by canons 4 and 8 bishops also acquired the right of direct supervision and appointment in respect to all monasteries, the surviving chorepiscopacies, poorhouses, and hospitals in their "dioceses." 14

The diaconate, in contrast, had by the end of the Patristic period been atrophied insofar as it could no longer be considered a terminal or life ministry. It was merely a rung in the clerical ladder, moreover, the deacon had become the assistant of the parish presbyter-priest 15 as well as of the bishop. For the most part the presbyter had become the principal beneficiary of the devolution of episcopal powers. Nevertheless, in Rome and perhaps in other very large sees, the deacons, who were held to the apostolic number of seven but with quite unapostolic prerequisites and powers, tried intermittently to take precedence over the more numerous and less highly remunerated presbyters. During the pontificate of former deacon Damasus, Ambrosiaster wrote a little tract On the Arrogance of the Roman Deacons.l6 Besides the propitious factor of the relatively small number of deacons, mention also should be made of their close association with people in their everyday necessities as a common consideration in their election to the episcopate. Hence some of the jealousy of the presbyters. As late as the Testament of Our Lord (variously dated from 350 to 450) the deacon is said to be "counsellor of the whole clergy" at the very point in the reworking of Hippolytean material where the deacon had been hitherto expressly stated not to be participant in the counsel of the clergy. In the fifth-century Canons of Hippolytus certain deacons are set aside as instructors of the catechumens and are called doctores ecclesiae. In this same milieu the deacons were also charged with preaching, like the Syriac Father Ephrem (d. 373), teacher in Nisibis and in the refugee "School of the Persians" in Edessa. In view of their close association with the neophytes, deacons frequently baptized in the absence of priest or bishop (though the practice was forbidden in the Apostolic Constitutions).l7 Deacons continued in most areas their eleemosynary functions but many of these had been taken over by the ever-growing number of minor or more specialized clerical functionaries.

In the meantime, the female diaconate was undergoing significant expansion, but exclusively in the East. Beginning with the obscure reference of canon 19 of Nicaea respecting Paulinian 18 deaconesses and ending with canon 15 of Chalcedon which prohibits the ordination (cheirotonia) of a deaconess before the age of forty we have the canonical framework of the most significant period in the expansion and elaboration of the ministry of women before modern times.

According to the Apostolic Constitutions she had to submit to a careful examination before proceeding to ordination. A representative prayer for the latter is preserved in the "Clementine" Liturgy embedded in the Constitutions and reflecting Antiochene usage c. 350 to 380. The "constitution" is ascribed to the apostle Bartholomew who instructs a bishop thus:

Thou shalt lay thy hands upon her in the presence of the presbytery and of the deacons and deaconesses, and shalt say:

O eternal God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Creator of man and of woman, who didst replenish with the Spirit Miriam, and Deborah, and Anna, and Huldah; who didst not disdain that thine only-begotten Son should be born of a woman; who also in the Tabernacle of the testimony and in the Temple, didst ordain women to be keepers of thy holy gates, do thou now also look down upon this thy servant, who is to be ordained to the office of a deaconess, and grant her thy Holy Spirit . . . that she may worthily discharge the work.19

At a somewhat later date we know from the Byzantine ritual for the ordination of the deaconess that the bishop invested her with a diaconal stole and that after communicating, she herself replaced the chalice on the altar. The mid-fourth-century Council of Laodicea speaks (canon 10) of female presidents (presbytides). These, however, are no longer to be appointed in the church. In view of the survival of Montanists in the region -- and this Council deals with them -- it is possible that these presbytides represent the Catholic counterpart of the Montanist prophetesses. The deaconesses from Nicaea to Chalcedon and thereafter seem to have been recruited almost exclusively from the upper classes; and, although in The Testament of Our Lord they are by way of exception regarded as markedly inferior to the widows (presbytides)20 "who sit in front," the highborn deaconesses are almost everywhere else clearly distinguished from widows in being ministers rather than the recipients of church welfare.

Virgins did not become a clearly distinct order until the middle of the fourth century.21

Of the increasing number of clerics in minor orders and other special functionaries of the fourth- and fifth-century ecclesiastical bureaucracy, a partial list must suffice. Among these numerous ministries, several were commonly singled out as the seven degrees or orders ordained by Christ and sanctified by his having himself served variously in the grade of (1) gravedigger, (2) doorkeeper, (3) lector, (4) subdeacon, (5) deacon, (6) presbyter, and (7) bishop.22 These seven ministerial degrees could also be made to correspond to the seven gifts of the Holy Spirit. There was also a tendency to assimilate these clerical degrees to the cursus honorum of the Roman civil servant. But, as in the imperial bureaucracy, so in the clerical career, it was not always necessary to start at the bottom of the ladder. Moreover, though the number seven recurs in the ancient lists, the lower degrees were not fixed. Exorcist, and acolyte were possible alternatives. In the East, at least, the singers constituted a special order. Interpreters were assigned to preachers in rural areas where the languages of the Empire were not sufficiently well known for the missionary preacher to dispense with the local dialects. Visitors of the sick and custodians of the episcopal residences emerged as special classes of servants and ministrants of the church. In this period the archpriest emerged as the chief representative of the bishop in respect to priestly functions in the cathedral church, comparable to the archdeacon in administrative and eleemosynary affairs. The Council of Chalcedon (canon 26) advanced beyond the Council of Antioch (canon 24) in rcgularizing episcopal property and decreed that every episcopal establishment should have a steward (oikonomos, vicedominus) drawn from the cathedral clergy whose task it was to manage the estates and income of the basilica, to keep the bishop's personal property distinct from that of the see, and to safeguard the cathedral holdings during a vacancy of the see. Other functionaries of the large sees were the notaries, the archivists, and the emissaries (apokrisiarioi, nuntii), the latter representing the bishop at the residence of his superior (the metropolitan, exarch or patriarch).

The household of the bishop had become so large that new patterns were bound to emerge for the common life of cathedral clerics. Eusebius of Vercellae (d. 370) and Augustine (d. 430) were pioneers in the West in introducing the model of the monastery into the cathedral.

In the late fourth century short-cropped hair or the tonsure, borrowed from the Egyptian monks, began to be the outward sign of all clerics.23 Already by the middle of the fourth century the clergy were wearing a distinctive garb.24 Among the higher clergy the insignia and distinctive garments and accouterments of dress were made to correspond to those of the secular ranks of society, the clarissimi (of the senatorial class), the spectabiles, and the illustres. Within the last rank there were the five grades of illustrissimi, magnifici, excellentissimi, glorissimi, and nobilissimi (of the blood royal). The Synod of Arles, for example, addressed the Pope as glorissime. The insignia and prerogatives of rank and precedence, such as the use of a certain kind of sandal, rings, pallium, and maniple, seem to have been in part appropriated by the clergy and in part formally bestowed by the emperor. With the enhancement of the dignity of the bishop and the extension of his judicial authority under the patronage of the Empire, the old cathedra upon which the ante-Nicene bishop had sat in his capacity as teacher, was gradually converted into a veritable throne, imitative of that of the emperor.25 It is quite possible that the courtly protocol and the sartorial details of the so-called Donation of Constantine are a reasonably accurate description of the dress, insignia, and prerogatives of the chief bishop of the West in the late imperial period, that even the account of the bestowal of these privileges primarily errs in fictionally ascribing to one emperor what was probably done by several in the course of the fourth and fifth centuries, and that once the fictional monopolization of these prerogatives by one bishop is removed, the Donation is recognized as supplying us with a picture of a late imperial prelate.26

Let us turn from the prelates inextricably involved in the protocol of late imperial society and from the more specialized ministries of the various orders to the pastoral office as conceived by four great episcopal pastors of the fourth century: Chrysostom and Basil for the East; Ambrose and Augustine for the West. In one sense none of these was typical, for one was called from a high post in civil service; two were pre-eminently monks; all of them were prelates of important sees and knew the life of the capitals; and none of them had climbed the clerical ladder from the lowest rungs. But taken together they give us a fairly complete picture of the city pastor in the period of imperial patronage.

John Chrysostom (c. 345-407) vividly delineates his pastoral functions in his sermons and in his Treatise on the Priesthood (c. 386). Born of a family high in the imperial administration, Chrysostom enjoyed an extended liberal education in philosophy and rhetoric. He was able to extricate himself from being prematurely, as he thought, elevated to the episcopate. After becoming a monk instead, he became successively deacon and presbyter in Antioch, and then in 397 Bishop of Constantinople.

Despite his own monastic formation, this eloquent preacher to the turbulent, variegated "audiences" of the two Eastern capitals was certain that monks were not the best fitted for the role of priests, but rather those "who, though having their life and conversation among men, yet can preserve their purity, their calm, their piety, and patience, and soberness, and all other good qualities of monks more unbroken and steadfast than those hermits do themselves." 27 Chrysostom describes the ideal bishop:

He must be dignified yet modest, awe-inspiring yet kindly, masterful yet accessible, impartial yet courteous, humble yet not servile, vehement yet gentle, in order that he may be able easily to resist all these dangers28 and to promote the suitable rnan with great firmness, even though all men gainsay him, and reject the unsuitable with the same firmness, even though all favor him; he must consider one end only, the edification of the Church.29

Chrysostom well understood the scope and exactions of the pastorate:

A priest must be sober and clear-sighted and possess a thousand eyes in every direction.30

Since he must consort with men in all walks of life, he must himself be "many-sided" yet guard against becoming a dissembler. To enter upon the ministry the conscientious would-be cleric must pass the "test of bravery of soul," which should be "robust and vigorous." 31 Chrysostom's initial reluctance to accept the responsibilities of the episcopate, or rather his recoiling from it as something dreaded and perilous, was an attitude he shared with many of the other great episcopal pastors of the fourth century. Some of their protestations of utter unworthiness strike the modern reader as pathological; and some of the ruses whereby they sought to escape being "captured," "snared," and "seized" for the episcopate seem theatrical. Closer scrutiny of their behavior and arguments, however, gives us perhaps a clearer idea of the ministry in Christian antiquity than any other approach. Reluctance rather than readiness was taken as a sign of valid vocation.

Chrysostom, knew, for example, that the contest between Damasus and Ursinus for the episcopacy of the Roman church in 367 had cost the lives of 137 persons in Santa Maria Maggiore and that many other unworthy men had sought or had been advanced to the episcopate. He despairingly lists some of the improper or fatuous reasons sometimes put forward in favor of such candidates, like their wealth, family connections, their being recently converted from the other side, their fashionable large-mindedness, their ecclesiastical pu11.32 But basically, the reluctance of the high-minded to be elected bishop was their own extremely high view of the office and the spiritual dangers it involved.

There was first of all among just such men a great yearning to work out their own salvation, often in devotion to "Christian philosophy," i.e., monasticism. Besides Chrysostom, one thinks of such reluctant bishops as Ambrose, Martin of Tours, and Augustine. Involvement in pastoral cares withdrew them from the contemplative life.

Secondly, there was deep feeling that the pre-eminent qualification of the true pastor was his readiness to perish for his sheep. Chrysostom regards Paul as the ideal pastor in this and other respects and cites Paul's eagerness to incur eternal punishment that his kinsmen after the flesh might be saved. Chrysostom could not be certain whether he had this degree of love for the brethren.

Thirdly, there was a dread lest in assuming the responsibility for the eternal life of the brethren with the apostolic power of binding and loosing, the pastor himself might be adversely judged at the Great Assize.

And fourthly, there was the holy fear that bordered on awesome dread which surrounded the priestly act at the Eucharist. This was a feeling which seems to have been especially characteristic of Chrysostom and others in the Antiochene and related traditions,33 and we shall do well to pause with Chrysostom before the fourth-century altar.

Chrysostom compares the chief celebrant at the altar with Elijah on Mount Carmel:

Picture . . . before your eyes Elijah and the vast crowd standing around him, and the sacrifice lying on the altar of stones. All the rest are still and hushed in deep silence; the prophet alone is praying. Then of a sudden the flame is flung down from heaven upon the offering. This is a wonderful and awful picture. Pass from that scene to what is now performed. You will see things not only wonderful to look upon, but transcending all in terror. The priest stands bringing down not fire, but the Holy Spirit; and he offers prayer for a long space, not that a fire may be kindled from above and destroy the offering, but that grace may fall on the sacrifice through that prayer and kindle the souls of all.... Can any one despise this awful rite? Do you not know that no human soul could ever have borne the fire of that sacrifice, but they could all have been brought utterly to nought, had not the help of the grace of God been lavishly bestowed?34

And the help that comes "when he invokes the Holy Spirit, and offers that awful Sacrifice," are the angels who "surround the priest and the whole sanctuary . . .; and the place around the altar is filled with heavenly powers in honor of Him who lies there." 35 Nay more. As in Clement of Alexandria, the ranks of the clergy are themselves the sacerdotal counterparts of the angels:

Although the priestly office is discharged upon the earth, it ranks among celestial ordinances. And this is natural; for no man, no angel, no archangel, no other created power, but the Comforter Himself appointed this order, and persuaded us while still in the flesh to represent the angelic ministry. Wherefore the priest must be as pure as if he were standing in heaven amid those powers.36

This identification with angelic action is made in connection with the Eucharist.

In connection with repentance priests are declared to be even superior to the angels, for priests "have been entrusted with the stewardship of things in heaven, and have received an authority which God had given neither to angels nor to archangels." Thus with their power to bind and loose (penance), to regenerate (baptism), and to distribute the Body of the King, which enables one "to escape the fire of hell" and "obtain the crowns" of heaven -- in these actions every priest is raised above parents, kings, and even angels.37

This exaltation of the priest in his office of forgiveness may well be connected with the fact that Chrysostom occupies a nodal point in the evolution of the penitential discipline. As the spiritual counselor of the citizens of a sophisticated capital, Chrysostom sought an alternative for the humiliating public penance (exomologesis) with its several stages or stations of readmission to communion. Even this repentance for a major sin was permitted by the Church at large only once after the cleansing bath of baptism (the latter frequently postponed for this reason, as in the case of Chrysostom himself, until adulthood). His contemporaries such as Ambrose still held to one faith, one baptism, and one (public) penance. But Chrysostom, perhaps because of his monkish understanding of the range of inward sinfulness, came to believe in the iteration of penance and in a diversified therapy for sinners.38 "It is not right," he said, "to take an absolute standard and fit the penalty to the exact measure of the offense, but it is right to aim at influencing the moral feelings of the offenders," for surely "no one can, by compulsion, cure an unwilling man." 39 As a curer of souls, Chrysostom thought of himself as a physician dispensing medicaments to those who voluntarily submitted to his art and of the church as a hospital whither the sinner might have to repair for more than one serious sin:

Show thy charity [he urged a fellow priest] towards the sinner. Persuade him that it is from care and anxiety for his welfare and not from a wish to expose him, that thou puttest him in mind of his sin.... Urge him to show the wound to the priest; that is the part of one who cares for him, and provides for him, and is anxious on his behalf.40

Besides his penitential and liturgical functions the bishop was, for Chrysostom, pre-eminently a teacher and preacher. As teacher he wards off heresy. Chrysostom himself could preach effectively to a large and diversified congregation on the homousios or the impropriety of resorting to synagogues for special ritual services. The preacher must toil long on his sermons in order to gain the power of eloquence. Yet he must be indifferent to praise. And if the presbyter or deacon is better than his bishop in the homiletical art, the latter must, for the glory of the church, adjust himself to the disparity of gifts. The golden-tongued presbyterpreacher of Antioch and his aged bishop Flavian co-operated in an exemplary way in this respect and notably in the crisis of 387 when, after a tax riot and the breaking of the royal statues by the populace, the whole of Antioch huddled in terror of Emperor Theodosius' wrath. The bishop's intercessory journey to the Emperor and Chrysostom's famous series of sermons on the statues stand out as an example of the priestly role in appeasing the anger of rulers. Chrysostom further exemplified the role of the priest as prophet when, as Bishop of Constantinople, he rebuked the Empress Eudoxia as Jezebel and again as Herodia, not, however, without incurring deposition and exile once and then a second time.

Besides the royal wrath, Chrysostom knew well the lesser hazards of the prophetic priesthood. The priest, he observed, is ever judged by his parish as though he were an angel and not of the same frail stuff as the rest of men. If there be the slightest bit of stubble in the building of his life, it will be licked up by the inflammatory envy of vexed parishioners or rival clerics and the whole edifice can be "scorched and utterly blackened by the smoke."

The Western counterpart of Chryostom was Ambrose (339-397), bishop of Milan. Like Chrysostom, Ambrose was born in the family of a high official but differed from the sometime monk of Antioch in having been recruited directly and spectacularly from the ranks of imperial administration. He too was self-deprecatory about his qualifications and after his elevation wrote On the Duties of Ministers in the same year (386) that Chrysostom wrote On the Priesthood. But despite the title, Ambrose, in adapting the Stoicism of the De officiis of Cicero, had more in mind a compendium of Christian ethics of which the clergy would be the most exemplary embodiment than a manual on the ministry. Thus after paying respects to his careful working through of the four pagan virtues, as they applied to Christians, and the three specifically Christian virtues, we must turn elsewhere for Ambrose's conception of the pastoral and priestly role.

Ambrose was a notably eloquent preacher, converting Augustine who had come to hear him simply as a master of the rhetorician's art. Like Chrysostom, whose name is given to one of the liturgies of the Greek Church, Ambrose devoted himself to the liturgy in theory (De mysteriis, possibly 41 De sacramentis) and in practice (the liturgical cantus Ambrosianus, based upon the ancient Greek modes).

Ambrose had an exalted view of the episcopate. The bishop is both a sacerdos and a propheta in the Old Testament sense. In a letter to his sister, Ambrose sets forth his view that both the stern, prophetic rebuke and the healing, priestly ministry are combined in the episcopal office. Referring to the rod of the almond tree in Jeremiah 1:11, he observes that the priest and prophet must proclaim things bitter and hard like the almond husk but inside is sweetness. The authority of the sacerdos is derived by apostolic succession from the incarnate Christ; the authority of the episcopal propheta stems from the eternal Christ. In Elijah, who worsted the priests of Baal on Mount Carmel, Ambrose beholds the union of the two vocations.

In calling down the fire to consume the sacrifice, Ambrose sees the Old Covenant counterpart of his own act as priest in summoning the Holy Spirit to the Christian altar, and repeating the incarnate Christ's words of institution.42 In the rebuke of Ahab and Jezebel he finds the parallel to, and sanction for, his denunciation of Valentinian II and his Arian mother. Or again, if he is rebuking an orthodox emperor, he may identify himself with Nathan pointing the finger at David. Ambrose states his conviction as to the prophetic function of the bishop very well in a letter to Theodosius: "There is nothing in a priest so full of peril as regards God, or so base in the opinion of men, as not freely to declare what he thinks."

The authority of the bishop, while greatly enhanced by personal rectitude, does not, according to Ambrose, depend upon his own merits but upon those of Elijah, and Peter, also of Paul, and ultimately of Christ. Ambrose emphatically asserted that Paul was not inferior to Peter in the apostolate, "second to none." And interpreting Matt. 16:18 f., Ambrose singled out Peter's faith rather than his being first as determinative in the founding of the Church upon him and says that it was representatively that Peter responded for all the apostles to Jesus' pre-transfiguration inquiry. Elsewhere 43 Ambrose argued that Peter accepted the sheep from Christ along with all subsequent bishops; indeed, in Peter the whole future episcopate was present, receiving proleptically what Peter at that time assumed personally. In the analogous Johannine commission of Peter (John 21:5 ff.) Ambrose laid stress upon the thrice-asseverated love of Peter for the resurrected Jesus as distinguished from the faith in the pre-resurrection Matthaean episode as the basis of Peter's pre-eminence among the apostles and of his authority to rule the flock of Christ and bind and loose on earth. Ambrose thereupon declares: "The care of these sheep, this flock, not only for that time did the blessed apostle Peter take upon himself but also along with us he received them, and all of us [bishops] with him received them." He goes on to explain to the clerical brethren listening that they should more fully realize that "there can be found nothing in this world more excellent than priests, nor more lofty than bishops," for they are as gold compared to princes, who are like lead.

Augustine, building in part on Ambrose who had converted him, was as Bishop of Hippo both an exemplary pastor and preacher and as a theologian a major theorist concerning the nature and function of the priesthood. Reluctantly, however, we pass over his own exemplification of the pastoral ideal so attractively delineated in the Life by Bishop Possidius of Calama.44 We can only mention the fact that Possidius characteristically uses ministri alike for priests, bishops, and deacons. He shows how Augustine, like Ambrose, was raised to the episcopate by the spontaneous action of the plebs after the aging Greek-speaking bishop of Hippo had asked for a coadjutor. We see in the Vita how much of Augustine's time was spent as an arbiter of Christian cases (without, apparently, the presbyters counseling with him as in the roughly contemporary Eastern church manuals), how he often interceded for prisoners, how he preached and debated, how he occasionally healed by the imposition of hands, how he dined with his clerics at the episcopal table with moderation but never abstemiously, under a motto on the wall which enjoined all guests to refrain from gossip. But the most vivid aspect of the Vita is its preservation of Augustine's own words concerning the self-sacrifice of the pastor in times of persecution or invasion (the Vandals). Herein he gives voice to what we might call the professional ethic of the clergyman who, like the captain, must go down with his ship, or, like the shepherd, give his life for his flock; for. . . the ties of our ministry, by which the love of Christ has bound us not to desert the churches . . . should not be broken." 45

God forbid [he goes on] that this ship of ours should be prized so highly that the sailors, and especially the pilot, ought to abandon it when it is in danger, even if they can escape by taking to a small boat or even by swimming.

He vividly describes the plight of the people and the duties of their ministers:

. . . when these dangers have reached their height and there is no possibility of flight, do we not realize how great a gathering there usually is in the church of both sexes and of every age, some clamoring for baptism, others for reconciliation, still others for acts of penance: all of them seeking consolation and the administration and distribution of the sacraments? If, then, the ministers are not at hand, how terrible is the destruction which overtakes those who depart from this world unregenerated or bound by sin!

He stresses the solidarity of pastor and flock:

. . . when the danger is common to all, that is, to bishops, clergy and laymen, let those who are in need of others not be abandoned by those of whom they are in need. Accordingly, either let them all withdraw to places of safety or else let not those who have a necessity for remaining be left by those through whom their ecclesiastical needs are supplied, so that they may either live together or suffer together whatever their Father wishes them to endure.

Apart from his own embodiment of the ministerial ideal, Augustine's contribution to the development of the priesthood was his sacramental concept of the ministry whereby the validity of a cleric's sacramental action was seen to be independent of his personal character.46 For his theory of the validity of the sacrament ex opere operato, Augustine drew upon the thinking of the anti-Donatist Bishop Optatus of Mileve who had contended for the objective validity of baptism as long as the action and intention were formally correct. But Augustine also drew upon the thinking of a leading Donatist lay theologian Tichonius and al Donatist Bishop Parmenian who had been forced to "catholicize" in trying to make sense of the schisms within rigoristic Donatism! The moderate Donatists knew of an invisible universal Church of the pure and righteous and sought to demonstrate the validity of Donatist ordina- tions on either side of their schism. From all this, Augustine, in his effort to win back the Donatists for the Great Church, developed the theological basis for maintaining that an indelible character dominicus, comparable to the military brand (character militiae) or the regal imprint on a coin (signum regale) is imparted by any formally correct ordination.47

Hitherto there had been considerable ambiguity and difference of opinion about the ordinations of heretical and schismatic clerics prepared to reunite with the Church catholic. The Council of Nicaea (canons 8, 9, and 10, and the synodal letter), dealing variously with the Novatianist and the Meletian clergy and with lapsi who should never have been ordained on moral grounds, left open the question as to what constituted valid ordination and what constituted the difference between election (ekloge), recognition or installation (katastasis), imposition of hand (cheirothesia), and ordination proper (cheirotonia). Nor did Nicaea make a distinction between the deposition from clerical rank and the mere suspension from clerical acts of one who had been validly ordained.48 Gregory of Nyssa, among others, gave expression to an Eastern view of the nature of ordination (c. 376) when he compared the change of a cleric at ordination to the sacramental action whereby bread becomes the Body of Christ:

The same power of the word . . . makes the priest venerable and honorable, separated.... While but yesterday he was one of the mass, one of the people, he is suddenly rendered a guide, a president, a teacher of righteousness, an instructor in hidden mysteries, metamorphosed in respect of his unseen soul to the higher condition.49

But Gregory did not develop a doctrine of the indelibility of ordination, while the weighty contemporaneous Apostolic Constitutions supply an ordaining prayer beseeching God never to withdraw his Holy Spirit.50 At the Council of Chalcedon (canon 29) the Eastern fathers will presently give evidence of continuing uncertainty as to whether, for example, a bishop for disciplinary reasons may be reduced to the rank of presbyter, or whether he should be eliminated from the clergy altogether and classed as a layman.

In the meantime Augustine, for the West, by separating the question of orders from the nature of the Church and schism (to the end that he might contribute to the healing of the North African schism), made ordination wholly a permanent possession of the individual apart from the community in which and through which it was conferred. In thus individualizing ordination Augustine witnesses indirectly to the extinction in the West c. 400 of the older catholic feeling for the corporate ministry of the local church.51 Within four centuries the hereditary priesthood of Israel had been replaced by the indelible priesthood of Christendom, valid not by inheritance and birth but through a kind of rebirth in the solemn rededication of ordination in the descent of the Holy Spirit, an action which also represented a tactile succession going back to the apostles.

With this conception of the role of the clergy articulated by Augustine, the ministry of the Church was prepared for a new phase in its evolution, destined to find fresh forms and functions as it faced the breakdown of Empire in the West and the incursions of the barbarians. Monks were to emerge as the principal missionaries, bishops to become administrators of vast dioceses, while within the cathedral and the parish new functions and functionaries were to develop in a society in which the city was not for a long time to come to be again the basic civil unit.

But in the East the ministry could still evolve within the familiar structure of a Christian Empire, truncated though Byzantium might be.

Before closing our survey of the ministries of the Patristic period in the East down to the Fourth Ecumenical Council (451), we must say a word about the ministry of the monastery in the post-Nicene period. The institutional church, in accommodating itself to imperial establishment and the arduous assignment of embracing the whole of the population of a given territory within its ministrations, left to the still pneumatic or the new charismatic ministry of the monks an important pastoral role. The monk was a successor of the ante-Nicene confessor with his power to forgive.52 It is one of the anomalies of the evolution of the monastic ideal that they who withdrew to the wilderness, for the most part dispensing with the ministries of the organized parishes and thinking of themselves as "laymen," were presently to become the tutors and models of the "secular clergy." The monastic or "regular clergy," in their submission to a rule which was construed as a kind of higher ordination, were eventually to be esteemed by themselves and by the world as clergy par excellence,53 But since this development belongs as much to the next chapter, a few words must here suffice concerning the pastoral function of monks to those outside the community of anchoritic or cenobitic discipline.

Evagrius Ponticus (d. 399), who systematized the thought of Clement of Alexandria, of Origen, and the Cappadocian Fathers, as it applied to the monastic life, distinguished between the "righteous" of the organized church and the "perfect," or "philosophers," i.e., the monks and hermits of the monastery and the cell. He taught it as a duty of the perfect to show a pastoral concern for the often shepherdless rigorist and heretical groups rejected or even persecuted by the Great Church. Frequently the most saintly seers among the monks and hermits were sought out by heretic and catholic alike because as holy men they were able to mediate the grace of healing, forgiveness, and spiritual counsel which the faithful sometimes found wanting in their institutionalized clergy. Occasionally these pneumatic curers of souls presumed to arrogate to themselves the administration of the sacrament of penance.54 And the fierce abbot Shenoudi (d. 466) of the White Cloister of Atripe, ruling omnipotently over several thousands of monks, could think of himself in the language of Ignatius and the Apostolic Constitutions in the image of the Father who begets or regenerates his monks by the act of bringing them out of the world and admitting them to the monastery church. "Abbot" (Father) was originally a pneumatic designation indicative of charismatic achievement and authority.55

Shenoudi was unchallenged lord of his vast monastic church. But for the most part the Great Church and the monastic church worked out a modus vivendi. Indeed, most monasteries came to have priests appointed by neighboring bishops to communicate the monks; for, though the Eucharist had no place in the high monastic theory of self-discipline, it did have an adventitious place in the life of each monk. The Eastern churches, in part, solved the latent conflict between the clergy of the world and the monks by recruiting their higher clergy from the monasteries. Basil of Caesarea, who established the Basileiad, a veritable city of asylums for orphans, the sick, and the aged, and brought his own monks under a rule, is perhaps the best early representative of the "philosopher" bishop. He was a philosopher both in the sense of being a major philosophical theologian and more specifically of being a monk in the intellectual tradition of Clement and Origen. His Addresses, Detailed Rules, and Short Rules for monks, and his Moralia alike for monks and married Christians (for he made no basic distinction between the two in the achievement of perfection except Continence) are admirable specimens of Basil's method as pastor and spiritual counselor.

It remains to point up a few emphases in the priesthood of the first half of the fifth century, exclusively in the East, within and without the Empire We have already observed in Chrysostom the sense of majesty which the priest experienced in the discharge of his duties at the altar. This sense was intensified in his successors in the Antiochene and allied traditions. We can best understand the almost numinous character of the priesthood in the Greek Church today and in some of the extant Oriental churches surviving from the fifth century by looking at this aspect of the ministry more closely. Theodore, Bishop of Mopsuestia (d. 428), a friend in his youth of Chrysostom, wrote of the central action in the ministry of every priest:

We are ordered to perform in this world the symbols and signs of the future things so that, through the service of the Sacrament, we may be like ones who enjoy symbolically the happiness of the heavenly benefits, and thus acquire a sense of possession and a strong hope of the things for which we look.... We must picture in our mind that we are dimly in heaven, and, through faith, draw in our imagination the image of heavenly things.... Because Christ our Lord offered Himself in sacrifice for us and thus became our high priest in reality, we must think that the priest who draws nigh unto the altar is representing His image. .. .56

Because of the august nature of his duty Theodore declared that the officiating priest has need of the prayers and the antiphonal amens of the faithful, for they are all one body together and he but their "eye" or "tongue," and when they respond "And with thy spirit," "the priest obtains more abundant peace from the overflow of the grace of the Holy Spirit" and from it receives help for his "awesome task." 57

Narsai, Nestorian head of the Syrian school at Edessa (437-57) and refounder of the school in Nisibis, conveyed even more movingly the numinous sense of the office of the priest. Ambrose and Chrysostom, each in his own way, had likened the priest at the Eucharistic altar to Elijah on Mount Carmel. Narsai seized upon the image of Isaiah in the Temple with the burning coal to express the sacred terror experienced by the priest in the mediation of the divine, for Isaiah saw in the coal "the Mystery of the Body and Blood, which, like fire, consumes the iniquity of mortal man." He goes on:

The power of that mystery which the prophet saw the priest interprets; and as with a tongs he holds fire in his hand with the bread....The power of the Spirit comes down unto a mortal man, and dwells in the bread and consecrates it.... His power strengthens the hand of the priest that it may take hold of His power; and feeble flesh is not burned up by His blaze.58

Narsai beheld in the altar at once a tomb and a throne; in the basilica a sepulcher and a throneroom:

All the priests who are in the sanctuary bear the image of those apostles who met together at the sepulcher. The altar is the symbol of the Lord's tomb, without doubt, and the bread and wine are the body of our Lord which was embalmed and buried.... And the deacons standing this side and on that and brandishing [fans] are a symbol of the angels at the head and at the feet thereof.

In another order it is a type of that Kingdom which our Lord entered and into which He will bring with Him all His friends. The adorable altar thereof is a symbol of watchers and men in the clear day of His revelation [i.e. judgment].59

With "trembling and fear for himself and for his people" the priest is attorney and advocate, "an object of awe even to the seraphim," and standing before the "awful King, mystically slain and buried," he gives with his own hands the Body of the King to his fellow servants, and then inwardly exclaims:

O corporeal being, that carries fire and is not scorched! O mortal, who being mortal, dost distribute life! Who has permitted thee, miserable dust, to take hold of fire! And who has made thee to distribute life, thou son of paupers?60

Narsai saw the mediatorial role of the priest in communicating the divine forgiveness in succession to that of the first "twelve priests" of the New Dispensation, the Twelve Apostles. Christ was concerned to enlarge God's ongoing Israel as the community of judgment and forgiveness. The priesthood of all believers is suggested in a moving passage:

... and instead of the People He called all people to be His.... To this end He gave the priesthood to the new priests, that men might be made priests to forgive iniquity on earth.61

Divinely charged with the forgiveness of sins, the priest is likened to a physician whose art it is to heal both hidden and open diseases, to give health to both body and soul. Nor may he limit himself to the altar. By his preaching "he sails continually in the sea of mankind; and much he warns every man to guard the riches of his soul."62 He must move among his people and preside at all the great moments of human life for "without a priest a woman is not betrothed to a man, and without him their marriage festival is not accomplished; without a priest the defunct also is not interred."63

Writing within the fifth century but after the Council of Chalcedon was the anonymous Syrian Monophysite of strong Neoplatonist convictions who propagated his theory of the priesthood among other things, by writing under the name of Dionysius, Paul's convert of the Areopagus. Pseudo-Dionysius, interpretation of the ministry was not immediately accepted in the East, but it should be mentioned here since it is comparable in significance to, though quite different from, Augustine's conception of the indelibility of ordination and the ex opere validity of the sacraments administered by the priest. In brief, PseudoDionysius in his On the Ecclesiastical Hierarchy systematized the speculation about the angelic host which we have several times adverted to and he found in the threefold ministry of bishop, priest, and deacon the earthly counterpart and, as it were epiphany, of the three angelic grades, worked out in his book On the Celestial Hierarchy. It was the invisible angelic action that gave efficacy to the action of all priests. Dionysius' theory was not alone influential in the East, but by way of translations, also in the medieval West.

From the beginning of this survey we have had occasion to call attention to the differences between the Western and the Eastern ministries. Among other things, the Latin West seems to have been the first to begin the delegation of the sacerdotal powers of the bishop to the presbyter and to have conserved longer the role of the exorcist. The East developed the chorepiscopate and the female diaconate and revered longer the independent teacher and lector.64 But there are even more important differentiations between the Eastern and the Latin (and increasingly Germanic) West which we may appropriately characterize as this survey of the ministry in the Patristic period is brought to a close. Both traditions claimed alike apostolic and angelic sanction.

The Eastern clergy, however, were particularly conscious of being the associates or imitators of the angels (in the tradition of Ignatius, Clement of Alexandria, Chrysostom, and Pseudo-Dionysius). Theodore of Mopsuestia's characterization of the ministry will serve as a generalization for the East:

Because the priest performs things found in heaven through the symbols and signs, it is necessary that his sacrifice also should be as their image and that he should represent a likeness of the service in heaven.

In the West, whose apostolic see could claim the sanction of both the prince and the prophet among the apostles, the tendency was rather to stress (in the tradition of Clement of Rome, of Callistus, of Tertullian, of Cyprian, of Ambrose, and of Augustine) the Covenantal sanctions of the ministry in succession both to the apostles and to the Old Testament prophets and priests.

Perhaps the best exemplification of this conception of the ministry was Leo the Great, Bishop of Rome from 440 to 461, the formulator of the christological dogma of Chalcedon. In a sense somewhat different from the Christ whom he defined, the true priest is himself, according to Leo, fully human and fully divine.65 Leo held that the ministries of all bishops and their subordinate priests have validity in the measure that they participate in the communion of the universal bishop (the Pope), for they are called "to share a part of the pastoral care of the Bishop of Rome but not in the plenitude of his power." 66

Through the holy prince of the apostles Peter the Roman Church possesses the sovereignty (principatus) over all churches in the whole world.67

As vicar of Peter and consul Dei, Leo was the Covenantal heir of the authority of the Jewish high priest and the prince of the apostles and the residuary legatee of the power of the populus Romanus.

In his sermon (lxxxii) on the Feast of SS. Peter and Paul, Pope Leo movingly declared that the pax christiana, built upon the Word, and which is manifest in harmony with the see of Peter, is the Christian counterpart of the older pax Romana, which was first built upon the weapons of Romulus and Remus. And it was the leading motif of his pontificate, amid the debris of Empire and the gathering shades of civilization, that he and all clergy in communion with him had it as their dual task to civilize the nations and to sanctify the hearts of men.

Footnotes:

1 Paroikia was originally the community of strangers or immigrant sojourners in any city, a term which was appropriated by Christians in view of their primary citizenship in heaven. "Diocese," originally a major subdivision of the Empire, larger than a province, was not used until much later as the designation for the bishop's "parish."

2 Canon 9: ". . . for the majority have affirmed that ordination blots out other kinds of sins." The majority might well have appealed to the purifactory and healing efficacy immemorially associated with the laying on of hands in baptism, exorcism, etc.

3 The Council in Encaeniis was Arianizing. It condemned Athanasius. E. Schwartz holds that the canons of such a council would never have been declared authoritative in Orthodox canon law and therefore argues for an earlier date (329) and an Orthodox assembly as their source, "Zur Geschichte des Athanasius, VIII," Nachrichten, IV (Gottingen, 1911), 395 f.

4 At Chalcedon the canons of Nicaea, Gangra (later also Laodicea), and two already cited ante-Nicene synods, Ancyra and Neocaesarea, constituted the basic corpus of canon law.

5 A convenient English translation of the canons of the ecumenical councils and several of the lesser synods is that of the Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, XIV. The already cited work of Schroeder is especially useful with its much more recent bibliographical notes.

6 Canon 18 of Encyra had decreed the same.

7 On the tendency of the Arianizing bishops to be more responsive to the urgency of bringing policy into line with politics and the correspondingly greater constitutional conservatism of the Nicene bishops, I have written in "Christology and Church-State Relations in the Fourth Century," Church History XX (1951), Nos. 3 and 4. On the concern of the Nicenes to insist on the authority of metropolitans over their provincials and of the Arians to defend the parity of all bishops under the emperor, see K. Lubeck, Reichseinteilung und kirchliche Hierarchie, Kirchengeschichtliche Studien, V: 4 (1901), 193. Cf. F. Hatch, Organization, 169. That these canons of Antioch belong to an earlier and orthodox synod of 329, see E. Schwartz, op. cit., 395 f.

8 The fact that the word "mob" (tois ochlois) is used may mean that orderly election (ekloge) by the properly constituted laos is not expressly excluded, but this was a marked tendency from the beginning in the East with the metropolitan appointing or the emperor nominating as chief layman. Popular suffrage survives much longer in the West. Even Pope Leo could exclaim: "He who is to preside over all must be elected by all." Ep. X; similarly, Ep. xiv.

9 Op. cit. viii, 4. The Scriptural basis for the threefold assent would be Matt. 18:16.

10 Op. cit., 21.

11 cit., ii, 4, 28; A.N.F., VII, 411; 45.

12 Op. cit., viii, 46. This is, of course, an echo of I Pet. 2:25, which with related passages in Hebrews had long been influential in fixing the image of Christ and the bishop as one.

13 For an invaluable account of the partial assimilation of the episcopate and presbyterate but with a different emphasis in view of the narrower definition of "ministry," see T. G. Jalland, Apostolic Ministry, chap. 5, "The Parity of Ministers."

14 The imperial administrative term was first taken over in the Latin West for ecclesiastical purposes in the fourth century. See W. K. Boyd, The Ecclesiastic Edicts of the Theodosian Code (New York, 1905). On the bishop's judicial functions, see further, "Audientia episcopales," Reallexikon für Antike und Christentum, I (Stuttgart, 1950), Col. 1915.

15 Not documented, however, until c. 500. See Jalland, "Parity," Additiona Note: The Decline of the Diaconate, loc. cit., 347.

16 It is embedded in his Quaestiones Veteris et Novi Testamenti.

17 Op. cit., Viii, 28.

18 Paul from whom this group stemmed was bishop of Samosata and viceroy under Queen Zenobia of Palmyra; he was condemned for heresy by two synods (264, 269); and one of the incidental charges brought against him was that he trained women to sing in the church choir. Eusebius, H. E., vii, 30.

19 VIII, 20; A.N.F., VII, 392.

20 The prominence of widows in the Testament, communicating, for example, before the readers and subdeacons, may be due to Montanist competition. The most recent study here is that of Linus Bopp, Das Witwentum ak organische Gliedschaft im Gemeinschaftsleben der alten Kirche (Mannheim, 1950).

21 Hugo Koch, Virgines Christi, Texte und Untersuchungen, 31 (Leigzig, 1907), 91 f. Their public vow was taken as marriage to Christ.

22 Pseudo-Jerome, De septem ordinibus ecclesiae (c. 420), Athanasius W. Kalff, ed., imaugural dissertation (Würzburg, 1935). See also J. Lungkofler, "Die Vorstufen zu den höheren Wiehen nach dem Liber pontihcalis," Zeitschrift für katholische Theologie, LXVI, (1942), 1.19.

23 Cf. Julian the Apostate, Ep. 87, 6, Bidez, ed.

24 H. U. Instinsky, Bischofsstuhl und Kaiserthron (Munich, 1955). F. Loofs had long ago shown how Paul of Samosata had anticipated the later evolution of the cathedra into a throne when he built in his cathedral a high throne eomparable to his in his role of chief minister of Queen Zenobia. Paulus von Samosata, Texte und Uuntersuchungen, 44/5, 34; 33 ff. See also Theodor Klauser, Die Kathedra im Totenhult (Münster, 1927), 179 fl.

25 Theodor Klauser, Der Ursprung der bischölichen Insignien und Ehrenrechte, Bonner Akademische Reden, I (Bonn, 1948).

26 Philippe Gobillot, "Sur la tonsure chrétienne," Revue d'histoire ecclésiastique, XXI (1925), esp. 411. The tonsure was understood as a kind of self-sacrifice; the tonsure in the form of a crown may have betokened spiritual royalty.

27 0n the Priesthood, vi, viu, 550; translated by T. Allen Moxon (London 1907); 153. Although the later Greek Church came to recruit its bishops largely from the monastery, Crysostom warned that when monks entered the conflicts for which they had never practiced, they were often "perplexed, and dazed and helpless." '

28 These dangers refer especially to the charge of widows and the rmanagement of finance.

29 On the Priesthood, i, xvi, 291.

30 Ibid, iii, xii, 241.

3l Ibid, 244.

32 Ibid, iii, xv.

33 The contrast between the Antiochene East and the West in this respect has been pointed out by Johannes Quasten, "Mysterium Tremendum: Eucharistische Frömmigkeitsauffassumgen des vierten Jahrhunderts," Vom christlichen Mysterium (Düsseldorf, 1951).

34 0n the Priesthood, iii, iv, 178-80. The contemporaneous Syrian Apostolic Constitutions, ii, lvii, 21, echoes this sense of the awesome majesty: ". . . let every rank by itself partake of the Lord's body and precious blood in order, and approach with reverence and holy fear, as to the body of their king."

35 On the Priesthood, vi, iv, 520.

36 Ibid., iii, iv, 175.

37 Ibid., iii, v, 182-89.

38 For the important place of Chrysostom, see Oscar D. Watkins, A History of Penance (London, 1920), I, 32848; on excommunication, see Werner Elert, Abendmahl und Kirchengemeinschaft in der alten Kirche (Berlin, 1954).

39 On the Priesthood, ii, iv, 110; iii, 107.

40 On Penitence, Homily II.

41 So, Bernard Botte, ed. Sources chrétiennes, XXV (Paris, 1949), 23

42 In contrast to Chrysostom, however, the action at the Christian altar suggests to Ambrose, not the shudder before a lightning bolt, but the ecstasy of the bride and the bridegroom.

43 In De dignitate sacerdotali. I have shown elsewhere that this anonymous work, a very revealing concio ad clerum, should be reassigned to Ambrose: "The Golden Priesthood and the Leaden State," Harvard Theological Review, XLIX (1956).

44 An English translation of the exemplary and contemporary biography is that of Herbert Weiskotten, Vita (Princeton, 1919).

45 Possidius, loc. cit., 121; the remaining quotations are from 135, 131, and 123.

46 First formulated by Augustine in De baptismo contra Donatistas (400), i, i, 2: "Just as he who is baptized, even if he separates himself from the unity of Church, does not lose the sacrament of baptism; so likewise he who is ordained, if he depart from the unity, does not lose the sacrament which confers the power to give baptism." Cf. De bono conjugale, xxiv, 32; Contra Epistolam Parmeniani, ii, 28 f.

47 The most recent study is that of Plato Kornyljak, De efficacitate sacramentorum (Vatican City, 1953).

48 See Albert Schebler, Die Reordinationen in der "altkatholischen" Kirche (Bonn, 1936).

49 On the Baptism of Christ, N.P.N.F., 2nd series V, 519, Migne, P.G., XLVI, col. 581.

50 Op. cit., viu, 28, 46. See K. Hofmann, "Absetzung," Reallexikon für Antike und Christentum, I (1950), col. 38.

51 This process has been well characterized by Dix in The Apostolic Ministry, 286 f.

52 See Edward E. Malone, The Monk and the Martyr, Studies in Christian Antiquity, XII (Washington, 1950).

53 In the West the monks were eventually distingrushed from the secular clergy (in the world) as the regular clergy (living by a rule).

54 For example, a monk appropriately called Demophilus in Pseudo-Dionysius, Ep. VIII. See Holl, Bussegewalt.

55 Odo Casel, "Die Mönchsweihe," Jahrbuch für Liturgie-wissenschaft V (1926), 23, and the article "Abbas," Beiträge zur Geschichte des alten Mönchtums, Supplement, 1.

56 Commentary on the Lord's Prayer and on the Sacraments of the Baptism and the Eucharist, A Mingana, Woodbrooke Studies, VI (Cambridge, 1933), 82, 83.

57 Ibid, 91 f.

58 The Liturgical Homilies, R. H. Connolly, ed., Texts and Studies, VIII, No. 1 (Cambridge, 1909), 7 ff.

59 Ibid., 45.

60 Ibid., 7, 67.

61 Ibid., 63.

62 Ibid., 64 f.

63 Ibid., 21.

64 I cannot refrain from mentioning at this point that in a decretal ascribed to Bishop Callistus of Rome the conscientious and self-disciplined teacher of the Church is vigorously defended from defamation by the people and pupils from rebuke and from control of his instruction by bishop and ruler. The decretal belongs to the Pseudo-Isidorian forgery of the ninth century but undoubtedly preserves material perhaps of the period of the Pseudo-Clementine:

"Teachers (Doctores) . . ., who are called fathers are rather to be borne with than reprehended, unless they err from the true faith.... For as the Catholic teacher (doctor) and especially the priest of the Lord, ought to be involved in no error, so ought he to be wronged by no machination or passion.... Consequently an unjust judgment, or an unjust decision instituted or enforced by judges under the fear or the command of a prince, or any bishop or person of influence cannot be valid." Decretales Pseudo-lsidorianae, P. Hinschius, ed., 136 f.; translated in A.N.F., VIII, 614.

65 Significantly, in contrast, the Emperor Marcian had been acclaimed by the fathers of Chalcedon as, like Christ, at once king, priest, and prophet, i.e., doctor of the faith. The competence to formulate doctrine made the emperor the last and most effective of the ancient order of teachers. 176. Ep. XIV, 1. 177. Ep. LXV, 2.

66 Ep. XIV, 1.

67 Ep. LXV, 2.

Chapter 2: The Ministry of the Ante-Nicene Church (c. 125-325), by George H. Williams

[George H. Williams is Professor of Church History, Harvard University. Among his books are Polish Brethren, and Spiritual and Anabaptist Writers (Westminster 1995).]

In the New Testament epoch we saw three types of ministry unfolding within the Christian churches: (1) the inspired or vocational role of the apostle (and evangelist), prophet, and teacher;1 (2) the cultural and eleemosynary service of the presbyteral "presidents" (protobishops), deacons, and widows, and (3) the originally perhaps honorific,2 then disciplinary and administrative office of the presbyters from whose ranks the bishops were drawn. We know that these three kinds of ministry of the New Testament epoch were modeled in part on Jewish and pagan precedents and we shall take note of the extent to which they were elaborated in self-conscious polemical parallelism alongside these rival institutions on the assumption that Christians were the militia of Christ under the heavenly Emperor and the true or new and ongoing Israel of God.

Of these three ministries, that of the presbyterate had been so taken for granted that, as we have seen, presbyters were never directly mentioned by Paul or even, much later, by the Didache. Yet the early organization of Christian assemblies on the synagogal pattern can be readily inferred, if not so amply documented.3 Not until the presbyters, from being the venerable rank of the first or most revered converts, became functionaries did they invite comment in our earliest documents. In the meantime, the other two ministries seemed more distinctively Christian and are therefore more amply attested in the earliest period; for the outburst of prophecy and the proclamation of the gospel were felt to be the distinctive signs of the new age that had opened, while the liturgical life of the community centered in the re-enactment of the Supper with its host or president and servers.

Amid the diversity of ministries in the New Testament epoch there was yet no true priesthood, for Christ was the only high priest and his the consummatory and definitive sacrifice ending all sacrifices. Moreover, priesthood, as defined by both Jewish and pagan usage, was hereditary or civilly bestowed; and to such a status the earliest Christian ministrants did not or could not aspire. But gradually the principal officiant at the cultural re-enactment of the Supper came to be so closely associated with Christ (Ignatius of Antioch) in the sacrifice of Calvary and its liturgical commemoration, the Eucharist, that by contagion and imputation the eucharistic president himself became looked upon as at least analogous to the high priest of the Old Covenant and the spokes-man of the entire royal priesthood which is the Church. Though he was normally one of the presbyters, the cultural president acquired, through his supervision of the deacons, a pre-eminence over the other presbyters in their corporate capacity as the "municipal" council of Christians whose ultimate citizenship was in heaven. In the meantime, conflicting and sometimes irresponsible claims and vagaries put forward by certain prophets and teachers conspired to bring also the surviving "charismatic" ministries under the oversight of the bishop in order to assure the theological solidarity of the Christian community ever in peril of its life from a hostile populace and an intermittently persecuting magistracy.

Thus it was the bishop, as chief pastor of the local church, who came to represent the fullness of the ministry. He was prophet, teacher, chief celebrant at the liturgical assembly, and chairman of the board of overseers of the Christian "synagogue." But he could never perform his functions unaided. It was still the entire church, acting in him as the head and with the deacons and presbyters as the more important organs, that embodied the full ministry of Christ in the world. Thus by the end of the New Testament epoch the original three ministries, "charismatic," cultural, and disciplinary, had been so reassessed, redefined, and reintegrated that we begin to discern the emerging outlines in each community of a threefold, corporate ministry made up of a sacerdotal (i.e., "sacrificing") bishop, ruling presbyters, and liturgical-eleemosynary deacons. During the period of somewhat less than a hundred years recounted in Chapter I these three functionaries, and particularly the bishop, had begun to absorb several of the diverse ministrations alluded to by Paul. At this stage the bishops and presbyters together constituted the "clergy" (kleros). The ministry of the church was a more inclusive term than "clergy," but only remnants of the charismatic ministry survived in certain free teachers and the exorcists.

With the completion of this consolidation of a threefold ministry the next development was the delegation of the sacerdotal ("sacrificatory") powers of the bishops to the presbyters. By the time of the Council of Nicaea (325), the bishop, though remaining pastor in his own church, had turned over some of his functions to the several presbyters in the surrounding parishes not under continuous episcopal care, with the consequence that the presbyter himself became a priest. That is, on becoming chief pastor in his own local church, the presbyter became, like the bishop, a sacerdos or hiereus. Significantly, the bishop retained his unique baptismal role in the regenerative act of baptism somewhat longer than his eucharistic pre-eminence; and even after finally giving up the baptizing of all catechumens outside his own parish, he preserved, at least in the West, the confirmation thereof as a distinct and essential ceremony, while in the East it was he alone who could bless the oils used by priests in baptism and confirmation. In the originally perhaps undifferentiated act of the imposition of hands he also retained in most centers the exclusive right to the laying on of hands in ordination. At this stage the bishops and presbyter-priests together constituted the priesthood (sacerdotium), while the older term "clergy" had become enlarged to embrace most of the ministries of the church, including most of the so-called "lower orders." Only a few "lay" ministries had failed to be clericalized.

The process of breaking down the primitive cultural monopoly of the bishop with the consequent approximation of parity of bishop and priest in respect to their ministry, as distinguished from their jurisdiction, proceeded unevenly, more rapidly in the big cities than in the small towns, more readily in the West than in the East. It was accompanied by a variety of adjustments and accommodations among the older ministries and by the elaboration of new ones within the local churches and the growth of metropolitical, eventually also patriarchal, conciliar, and imperial control of the local bishop in the measure that the Church aspired to organize its forces in accordance with the new Empire-wide assignments and responsibilities. The proliferation of lower orders below the rank of deacon and the erection of a hierarchy above the level of the bishop, accompanying the establishment of Christianity as the moral cement of the Empire in the reign of Constantine, brought about the gradual disaggregation of the corporate ministry in a face-to-face fellowship. Thereupon the various orders of the clergy came to be thought of as the ecclesiastical counterpart of the succession of officers or the cursus honorum through which a magistrate normally advanced in the service of the State. Thus the ministry became more of a career than a calling. The ministrant became much less an organ of the local church and spokesman of the community before God and much more of a professional cleric, appropriately trained and promoted, even from one parish to another.

In the meantime, as bishop and metropolitan became involved in their new imperial assignments, many of the faithful felt estranged by clerical accommodation to the world; and monasticism developed with its own special ministry to the saints within and the seekers without. Thus by the end of the Patristic period the saintly or charismatic anchorite emerges as an alternative curer of souls; the abbot takes his place alongside the bishop and the parish priest as a third kind of chief pastor.

With this generalization for the Patristic period as a whole, we turn in this chapter to the evolution of the clergy in the ante-Nicene period (c. 125-325).

Without going back over the ground covered in Chapter I, it will be useful to pick out several passages which mirror the image of the protobishop and his subordinate colleagues about a hundred years after Jesus' death.

Ignatius of Antioch (d. before 117), who was the earliest exponent of monepiscopacy and the threefold ministry (Trallians 3:1), considered himself alternatively as the representative of God and the image of Christ for his people.4 In his role of chief pastor of the flock, the bishop is the type of God (Magnesians 6:1; Smyrneans 9:1) and specifically of God the Father (Trallians 3:1). Ignatius enjoins the faithful to be "obedient to the bishop, as Jesus Christ was to the Father . . . for where the bishop is, there is the Catholic Church" (Smyrneans 8: 1 f). Indeed, God Himself is the episkopos of all and especially the bishop himself (Polycarp, 1), and whoever lies to the bishop does not just deceive the human visible bishop but he despises the invisible one (Magnesians 3: 1 f). In this frame of reference Ignatius thinks of himself as instituted by the Spirit of God. There is no thought of his being a successor of an apostle. He is a prophet. And it is the presbyters, ranged about him in council, who are the type of the apostles, while the humble servers, the deacons, are the type of the Suffering Servant, Jesus, and the widows (forerunners of the deaconesses) are the type of the Spirit (Magnesians 6:1).

In his personal conduct, however, the bishop is also, according to Ignatius, the image of Christ. Ignatius expects, for example, the faithful to be "subject to the bishop, as to Jesus Christ" (Trallians 2:1). Being the vicar of Christ, by whose presence the Church Catholic is made complete and without whose presence or authorization the Eucharist, instruction, and even marriage are invalid, the bishop is expected to live out in his life the fullness of Christ. That is why Ignatius yearns for a Christlike martyrdom in Rome, while dissuading lay Christians from putting their lives unnecessarily in jeopardy. Because this imitation of Christ is peculiarly an episcopal duty, he pleads with the Roman Christians not to interfere in his behalf lest, instead of becoming one with the Word of God, he once more be only the echo (Rom. 2:1).

In a contemporary, Polycarp of Smyrna (d. 156),5 the self-image of the chief pastor was not quite so vividly perceived as in Ignatius. At his martyrdom Polycarp was content to style himself a loyal lieutenant of the heavenly Emperor Christ with whom he will presently co-rule at the last judgment (Phil. 5:2).6 Although in his Letter to the Philippians (c. 135) Polycarp does not mention bishops but only deacons and presbyters, nevertheless his own effectual position must have been very much like that of Ignatius. Surely, in describing the ideal presbyter, Polycarp is picturing someone like himself (6:1):

The presbyters must be tenderhearted, merciful toward all, turning back [the sheep] who have gone astray, visiting the sick, not neglecting widow or orphan or poor man, abstaining from all anger, respect of persons, unrighteous judgment, being far from all love of money, not hastily believing [anything] against any one, not stern in judgment, knowing that we are all debtors because of sin.7

From a self-portrait, let us turn to a precious reminiscence of "the blessed and apostolic presbyter" Polycarp from the pen of Irenaeus, who vividly conjures up for posterity his boyhood memory of the "presbyter" who was a disciple of the apostles:

. . . I can tell the very place where the blessed Polycarp used to sit [note the posture of the bishop as teacher or preacher upon his cathedra] as he discoursed, his goings out and his comings in, the character of his life, . . . the discourses he would address to the multitude, how we would tell of his conversations with John and with the others who had seen the Lord, how he would relate their words from memory . . . and I can testify before God that if that blessed and apostolic presbyter had heard the like [the Gnostic vagaries], he would have cried aloud and stopped his ears and said, as was his custom: "O good God, for what sort of times hast thou kept me, that I should endure these things?", and he would have fled the very place....8

Besides this glimpse of presbyter-bishop Polycarp as teacher, the same source preserves for us a picture of Polycarp as liturgical "president" or eucharistic host. Only one presbyter could preside at the Eucharist. When Polycarp was in Rome to discuss with Bishop Anicetus the vexing question of the conflicting dates for the celebration in Rome of Easter in the diverse ethnic house "parishes" (the immigrants from Asia observing the Johannine usage), the two bishops ended their deliberations amicably, each holding to his own usage. In parting they held communion with each other, and in the church "Anicetus yielded the celebration [of the Eucharist] to Polycarp obviously out of respect.''9 Although Irenaeus did not call Polycarp bishop, but rather presbyter, his contemporary Ignatius did,10 as did also his own immediate followers, though perhaps more characteristically they wrote of Polycarp as an "apostolic and prophetic teacher."11

It is interesting that Polycarp's own description of the deacon was very similar to that of his ideal presbyter-bishop. He likened deacons in relationship to their "presbyter" (bishop) as Christ to God (Phil. 5:3); and described them further as "blameless before His righteousness, as the servants of God and Christ and not of men, not slanderers, not double-tongued, not lovers of money, temperate in all things, compassionate, careful, walking according to the truth of the Lord, who was 'the servant of all'"(5:2).

Whether the Didache is itself primitive or in its present form the composition of a "mild Montanist" of the late second century,12 it no doubt authentically preserves the memory of the high esteem in which the charismatic ministry and notably that of the prophet was once held, when it speaks of the prophet as the "high priest" (13:3), to whom, as in the Old Testament, every first fruit of the wine vat, the threshing floor, or the pastures is due. It was indeed acknowledged that in the absence of a high priestly prophet the congregations should elect bishops and deacons; and the delineation of the ideal bishop (15: 1 f.), which picks up phrases from I Tim. 3 and Titus 1, is repeated by many of the later church orders and mirrors of bishops.

The search for an Old Testament source and sanction for the Christian ministry is found also in Clement of Rome, where the emergence of monepiscopacy was longer delayed than at Antioch, but where the authority of the chief presbyter was comparable to that of Polycarp in Smyma. Though, in his Epistle to the Corinthians, Clement speaks of Christ as the effectual High Priest (36:1; 61:3), he regards the chief celebrant (protobishop) at the Supper as also the type of the Old Testament Aaronic high priest and at the same time the embodied image of Christ the celestial High Priest after the order of Melchizedek; the deacons discharge in the New Dispensation the role of the Levites (40:5):

For the high priest has been given his own proper services, and the priests been assigned their own place [of dignity, seated on either side of the chief celebrant], while to the Levites their ministrations are given.

In making this identification with the Old Testament high priesthood and the Levitical order, Clement was prompted (42:5)13 by his confidence that the appointment of episkopoi and deacons had been prophesied in his Septuagintal Isaiah 60:17.

For the great church of Alexandria in the time of Clement and Polycarp we have no comparable record, but we may infer that on the model of Jesus and the Twelve and following the example at once of James and the elders of Jerusalem, of the Sanhedrin of Jerusalem,l4. and perhaps of the organization of the neighboring huge Jewish community of Alexandria itself, the twelve presbyters of the Alexandrian church thought of themselves as both a sanhedrin and a college of Twelve. Very late accounts 15 of the "peculiarities" of Alexandria make plausible this description of a presbyteral constitution with the twelve choosing from their midst one to be bishop and consecrating him.

Thus, to sum up the meager evidence for the end of the New Testament epoch and the beginning of the Patristic period, there were at least five competing images in which a chief pastor of a Christian church might see himself mirrored c. 125: as an elder of a Christian sanhedrin, as an apostle, as a prophet, as a high priest, or as an epiphany of God or Christ to the Christian people.

Passing from these writings, which in part chronologically overlap the documentation provided by the New Testament, we turn to the Apologist Justin Martyr, whose incidental references give us the first firm evidence after the Apostolic Fathers as to the nature and function of the ministries of the Church. In his works we glimpse the teacher, the lector, the protobishop, and the deacon at work in Rome around 150.

The bishop is regularly called by Justin the "president," though this usage may have been dictated by a concern to avoid specifically ecclesiastical language in addressing the pagan world. In arguing with the Jews, it is evident that Justin regards the whole Christian community as "a highpriestly race of God," who collectively take the place both of the Aaronic priesthood and that of the eternal Melchizedek, through their eucharistic offerings in the name of Christ. The fact that Melchizedek,l6 the priest-king of Jerusalem (already identified with Christ in Hebrews), offered bread and wine (Gen. 14:18) made it natural for the royal priestly people to think of their cultural celebrant and spokesman, by assimilation, as their high priest. Justin lifts the curtain upon the action of such a high priest, though he calls him quite neutrally a "president," in a Roman Christian assembly at worship early on Sunday morning, presumably in the house of one of the more prosperous members.17

. . . the memoirs of the apostles or the writing of the prophets are read as long as time permits. When the lector has finished, the president in a discourse invites [us] to the imitation of these noble things. Then we all stand up together and offer prayers. And . . . bread is brought, and wine and water, and the president similarly sends up prayers and thanksgiving to the best of his ability, and the congregation assents, saying the Amen; the distribution and reception of the consecrated [elements] by each one takes place and they are sent to the absent by the deacons.... This food we call Eucharist.... For we do not receive these things as common bread or common drink, but as . . . flesh and blood of that incarnate Jesus.... Those who prosper, and who so wish, contribute, each one as much as he chooses to. What is collected is deposited with the president, and he takes care of orphans and widows, and those who are in bonds, and the strangers who are sojourners among [us], and, briefly, he is the protector of all those in need.

The concern of the bishop for the impoverished and the imprisoned is likewise attested by Bishop Dionysius of Corinth with special reference to Soter, who became bishop in Rome (166-74) not long after the time of Justin's foregoing delineation:

For this has been your custom from the beginning [he writes to the Roman community]: to do good in divers ways to all the brethren, and to send supplies to many churches in every city, now relieving the poverty of the needy, now making provision, by the supplies which you have been in the habit of sending from the beginning to the mines.18

Incidentally, Dionysius, like Justin, calls the bishop a "president." Dionysius goes on to characterize him as a loving father exhorting all the brethren who come to Rome as his children. Dionysius also mentions the activity of bishops as correspondents and apologists, whose writings were frequently and thoughtfully read and preserved in the assemblies to which they were sent.19

In Justin Martyr's description of the president, deacon, and lector at worship there is no mention of presbyters; this may be accounted for by his concentration on the cultural rather than disciplinary and administrative aspects of the Christian community. In addition to his sketch of the cultual ministry, however, we have from Justin some glimpse into the charismatic ministry of the lector and the teacher.

In the foregoing depiction of the service of worship at Rome c. 150, besides the bishops and deacons, only the lector is mentioned. He is seen reading from the Scriptures as long as time permits. In later church orders he is often ranked with the prophets:

And if there is a lector, let him too receive [an allowance] like the presbyters, as ranking with the prophets.20

On the basis of this and similar statements some scholars have held that the readership was originally one of the inspired orders, gradually depressed as the church became more literate.21

Of the teacher, Justin has more to say. Himself a teacher, wearing the philosopher's mantle in succession to several teachers under whom he had studied,22 Justin thought of himself also as the heir of the prophets of Israel and the superior of the contemporaneous teachers of the Jewish line, the rabbis. He held that the prophetic gifts had been "transferred" to Christian teachers,23 although he acknowledged that there could be false teachers, as there had once been false prophets. Like his more speculative contemporary Ptolemy, a moderate Gnostic teacher, he undoubtedly thought of himself as standing in "the apostolic tradition" in a "succession" of teachers.24 Like pagan teachers and rabbis, Justin laid hands upon the head of each disciple on the completion of the course.25 At his trial, Justin, philosopher-prophet-teacher, describes the "school" where he has been teaching for the examining prefect, who will presently put him and several of his students to death. It is apparently his home, his local "parish house" in Rome:

I live above the bath of a certain Martin, the son of Timothinus, and during all this time (this is my second stay in the city of Rome) I have not known any other assembly but the one there.26 And whoever wanted to come to me, to him I communicated the words of truth.27

One of the students apprehended with Justin declared that he had received his elementary "training" in the "good confession" from his parents but that he "gladly" heard Justin's "discourses."

Winsome and heroic exponents of the church doctrine though Justin and others were, bishops could not long safeguard the orthodoxy of the faith with free-lance teachers; and to cope with the Gnosticism of some of them, the claim was put forward that the bishop himself was preeminently the teacher of the Church in succession to the apostles. Thus it was in his magisterial rather than his cultual role that the bishop took his place upon the apostolic cathedra. Or rather, the bishop's seat came in the course of time to be at once a doctoral (magisterial) chair, a liturgical bench, and a judicial throne. It was two outside churchmen who made the apostolic claim for the teaching authority of the see in Rome, namely: the Syrian Hegesippus, who was concerned to ascertain the true apostolic doctrine as it was preserved in the episcopal succession, notably in Rome up to Eleutherus (174-89); and especially the presbyter and later bishop of Lyons, Irenaeus (d. 177 or 8). Irenaeus attached importance to his demonstration of a continuous succession in apostolic instruction because of the pre-eminence of the Roman church, but he was convinced that a similar succession could be ascertained for the other great Christian centers. As it happens, Irenaeus used the designations "bishop" and "presbyter" interchangeably, because the corporate presbyterate was for him the ultimate guarantee against vagaries in doctrine, but in any given church like his own or that of Rome he surely had in mind the chief pastor or president of the presbytery when he spoke alternatively of bishops and presbyters as the bearers of the "certain gift of faith." 28

So deeply implicated had Irenaeus become in the doctrinal or magisterial aspect of the episcopate that the cultual and disciplinary functions of the ministry remain obscure in his surviving works. Only once does he say that the apostles "instituted bishops" in their place of government,29 to whom, accordingly, obedience is due.30 Like Justin, he seems to regard the whole church as priestly: "I have shown that all the disciples of the Lord are Levites and priests."31 But since also like Justin he holds that the Eucharist consists of "two realities, earthly and heavenly," the manufactured bread receiving the Word of God,32 it was natural for Irenaeus to think of the bishop or president of the presbytery as a priest in this representative capacity; but the word is not used by him. He does speak of the chalice as the compendii poculum,33 which may allude to the recapitulatory character of the Eucharist as a sacrifice. For just as Justin construes the Eucharistic prayer as the Christian apologetical counterpart of the pagan sacrifice,34 so Irenaeus speaks of the Eucharistic gift as offered at an altar. But the primary altar is still thought of as in heaven.35

It is not until the communion table has become explicitly an altar that the Eucharistic president becomes explicitly a priest (sacerdos, hiereus). The first to mention the table as an altar seems to be the apocryphal Acts of John. The first to call a Christian cleric a priest 36 was Polycrates of Ephesus; and he does it, strangely, in calling (c. 190) St. John, the beloved of the Lord, not only a teacher but also a priest (hiereus) "who wore the sacerdotal tiara." 37

In the Apostolic Tradition of Hippolytus (d. 235 or 6),38 which presumably transcribes Roman usage about 200, Justin's "president" and Irenaeus' presbyter-bishop is now clearly a high priest, teacher, and judge. But his solidarity with his people is no less pronounced. In this very early church order the bishop is chosen by the people and ordained by bishops invited from other communities. He is nominated or chosen by the laity,39 perhaps out of their satisfaction with his earlier ministry as a deacon in the community (e.g., Eleutherus had been a deacon under his predecessor), perhaps because of his valor as confessor (Callistus),40 less likely because of his learning (Hippolytus, as antibishop). Formal confirmation (consent)41 took place on a Sunday, the people of God (laos) being assembled together with the presbytery and such neighboring bishops as might attend. The consecration (cheirotonia) was performed by the imposition of the hands of several bishops while the presbytery stood by in silence, praying for the descent of the Holy Spirit in the imposition of the hands. Whereupon one from among the assembled bishops (and presbyters 42), at the request of all present, laid his hands upon the bishop-elect, offering the prayer. The two separated acts of laying on of hands at episcopal consecration (probably our earliest evidence of consecratory imposition) may betray a double origin of cheirotonia, namely, that derived from the Jewish presbyters and that of the apostles. In the group act of imposition of hands tactile succession in the presbyterate would be the motivation; in the imposition and prayer of a single bishop the intent would be the invocation of the Holy Spirit 43 in the spiritual restoration of the apostolate. For from the words of the ordaining prayer it is clear that the second act was thought of as comparable to the setting aside of Matthias as apostle, and that the new bishop was thought of as becoming a high priest and princely shepherd of his flock, authorized to bind and to loose like an apostle, that is, to forgive sins, and possibly to cure diseases.44

The ordination was completed with the kiss of peace all around and then the new bishop moved on to celebrate the Eucharist.

Whether the new bishop might forgive the gravest sins -- apostasy, murder, and adultery -- once after baptism was a major issue in the church of Rome and elsewhere. Bishop Callistus (217-22), of whom his rival Hippolytus paints a highly colored picture in his Philosophoumena, seems to have argued for the plentitude of episcopal (or was it papal?) power in this respect.45 Perhaps because he had once been a slave he did not oppose the marriage of high-born Christian ladies to slaves and freedmen and gave episcopal countenance to what the state regarded as invalid marriages. Solely as a confessor, Callistus could claim the right to forgive the lapsed (those who had apostasized during persecution), but it is more likely that Callistus claimed the right of forgiveness as the successor of Peter, the incumbent of the see closest to the bones of the prince of the apostles, to whom the power to bind and loose had first been given. In addition to assuming the full Petrine prerogative as bishop, Callistus also suggested that by a process of monopolization, the spiritual man of Paul (I Cor. 2:15) is pre-eminently the bishop, who judges all things and is judged by none.46

Leaving Callistus, let us return to Hippolytus' ideal bishop. In the Tradition Hippolytus does not stress episcopal apostolicity, except as it is alluded to in the ordination prayer. But in the Philosophoumena he sounds more like Irenaeus. Speaking about Gnostic errors, he writes:

These, however, will be refuted by none other than the Spirit conveyed in the church which the apostles were the first to receive. Subsequently they imparted it to those who accepted the faith aright; of these men we ourselves are the successors sharing the same spiritual endowment, the same high priesthood, the same teaching authority, being in fact accourted as guardians of the church.47

Besides the magisterial authority and the supervision of catechetical instruction, the bishop as chief pastor had at this time among his major duties the protracted ritual of baptism. Assembling on the Saturday of Holy Week the catechumens duly prepared by their teachers, the bishop exorcised the evil spirits and thereupon breathed upon the face of each neophyte, sealing him with oil on the forehead, ears, and nose. At the immersion, beginning at cockcrow, the bishop was assisted by presbyters and deacons, one of the latter going into the water naked with the neophytes After the neophytes had dressed themselves and joined the larger company, the bishop confirmed them with the laying on of hands and anointment with consecrated oil. It was the bishop's unique role in the baptismal action of rebirth that made it natural for all the faithful to revere the bishop as a spiritual father. As early as the apocryphaI Epistle of the Apostles (140-60) Jesus is represented as encouraging his disciples to assume the titles of father and master (despite their protestations in view of Matt. 23:9 f.) expressly because of the "episcopal" role in baptism.48

At the weekly Eucharist the bishop of the Tradition occasionally received oils, cheese, and olives over which he offered appropriate prayers, while first fruits and even flowers (only the rose and the lily)49 were offered when they came in season. At the Paschal Eucharist the deacons brought up to the bishop in addition to bread and wine, also milk and honey. Besides the weekly Eucharist the bishop participated in private agapes, whenever someone wished to bring an offering. On such occasions the bishop broke the loaf, tasted, and handed pieces to each of the faithful present. The bishop met each morning with the deacons and presbyters, praying with and instructing the laity who happened by; and thereafter each one went about his own business. The bishop of the Tradition was still very much one of the clerical presbyterate (klëros). Up until the middle of the third century the inscriptions refer to the Roman bishops as presbyters. Nevertheless, the presbyters of the Tradition were inferior to the bishop presbyter.50

The presbyters proper of the Roman Tradition may have been elective as they were in North Africa. In their ordination the other presbyters imposed their hands along with the bishop, further indication that cheirothesia (the imposition of hands) may well have been presbyteral in origin. Hippolytus himself, however, interpreted this inherited custom differently, holding that the bishop alone ordains (cheirotonia), while the presbyters merely seal or bless. The ancient prerogative of collegiate rule is prominent in the formulary of presbyteral ordination with its petition for purity of heart to enable the presbyter to govern and give counsel, to be "filled with the Spirit" as "the presbyters of Moses" (Num. 11:16). They are first after the bishop to partake of the communion, seated in the place of honor, perhaps the only ones for whom there were seats.

The qualifications for entry into the presbyterate do not come out in the Tradition, except that a confessor 51 who physically suffered in his witness to the faith in persecution is ranked as a presbyter or deacon by a kind of ordination in blood and in the Spirit without the laying on of hands (cheirotonia.)52

In the Tradition the deacons were expressly not of the "clergy" (kleros).53 Therefore in their installation (katastasis) only the bishop laid hands upon them. They did "not receive the Spirit which is common to all the presbyterate [bishop and presbyters] in which the presbyters share...." Nevertheless, "the bishop and his deacons were of one mind, shepherding the people diligently with one accord." The deacon's functions were at once liturgical, administrative, and eleemosynary, that is, as broad as the bishop's but always in his service. In his installation prayer the deacon is likened to Christ. In still later formularies of this type the memory of martyr-deacon Stephen is evoked. To anticipate, further, the Syrian Didascalia, assembled perhaps fifty years after the Tradition, goes on:

. . . let the deacon make known all things to the bishop, even as Christ to His Father. But what things he can, let the deacon order, and all the rest let the bishop judge. Yet, let the deacon be the hearing of the bishop, and his mouth and his heart and his soul . . .54

That the deacon is the type of Christ we have already met in Ignatius and Polycarp. In the Didascalia the mediatorship of the deacon between the bishop and the laymen is especially prominent:

. . . let them have very free access to the deacons, and let them not be troubling the head at all time, but making known what they require through the ministers, that is through the deacons. For neither can any man approach the Lord God Almighty except through Christ.55

Deacons also ministered to the sick and the dying, reporting to the bishop; "for the sick man is much comforted that the high priest has mentioned him [in the liturgical prayers]." In some cases the deacons took charge of the cemeteries and catacombs.56

Associated with the deacons but without their liturgical duties were the widows. The widow was, in the Tradition, set apart (katastasis) for prayer and for the ministry to women but expressly not ordained (cheirotonia) because she "does not offer the oblation nor has she a liturgical ministry." Hippolytus groups the following along with the widow in the same general class of nonliturgical ministrants who, not belonging to the clergy proper (kleros), were only instituted or recognized, not ordained: the lector, the virgin, the subdeacon, and the healer (exorcist).

In the Tradition Hippolytus does not mention the teacher except in connection with the catechumens, and here he distinguishes between "lay" and "ecclesiastical" teachers, though to both he concedes the rite of laying on hands, as a sign of the catechumen's having completed the course. In Hippolytus' Commentary on Daniel we find the teachers still serving in charismatic autonomy. The teachers here constitute a distinct estate or rank, mentioned before the clergy proper, and called collectively "the choir of teachers." 57 This phrase significantly preserves Hellenic usage according to which, in allusion to the inspiring Muses, teachers constitute a choros.58

For a still more advanced stage in the development of the ministries of the Church we turn from Rome to North Africa, where the former lawyer and impassioned presbyter 59 Tertullian (d. after 220) brought to theoretical completion the development we have been following when he called not only the bishop high priest but also the concelebrating presbyters priests. But the latter are sacerdotes only by delegation, when they or the deacons perform that which is peculiarly the rite of the high priest by his license.60 Here, as in so much else, Tertullian coins the Latin words and formulates the concepts that will become general much later. It is before the feet of presbyters that the penitents bow in the elaborate and humiliating once-for-all "second baptism" of penance known as exomologesis.61 Here we glimpse the traditional judicial function of the Jewish and early Christian presbyters developing into the penitential discipline of priests. Tertullian has a high view of the teachers of the Church, associating them with the virgins and the martyrs. This esteem for the charismatic ministries became especially prominent when Tertullian fell under the influence of Montanism, and contended that only the confessors, apostles, and prophets are spiritual men who may judge all, forgive all, and be judged by none. As a Catholic and a legalist he had once deplored the confusion of the heretical sects as to the relative positions of the laity and the priesthood -- today one is a deacon who is tomorrow a lector; the presbyter of today the layman of tomorrow.62 But as a converted Spiritualist he held that "where three are, a church is, albeit they be laics."63 In exigencies, baptism and the offering of the Eucharist by a layman are valid. Tertullian gives us a vivid picture of a woman ecstatic who regularly prophesied in a certain Montanist assembly for worship at which Tertullian himself was the preacher:

For, seeing that we acknowledge spiritual chansmata or gifts, we too have merited the attainment of the prophetic gift.... We have now amongst us a sister whose lot it has been to be favored with sundry gifts of revelation, which she experiences in the Spirit by ecstatic vision amidst the sacred rites of the Lord's Day in the church; she converses with angels, and sometimes even with the Lord; she both sees and hears mysterious communications; some men's hearts she understands, and to them who are in need she distributes remedies.64

Tertullian, then, provides us successively with both an advanced catholic sacerdotal view of the office of the bishop and presbyter and a radical Spiritual doctrine of the priesthood of all believers.

Turning to the development of the ministry in Egypt in the period of Hippolytus and Tertullian, we find a markedly different conception and practice, insofar as Clement of Alexandria (d. before 215), our chief source, supplies evidence.65

We have already noted the peculiarity of the constitution of the Alexandrian Christian community with its sanhedrin of twelve presbyters who elected the bishop from among their own number. It is possible that this bishop came to be consecrated by the hand of his deceased predecessor who was suitably robed and propped in his episcopal throne for a final gesture of legitimation and benediction.66 Up through most of the lifetime of Clement all Egypt had only one bishop.67 The village communities were under presbyters. Only during the episcopate of Demetrius (189-232) did some of these centers acquire bishops, in part as a consequence of the introduction of the Roman municipal system, in part as a calculated counterweight to the powerful Alexandrian presbyterate. We may have in the Sacramentary of Bishop Serapion of Thmuis in the Delta (despite its late date)68 some of the formularies and usages introduced in the period of Demetrius. Herein, in contrast to all other church orders, the deacon is mentioned first "as servant in the midst of the holy people," the presbyter upon whom "we [other presbyters or bishops or both] stretch forth the hand" that "he may be able to be steward of thy people and an ambassador of thy divine oracles and reconcile thy people to thee who didst give of the spirit of Moses upon the chosen ones [the elders];" and finally the bishop who is ordained as "shepherd" of the flock "in succession to the [Old Testament] prophets, patriarchs, and the New Testament apostles." No other ministries are mentioned in the Sacramentary, and the sacrificatory role of none of them is alluded to.

It is barely possible that Clement of Alexandria himself was such a presbyter as here described; he calls himself one, though this is hard to reconcile with what else we know of his work. His renown, of course, is that of an ecclesiastically independent charismatic teacher, head of a school of theology frequented by adults, many of them well trained in philosophy. What he says about the Christian teacher is therefore especially instructive. But we wish first to see the parochial clergy through his eyes.

He preserves for us what he calls an instructive tale about the apostle John, in whom we can see Clement's ideal of the forgiving pastor seeking the lost sheep. Having entrusted a comely child to be brought up by a certain presbyter, John returned after many years only to find that the boy had turned delinquent and, as the leader of bandits, was harassing the neighborhood. John at once set out to seek his charge in the mountain lair and was attacked by the very band itself. Whereupon he rejoiced in his plight, for in the mutual recognition of tears and remorse, John was able to restore the youth to the church.69

In this tale Clement uses bishop and presbyter interchangeably. And although he recognizes a threefold ministry (once, however, listing them: presbyters, bishops, and deacons), he seems mostly to have thought in terms of two orders only, the presbyterate with a presiding bishop and the diaconate. He was disposed to find within this primarily twofold ministry a counterpart to what he called the "meliorative" and the "ministrative" services in society at large. He likened the meliorative presbyters to physicians for the body and philosophers for the soul, while the ministrative deacons corresponded to children in their duties toward parents and to subjects toward rulers. This distinction and classification from which Clement seemed to derive some satisfaction does not in itself appear to us particularly enlightening, except for its being linked with Clement's view that behind the orders of the Church are the ministering angels:

. . . according to my opinion [he writes] the grades (prokopoi) here in the Church of bishops, presbyters, deacons are imitations of the angelic glory, and of that economy which the Scriptures say, awaits those who, following the footsteps of the apostles, have lived in perfection of righteousness according to the Gospel. For these taken up in the clouds, the Apostle writes (I Thessalonians 4:17), will first minister [as deacons], then be classed with the presbyters, by promotion in glory (for glory differs from glory [I Corinthians 15:41]) till they grow into a "perfect man" (Ephesians 4:3).70

This parallelism between the celestial and ecclesiastical hierarchy was later to be elaborated.

At the same time there was bound up with this a conception and practice as far from hierarchical clericalism as the spiritual autonomy of the monk is from the autocracy of the prelate. For in this very text and a related place71 Clement goes on to say that though the Christian gnostic or seeker will conform to church life as it is ordered by the ordained clergy, spiritually, he is already on his way to becoming himself an angel, indeed, divine:

As both these services [meliorative and ministrative] are performed by the ministering angels for God in their administration of earthly things, so they are also performed by the gnostic himself.

In heeding the provisions of the clerical church, the (Christian) gnostic inwardly liberates himself at length to qualify by his spirit, very much like the confessors in the Tradition of Hippolytus, for the clerical honor, if not for all the clerical functions:

He, then, who has first moderated his passions and trained himself for impassability, and developed to the beneficence of gnostic perfection, is here equal to the angels.... Those ... who have exercised themselves in the Lord's commandments and lived perfectly and gnostically according to the Gospel may be enrolled in the chosen body of the apostles. Such a one is in reality a presbyter of the Church and a true deacon of the will of God, if he do and teach what is the Lord's not as being ordained, nor regarded as righteous because a presbyter, but enrolled in the presbyterate because righteous. And although here upon earth he be not honored with the chief seat, he will sit down on the four-and-twenty thrones, judging the people, as John says in the Apocalypse.72

Here we have in an ascetic-intellectual form the same ideas expressed by Callistus and Tertullian, namely, that the confessor as the truly spiritual is judge of all things and judged by none.

Clement's gnostics constitute a kind of spiritual Israel, twelve from the Jews, he goes on to say, and twelve from the Greeks. The heirs of this conception of a spiritual ministry were, of course, to be the monks even more than the teachers of the Church; teachers were to become more amenable to ecclesiastical supervision. And like their counterparts, the confessors, the monks will be presently considered able to forgive the sins and guide the consciences of those less accomplished than themselves. (In appealing to this angelic and gnostic tradition the monks will one day threaten the penitential functions of the ordained clergy.)73

It was Origen (d. 253) who carried on these ideas as successor of Clement and who integrated Clement's informal adult study group as the upper division or advanced theological school within an episcopally supervised catechetical school.74 He readily called fellow presbyters priests, but in this he seems to have been motivated more by his typological interest as an exegete to make the institutions of the Old and the New Testament correspond than by a deep recognition of the sacrificatory role of the cleric at the altar. For, as in the case of Clement, he took the spiritually enlightened pneumatic or gnostic Christian as the true counterpart of the old Aaronic priest. Thus he readily called the apostles and the disciples of Jesus even in the lifetime of their teacher "true priests" because of their gnosis received directly from the master. In his spiritualization Origen saw the true Church founded on Peter (Matt. 16:18 f.) in the sense that every perfected Christian beholds Christ transfigured.75

Nevertheless, to reach the perfection of the apostolic pneumatic, Origen did not depreciate the external ministries of the Church. No doubt, like Clement, he sensed the angelic ranks shimmering behind the visible orders of the clergy. His devoted pupil, Bishop Firmilian of Caesarea, writes about the harmony of the angels "united to [us bishops], who rejoice at our unity."76

We have numerous glimpses of Origen as a closely attended preacher, fascinating his congregation with his exegetical skill. A stenographic transcript has recently come to light of his participation as a theological consultant and authoritative teacher in a discussion with a Bishop Heraclides in the presence of other clergy and the faithful.77 Origen had, at the time of this discussion, already left Alexandria for Caesarea, where he was to perish a martyr as a result of torture in the Decian persecution. Bishop Demetrius had deposed him from the headship of the Alexandrian School and suspended him from the presbyterate in two synods (231, 232) over which he presided, determined as he was to bring catechetical instruction and advanced theological studies even more strictly under episcopal supervision. Origen was, in a sense, the last of the Christian charismatic and independent teachers.

The teacher and catechist by the mid-third century had everywhere lost much of his former independence. Therefore Origen of Alexandria and Caesarea should be described as teacher at this point.

Passing reference might also be made to Malchion, who was the principal opponent of the powerful heresiarch Bishop Paul of Samosata at the synodal deliberations over the heterodoxy of Queen Zenobia's prime minister. Though only a teacher of the Greek rhetorical school in Antioch, he was regarded as the peer or, better, as the instructor of bishops in the realm of doctrine.78 Mention might also be made here of the high ideal of instruction of Pseudo-Clement:

Let the catechists instruct, being first instructed; for it is a work relating to the souls of men. For the teacher of the word must accommodate himself to the various judgments of the learners. The catechists must therefore be learned and unblamable, of much experience, and approved....79

"Bishop" Clement is spoken of as discharging the doctoral role.

But it is Origen who best exemplifies the ideal of the doctor ecclesiae. He thought of the old order of teachers as each a "Peter" by gnostic faith and as compositely embodying the teaching authority of the Church. Collectively they were the magisterial Rock of the Church.80 At Caesarea, whither he fled because Bishop Demetrius claimed to possess the plenitude of magisterial authority, Origen guided the same kind of school as that which he had worked out in Alexandria. While we have no detailed picture of instruction in Alexandria, we do have a rather vivid description of his courses in Caesarea, which we may take as representative of the two schools, and, in a measure, of the best catechetical instruction in general at the middle of the third century. This description is preserved in the laudatory letter written by Gregory the Wonderworker, who paid his respects to his great teacher in a document most important for the history of education in general.

In the beginning of his address 81 delivered before all of the pupils of the school and no doubt in the presence of the Bishop of Caesarea and other ecclesiastical dignitaries, Gregory lauds philosophy, and then moves on to describe the character of the teacher himself whom he so much admires. Gregory describes his own soul as being "knit to the soul of Origen," as the soul of Jonathan was to that of David. Origen guarded him like an angel and was able to hover over him and guide his every thought, rejecting this, encouraging that, and, by the Socratic method, to bring out the inadequacies of Gregory's first thoughts concerning any number of subjects. One marvels at the extent of the instruction.

Dialectic was the first course in this school, and it is described as the art of the husbandman who cultivates various kinds of fields. Origen took each mentality, each personality, seriously and cultivated it according to its special needs. After dialectic had been satisfactorily taken care of he passed on to the natural sciences, including also geometry and astronomy.

He explained each existence, both by resolving them very skillfully into their primary elements, then by reversing the process and detailing the constitution of the universe and of each part, and the manifold variation and change in every portion of it, until carrying us on with his wise teaching and arguments, both those which he had learned and those which he had discovered, concerning the sacred economy of the universe and its faultless constitution, he established a reasonable, in place of an unreasoning, wonder in our souls. This divine and lofty science is taught by the study of Nature most delectable to all.

This was followed, then, by philosophy. It was Origen's view that all philosophers should be read, except those who were manifestly atheists. The coverage of Greek philosophy was intended to be complete. With philosophy, of course, went ethics and the inculcation of the pagan virtues of temperance, justice, courage, and wisdom. Gregory compares his revered master with other teachers:

I have often marveled at such while they demonstrated that the virtue of God and of men is identical, and that on earth the wise man is equal to the supreme God. These teachers are incapable of conveying wisdom so that one should do the works of wisdom, or temperance so that one should actually make choice of what he has learned; similarly with justice; and still more with courage. It was not in this fashion that our teacher discussed the theory of the virtues with us: rather he exhorted us to their practice, and that more by his example than by his precept.

Origen himself was quite explicit about another aspect of the teacher's task -- freshness of interpretation. Commenting on the law which forbade the Israelites to eat yesterday's meal, he admonished the priests and teachers of the Church "not to set forth stale doctrines according to the letter, but by God's grace ever to bring forth new truth, ever to discover the spiritual lessons." 82

Origen held that the Christian teacher should not take payment from students for what is revealed to him by grace, because this would be "selling doves in the temple, that is, the Holy Spirit." 83 Origen asks only for leisure in the temple. The life of the mind or the Spirit is a great construction requiring peace:

... such a structure of thought as may contain the principles of truth, a sermon for example or a book, is best built at a time when, God giving good aid in its construction to him who purposes so excellent a work, the soul rests calm in the enjoyment of the peace which passeth all understanding, free from all disturbance, like the sea without a wave.84

So much for the ideal Christian teacher.

Although the ideas of Clement and Origen about teachers, gnostics, and angels are important for the later theories both of prelacy and the pastoral function of the monks, we must return to Rome and Carthage for the more immediately significant developments in the history of the ancient ministries of the Church.

Cyprian, sometime lawyer, fiery martyr-bishop of Carthage (249-53), whose rich pastoral correspondence survives in extenso, is at once the picture for us of a third-century pastor of a flock scattered and bewildered by two violent and systematic persecutions Decian and Valerianic) and at the same time a major theorist of the nature and function of the ministry. He did not call the bishop high priest as did Tertullian, reserving that dignity for Christ alone, as the eternal Melchizedek.85 The sacrificatory office of the bishop is clearly stated, however, when he says: "The Lord's passion is the sacrifice which we offer." 86 Unlike his master, Cyprian was concerned as a bishop to check any presbyteral or other derogations from episcopal authority. He considered the presbyters sacerdotal only as they participated in the sacrificatory office of the bishop by delegation. Perhaps it was because he thought of the bishop primarily as administrator and judge rather than as teacher and liturgical celebrant that he was so intense in his treatment of martyrs and confessors. On the one hand he exalted martyrdom as meritorious and on the other hand he contested the claim of the confessors to forgive the lapsed independently of the bishops. Ignatius of Antioch, it will be recalled, had striven to witness to Christ by a martyr's death in Rome and thus to qualify to co-rule and judge with Christ in his kingdom. Cyprian's ideal is likewise a martyr bishop, but because he must counter the rival claims of the confessors to bind and to loose by virtue of their witnessing to Christ, Cyprian must, unlike Ignatius, reach back explicitly to the prerogatives of the apostles and notably Peter.87 Cyprian called Peter a bishop88 and regarded every bishop as filled with the Holy Spirit89 and as the vicar of Christ, succeeding by vicarious ordination to the apostles.90 Thus Cyprian found the essence and fulfillment of the Church in the bishop:

. . they are the church who are a people united to the priest and the flock which adhere to its pastor. Hence you ought to know that the bishop is in the church and the church in the bishop.91

Finding the unity of the local church in the Bishop, he found the universality of the Church in the confraternity of bishops; themselves one in the episcopacy of Peter. For Christ founded the Church upon Peter before Calvary and then after the Resurrection (John 20:22 f.) extended the foundations to include all the apostles and the bishops after them, alike endowed with the power of binding and loosing. Cyprian was fully participant in the growing confraternity of bishops, his colleagues, as he called them; but, though he was strategically located in the first see of North Africa, he was foremost in insisting that each properly elected and ordained bishop was supreme in his own church,92 unless morally derelict. For example, Cyprian urged that a certain lapsed bishop, still acknowledged by the repentant lapse themselves as their rightful bishop, should no longer be admitted to his former rank either by the repentant faithful or the confraternity of bishops.93

A corollary of Cyprian's high view of the clergyman as the steward of God94 was that the people of God had the power of choosing their bishops, presbyters, and deacons and rejecting the unworthy.95 Moreover, even when the deacons came to monopolize all actions connected with Eucharistic offering, the Christian people of God, like eleven of the tribes of old Israel, still had the duty of tithing in support of the Levites. The clergy were to be entirely freed from secular cares and supported by the congregation. Thus even in the middle of the third century the laity preserved their "1iturgy" of electing, of bringing the offerings or tithing, of identifying themselves with the prayers of their celebrants in antiphonal amens.97 Moreover, their consent was sought in dogmatic and moral formulations.98 Closely connected therewith was the people's prerogative in the recognition of martyrs which in the fourth century was to become the communal voice in the authoritative canonization of saints.99

Cypriants scant decade of episcopacy opened as that of Bishop Fabian (236-50) was being brought to a close in Rome. From Fabian's episcopate date several of the major constitutional changes in the Roman community. It was he who assigned the now traditional seven deacons to seven diaconal regions of the city to carry out, from recognized bases, their diaconal ministry and administration.100 We are fortunate in having from the period just before and just after the pontificate of Fabian in Rome and that of Cyprian in Carthage, three other important descriptions of the corporate ministry of the churches around the middle of the third century: a factual account, a legal codification (the Syrian Didascalia), and a vivid metaphor.

The metaphor is supplied by a Christian novelist, Pseudo-Clement. Writing c. 225 just about a hundred years beyond the development reached in Chapter I, this Christian romancer likened the corporate ministry to the officers and crew of a galley ship. Addressing the faithful, he declared:

. . . if you be of one mind, you shall be able to reach the haven of rest, wherein is the peaceful City of the Great King. For the whole business of the Church is like unto a great galley, bearing through a violent storm men who are of many places, and who desire to inhabit the one City of the good Kingdom. Let, therefore, God be your captain (despotes); and let the pilot (kybernetes) be likened to Christ; the look out man (proreus) to the bishop; the sailors to the presbyters; the overseers of the rowers (toicharoi) to the deacons; the stewards (naustologoi) to the catechists; the multitude of the brethren to the passengers. . . .101

After vividly describing the hazards of the sea, Pseudo Clement goes on:

In order, therefore, that sailing with a fair wind, you may safely reach the haven of the hoped-for City pray so as to be heard. But prayers become audible by good deeds. Let therefore the passengers remain quiet, sitting in their own places, lest by disorder they occasion rolling or careening. Let the bishop, as the look-out, wakefully ponder the words of the Pilot alone.l02

The bishop of Pseudo-Clement's purple patch may have been content to be lookout man under Christ the pilot, but in other writings from the same period the bishop himself is already likened to a pilot.103

From the metaphor we pass to the factual account which is supplied by Fabian's successor Cornelius. Besides the bishop himself, Cornelius lists the exact number of the clergy in Rome at midcentury: forty-six presbyters, seven regional deacons, seven subdeacons, forty-two acolytes, fifty-two exorcists, lectors and doorkeepers, and some fifteen hundred widows.104 A corresponding list at this time from the East, say Antioch, would not have mentioned exorcists as a separate group but in contrast would distinguish widows from virgins and deaconesses.

Deaconesses, subdeacons, acolytes, exorcists, and lectors were not in most places in the mid-third century considered truly clerical. Cyprian, for example, had spoken of lectors and exorcists, however honorable, as next the clergy (clero proximi). The clergy proper were elected and underwent ordination (cheirotonia, cheirothesia, ordinatio). The last term was first coined for ecclesiastical purposes by Tertullian. There seem to have been two distinct actions suggested by the Greek words which eventually became synonymous. Ministrants who were "next the clergy" (later to be construed as in the "minor orders") were in the ante-Nicene period for the most part only nominated or formally instituted or installed (nominatio, katastasis), undergoing no imposition of hands. They, with the teachers, widows, and virgins, constituted a kind of quasi-clerical class between the clergy proper and the remainder of the royal priesthood of God's elect.

Some of the lower orders mentioned here were survivals of the earlier and inchoate ministries of the primitive church, others resulted from the differentiation and depression within the established ministries. The subdeacon may have been from near the beginning distinct from the deacon.105 Out of the diverse diaconal or subdiaconal functions developed the subdeacon, the doorkeeper, the gravedigger, and the acolyte. The acolytes may originally have borne the same relationship to presbyters as subdeacons to deacons. Among other things, they ran clerical errands.l06

The exorcists were, in Cornelius' day, especially charged with the care of the mentally ill. The charismatic healers survive as a distinct order much longer in the West than in the East. In the Apostolic Tradition, as earlier, they were especially empowered by a revelation, as Hermas of Rome. Like confessors they were expressly not ordained,107 but they themselves employed the imposition of hands with prayer as the principal action in their ministry of healing.108

In the East, at least, the widows preserved or acquired certain ministerial functions, like praying for their benefactors, visiting the sick, and laying hands upon them. In the somewhat later Apostolic Church Order Cephas purportedly gave the following instructions:

Let three widows be appointed; two to wait upon prayer, concerning all who are in temptation, and for revelations concerning anything that may be needed; but one to attend upon the women that are tempted in sickness; and let her be ready to minister, and watchful, announcing what may be needed to the presbyter, not a lover of filthy lucre, not given to much wine, that she may be able to be watchful for nightly services, and for whatever other good deeds she may wish to perform.109

The obtrusive reference to filthy lucre was apparently necessary, for the Didascalia makes it quite clear that the widows as a class were strenuously interested in their church doles, spitefully attentive to who got what -- not widows but wallets, the Greek text puns.

The deaconesses of the Eastern churches were drawn from this not entirely promising class, but increasingly from the more affluent and well-born. The apocryphal Acts and Martyrdom of Matthew has the apostle conferring the dignity of diakonissa upon the seventeen year-old princess of a royal household converted to the faith. The Didascalia recalls the ministering women about Jesus and finds a continuing place for them. Ignatius had likened deaconesses to the Holy Spirit and this feeling about them continued. They visited women isolated in pagan households and assisted in the ritual of baptism of women, especially in the prebaptismal anointment.

Turning to the clergy proper and returning specifically to Rome during the episcopate of Cornelius, we find the presbyters heading the local assemblies of the house churches, called today the titular churches (from the inscription of ownership or occupancy above the doorway, the titulus). As many as eighteen of these titular churches date from the mid-third century. In the larger of the titular churches more than one presbyter served, the chief pastor being the presbyter prior or primerius. Because of the far-flung constituency of the Roman Christian community, almost from the beginning, the Eucharistic assemblies were local. But the eucharized bread (fermentum) from the bishop's altar was carried by acolytes to the titular churches as a symbol of the unity of the Roman Church. It is not known when the Eucharist came to be celebrated in its entirety by the presbyters of the "parish" churches apart from the bishop. But the sacerdotal action apparently fell within the competence of the priest sooner than baptism, which was linked to the bishop more closely because of its more solemn and definite character as the initiatory rite and because it took place at a special season and in a special locale where water was available and relative security assured.110

In the Eastern churches the presbyters were more commonly nominated by the bishop 111 than elected by the people as in Cyprian's North Africa and in Rome. This seems to accord roughly with the Jewish practice of the sanhedrin which co-opted new members of the presbyteral council. One Eastern church order gives the number of the presbyteral college as twenty-four (cf. Rev. 4:4 and passim).112 Another indicates the apostolic number twelve,113 natural enough in view of the frequent comparison of presbyters with apostles from the time of Ignatius.

The age of thirty was eventually requisite for becoming a presbyter, and the Council of Neocaesarea (c. 315) adduced as the reason that "our Lord was baptized at the age of thirty and then began to preach." The functions of mid-third-century presbyters may be most vividly pictured in Pseudo-Clement's exhortation to what he calls "philanthropy:"

Love all your brethren with grave and compassionate eyes, performing to orphans the part of parents, to widows that of husbands, affording them sustenance with all kindliness, arranging marriages for those who are in their prime, and arranging for employment for the unemployed, and alms to the incapable.... Feed the hungry, clothe the naked, visit the sick and the prisoners -- help them as you are able -- and receive strangers into your homes with alacrity.... You will do all these things if you fix love into your minds; and for its entrance there is only one fit means, namely, the common partaking of food.114

The mid-third-century bishop, not only in Rome, but everywhere, was a majestic figure. In the generalized portraiture of Syrian canon law, the Didascalia) the bishop, is "head among the presbytery," "pastor," "the watchman" set over the church. In the almost conternporaneous Pseudo-Clement he is an "ambassador" of God, the "president of truth" who by the laying on of hands (proem., ii) has been entrusted with "the chair of Moses," "the chair of Christ" (proem., xvii) and "the chair of the apostle" (proem., ii). According to the Didascalia, he should be at least fifty years of age at his election, not necessarily educated, married not more than once with children whose discipline should testify to his competence He

is your chief and leader; he is your mighty king. He rules in the place of the Almighty; but let him be honored by you as God, for the bishop sits for you in the place of God Almighty.115

The Didascalia is still quite prepared, as was Ignatius, to liken the presbyters to the apostles, because, in effect, the bishop sits among them as Christ, God incarnate. Yet the apostolic authority of the bishop is also very much present when the Didascalia declares elsewhere:

For the king who wears the diadem reigns over the body alone, and binds and looses it but on earth; but the bishop reigns over soul and body, to hind and loose on earth with heavenly power....

Therefore, love the bishop as a father, and fear him as a king, and honor him as God.

As a father he begets children in the regeneration of baptism. In the imposition of hands and the blessing with confirmatory chrism he is the type of the heavenly Father above the Jordan, saying: "Thou art my son, this day have I begotten thee."

Bishops in another aspect of their lives are to take Christ, specifically Christ the suffering Servant, as their model and to become "imitators of Christ." Turning from the people directly, the Didascalia urges the bishops for their part to take thought that they "be quiet and meek, and merciful and compassionate, and peacemakers, and without anger, and teachers and correctors and receivers and exhorters; and that you be not wrathful, nor tyrannical; and that you be not insolent, nor haughty, nor boastful." The Didascalia further enjoins the bishop:

And let him be scant and poor in his food and drink, that he may be able to be watchful in admonishing and correcting those who are undisciplined. And let him not be crafty and extravagant, nor luxurious, nor pleasure-loving, nor fond of dainty meats. And let him not be resentful, but let him be patient in his admonition; and let him be assiduous in his teaching, and constant in reading the divine Scriptures, that he may interpret, and expound the Scriptures fittingly. And let him compare the Law and the Prophets with the Gospel.... But before all let him be a good discriminator between the Law and the Second Legislation, that he may distinguish and show what is the Law of the faithful.

The bishop was also a preacher, seated upon the magisterial cathedra. It should be said, however, that preaching in the ante-Nicene period was a responsibility shared by several of the ministers, not the bishops alone. It will be well at this point to say more about preaching in general in the ante-Nicene Church.

Revelatory preaching seems to have been limited to prophets, especially numerous in the New Testament epoch. Missionary preaching, with a view to conversion, was the responsibility of all the ministers of the Church in the measure that they had ability and opportunity. A third kind of preaching was the dying or testamentary speech of church leaders and martyrs, echoing the farewell addresses of the patriarchs and of Jesus himself at the Last Supper.

The fourth and most common kind of preaching was cultual. Such preaching was directed to catechumens, to neophytes after their baptism, and to the faithful during the liturgical assembly. It is the direct ancestor of the sermons we know today. The earliest example of a congregational sermon was that of an Egyptian lector preached at a group baptism, namely, II Clement. Three principal forms of cultual preaching have been recently distinguished.116 The first is the encomium or eulogy, originally on Christ and subsequently on the martyrs and saints, delivered on a festal occasion, and modeled on Greek exemplars. Melito of Sardis' recently recovered On the Passion is an example of a paschal encomium. The second type of cultual sermon was the homily or expository discourse, brought to a fine art by Origen on the basis of Philonic precedent. The third form of the sermon was thematic based upon the Stoic and Cynic diatribe. It was destined to become the regnant type of liturgical sermon in the fourth century.

With this excursus on preaching we may return to another of the ante-Nicene bishop's functions. The bishop was a judge. His judicial function as vicegerent of God and interpreter of the Law along with the whole clergy is very well delineated in the Didascalia. All Christians are reminded that they must not take altercations among themselves before pagan tribunals, nor should the church "admit a testimony from the heathen against any of our own people." The bishop, with the presbyters and deacons continuously present, hears suits and gives judgment only on Mondays so that there may be a whole week for a Lord's Day reconciliation between the "parties," expressly not called "brethren" until they are reconciled. The bishop is reminded that he must not be a respecter of persons and he and his associates are enjoined to judge ² as you also are surely to be judged, even as you have Christ for a partner and assessor and counselor and spectator with you in the same cause." The clergy as judges are urged "diligently" to keep the parties in the mood of friendliness, to take heed of the spirit and past behavior of the contestants, but to bear in mind the possibility that the accused person may have "formerly committed some sin, but is innocent of this present charge." Remarking on the scrupulosity, the caution, and the willingness of the civil judges who deliberate long and arduously, who draw the curtain to take thought and counsel much together, and who fairly interrogate the accused even though a murderer, the Didascalia goes on to counsel the bishops not to be "in haste to sit in judgment forthwith, lest you be constrained to condemn a man."

With this delineation of the bishop as judge, preacher, and teacher we could complete our survey of the ministries of the ante-Nicene period, if we were content to remain in the cities where Christianity was most at home and where its characteristic institutions evolved to meet the needs of largely urban populations. But as Christianity penetrated the countryside, it was hampered because it was unable to manage the two principal sacraments, so closely linked with the bishop. There were at least three possible solutions: (1) to delegate the sacerdotal functions of the bishop to resident priests, as was being done in the large cities, (2) to develop rural diaconates, and (3) to encourage the rural bishops (chorepiskopoi).

The village bishop of limited powers was probably a relic from the days before the municipal bishops had assimilated all their prerogatives and powers and therewith set the episcopal pattern. Instead of encouraging, the new forces operative in the Church sought to limit the powers of the rural bishop and to demote him with a designation implying inferiority: chorepiskopos. This "revolution" or differentiation within the episcopal order was obscurely completed by the middle of the third century,111and therewith obliged the church to work out other means of bringing the gospel and the sacraments to the countryside. But the chorepiskopos is too interesting a relic to put to one side without further examination.

The Apostolic Church Order, c. 300, surely reflects earlier usage118 when it has Peter provide for the election of a chorepiskopos thus:

If there should be a place having a few faithful men in it, before the multitude sufficiently increase to vote (psephisasthai), who shall be able to make a dedication to pious uses for the bishop to the extent of twelve men, let them write to the churches round about them, informing them of the place in which the multitude of the faithful [assemble and] are established that their chosen men in that place may come, that they may examine with diligence him who is worthy of this grade.119

After describing the qualifications for the office very much as a bishop is described in other church orders, except that here the want of ability in letters is clearly stated to be no bar, the Order goes on in the same infelicity of style to give some obscure instructions about the ordination of presbyters by the chorepiskopos. Rural bishops had been accustomed to ordaining in emulation of the municipal bishops but by c. 314 at the Council of Ancyra in Galatia120 (canons 13, 32, 42) they were firmly enjoined not to ordain presbyters and deacons outside their own "parishes" without written consent from a full bishop. Otherwise their sacramental powers remained complete. About 315 at the Council of Neocaesarea (canon 74) their relationship to the full bishops was declared to be that of the seventy (disciples)12l to the Twelve. Their itinerancy may be suggested by the comparison with the disciples (later canons confirm this impression), and they are expressly noted for "their devotion to the poor." By 325 at the Council of Nicaea (canon 8) the process of demoting the chorepiskopos was furthered in admitting lapsed bishops to the Catholic chorepiscopate if the Catholic bishop of the local see deemed fit.

Nevertheless, though threatened by successive canonical legislation inspired by the city bishops, the chorepiskopoi in the East continued to serve a useful purpose in extending the ministry of baptism and the Eucharist into the countryside in the period before the delegation of full sacerdotal power to the presbyters could be effected.

Long before the process was completed there had been a class of rural presbyters whose sacerdotal powers were only ad hoc and who lost their status whenever the municipal bishop or the town presbyters happened to make a visitation (Neocaesarea, canon 12).122 The earliest reference to rural presbyters (and also rural teachers) is in a letter of Bishop Dionysius of Alexandria (c. 247-64).123 Whether these numerous Egyptian presbyters also had only delegated ad hoc sacerdotal powers (baptism and Eucharist) is not certain but probable.

The remaining ante-Nicene experiment in delegating episcopal functions to meet the needs of the rural constituencies was the enlargement of the scope of the diaconate, since the deacon from the beginning had been the attendant or the representative of the bishop. The evidence for this tendency is meager and largely inferential and Western. The Council of Elvira (306, canon 77 ) regulates deacons who are improperly governing the faithful in certain localities without direct episcopal supervision and without priests. Here the regulation concerns only baptism. The Council of Arles (314), however, knows of many places in which deacons offer the Eucharist and it seeks to abolish the practice (canon 13). Several of the church orders of the third century give additional evidence of trying to keep deacons in their zeal from exceeding their proper duties. Then at the Council of Nicaea in 325 (canon 18) it was decreed that deacons henceforth should not communicate the presbyters.

This canon did not, to be sure, touch upon the rural diaconate, and the Council as a whole was content to leave the chorepiscopate as it had been limited by Ancyra and Neocaesarea, but by implication it confirmed the emerging pattern of the sacerdotal, parochial presbyterate as the constitutional solution of the pastoral problem of both the big city and the countryside. Canon 18 should therefore be before us in full, as it marks an epoch; in a few lines it records what has happened:

It has become known to this holy and great council that in localities and cities the deacons distribute the Eucharist to the presbyters, though it is contrary to the canon and the tradition that they who may not themselves offer the sacrifice should distribute the body of Christ to those who do offer the sacrifice. It has also become known that some deacons receive the Eucharist before the bishops. All that shall be discontinued now and the deacons shall remain in their place, knowing that they are servants (hyperetai) of the bishop and in rank subordinate to the presbyters. They are to receive the Eucharist in accordance with their rank, after the presbyters, a bishop or presbyter administering it to them. The deacons also are not to sit in the midst of the presbyters; for what has happened is contrary to rule and order. If anyone, after these ordinances, still refuses to obey, let him cease from the diaconate.124

In abolishing the practice of deacons' communicating the presbyters, the Nicene Council characterized as against tradition what had, in fact, been primitively the natural function of the servants of the bishops, namely, to pass the bread and wine and first of all to the liturgically nonparticipant but revered and seated elders (presbyters) of the congregation.

This canon thus provides a point of easy reference for the summary of the evolution of the ministry in the two hundred years traced since the close of the New Testament epoch. The bishop and the presbyter are in this canon alike sacerdotes who offer the Eucharistic sacrifice. The deacon who at the primitive Eucharist served the presbyters as the venerable elders of the Christian fellowship is now a member of the third order down from the episcopate in a society of clearly demarcated clerical ranks. For while this process was going on and presbyters were becoming priests in their own right, the primitively cultual bishops assumed more and more of the disciplinary functions of the presbyters and the magisterial functions of the teachers. The city bishops have, moreover, dissociated themselves from the rural bishops who are being depressed as a kind of intermediate order between bishops and presbyters. The city episcopate is well on the way to monopolizing the rite of the imposition: of hands in ordination, a practice once associated with both pagan teachers and Jewish elders and rabbis and by now projected into apostolic times as the unique function of the apostles qua bishops. At the Council of Arles the Western bishops had decreed that henceforth at least three consecrating bishops were necessary for the elevation of a cleric to their rank, and this is repeated at Nicaea, bringing, for example, the ancient presbyteral constitution of Alexandria to an end.

Metropolitans, the bishops of provincial capitals, are emerging as authoritative in their presidency of the provincial councils. In the measure that bishops have taken counsel with one another in correspondence and councils,125 they have developed a sense of catholic confraternity and solidarity whereby they are beginning to feel somewhat apart from their local presbyteries. Collectively in their councils they are the organ of the Holy Spirit. It may be significant in this connection that the first councils were convened in Asia Minor to wrest control of the Church from the hands of the Montanist prophets who claimed to speak through the authority of the Spirit. Canon 5 of Nicaea requires two provincial synods a year made up exclusively of bishops. Spiritual men, exercising their divine, disciplinary, and doctrinal authority, they are collectively able to judge all things and be judged by none.

 

Footnotes:

1 The term "charismatic" has been used to designate this triad of what Adolf von Harnack called the "universal" as distinguished from the "local" ministry. The term became prominent in the writings of Karl Holl and Max Weber, who stressed the distinction between inspired and institutional leadership. The occasional employment in the present chapter of the term "charismatic" to designate the triad of ministries which Harnack and Holl, each in his own way, had in mind does not necessarily imply an acceptance of their theories for classifying the ministries of the ancient church.

2 This view has been put forward with freshness by Friedrich Gerke (with special reference to Clement of Rome) in his contribution to The Ministry and the Sacraments, Roderic Dunkerley, ed. (New York and London, 1937), 343 ff.

3 An excellent survey chapter of the Jewish influence in the organization of the ancient Church is that of T. G. Jalland, The Origin and Evolution of the Christian Church (London, 1948), chaps. 1-5. For a quite recent study, see E. Stauffer, "Jüdisches Erbe im urchristlichen Kirchenrecht," Theologische Literatuneitung, LXXVII (1952), 4.

4 This has been especially clearly seen by Arnold Erhardt, "The Beginnings of Monepiscopacy," Church Quarterly Review, CXL (1945), 113 ff.

5 Henri Grégoire has recently argued that Polycarp died in 177, Analecta Bollandiana, (1951), 1-38.

6 Martin Werner has given prominence to the eschatological motif of co-rule with Christ as the authentically apostolic element in the rise of monepiscopacy. The bishop's throne is the symbol of his future role in the Kingdom. Die Entstehung des christlichen Dogmas (Bern, 1941), 636-66,

7Though this ideal renews that of the pastoral epistles, it should also be observed that the concern for widows, orphans, and the poor is a characteristic motif of the ancient mirrors of princes.

8 Eusebius, Ecclesiastical History, v, 20, 5-8.

9 Ibid., 24, 17.

10 Ep. to Polycarp, 1, 2.

11 Martyrdom of Polycarp (c. 156), xvi, 2.

12 The view of F. F. Vokes, The Riddle of the Didache (London, 1938).

13 The Epistle of Clement has been subject to exhaustive scrutiny, as it is of capital importance, both for those who prefer to stress the institutional ministry with its historic sanctions and those who favor the "charismatic" ministry. A noteworthy analysis of the legitimist tradition is that of Gregory Dix, The Apostolic Ministry, Kenneth Kirk, ed. (New York and London, 1946), 253-62; another, in the spiritualist tradition, is that of F. Gerke, loc. cit., 357-63.

14 On the influence of the Jerusalemite Sanhedrin on the theory and practices of both the ecclesiastical and the synagogal presbytery, see Arnold Ehrhardt, "Jewish and Christian Ordination," Journal of Ecclesiastical History, V (1954), 125.

15Our principal sources are Jerome (behind whom perhaps we can identify Origen), Ambrosiaster, the two Severi, and Eutychius. It is Patriarch Eutychius (933-940) who belatedly supplies us with the figure twelve. See the classical discussion of the peculiarities in J. B. Lightfoot, "The Christian Ministry" Philippians (rev. ed.; London, 1881), esp. 230 ff. For a recent reconstruction of the obscure period in Alexandrian Christian history, see W. Telfer, "Episcopal Succession in Egypt," Journal of Ecclesistical History, III (1952), 1 ff. and idem, "Meletius of Lycopolis and Episcopal Succession in Egypt," The Harvard Theological Review, XLVIII (1955) 227.

16 Dialogue with Trypho, 19, 116 117. On the place of Melchizedek in cult and polemic, see Georges Bardy, "Melchisédech dans la tradition patristique," Revue biblique, XXXV (1926), 496; XXXVI (1927), 25; Marcel Simon, "M. dans la polemique entre juifs et chrétiens," Revue d'histoire et de la phi1osophie religieuses, XVII (1937), 58.

17 The detail about very early morning is derived from the roughly contemporary Letter of Pliny to Trajan (112). The description is compounded of The First Apology, 67 and 66; the translation is that of Edward Hardy Early Christian Writers, Christian Classics, I, edited by Cyril Richardson (Philadelphia, 1953), 286 ff. (italics mine).

18 Apud Eusebius, H. E., iv, 23, 10.

19 Ibid.

20 Didascalia, ii, 20; cf. the prayer in the so-called Clementine Liturgy:

"Look upon him now being admitted to ready thy Holy Scriptures to thy people, and give him a holy spirit, a prophetic spirit; thou who didst make wise thy servant Esdras to read thy laws to thy people, now also in answer to our prayers make wise thy servant...." (Apostolic Constitutions, viii, 22.)

21 Others claim that it evolved from the diaconate. Cf. Adolf von Harnack, "On the Origin of the Readership and the Other Lower Orders," Sources of the Apostolic Canons, tr. by L. A. Wheatley (London, 1895). In an introductory essay John Owen, seeing the readership enhanced with the rising culture of the ancient Church, goes so far in interpreting the excursus by Harnack as to construe the whole history of Church orders as a continuing conflict between Reader and Priest, that is, between instruction and liturgy. A solid Catholic consideration of the readership, taking Harnack into account, is that of Franz Wieland, Die genetische Entwicklung der sogenannten Ordines minores, Romische Quartalschrift, Supplementheft 7 (Rome, 1897).

22 Dialogue with Trypho the Jew, ii, 8.

23 Ibid, 49, 82.

24 Letter to Flora, c. 160; preserved by Epiphanius, Panarion, xxxiii, 7. This is the first appearance in extant Christian literature of the terms. The succession in this case appears to have been Ptolemy, Valentinus, Theodas -- in his youth a hearer of Paul.

25The act of the laying on of hands had diverse meaning in the ancient Church. It was also used in solemn benediction, in the exorcism of healing, at baptism, in confirmation, and ordination Five important studies here are Johannes Behm, Die Handauflegung im Urchristentum (Leipzig, 1911), Joseph Coppens, L'imposition des mains (Louvain, 1925), Pieter Elderenbosch, De Oplegging der Handen (The Hague, 1953), Arnold Ehrhardt, The Apostolic Succession (London, 1953), and idem, "Jewish and Christian Ordination," Journal of Eccleesiastical History, V (1954).

26 This asseveration would indicate that in considerable measure Justin, in his description of the Eucharistic service in The Apology, had in mind not the bishop's service but that of one of the presbyters in his own house and that the reason for giving two largely repetitive descriptions of the Eucharist is that one is the postbaptismal Eucharist at which the bishop of the Roman community would have been present and the second was the more intimate local gathering without the bishop.

27 Martyrdom of Justin, as translated by Robert Grant, Second Century Christianity (London, 1946), 110.

28 Against Heresies, iv, xxvi, 2. Recent works on the ministry in Irenaeus are John Lawson, The Biblical Theology of Saint Irenaeus (London, 1946), chap. 13; Einar Molland "Irenaeus of Lugdunum and the Apostolic Succession," Journal of Ecclesiastical History, I (1950), 12; L. Spikowski, La doctrine de l'Eglise chez S. Irénée (Strasbourg, 1926).

29 lbid, iii, 3, 1.

30 Ibid, iv, xxvi, 2.

31 Ibid, v, xxxiv, 3.

32 Ibid, iv, xviii, 4 f.; v, ii, 3.

33 Ibid, iii, xvi, 7.

34 The apologetic motif is stressed by B. LeRoy Burkhart in "The Rise of the Christian Priesthood," Journal of Religion, XXII (1942), 187: ". . . under the necessity of meeting pagan criticism Christian leaders brought back into use the ancient terminology of religion."

35Against Heresies, iv, 18, 4-6.

36 Rather than being the New Testament counterpart of the Old Covenantal priest, as, for example, in Clement and the Didache, 13.

37 Polycrates to Victor of Rome (189-98), apud Eusebius, H. E., v, 24, 3.

38 That the Tradition was the work of Hippolytus was denied by J. Vernon Bartlet, Church Life and Church Order during the First Four Centuries (London, 1941) and held open to question by A. Hamel, Die Kirche bei Hippolyt (Gütersloh, 1951). The basic work of each was done (respectively, 1922 and 1929) before Gregory Dix completed his masterful reconstruction (the original Greek being largely lost) from the various Oriental and Latin versions, The Apostolic Tradition (London, 1937). Most scholars agree with Dix and his forerunners, B. E. Easton and notably R. H. Connolly, in assigning it to Hippolytus and differ only in the details of the reconstruction and preferred readings. Cyril Richardson has found reasons to date the Tradition as a tract for the times on the death of Victor in 197, Anglican Theological Review, III (1948), 38. Perhaps the most recent vindication of the Hippolytan authorship is that of Odo Casel, "Die Kirchenordnung Hippolyts von Rom," Archiv für Liturgiewissenschaft, II (1952), 115. Casel agrees with H. Elfers against R. Lorentz that despite the Alexandrian elements in the Tradition it is the work of Hippolytus. The long review deals especially with the Eucharist. Besides the critical English (Greek and Latin) text of Dix, there are the Coptic-German text, edited by Walter Till and Johannes Leipoldt, and the Ethiopic-German text by Hugo Duensing (1946).

39 The Greek and Latin nominatives in the various versions and reconstructions are nominatio, electio, eklesis.

40 From the Tradition and other church orders sources we know that the act of witnessing to the faith in time of persecution qualified one to be cleric and also that a distinction was made among confessors between slaves and freemen. Hippolytus wished to make the distinction absolute and disqualify his rival, the former slave, Callistus.

41 In Latin consentio, in Greek syneudokeo; the latter is used also of the act of the whole Church in I Clement 44:3.

42 So, the Coptic Canons of Hippolytus, can. 2, Wilhelm Riedel, ed., Die Kirchenrechtsquellen des Patriarchats Alexandrien (Leipzig, 1900), 201.

43 The Syrian of Palestinian apocryphal Acts of Peter, chap. x (c. 190), representing the Lord as laying his hands on the apostles, may reflect this usage for bishops at a slightly earlier date than the Tradition.

44 Tradition, ii, Dix, ed., 2-5. It is possible that the much later Coptic Canons Of Hippolytus preserves an authentic reading where the ordaining prayer is extended to beseech the episcopal gift of "dissolving all the shackles of the iniquity of the demons and of healing all sicknesses." W. Riedel, op. cit., 202. In the pseudonymous Epistle of Clement to James, ii, which prefaces the Clementine Homilies, binding and loosing are interpreted in terms both of the physician's and the teacher's art.

45 Hippolytus refers to a decree of indulgence by Callistus, Philosophoumena, ix, 12, and this decree has commonly been identified with the "peremptory edict" referred to by Tertullian in De pudicitia, 1. Herein he attacks one whom he calls sarcastically pontifax maximus, episcopus episcoporum. Much of recent scholarship is inclined to identify the object of Tertullian's wrath with Bishop Agrippinus of Carthage, whom Cyprian also mentions adversely, Ep. 71, 4.

46 Philosophoumena, ix, 12. See Albert Koeniger, "Prima sedes a nemine judicatur," Beiträge zur Geschichte des Altertums (Bonn and Leipzig, 1922) and Werner, op cit., 60 (660).

47 Op. cit., i, praefatio, 6.

48 Epistola apostolorum, 41, M. R. James, The Apocryphal New Testament (Oxford, 1924), 500; with reference to the Greek text behind the Coptic and Ethiopic, C. Schmidt, Texte und Untersuchungen, 43, 132 f.

49 This exclusiveness may be related to the fact that a crown of lilies was associated with virgins, while martyrs carried crowns of roses to their execution.

50 Following C. H. Turner, as does Gregory Dix, who separates the preface common to the ordaining prayers of each from the prayers proper to bishop and presbyter, respectively, op. cit., 80.

51 To simplify a complicated and shifting nomenclature, it should be noted that originally martyr meant a witness of Christ's resurrection. Confessor was the Latin equivalent. In due course both terms were used in Latin and Greek forms, and a distinction was sometimes made between those who had physically suffered under torture (martyrs) and those who had valorously but without hurt witnessed the faith (confessors), The most important recent study of the place of the confessor and martyr is that of Hans von Campenhausen, Die Idee des Martyrium in der alten Kirche (Göttingen, 1936), replete with the earlier literature.

52 The installation (katastasis) of a confessor as a bishop, however, does require the imposidon of hands.

53 Nevertheless, Philosophoumena, ix, 12, 22, does include deacons among the clergy, which, of course, is not the same as the presbyterate or the later priesthood. A very full account of the ante-Nicene diaconate is that of Adam Otterbein, The Diaconate according to the Apostolic Tradition of Hippolytus and Derived Documents, Catholic University of America Studies in Sacred Theology, No. 95 (Washington, 1945).

54 Didascalia apostolorum, ii, 44; R. H. Connolly, ed. (Oxford, 1929), 109.

55 Loc. cit., ii, 28; Connolly, op. cit., 80.

56 Not, however, in the Tradition, xxxiv, where a watchman maintained by the bishop at the cemetery is mentioned. Originally doorkeepers and gravediggers were one with the subdeacons. Eventually, with the extension of the catacombs these functions were differentiated and fully clericalized.

57 Op cit., i, 17, 8.

58 Libanius, for example, thus refers to teachers. Cf. G. R. Sievers, Das Leben des Libanius (Berlin, 1868), 41, with notes. I am indebted to my colleague Professor Glanville Downey of Dumbarton Oaks for this reference.

59 That he was a presbyter of the church in Carthage we have solely from Jerome.

60 On Baptism, 17.

61 On Penitence, 9. In the Epistola canonica, c. 254, of Gregory the Wonderworker, wherein the system of stational penitence is described, the bishop rather than the presbyters is the administrator of the acts of forgiveness.

62 De praescriptione, 41.

63 On Exhortation to Chastity, 7.

64 On the Soul, 9.

65 The best overall account of Clement's place in the history of the ministry is that of R. B. Tollinton, Clement of Alexandria (London, 1914), II, chap. 15.

66 Such is the fascinating conjecture of the already cited article of W. Telfer, "Episcopal Succession."

67Armenia, which had also received Christianity very early, had only one bishop as late as around 250.

68 Serapion was bishop from c. 339 to c. 350. The simple prayers suggest greater antiquity than the fourth century, as does the mention of only three orders in a unique sequence. On the antiquity of the formularies both Gregory Dix, who projected a new edition, and J. Vernon Bartlet agreed. Cf. Dix in The Apostolic Ministry, 214, n. 1, and Bartlet, op. cit., 27. The text is available in English, John Wordsworth, ed., 2nd ed. (London, 1923).

69 Who is the Rich Man that shall be Saved? xiii; A.N.F., II, 603 f.

70 Stromata, vi, 13, A.N.F., II, 504.

71 Ibid., vii, 1, 3.

72 Ibid., vi, 13. Observe how gnostic spirituality, Pauline spirituality, and the apostolic expectation that the saints would judge and co-rule with Christ here coalesce in fascinating substantiation of M. Werner's thesis. See above, n. 6.

73 The idea has been suggested by Karl Holl, Enthusiasmus und Bussgewalt (Leipzig, 1898); cf. Gesammette Aufsatze, II (Tübingen, 1928), 256 ff.; Walter Völker, Das Vollkommenheitsideal des Origenes (Tübingen (1931), esp. 187-92; idem, "Die Vollkommenheitslehre des Klemens," Theologische Zeitschrift, III (1947), 15; von Campenhausen, op cit.

74 As such, Origen was the effective founder of the School of Alexandria Gustave Bardy, "Aux origines de l'École d'Alexandrie," Recherches de science religieuse, XXVII (1937), 65.

75 The texts have been gathered by W. Völker, Das Vollkommenheitsideal, 180 ff. Origen seems to have distinguished between an Aaronic and a Melchizedekian high-priesthood.

76 Apud Cyprian, Ep. lxxiv, 2.

77 Translated by Henry Chadwick in Alexandrian Christianity, Christian Classics, II (Philadelphia and Edinburgh, 1954).

78 Eusebius, H. E., vii, 29.

79 Op. cit., praem., xiii.

80 See E. G. Weltin, "Origen's 'Church'", Studies Presented to David M. Robinson, George E. Mylonas and Doris Raymond, eds. (St. Louis, 1953), II 1015 ff. I have not been able to see Carl V. Harris, "Origen of Alexandria's Interpretation of the Teacher's Function in the Early Hierarchy and Community," doctoral dissertation, Duke University, 1952. R. B. Tollinton has assembled several beautiful passages on "The Task of the Teacher," Selections from the Commentaries and Homilies of Origen (London, 1929), 156-93.

81 W. Metcalfe, ed., Gregory Thaumaturgus: Address to Origen (London, 1920), 62 ff.

82 In Lucam, xxxviii; Tollinton, op. cit., 164.

83 In Leviticum, Hom. v, 8; Tollinton, op. cit., 178.

84 In Johannem, vi, 1 f.; Tollinton, op. cit., 160.

85 The Catholic scholars: Yves Congar and Abbé Long-Hasselmans point out, significantly, that Cyprian limited his use of the priestly designations like sacerdos to bishops and presbyters when actually engaged in priestly functions, reserving the older usage to refer to them as officers of the Church. Both these Catholics feel that Cyprian's usage indicates the survival of a strong sense of the clergy as priests in their representative capacity as spokesmen of the whole royal-priestly people of God. "Sur la sacerdoce," Revue des sciences religieuses, XXV (1951), 187, 270.

86 Epistle LXII, (63, 17)

87 Martin Werner is very illuminating in analyzing the problem of Cyprian and the confessors in eschatological terms, op. cit., 636-66, esp. 659; see also H. Koch, Cyprianische Untersuchungen, Arbeiten zur Kirchengeschichte, IV (1926), 79-131; 211-64.

88 Epistle XXIII.

89 The Numidian confessors spoke of him thus, Epistle LXXVIII, 2. Cf. Harnack, "Cyprian als Enthusiast," Zeitschrift für neutestamentliche Wissenschaft, III (1902).

90 Epistle LXVlII 4; 9.

91 Ibid., 8.

92 Epistle Ll, 20.

93 Epistles LXlll, LXVIII.

94 Epistle LXVII, 5.

95 Ibid, 3; 5.

96 Epistle LXV; De lapsis, 6.

97 In the much later Testament of Our Lord, i, 23, the laity are not merely prospherentes (offerentes) but they in a sense concelebrate with the bishops in repeating the eucharistic prayer aloud.

98 This is particularly prominent in the stenographically preserved account of Origen's synodal interview with Heraclides, after which "the people must give solemn consent.

99 See E. E. Kemp, Canonization in the Western Church (Oxford, 1948), chap. 1.

100 The Liberian Catalogue.

101 The description purports to be the words of Peter as embodied in a letter by Clement of Rome to James of Jerusalem. The whole letter to James, "bishop of bishops," introduces the Pseudo Clementine Homilies.

102The popularity of the Clementine literature and the frequent allusion to this particular image vouch for its accuracy as a poetic transcript of the corporate ministry in the period of its composition. The crucial text is that of Bernard Rehm, Die griechischen christlichen Schriftsteller, XLII (Berlin and Leipzig, 1953), 16; the English translation is that of Thomas Smith, A.N.F., VIII, 220 f.

103 Cf. the elaboration of this marine image in the later Apostolic Constitutions, Iv, ii.

104 Preserved by Eusebius, H. E. vi, 43, 11.

105 This is the view of F. Wieland, op. cit.

106 Cyprian, Epistle VII, 4, 5.

107 op, cit., xvi; the same is true in the fourth-century Apostolic Constitution, viii, 26.

108 See further Evelyn Frost, Christian Healing . . . in the Light of the Doctrine and Practice of the Ante-Nicene Church (London, 1949).

lO9 The Apostolic Church Order in its present form dates from the end of the third century, but Bartlet, among others, would date parts of it as early as 200, op. cit.,

For the whole of the evidence on the female diaconate, see the well-documented but insufficiently integrated Report to the Archbishop of Canterbury entitled The Ministry of Women (London, 1919); also G. Huls, De dienstder vrouw in de Kerk (Wageningen, 1951).

110 The distribution of the fermentum in Rome is documented as late as the episcopate of Innocent I (402-17), Epistle XXV, 5. The distribution of the episcopally eucharized bread to the presbyters is roughly analogous to the reservation of confirmation as the episcopal prerogative in the compound action of baptism-confirmation. Both represent efforts to preserve something of the older unity of the church embodied in the pastoral actions of their bishop in accommodation to an ever-growing membership.

111 Didascalia, ix; Apostolic Church Order, can. 11.

112 Apostolic Church Order, can. 2.

113 Testament of our Lord, i, 34, 12 which in its present form dates from the fifth century but which may well preserve ancient material. The Testament must surely preserve ante-Nicene usage when in the ordaining prayer it beseeches the Lord not to "take away from the (corporate) presbyterate the Spirit of presbyterate." Op. cit., i, 3S; cf. Apostolic Constitutions, viii, 28; 46, 1. Also primitive may be the gift of healing in presbyters, Testament, 1, 47; 29; Apostolic Constitutions, viii, 16.

114 0p. cit., viii-ix. The food, literally salt, must refer to fellowship meals (agapes).

115 Didascalia, ii, 27. The translation is that of R. H. Connolly, op. cit. At this point our text goes on echoing the phrases of Ignatius, likening the deacons to Christ and the deaconesses to the Holy Spirit. Elsewhere, the deacon is likened also to the prophet, ii, 29.

The other references in the following paragraphs to the a Didascalia are, ii, 2; ii, 26; 32 f.; ii, 5; 4S-S3.

116 Bo Reicke, "A Synopsis of Early Preaching," The Root of the Vine, Anton Fridrichsen, ed. (New York, 1953).

117 The characterization is J. Leclercq's in "Choreveques," Dictionnaire d'archeologie chretiennes et de Liturgie, III (Paris, 1913) of the same view is Jacques le Clef, "Chorévêques," Dictionnaire de droit canonique, III (Paris, 1942).

118 For the probable early date, see above, n. 109.

119 Theodor Schermann, ed., Die Allegemeine Kirchenordnung, I (Paderborn, 1914), 24 f.

120 For the reconstruction of the canons, see R. B. Rackham, "The Text of the Canons of Ancyra," Studia Biblica et Ecclesiastica (Oxford, 1891), III, 139-216, esp. 192.

121 But cf. the seventy elders of Israel, Num. 6:16 f.

122 The usual version of this canon indicates that the structure applied to the country priest in a city church, but the reading of the version edited by G. B. Howard gives what seems to me the more probable meaning. The Canons of the Primitive Church (from a Syrian MS London, 1897), 25.

123 Apud Eusebius, H. E., vii, 24, 6.

124 Text adapted from that of H. J. Schroeder, Disciplinary Decrees of the General Councils: Text, Translation, and Commentary (St. Louis and London, 1937), 49.

125 Tertullian was the first to use concilium ecclesiastically; Dionysius of Alexandria the first to use synodos. The most recent study of the councils is that of Monald Goemans, Het algemeen concilie in de vierde eeuw (Nijmegen, 1945).

 

Chapter 1: The Ministry in the Primative Church, by John Knox

[John Knox was an ordained Episcopal minister. After serving a number of parishes he taught New Testament at Emory University, Fisk University, Hartford Theological Seminary, the University of Chicago, and finally at Union Theological Seminary from 1943 to 1966. His many books include Humanity and Divinity in Christ: A Study of Pattern in Christianity (Cambridge University Press 1967) and Marcion and the New Testament (1942).]

The Greek word for "ministry" is diakonia; and it is significant that this term was in New Testament times, as it is still, the most favored way of referring inclusively to the church's workers and their work. When Paul gives us the first account we possess of the various functions being performed by individuals in the primitive church (I Cor. 12:4-30), he speaks of them as "varieties of ministry." He can refer to himself and to other workers as "ministers" of the new covenant, or of Christ, or of God, or of the church, or of the gospel, or simply as "ministers," and to their work as a "ministry of reconciliation." (II Cor. 3:6, 11:23; Col. 1:7, 25, 4:7; II Cor. 5:18; etc.) The letter to the Ephesians, probably a generation later, in summing up the significance of "apostles," "prophets," "evangelists," "pastors and teachers," uses the same word: "for the work of the ministry." In Acts the apostolate itself is referred to as a diakonia (Acts 1:17; cf. Eph. 4;11-12). The word, whether in Greek or English, means simply "service;" and although it soon came to stand for a particular ecclesiastical office, the office of the deacon, its original more inclusive sense was never completely lost. Thus "Timothy" is enjoined to appoint "ministers" (in the sense of deacons) and to fulfill his own "ministry" in the other, more general, sense; and the same writer, the author of the Pastoral Epistles, can both describe the qualifications of the "deacons" and allude to the diakonia of Paul (I Tim. 1:12, 3:8, 12, 4:6; II Tim. 4:5). Thus also, even today, if we wish a term which includes the archbishop as well as the pastor of the humblest congregation, we speak of "the ministry." And so, in word at least, we obey Jesus' injunction: "Whoever would be great among you must be your servant [diakonos], and whoever would be first among you must be the slave of all" (Mark 10:43-44).

In ancient usage diakonos primarily meant "waiter," and there are those who find the origins of the Christian ministry in the exigencies of the common meal. The "deacons" were waiters, and since there would have needed to be a ''head-waiter,''1 the office of the bishop would always have existed, by whatever name it was called. This is only one of many possible theories about the beginnings of the orders of the early ministry -- a matter to be discussed later -- but the basic meaning of the term will remind us of how realistically the idea of service was taken in the primitive church and how humble and unpretentious were its first ministers. The Christian worker is also often described in the New Testament as a "slave" (doulos). Paul and others can call themselves "slaves" of Christ. But the emphasis of this term is primarily upon a status or relationship -- the slave is the property of his master, belongs utterly to him -- whereas diakonos denotes not primarily a status (although this may be implied), but a function, the function of useful service. A minister (diakonos) of Christ is useful to Christ, assisting in the fulfillment of Christ's purposes in the world. A minister of the church is useful to the church, serving its members in all possible ways and contributing to the growth and effective functioning of the church itself. A minister of the gospel is useful to the gospel, making known the good news of what God had done in Christ so that the gospel may reach those for whom it is intended and may have its true fruits.

In the course of this book we shall be dealing with many kinds of ministry and with many divergent, and often conflicting, conceptions of its nature and significance. We shall better keep our bearings among all the diversities and changes of this history if we remember that the word "ministry" serves, not only to designate the full number of the church's leaders, but also to designate the true meaning of Christian leadership, the essential character which both qualifies and unites all true leaders of the church -- unites them with one another and with Christ, who "came not to be ministered unto, but to minister, and to give his life a ransom for many" (Mark 10:45).

I

Anyone who attempts to give an account of the organization of the ministry in the primitive church and of the various functions it performed must almost necessarily begin with an acknowledgment of the difficulties which beset his undertaking. These difficulties are so grave, and with our present resources so definitely insurmountable, that a clear picture of the early ministry is simply beyond our reach. This is true partly because of the meagerness of our sources. If by the "primitive church" we mean the church of the first century and the first quarter, say, of the second -- and such a period represents the approximate range of this chapter -- we have at most only the New Testament documents and some of the Apostolic Fathers; and none of these documents is concerned to set forth in any full or systematic way the constitution of the church or the methods of its work. Later writings, particularly manuals of church order, undoubtedly have something to tell us about earlier practices, but they do not throw any strong or steady light into the shadows of the Apostolic Age. Any reconstruction of the primitive church's ministry -- as indeed of any other phase of its outward life -- must rest upon what are regarded as the implications of a very few scattered passages in a very meager literature. The New Testament documents are rich indeed in indications of the concrete nature, the quality, the "feel" of the early Christian life itself, but are, for the most part, silent concerning the forms of organization and procedure which prevailed. One may account for this virtual silence by saying either that the writers did not regard such forms as important or that they took them for granted; but the silence itself is undeniable.

The problem is further complicated by the fact that even where an early writer speaks of the ministry, one often cannot be sure what part of the church he speaks for or what period in its development he represents. Paul gives us in I Cor. 12 what is undoubtedly one of our earliest glimpses of the kinds of ministry being exercised in the primitive church. But how representative is this picture? We can certainly rely on it as being, as far as it goes, a true picture of what was happening in the church at Corinth, and his formula, "God has appointed in the church," at least suggests that the same general picture applies to other Pauline communities. But to what extent does it apply to the rest of the primitive church, and were there not, in all probability, significant differences even among the Pauline churches? As for Acts, the Gospels, the Pastorals, the Didache, and other later sources, considerations chronological as well as geographical, must enter into our evaluation of the hints about early church order which they contain. The book of Acts, for example, because it was written late in the first century or early in the second, has much to tell us about the Christianity of that period; but because it is undoubtedly partly based on much older sources, it also tells us much about the most primitive church. But can we surely discriminate one element from the other? Even if we could, the question would remain how widely prevalent any given feature of the church may have been, whether in the earlier or the later period. The fact of the matter is not only that the church of the New Testament period was in a state of rapid development, but also that the lines or directions of this development were not the same in every part of the church; and even where the general pattern was identical, the growth was not proceeding everywhere at the same rate.

The fact that both chronological and geographical considerations are involved at almost every point in the study of the early ministry poses a problem as to method. Shall we center our attention primarily upon geographical areas or upon chronological periods? There are advantages -- and the constant danger of overfacile generalization -- in each method; and we can hardly follow either consistently. We shall be moving, in a general way, from the earlier to the later part of our period, but we must remember constantly to distinguish between what we can know about one church at one time and what we can only guess about another church at the same time or even about the same church at an earlier or later stage in its development.

II

Fortunately we can begin with some assurance. There may be some doubt about the origins of the apostolate, but there can be none that the apostles were the spiritual leaders of the primitive church. The apostles were the church's first ministers - "first" both in the sense of earliest and in the sense of most responsible and most revered. This is obviously the view of the author of Luke-Acts; it is clearly implied in many sayings in the Gospels; and Paul, our earliest source, puts it beyond question. Not only does he take for granted the authority of the apostle and vigorously defend his own apostleship, but he quite explicitly affirms the primacy of the apostle among the servants of the church: "And God has appointed in the church first apostles . . ." (I Cor. 12:28). It is perhaps too obvious to need pointing out, but these evidences of the status of the apostle only confirm what on more general grounds would have been expected in any case. If by "apostle" is meant one who was called to his work by Jesus Christ himself (either during the human career or immediately after the resurrection), it was inevitable that such persons should have come to hold positions of largest responsibility and authority among the primitive churches.

To be sure, there are those who challenge this definition of the term "apostle." The word, of course, means "one sent out," usually as an ambassador, the authorized messenger, of an individual or group. So it was used among both Jews and Greeks. It could, then, have the simple meaning of "missionary" and apply to most, if not all, of the traveling evangelists of the early church. That meaning of the term is found in the Didache, once in Acts, and several times in Paul (Didache 11 :3-6; Acts 14:4, 14; II Cor. 8:23; Phil. 2:25, and, possibly I Thess. 2:6 and Rom. 16:7). It is often said that this was the earlier meaning of the term, and that the more restricted use to designate persons standing in a unique relation to the original event in Palestine was a later development. But the evidence for this view is unconvincing. It is true that Acts, one of the later books, ordinarily uses the word in the narrower sense; but this same document can, as we have just seen, employ it with the other meaning also. On the other hand, the Didache, which adopts the broader sense and seems to use the terms "apostle" and "prophet" interchangeably, can scarcely be regarded as a primitive document. The use of the term by Paul is, in this respect, very much like Luke's later usage. He occasionally may employ it in the broad common sense of messenger; but he normally ascribes to it a sense as exalted and particular as Luke does, although he would certainly not identify the apostles in just the same way. Luke identifies them with the twelve, or perhaps with the twelve and James the brother of Jesus. Paul only once (if indeed then)2 refers to the twelve and it is quite impossible to say just whom he thought of as apostles except that he and Peter and probably James were among them. But for Paul, no less than for Luke, the apostolic group was both definite and closed. In a word, there may have been differences of opinion among the early Christians as to just who the apostles were; but there are many indications that from the very beginning the term designated a special and restricted class -- eyewitnesses of the event itself, commissioned as his ambassadors by Jesus Christ in a unique sense. If this was not true, there ceases to be any discoverable ground for the primacy of the apostle.

If we cannot know how many apostles there were, we certainly cannot speak with any assurance of the areas in which they severally served. A few centuries later we find accounts of a primitive division of the world among the apostles -- Thomas going to India or Parthia and others of the twelve to other districts, very much in the manner in which in the third or fourth century bishops might be appointed for various unevangelized territories. Such stories are late and obviously legendary, but it is noteworthy that in one of our most primitive and most authentic sources, the letter to the Galatians, there is also an account of a division of responsibility among the apostles. Paul tells us that when the leaders of the church at Jerusalem (the "pillars") saw that he "had been entrusted with the gospel to the uncircumcised, just as Peter had been entrusted with the gospel to the circumcised (for he who worked through Peter for the mission to the circumcised worked through [him] also for the Gentiles)," they gave him and his associate Barnabas "the right hand of fellowship," that he (with Barnabas) "should go to the Gentiles and they to the circumcised" (Gal. 2:7-9). How this passage should be interpreted in detail is far from clear. Are Paul and Peter the only apostles -- or are they at least "apostles" in a quite special sense -- and is the entire "world" being divided between them? Other passages in Paul can be cited as indicating that he thought of himself as the apostle to the Gentiles. On the other hand, Paul can speak of "those who were apostles before me," indicating that he knew of a number of other "apostles," at least to the Jews (Gal. 1:17). He tells how, on the occasion of his first visit to Jerusalem after his conversion, he visited Cephas but "saw none of the other apostles except James the Lord's brother" (Gal. 1:8-19). This phrase, while it does not require, strongly suggests, that he thought of James as an apostle; but it clearly requires the presupposition that he knew of other apostles besides himself, Peter, and James. Did he fail to see "other apostles" because it happened so or because he made an effort not to see them, or was it because they were carrying on the work of evangelists outside of Jerusalem? If so, where? And among Jews or Gentiles? Was the "John" who is named as one of the "pillars" also an "apostle"? If there was a grand division of leadership in the church's mission as between Paul and Peter, was the division defined on racial or geographical lines? And in what relation do James and John, the other "pillars," and especially James, stand to Peter's mission? These are questions to which no certain answers can be given; but division of responsibility of some kind is clearly indicated.

This indication of the pregnant but perplexing passage in Galatians is confirmed by the many signs that Paul was aware of himself as having, under Christ, the highest responsibility and authority in a definite section of the church. This section is not clearly defined and was probably not definable in strictly geographical terms. It clearly included many churches which had been established by him and his associates around the Aegean and eastward as far as Galatia. Are we to interpret the letter to the Romans as an effort to make contact with a Gentile church which properly belonged to his jurisdiction but which he had not founded or yet had an opportunity to visit? 3 This is not unlikely, but whether Paul thought of all predominantly Gentile churches as belonging to his "diocese" or not, one cannot doubt the existence of the "diocese" itself (although it is clear that some apostles or professed apostles did not acknowledge his jurisdiction). He tells of his resolution not to "build on another man's foundation," thus not only intimating his sense of a certain authority among his own churches, but also clearly indicating the fact that others also were laying "foundations" -- though just who they were and where they were working we are not told. It is not improbable that some of these "foundations" lay within the geographical area where Paul chiefly worked.

The book of Acts seems to associate the "apostles" particularly with Judea, and one gets the impression that, instead of severally exercising authority in various areas, they constituted a kind of council located in Jerusalem, an apostolate which corporately ruled the church in its totality. Although this picture must be suspected as being in part the product of the interest of the author of Acts in promoting the unity of the church in his own period, nevertheless Paul's words in Gal. 1:17-19 in a measure confirm it, at least as regards the concentration of apostles in Jerusalem. He tells us that after his conversion and call he did not "go up to Jerusalem" to see those who had been "apostles before [him]," thus implying that one went especially to Jerusalem to see "apostles"; and though on a later visit to that city he saw only Peter and James, his very denial that he saw "any other apostle" suggests that he might have been expected to meet more than a few of them there.

As for the work of the apostle and the relationship he sustained with the churches, we must depend almost entirely on the letters of Paul -- and this means that we can know very little except about Paul's own apostleship. The very term suggests -- what all our data confirm -- that the apostle was an itinerant evangelist. Paul not only gives such a picture of himself, but he seems to imply it of "the other apostles" also (I Cor. 9:5). Their primary function was the preaching of the gospel, the proclamation of the event in Palestine with which God was bringing history to a close, the bearing witness to the new creation in Christ, the calling of men to repentance; but this meant the establishing of churches, and implied the duty and authority of supervision. We can see Paul in his letters performing this duty and exercising this prerogative. Hans von Campenhausen in his recent book 4 makes much of the respect Paul shows for the integrity and freedom of his churches, pointing out that his directions to them are more likely to be exhortations than commands. This is true; and in a measure this attitude reflects a fundamental conception of Paul -- namely, that the church is greater than any apostle or than all the apostles together. These are servants of the church, not its masters. They belong to the church; not the church to them. But the recognition of such facts as these must not obscure Paul's sense of apostolic authority: "God has appointed in the church first apostles." Paul may, as he says in Philemon (vs. 8-10), "prefer to appeal" in the name of love; but he does not fail to make clear that in doing so he is voluntarily relinquishing a right "to command" of which as an apostle he is deeply conscious and which he expects his churches to acknowledge.

Paul lets us see in his letters not a little of what was involved in this supervisory role of the apostle. It meant, at least for him, a good deal of anxiety and activity. The final and climactic item in a long catalogue of his sufferings as an apostle is his "care of all the churches" (II Cor. 11:28). He sought to keep in constant, or at least frequent, touch with them. He visited them as often as he was able (and there is no way of reconstructing, even approximately, the itinerary of his movements back and forth, to and fro, among his churches). More often perhaps he sent one of his assistants, men like Timothy, Titus, Silvanus, Epaphras, and others. And frequently, as we have even better reason to know, he wrote letters. Such communication moved in both directions: Epaphroditus, Stephanas, Fortunatus, and Achaicus, who visited Paul as representatives of congregations, figure as prominently in Paul's correspondence as some of his own assistants and agents; and he received letters as well as sending them (I Cor. 7:1). Merely to name the matters on which he was called upon to express an opinion or pass a judgment is to be reminded of the complexity and the difficulty of this administrative or pastoral phase of the apostle's task. He might be called on -- at any rate, Paul was called on -- to settle a moral question, as about sexual relations, or divorce, or the propriety of a marriage between a Christian and a pagan, or to give counsel about the disciplining of a member; to compose a quarrel between two Christians; to ward off a threatened schism; to correct disorders in worship, to clarify, or confirm, or apply some tradition he had already transmitted; to deal with differences of opinion among the members of a church about the eating of food consecrated by pagan rites or with similar scruples; to handle the delicate matter of master-slave relations within a church; to supervise the raising of a large sum of money among a number of churches; to pacify a congregation morbidly excited by apocalyptic expectations -- in a word, to apply Christian conscience and common sense to a wide range of practical problems, great and small. It would be a mistake to suppose that Paul's situation was exactly matched by that of any other apostle. Paul lets us know very emphatically of one difference between him and others. The apostles generally were supported by the churches -- we have no way of knowing whether through some regular arrangement or through occasional gifts -- whereas he supported himself by his trade. He informs us, too, that some of the apostles were married and that their wives often accompanied them on their travels, whereas this was certainly not true of Paul. Although full allowance must be made for such differences and for the unique genius and convictions of Paul, nevertheless in the absence of other evidence we are justified in assuming that the general pattern of the relations of other apostles with other churches and of the functions they performed was basically the same. The itinerant character of other apostleships we have already had occasion to notice, and the reference to those who "came from James" in Gal. 2:12 suggests that others besides Paul made use of traveling representatives. Although there were undoubtedly important differences of opinion among them -- in Gal. 2:11-14 we can actually see some of these differences among Paul, Peter, and James -- there were also large areas of agreement; and these traveling evangelists and chief pastors, accepted as standing uniquely close to the revealing event and therefore as having a unique personal authority, constituted a very important binding element among the churches of the first century, geographically so widely scattered and culturally so diverse.

III

We began our consideration of the "apostle" with Paul's affirmation that "God has appointed in the church first apostles," and we may appropriately begin our discussion of other ministries in the early church by reminding ourselves of the rest of his statement: ". . . second prophets, third teachers, then workers of miracles, then healers, helpers, administrators, speakers in various kinds of tongues" (I Cor. 12:28). With this passage should be placed the allusion in Phil. 1:1 to "bishops and deacons" and also what we find in Rom. 12:6-8: "Having gifts that differ according to the grace given to us, let us use them: if prophecy, in proportion to our faith; if service, in our serving; he who teaches, in his teaching; he who exhorts, in his exhortation; he who contributes, in liberality; he who presides, with zeal; he who does acts of mercy, with cheerfulness." 5 If we may take these statements as indicating the way the ministry was composed in the churches with which Paul was familiar, what are we to make of them?

Sometimes a distinction is drawn between the "charismatic" ("Spirit-given") ministry in the early church and the "institutional" ministry. But if such a distinction was made by others in the primitive period -- which seems rather dubious -- it certainly was not made by Paul. The ministry was in every part charismatic; and if by "institutional" one can mean "contributing to the growth and orderly functioning of the church," it was also in every part institutional. To be sure, Paul refers to the "bishops and deacons" at Philippi -- and these terms suggest an "institutional" ministry -- but one must not make the mistake of identifying these with the formally elected or appointed, the ordained, officials of a later period. The "bishops and deacons" are those members of the Philippian church who have proved to have administrative gifts -- gifts of wisdom, efficiency, and tact, some in planning and oversight (the "bishops" or rulers), others in actually performing the various particular tasks belonging to what may be called the "business" of the congregation (the "deacons" or helpers). It is altogether probable, as has frequently been pointed out, that they are specifically addressed in this particular letter because Paul has just received the gift of money from the Philippian church which these administrators and workers have been largely responsible for raising and sending. It is quite possible that Paul is not making here a distinction between two classes of persons at all, but between two functions which the same persons may perform. The "overseers" serve, and the "servers" oversee. In I Cor. 16:15-16 Paul directs the Corinthian church to "be subject" to "the household of Stephanas" who have "devoted themselves to the service [diakonia] of the saints" and to those who work with them. Was Stephanas one of the "bishops" or one of the "deacons"? Perhaps both; or both at different times. We are not dealing with formal offices, but with functions for which persons were as certainly spiritually endowed as for prophecy or healing. Indeed, the "deacons" and "bishops" of Philippians are almost certainly to be identified with the "helpers'' and the "administrators" of I Cor. 12:28 and with the helpers of several kinds and the "presidents" who are mentioned in Rom. 12:6-8; and it is scarcely open to question that Paul thinks of these persons as being "gifted" as certainly, and in the same sense, as the "prophets" and "teachers," not to speak of the workers of miracles and the speakers with tongues. In I Cor. 12:28 they are mentioned, indeed, between the healers and the ecstatics. What could more clearly indicate that Paul thinks of them as exercising a "charismatic" function? The same meaning is no doubt to be seen in the fact that the administrators (or bishops) are mentioned only after the helpers (or deacons) in the same passage, and that in Rom. 12:6-8 the "presidents" are placed between two classes of helpers -- those who contribute and those who show mercy. There are no distinctions of "inferior" and "superior" among these workers in the churches. They are all recipients and agents of the same Spirit; and whether some of them always exercised the one kind of function or the other (that is, superintcnding or helping), or whether all of them at certain times exercised both functions, they were equally members of the body of Christ, equally indispensable to its proper and effective functioning and therefore equally significant.

As to the kind of "business" which needed to be planned and carried through, our sources tell us little in detail; but what we know about organized social life of any kind in any period, as well as what knowledge we have of the situation of the primitive churches, will enable us to fill out the picture to some extent. It is obvious that a local congregation, meeting often for worship and the common meal, would meet for other purposes as well. The question of whether the service of "the Word" and the agape (and Eucharist) were two services or one, or whether different usages in this respect prevailed in different churches can be left open. We can also leave unanswered the question whether meetings for "other purposes" were held in connection with meetings for worship and fellowship, or were specially called; probably both patterns were followed. But there can be no doubt that such meetings took place and that their purposes were manifold. Decisions had to be made from time to time as to where or when services of the church would be held; the church needed to be told of the impending visit of an apostle, or of some prophet or teacher from abroad; a question has been raised as to the good faith of one of these visitors, and there must be some discussion of the point and a decision on it; a fellow Christian from another church is on a journey and needs hospitality; a member of the local congregation planning to visit a church abroad needs a letter of introduction to that church, which someone must be authorized to provide; a serious dispute about property rights or some other legal matter has arisen between two of the brothers and the church must name someone to help them settle the issue or must in some other way deal with it; a new local magistrate has begun to prosecute Christians for violating the law against unlicensed assembly, and consideration must be given to ways and means of meeting this crisis; charges have been brought against one of the members by another member, and these must be investigated and perhaps some disciplinary action taken; one of the members has died, and the church is called on for some special action in behalf of his family in the emergency; differences of opinion exist in the church on certain questions of morals or belief (such as marriage and divorce, or the resurrection), differences which local prophets and teachers are apparently unable to compose, and a letter must be written to the apostle -- who will write this letter and what exactly will it say?

These are special or occasional concerns, and it is obvious that the list might go on almost indefinitely. There were also more regular administrative operations. Sick persons needed to be visited and the bread and wine of the Eucharist brought to them, along with what financial help they might need. The poor generally, especially the aged and the widows and the orphans, must be assisted. Certain persons who were giving full time to the work of the church and who had no other means of support -- perhaps an apostle or one of his associates, perhaps a local prophet, teacher, administrator, or other worker -- must be sustained. Such dispensations of help to the needy of various kinds required congregational funds, and such funds involved planning, soliciting, collecting. As individuals demonstrated their ability to administer such matters, they would more and more be relied on; but the congregation as a whole would be expected to determine policy at every point and often, no doubt, would be called on to make ad hoc decisions in questionable cases.

We are likely to suppose that the administrative work required in a first-century church was much more simple than in a modern congregation of the same size. But this supposition is probably mistaken. When a first-century Jew or pagan decided to become a Christian, he became dependent upon a new community for the supplying of all his needs in a way which the modern Christian, at any rate within the West, can scarcely imagine. The church had to assume almost total responsibility for the whole person of its members and for every aspect of their relations with one another. In even the smallest congregation in even the earliest period every one of the concerns we have mentioned (and obviously we have not begun to exhaust the possibilities) would arise; and as congregations grew larger, as they rapidly did, the "business" of the church would become correspondingly more difficult and complex. When we remember that congregational meetings had to be planned, called, and conducted, and that their actions must be recorded, communicated to those concerned, and actually implemented and carried out, we shall hardly wonder either that there should have been from the very beginning, and in great variety, "helps" and "governments," as the King James Version translates the terms in I Cor. 12:28, or that the offices of "bishop" and "deacon" became so important in the church of a somewhat later period.

IV

But for all the importance of this core of workers in the primitive local church, they did not hold first place in its regard. Paul, although he apparently refuses to make a distinction of rank between the "helpers" and the "overseers," specifically says (after mentioning the apostles), ". . . second prophets, third teachers" (I Cor. 12:28). The priority of prophecy in Paul's estimation is also indicated in I Cor. 14:1, where he urges his readers earnestly to desire the spiritual gifts, "especially" that of prophecy. Fifty years or so later, the Didache, the earliest manual of church order that we have, also clearly ascribes first place among the servants of the church to the prophets and teachers, although the writer knows the offices of bishops and deacons as well (15:1-2). And the writer of Acts tells us that it was "prophets and teachers" of Antioch who determined that Paul and Barnabas should undertake a mission to Cyprus and who "laid hands on them and sent them off" (13:1-3). This account of the origin of Paul's apostleship must, in the light of Gal. 1 :1-2:10, be rejected, but the reference to the presence and authority of "prophets and teachers" at Antioch is in line with Paul's own words and with the much later testimony of the Didache.

Who, or what, were these "prophets" and "teachers"? Again, as in the case of the early "bishops" and "deacons," we may ask whether the terms always designate two distinct classes of person, or whether a distinction in function is primarily indicated. The term "prophet" suggests the "numinous" -- visions, revelations, being in "the Spirit," initiation into divine secrets, and the like. The prophet, endowed with this ecstatic character and given access to these sacred mysteries, reports his experiences and interprets their meaning, as far as he is able, to the congregation. But most important in his message, as in that of the teacher also, would always be the good news of God's action in Christ, the event of Christ's advent, life, death, and resurrection, which had so recently occurred -- which indeed was still occurring, for the coming of the Spirit was a part of the event and Christ was soon to come again to bring to fulfillment what had been begun. The prophet would not only be fully persuaded of the event and acutely aware of its implications, but he would be an unusually sensitive participant in the new common life which had issued from it. He would also be extraordinarily capable of communicating the concrete meaning of the new life, the life of the Spirit, to others and of making articulate for them their inmost and deepest yearnings and satisfactions. The prophet was able to speak in such a way as that the believer would want to say "Amen"; and the unbeliever would find himself "convicted," "called to account," the "secrets of his heart . . . disclosed" so that "falling on his face" he would "worship God" and "declare that God was really present" (I Cor. 14:16, 25). The Didache calls the prophet the "high priest" of the church; and it is altogether likely that the conduct of worship and the presiding at the Eucharist were from the beginning committed to one or another of the prophets.

The word "teacher" suggests instruction in the more ordinary sense, a setting forth, perhaps in somewhat more objective fashion, of the facts of the tradition and the truth of the gospel, the inculcation of true beliefs, the encouraging of appropriate ethical impulses and conduct. The epistles of the New Testament show us the teacher at work. In them, for the most part, the good news is taken for granted, and instruction is being given in some of its implications -- theological and ethical. The fact that Jesus is characteristically known as a teacher must reflect, not only the original facts, but also, in some degree, the importance of the teacher's role in primitive Christianity; and indeed the preservation and development of the gospel tradition of Jesus' words must have been largely the work of the early teachers.

But the line between prophet and teacher in the primitive church is not easy to draw: the prophet would often have been -- indeed, how could he have helped being? -- also the teacher; and the teacher would often have been the prophet. It is likely that since the more ecstatic endowment of the prophet would have seemed more exalted, the teacher who possessed it would usually have been called a prophet;6 but even he would probably have found it impossible to distinguish between his "prophecy" and his "teaching." Both were inspired by the same Spirit and both were concerned only with the truth and relevance of the gospel.

This virtual identity -- or at least extensive overlapping -- of function is indicated in the way Paul actually describes prophecy and the prophet. In I Cor. 14:1 ff. he is concerned to show the superiority of prophecy to tongues. The prophet, he says, "speaks to men for their upbuilding and encouragement and consolation." But would he have described the work of the teacher in different terms? It is true that a "teaching" seems to be distinguished from a "revelation" in 14:26: "When you come together, each one has a hymn, a teaching, a revelation, a tongue, or an interpretation." And in 14:6 Paul implies the same differentiation when he asks "How shall I benefit you unless I bring you some revelation or knowledge or prophecy or teaching?" But in I Cor. 13, the gift of "teaching" is not mentioned, and "prophecy" seems to cover the entire field of revealed truth. We note also that if prophecy has first place in I Cor. 12:28, teaching is at least mentioned first earlier in the same chapter: "To one is given through the Spirit the utterance of wisdom, and to another the utterance of knowledge [are two kinds of teachers being designated?] according to the same Spirit, to another faith, . . . to another gifts of healing, . . . to another the working of miracles, to another prophecy, to another the ability to distinguish between spirits, to another various kinds of tongues [note the variety of functions even among the extreme ecstatics], to another the interpretation of tongues."

A comparison of this list of items with that in I Cor. 12:28 will confirm many other indications not only of the manifoldness and rich variety of the forms the ministry took, at least in the Pauline churches, but also of the way functions were sometimes exercised by different persons and sometimes combined in one person. When in Gal. 6:6 Paul reminds his readers that he "who is taught the word" should accept some responsibility for the financial support of "him who teaches," we may suppose that "prophets" as well as "teachers" are included in the provision. We do not need to decide whether Paul is supposed to be a "prophet" or a "teacher" at Antioch (in Acts 13:1-3). As a matter of fact, he was both; perhaps each of the prophets and teachers at Antioch was both. And the Didache, although it seems to know (in 11 :1-2 and 13:2) a special class of teachers, can still say of the prophet: "If he does not do what he teaches, [he] is a false prophet" (11:10).

C. H. Dodd makes a careful distinction between preaching (kerugma) and teaching (didache)7 in the early church. Such a distinction has merit in helping to bring out the full content of the message of the primitive prophets and teachers; but it would not do to identify the "preaching" with the prophets and the "teaching" with the teachers. Both the preaching and the teaching, as Dodd describes them, belonged to the function of each group. The preaching -- in the sense of the proclamation of the good news of God's saving action in the life, death, and resurrection of Christ -- was perhaps in a peculiar sense the work of the apostle and those associated with him, for they were the great missionaries of the early church and were principally responsible for proclaiming the gospel where Christ's name was not known. But the prophets and teachers in local churches, although responsible for the spiritual edification of the congregation itself, were also expected to do the work of evangelists as they had opportunity. Services of the church aimed in large part at the persuading and winning of unbelievers were certainly held. It is clear that the Christian movement spread chiefly through a constantly widening extension of the influence of the churches which had been established in metropolitan centers. The leaders in this extension must have been the prophets and teachers. The work of evangelism and the work of edification was then, as it is still, in considerable part one work.

It must not be assumed that all the "ministers" of the primitive church were men; women undoubtedly shared in both the gifts and the labors of the ministry. Paul, to be sure, says rather flatly (in I Cor. 14:34) that "women should keep silence in the churches," intimating that this was the rule in the churches generally; but earlier in the same letter (11:5 f.) he seems concerned only that a "woman who prays or prophesies" shall be veiled. This apparent discrepancy is difficult to understand and has never been really satisfactorily explained. Antecedently, however, it is unlikely that women should not have functioned as teachers and prophets. Would not the gifts of prophecy and teaching have been sometimes, and quite unmistakably, bestowed on women? And if so, could they have refrained from prophesying, or would the churches have dared require that they should? It is likely that Prisca was such a prophet or teacher; she is presented in some such role in Acts 18:26. And the same book tells of prophetesses at Caesarea (21:9).

As to the prominence of women in the administrative and pastoral work of the churches, there can be no question whatever. Phoebe in Rom. 16:1 is called a diakonos of the church at Cenchreae. If this final chapter of Romans is pseudonymous and late (as I think it is), Phoebe is being called a "deaconess," for we know that there were deaconesses in some at least of the second century churches; but even if the chapter is from Paul's own hand (as is generally supposed), Phoebe is being identified as an active servant of the church. In the same chapter "Mary" is described as having "worked hard among you," and "Tryphaena and Tryphosa," are called "those workers in the Lord." These are in effect deaconesses. Similarly, the "widows," about whom we hear in the Pastoral Epistles (I Tim. 5:3ff.), as well as in Polycarp (4:3) and elsewhere, were deaconesses in fact. At first, the widow was probably merely the beneficiary of the church, one of the needy whom it supported from its common fund; but she soon became, where her strength and health permitted, one of its regular ministers. As such she visited the sick, comforted the bereaved, dispensed the charity of the church, and in other ways helped those in special need. Although her services were not confined to women, it is obvious that she could often be especially helpful to them and especially useful to the administrators of the church in dealing with them.

A distinction is often proposed between the "general" and the "local" ministry in the early church. There can be no question about the propriety of the distinction, but where exactly the line should be drawn is not so clear. Taking Paul's list in I Cor. 12:25, some students have regarded the apostles, prophets, and teachers as belonging to the "general" ministry, and the rest, including the bishops and deacons (that is, the "administrators" and "helpers") as local. Others have drawn the line of distinction between the prophets and the teachers, only the apostles and prophets belonging to the general ministry. What we have just been noting about the interrelatedness of the prophetic and teaching functions will suggest the difficulty of separating the teacher and the prophet from each other; and, if they belong together, it seems on the whole more plausible to regard them as belonging to the local ministry. Certainly they must in the beginning have had their primary locus in some congregation although there would have been nothing to prevent, and much to encourage, visits by a person with distinguished gifts as a preacher (such, I think, we would call either "prophet" or "teacher") to other churches. Often he would have been invited to make such a visit. It should also be recognized that some of Paul's associates in apostolic work -- as, for example, Apollos and Timothy -- would have been prophetic persons. It is to be assumed that such persons were associated with other apostles. And it probably goes without saying that the apostles themselves were almost certainly also prophets and teachers.

Later it is clear that there was a great number, a distinct class, of wandering prophets, depending for their support upon the churches they visited, many of them imposing on the early Christians' reverence for the Spirit and for Spirit-filled persons, some of them actual charlatans. Lucian, a pagan writer of the second century, writes satirically about such a rascally prophet and the gullibility of the Christians whom he exploited. The Didache lays down some rather shrewd rules for distinguishing the true prophet from the sham: "No prophet who orders a meal in the Spirit shall eat of it: if he does he is a false prophet.... whoever shall say in the Spirit 'Give me money [or something else],' you shall not listen to him." And if a visiting prophet (Called in the Didache an "apostle") stays as long as three days, he is a false prophet (chap. 11).

It would seem, too, that the writer to the Ephesians, not so late as the Didache, but a generation after Paul's time, thinks of the prophet as belonging to what we are calling the general ministry. At any rate, he thinks of him as being very close to the apostle. It is interesting to compare with I Cor. 12:28 f. the statement in Eph. 4:11. "Some should be apostles, some prophets, some evangelists, some pastors and teachers." We note at once the absence of any reference to the healers, the wonderworkers, the speakers in tongues, and those gifted in interpreting these outpourings. Although the epistle is filled with allusions to the Spirit, the writer does not know, or at any rate does not highly esteem, the more ecstatic gifts by which Paul set great store. It is true that he still speaks of the "prophets," but he seems to place them in the same bracket with the apostles, thus relegating them to the early period of the church's beginnings. Just as there are no longer "apostles" in the same sense as in the days of Peter and Paul, so there are no longer "prophets" in the original high meaning of that term. The church, he tells us, is "built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets" -- prophecy has passed away along with tongues and miracles (although, I repeat, the Spirit is very fully present and active). "Evangelists" take the place of both. "Pastors and teachers" are grouped together. Do they represent the "local ministry"? Are the "pastors" the "administrators" and "helpers" of an earlier time (the "bishops" and "deacons" of the same and a later time,) and have these taken on the functions and responsibilities of the teacher as well? 8 Ephesians was probably written at Ephesus in the last decade of the first century and whatever the answers to our questions, that document may be thought of as representing the situation of the churches at the very center of Paul's "diocese" a generation after his death.

Let it be noted that in all of this discussion so far we have been dealing with functions or with vocations, but not with offices. For Paul there were teachers and prophets, but hardly the offices of teacher and prophet. More obviously the healers, speakers in tongues, miracle workers, were not "officials" of the church. Even the "bishops" and "deacons" of Phil. 1:1 are not to be thought of as officials. There is more basis for regarding the apostle as filling an office because it was not his personal spiritual endowment which primarily qualified him as an apostle, but his ability to meet certain specifications of a more objective kind -- namely, he must have "seen the Lord" and been commissioned by him. His authority, therefore, was not merely the self-authenticating authority of the Spirit which possessed him, but inhered also in the relationship he sustained with the historical event in which the church began.

Of the several ministries of the local church, it is natural that those of the "administrators" and "helpers" should have been the first to receive official status. These are the least obviously spiritistic of them all, the most clearly susceptible of being filled by human election or appointment. Thus the "bishops" and "deacons" can be thought of as being, at least in the area of the church which Paul's letters had earlier represented, the first official ministers. These ministers, where prophets and teachers in the more traditional sense were not to be found or were found untrustworthy, would tend to take over the more spiritual functions of preaching and of presiding at the Eucharist and other services of worship. The Didache says much, as we have seen, about the prophets and can call them "your high priests"; but it recognizes the possibility that a church at a given time may not have a prophet (13:4). It is such a situation the author has in mind when (in 15:1) he writes: "Appoint . . . for yourselves bishops and deacons worthy of the Lord, meek men, and not lovers of money, and truthful and approved for they also minister to you the ministry of the prophets and teachers."

With this development of definitely official bishops and deacons, possessing priestly and teaching as well as administrative responsibilities and prerogatives, the strictly primitive phase of the history of the church's ministry comes to an end.

V

We have proceeded thus far without mentioning at all a term of great importance in this study or, for that matter, in the study of the ministry in any period -- namely, the elder or the presbyter (presbyteros). This omission has been possible because elders are not referred to in any of Paul's letters, nor are they mentioned in Ephesians and the Didache, the other sources upon which we have thus far been principally relying. On the other hand, "elders" are mentioned in I Peter as the "shepherds" of the flock of God (5:1-3). According to James, "the elders of the church," who will pray and anoint with oil in the name of the Lord, are to be called on in cases of illness. The author of Revelation may be supposed to reflect a familiar order in the church when he speaks of the "twenty-four elders" around the heavenly throne (4:4). The Pastoral Epistles, although they speak also of "bishops," have much to say about the elders of the church, and the same thing is true of I Clement. And, most important of all, the book of Acts seems to represent government by "elders" as characteristic, not only of the Jerusalem church, but also of the churches generally in the primitive period.

It happens that all of these documents are relatively late -- that is, considerably later than Paul -- and might be supposed to reflect a post-Pauline development in the church's polity. Since many of these later references to elders apply to churches within the area of Paul's earlier work and even, especially in the case of I Clement, to a church actually founded by Paul, one must acknowledge a measure of truth in this supposition. I Clement is, of course, a letter addressed by the church at Rome to the church at Corinth about AD. 95, and one might argue that it is the polity of the Roman, rather than of the Corinthian, church that is reflected there. This is undoubtedly true to some extent; but one can hardly suppose that the picture of church order at Corinth which the letter presents is substantially mistaken. There were, then, "elders" at Corinth at the end of the first century. The same thing can be said of Philippi, another of Paul's churches, at the beginning of the second, if we can trust Polycarp's reference to the "elders and deacons" there in his letter to that church (5:3). The book of Revelation may most naturally be taken as representing the Christianity of Asia (the very center of Paul's field of work) in the same general period; and the Pastoral Epistles, wherever they originated, are certainly thought of by their author as standing in the Pauline tradition. We may suppose, then, that a system of government in local churches by councils of elders had established itself very generally by the end of the first century, even in the Pauline churches, whose usages in an earlier period we have been studying thus far.

It is impossible, however, to regard this system as having its origin so late as this. Whatever our view of the date of Acts and of the purposes and methods of its author, it is all but impossible to suppose that he is not following early and authentic sources in his account of the life of the primitive community in Jerusalem; and the allusions to "James and the elders" or "the apostles and elders" are too frequent and integral to be seriously doubted. Nor can we regard the "elders" as simply the "older men" -- although it cannot be denied that the term is sometimes used in the New Testament in that quite nonofficial sense. In Acts, as well as in I Clement and the Pastorals, they are the principal ministers of the church; and the probability is that the term was in use in that sense in the Judean church long before it had spread into the territory of Paul's mission.

This probability is confirmed by a very important a priori consideration. Jewish communities, large and small, were governed by councils of elders, the so-called sanhedrins. These "elders" were the only "ordained" officials of Judaism in the New Testament period -- the priests and Levites being such by birth and the scribes not having yet attained full recognition as official representatives of the cultus.9 Moreover, the elders were by all means the most important Jewish officials both in Palestine and in the diaspora, the oversight of all the interests of the communities being entrusted to them. Not only is it impossible to suppose that the term "elder" as used in the early church is not related to this Jewish usage, but it is almost equally difficult to doubt that the most primitive Jewish Christian communities followed this familiar and universal Jewish pattern in their organization. The pattern moved presumably in a westward direction till in the time when Acts, I Clement, and the Pastorals were written it had become very generally established.

How are we to think of the "elders" as related to the several functions and functionaries we have noted in the Pauline churches? Sometimes in the literature of the period (as, for example, Acts 20:28; Titus 1: 5-7; I Clem. 44:4-6) the term "elder" seems equivalent to "bishop"; and it is not unlikely that the word episkopos ("bishop") was sometimes used to make intelligible to Gentiles the meaning of presbyteros ("elder"), which would have sounded strange to them as a title of office. But we must assume that, generally speaking, the word "elder" was a more inclusive term than any we have so far considered.10 "The apostles and elders" of Acts -- like the Jewish "chief priests and elders" referred to in the same work -- are all "elders," and they constitute the essential governing body of the Jerusalem church. It is not unlikely that Luke thinks of the Jerusalem elders as exercising a kind of supervision over all the churches just as the Great Sanhedrin in Jerusalem held primacy over all the Jewish sanhedrins. The appointment of the Seven in Acts 6:1-6 is probably to be understood as the enlarging of the council of elders to represent the Jews of Hellenistic origin who had become members of the Jerusalem church. There were undoubtedly at Jerusalem prophets and teachers, as well as administrators and helpers (we can be less sure of the various kinds of ecstatics); but in all probability all of them belonged among the "elders" of the church. Was there a definite number of these? The Jewish sanhedrins varied to some extent in size, and there is no reason to suppose that the number of Christian elders was fixed. The more important the gifts of the Spirit were in determining function and role, the more fluid the number of elders would need to be. But as the primitive enthusiasm waned, or became corrupted, and the Spirit was thought of as conferred through ordination (rather than as being a prior condition of it), a body of fixed size, at any rate in a particular congregation, would become established as the norm.

We may suppose that as this pattern of a council of governing elders moved westward in the closing decades of the first century (it may have reached Rome in the far West earlier and more directly), it absorbed the more primitive ministries -- and this meant particularly the "bishops" and "deacons," since, as we have seen, the bishops and deacons were already taking over the teaching and liturgical functions of the prophets and teachers. Sometimes, as we have seen, the term "elder" seems to be used interchangeably with "bishop;" sometimes it would appear that the "presbytery" included both elders who supervised and elders who served, that is, both "bishops" and "deacons." No doubt both polity and nomenclature varied from time to time and from place to place.

These boards of elders, like the Jewish sanhedrins, had general oversight of the affairs of the congregation and were responsible for guiding and ruling it. All of the many functions we have mentioned as belonging to the administration of a primitive congregation -- and we remember that these were becoming constantly more numerous and complex -- are now the responsibility of the elders in their corporate capacity. And as the Pastorals and I Clement make abundantly clear, the elders -- at any rate those "elders" who are also "bishops" -- are fully responsible for teaching and for the conduct of worship and the Eucharist. I Clement represents them as successors of the apostles (42:3-4, 44:1-3), and the same status is implied in the Pastoral Epistles. Both writers, as well as I Peter, Polycarp, and the Didache, are concerned that these rulers shall be worthy of the reverence to which the office entitles them -- that they shall be men of good character and reputation, devoted to Christ, sober, not married a second time (or does this mean ''undivorced''?11), free from pride and covetousness, discreet, responsible, trained in and loyal to the apostolic tradition, competent to teach, true officiants of the church's worship. (See, e.g., I Clem. 44:3; I Tim. 3:2ff; II Tim. 3:10-4:5; Titus 1:5ff.; I Pet. 5:1ff.; Poly. ad Phil. 6:1; Didache 15:1-2.) And the deacons, who assisted in both the administrative and liturgical tasks of the elder-bishops, were to be persons of similar kind (I Tim. 3:8 ff.; Poly. ad Phil. 5:2).

VI

One further stage in the development of the early ministry needs to be traced. This is the rise of monepiscopacy -- that is, the pattern of a single bishop, or pastor, at the head of each church. We are so accustomed to this pattern -- despite our controversies about episcopacy -- that we may not realize that it does not clearly emerge till the opening years of the second century. The first witness to it is Ignatius, a prophet of the church of Antioch in Syria, who has become the bishop in the sense of the single head, of the church in that city. During his passage across the provinces of Asia and Macedonia on his way, under guard, to Rome, and presumably martyrdom, he had occasion to write a number of brief letters, especially to the churches of Asia which had sent deputations to visit and befriend him; and these letters are among the very few sources we have for the history of the church in the early decades of the second century. They reveal, not only that Ignatius was the single bishop of Antioch, but also that the several churches of Asia -- at Ephesus, Philadelphia, Magnesia, Smyrna, and elsewhere -- had likewise single rulers: Onesimus, for example, is "bishop" in Ephesus, and Polycarp in Smyrna. It is clear that each of these churches had a body of elders and a corps of deacons; but presiding over both and over the congregation as a whole is the bishop.

It appears even in Ignatius' letters that this system of a threefold ministry was not universal, for in his letter to the Roman church he says nothing about its bishop. Similarly, his colleague and friend, Polycarp, in writing to the church at Philippi speaks of their "elders and deacons" but does not mention their "bishop," thus strongly suggesting that monepiscopacy was not established in Macedonia at that time. Moreover, it can be argued that the vigor Ignatius shows in defending the significance and prerogatives of the bishop indicates that, even in Asia, the system was of recent origin. Indeed, if III John is to be understood as a protest again the new system, as many interpreters hold, it shows us this development in the very midst of its occurrence, probably in some Asian church. If we may assume that monepiscopacy was of longer standing and was more firmly established in Ignatius' own church, the indications would be that the single bishop pattern, like the elder pattern, moved in a westward direction from Palestine or Syria across the church.

Again as in the case of the elders, this direction is antecedently likely because of what we gather from our most primitive sources about the organization of the Jerusalem church. Acts, as we have seen, tells us of the "apostles and elders" there; Paul, who describes a visit of his own to Jerusalem, speaks of the "pillars." But both let us know that among the heads of the Jerusalem church (whoever they were and by whatever name they were called), there was one supreme head, namely James the Lord's brother.l2 He was apparently more influential even than Peter. Hegesippus is the source of the tradition, preserved for us by Eusebius, that James was succeeded by another relative of Jesus and that indeed a kind of dynastic line was established in the Palestinian church. A1though this dynastic feature is unique, the office and role of James and his successors may well be the prototype of the later monarchical episcopacy. If so, it is not strange that the pattern should have early established itself at Antioch (although apparently not in Syria as a whole: witness the Didache) and that Asia should have adopted it before Macedonia or Italy. But its progress was steady and fairly rapid. By the end of the second century it was established virtually everywhere.

The rise and rapid spread of monepiscopacy cannot be explained, however, simply by the example of Jerusalem. We must recognize that the form served certain practical needs of the churches. A system of government through a council of elders could be cumbersome; and with the increasing complexity of the congregations' operations and the growing need for both unity and efficiency in the face of increasing persecution by the state and the more vigorous activities of the gnostic teachers -- in such a situation the conception of a single head of the church, the guardian of its unity and the responsible agent of its decisions, would have appealed to many congregations. There would also have been felt a need for guardians of the tradition, persons authorized to speak for the apostles, to fill the place of highest authority they had left vacant. We have seen that I Clement regards the elders as the authorized successors of the apostles; how much simpler and how much more appropriate if the authority of this succession could be located in single individuals! And supporting such claims would be the fact that in some cases actual lines of connection between particular apostles and particular bishops could be traced. Many find the origin of the office of monepiscopacy in the function of presiding at the Eucharist which, it is argued, some one person must have performed from the beginning. This precedent gradually took on other functions, pastoral, administrative, and teaching, until the monepiscopal pattern had fully emerged. But whatever the causes of it or the process by which it came about, or however different these may have been in different parts of the church, monepiscopacy was firmly established in most churches before the end of the second century and by the end of the third century prevailed everywhere. With the establishment of monepiscopacy went the doctrine that a certain priestly power inhered in the office of the bishops, who were the successors not only of the apostles but also of the Old Testament high priests.13 But the development of such doctrines falls largely in the second and later centuries. Even Ignatius says nothing about the apostolic succession of the bishops, although we cannot argue too surely from his silence that he does not accept it.

The first "bishops" in the monarchical sense were bishops of local churches; they were not diocesan superintendents in the later sense. But the roots of the later development must have been present wherever the church was situated in what was, actually or potentially, a center of expansion; and this would have been true of any large city. There would have been many congregations -- at any rate, house congregations -- in such a city as Ephesus or Antioch in the early second century; and therefore the bishop of Ephesus or the bishop of Antioch would have been more than the head of a single congregation. Although Harnack 14 is no doubt right in denying that there were in the beginning provincial organizations of churches presided over by single bishops and in insisting that the tendency in the second and third centuries was for every church to have its own bishop, nevertheless one must recognize some similarity, and perhaps some connection, between the apostolic oversight of many churches at the middle of the first century and the early second century episcopal oversight of the several congregations in a given city -- and between both and the later diocesan episcopacy. In a significant article M. H. Shepherd, Jr.,15 argues that Ignatius in urging monepiscopacy was motivated largely by hostility to the gnostic teachers operating among the house churches in various cities. His purpose was to bring all of these house churches in a single city area under a single leader, "who would have complete control and jurisdiction over all liturgical assemblies where baptism and the Eucharist were administered, discipline meted out, and instruction given." But a discussion of such matters falls more appropriately within the following chapter of this book.

 

FOR FURTHER READING (In addition to titles mentioned in the notes for this chapter)

Dobschutz, E. von, Christian Life in the Primitive Church, New York and London, 1904.

Dunkerley, R., ed., The Ministry and the Sacraments, London, 1937.

Easton, B. S., The Pastoral Epistles, New York, 1947.

Harnack, A. von, The Constitution and Law of the Church in the First Two Centuries, New York and London, 1910.

Hatch, E., The Organization of the Early Christian Churches, London and New York, 1892 (4th ed.).

Hort, F. J. A., The Christian Ecclesia, London, 1897.

Kirk, K. E., ed., The Apostolic Ministry, New York, 1946; London, 1947.

Leitzmann, H., "Zur Altchristlichen Verfassungsgeschichte," Zeitschrift für wissenschaftliche Theologie, LV. Frankfurt, 1914.

Lightfoot, J. B., "The Christian Ministry" in St. Paul's Epistle to the Philippians, London and New York, 1894.

Lindsay, T. M., The Church and the Ministry in the Early Centuries, London, 1907 (3rd ed.).

Linton, O., Das Problem der Urkirche in der neueren Forschung, Uppsala, 1932.

Lowrie, W., The Church and Its Organization in Primitive Times; An Interpretation of Rudolph Sohm's Kirchenrecht, New York and London, 1904.

Manson, T. W., The Church's Ministry, Philadelphia, 1948; London, 1948.

Rawlinson, A. E. J., "The Historical Origins of the Christian Ministry" in Foundations, London, 1914.

Streeter, B. H., The Primitive Church, studied with special reference to the origins of the Christian Ministry, New York, 1929.

 

 

Notes

1 I am indebted here to an illuminating suggestion by C. F. D. Moule, "Deacons in the New Testament," Theology, LVIII, 1950, 405 ff.

2I Cor. 15:5. But some regard this reference to "the Twelve" as of doubtful authenticity.

3 So A. Fridrichsen in "The Apostle and His Message," Uppsala Universitets Arsskrift, 1947.

4 Kirchliches Amt und Geistliche Vollmacht in den ersten drei.Jahrhunderten (Tübingen, 1953) esp. 32 ff.

5 The text of the Revised Standard Version is followed here except that with the majority of translators we have understood proistamenos as meaning "presiding" rather than "giving aid."

6 See the highly instructive article by F. V. Filson, "The Christian Teacher in the First Century," Journal of Biblical Literature, LX (1941), 371 ff.

7 See his The Apostolic Preaching (New York, 1937) and Gospel and Law (New York, 1951).

8 The identification of "bishops" with "pastors" is also suggested by Acts 20:28 and I Pet. 2:25.

9 See B. S. Easton, "Jewish and Early Christian Ordination," Anglican Theological Review, V (1922-23), 308 ff. and VI (1923-24), 285 ff.

10 See here the very suggestive article, "Zur altchristlichen Verfassungsgeschichte" by H. Lietzmann in Zeitschrift fur wissenschaftliche Theologie, LV (1914), 97 ff. This article has been especially helpful to the writer of this chapter.

11 See B. S. Easton, The Pastoral Epistles, 212-14.

12 One is bound to think here of the office of "superintendent" in the Qumran community which is mentioned in both the Manual of Discipline and the Damascus Document. Any discussion as to whether a connection should be seen between this office and the most primitive "episcopacy" in Jerusalem must wait upon the achievement of a clearer picture of the relations of the community of the Dead Sea Scrolls with the beginnings of Christianity.

13 See A. Ehrhardt, The Apostolic Succession in the First Two.Centuries of the Church (London, 1953).

14 The Mission and Expansion of Christianity in the First Three Centuries, (New York, 1908), 445 ff.

15 "The Development of the Early Ministry," Anglican Theological Review, XXVI, (1944), esp. 148 f. Shepherd, following Sohm and Lowrie, regards the presbyters of an earlier time as only the older or more honored men in the congregation. He sees the origin of the presbyterate as an order of the ministry in the authority which the monarchical bishops delegated to their representatives m the various house churches under their care.

Chapter 3: The Idea of a Theological School

I. SEMINARIES IN QUANDARY

The theological schools of the churches in America share all the perplexities of the contemporary Protestant community and its ministry. Though they also participate in the movements toward clarification and reconstruction apparent in the latter the first impression they give is like the one produced by the pluralistic churches and a harried ministry: an impression of uncertainty of purpose. We have, indeed, found in the schools evidence of that pluralism and harassment; for they reflect in the multiplicity of their numbers, the variety of their statements of purpose and the conglomerate character of their courses of study the lack of unity symptomatic of their social context. They are also surely partly responsible for the situation since as educational centers of the Church they are in a better position to modify it than are most other agencies.

Perhaps it is a mistake to say that the first impression given by the theological schools is one of multiplicity and indefiniteness of purpose. The first impression many observers receive is one of inertia and conservatism. Though such successive innovations in theological study as the social gospel, social ethics, religious education, psychological counseling and ecumenical relations may receive much publicity the schools seem to go on their accustomed way, teaching what they have always taught: Biblical and systematic theology, church history and preaching. The adjustments made here and there to meet the demands of changing times and the pressures issuing from alumni and church boards scarcely affect the main tenor of their work. They are like the great majority of ministers in this respect, for the pastors also carry on their traditional functions with only slight modifications despite the stir caused by those who want to change the profession in some revolutionary manner. Yet the apparent conservatism is indicative of perplexity. For in the case of the schools as of the ministers, doing the traditional things does not mean doing them for a traditional reason; nor does it mean that these acts are internally integrated. It is the difference between the repetition of separate, habitual actions and the continuation in novel movements of a historic line of march. So traditionalism in painting repeats the same old themes of portraiture, genre, seascape and landscape in ever sleeker forms; it repeats; it does not move. But in its living tradition that art—moving for instance from Rembrandt through Daumier and Van Gogh to Rouault—brings unitive and fresh perception, contemporaneousness of understanding and inventive technique to the ever-new discovery and revelation of man's and nature's faces and forms. Though it makes its discoveries in the same world in which the conventionalist moves, it is as different from imitative traditionalism as it is from the anti-traditionalism that tries to find newness for the sake of novelty itself. Similar distinctions between dead and living tradition may be made in every realm of human workmanship.

So considered the conservatism of the theological schools does betray a certain repetitiveness of individual actions and lack of great unifying conceptions. Usually they teach Bible, theology, church history and preaching as separate subjects. Some few new and again distinct subjects are usually added for the sake of modernization, but the conventional disciplines remain in the ascendant. Each of them is regarded, doubtless rightly, as very important; but why it is important and what its place is in a definable whole eludes the definitions of catalogue writers and apparently of most curriculum committees. Studies in the history, literature and theology of Old and New Testaments occupy a large part of the time of almost all theological students. Why they should do so is rarely clearly understood by them and perhaps only somewhat more frequently by their teachers. That the Bible is very important all Christians understand; but why and in what ways it is important requires explanation. It has always been studied in theological schools and doubtless always will be. The question is not whether it will be studied but with what sense of its unity, in what context and in what relation to other subjects. Neither the medieval nor the sixteenth-century understanding of its significance seems wholly cogent today. Yet no generally accepted new analysis of its meaning has been formulated. If Bible study has become a specialty or series of specialties today the reason is not to be sought simply in the development of specialization among teachers of theology but in the loss of a controlling idea in theological education—an idea able to give unity to many partial inquiries. Similar reflections apply to the other traditional disciplines of the theological schools. What has always been taught is now being taught so far as the elements are concerned; but one thing previously implicit in all that was taught is not now being transmitted: the unifying idea. Thus the apparent conservatism of the schools is really indicative of uncertainty of aim.

The tendency toward pluralism and the participation of the schools in the confusion of churches and ministers becomes even more apparent in their efforts to add to the traditional core of theological studies new disciplines which are to serve as bridges between the heritage and modern men, or, more immediately, between it and the needs of ministers in modern churches. During the course of the last two or three generations the theological curriculum has been "enriched"—like vitamin-impregnated bread—by the addition of a long series of short courses in sociology and social problems, rural and urban sociology, the theory of religious education, educational psychology, methods of religious education, psychology of religion, psychology of personality, psychology of counseling, methods of pastoral counseling, theory of missions, history of missions, methods of evangelism, theory and practice of worship, public speaking, church administration, et cetera, et cetera. Almost every school catalogue gives evidence of such additions, particularly when it is compared with one of its predecessors from the year 1900. These additions—which have again in part been subtracted—show the great awareness of the schools that they must mediate between the heritage and the contemporary situation. But the way in which such additions have been made also indicates how little guidance schools have received or given in the task of thinking through the whole work of the Church from a unified and unifying point of view, how much they have been caught up in the tendency to respond to varying external pressures and needs without stopping first of all to come to a new self-collectedness. For these courses have been added piecemeal and almost each one of the new specialties has appeared with a new theological rationalization of its existence so that missions, the gospel for society, religious education and pastoral counseling each found itself tempted or compelled to develop its own theology.

The present curriculum of the theological schools in general shows the effects of this development or, rather, lack of development. It may be more unified than most college curricula are but nonetheless it impresses the observer as a collection of studies rather than as a course of study. When he participates in meetings of theological faculties or their curriculum committees his impression is verified by the manner in which requirements for graduation are mathematically calculated and distributed among departments. The lack of unity is also indicated in the efforts that are made to provide for "integration" by adding examinations, theses or interdepartmental courses which will insure that students will combine in their own minds what has been fragmentarily offered them.

Other indications of the lack of a sense of direction in theological education today are to be found in the hidden and open conflicts present in the schools. Such conflicts usually reflect an exaggeration of inevitable tensions that are probably healthful when they are understood, accepted and ordered into a whole life. The tension associated with the nature of the Church as one body with one Head that has many members becomes conflict when the members think themselves self-sufficient and refuse to accept their fellow members as equally related to the Head. In the form of denominationalism that conflict is not as acute today as once it was though there are schools in which the question whether they are to teach church or denominational theology is the unacknowledged background of sharp debates about courses and teachers and there are others that regard themselves and their denominations as the sole guardians of "the truth." Denominationalism, as meaning priority of loyalty to denomination over loyalty to the cause of the Church, appears more frequently in the form of provincialism than of antagonism to others. In its exaggerated form of conflict the tension of members and body seems to appear most often in the antagonisms of liberalism and conservatism or of high and low churchmanship. The sort of liberalism which looks with contempt upon conservative groups and their schools or even on conservative tendencies in theology in general, calling them all "Fundamentalist," and the kind of conservatism that abhors all critical movements alike, cut themselves off from each other in the theological world more effectively than do Baptists from Presbyterians, Methodists from Anglicans.

This antagonism is akin to another, the one between exponents in theology of the self-sufficiency of the Church and exponents of the interdependence of Church and world. Given the polarity of the Church as Church-in-the-world, conflict arises when the polarity is denied either in the refusal of one party to accept itself as part of the Church or the refusal of another to accept the world as the Church's neighbor. Antagonisms of this sort appear in theological education mostly in hidden form, as faculty members debating about the admission of students, about the inclusion or exclusion of courses or about the place of graduate studies in theology, suspect each other of too much worldliness or too much church provincialism. Doubtless such suspicions may be traced back as far as the college of the apostles and Paul, but our ironic participation in them today still leaves us with the feeling that something else is amiss besides common frailty and sin. What can we assume about one another's ideas of the Church? And if we have no great ideas to which to assent or from which to dissent how can we achieve even compromise?

The constant rivalry between advocates of the "academic," or "content," or "classic" theological courses and promoters of "practical training" presents us with a similar situation. There are few theological schools where these groups do not compete for the students' interest and time, where some members of the former group do not feel that the scholarliness of theological study is being impaired by the attention claimed for field work and counseling, where teachers of preaching, church administration and pastoral care and directors of field work do not regard much of the theological work as somewhat beside the point in the education of a minister for the contemporary Church.

Such is the first, superficial impression: our schools, like our churches and our ministers, have no clear conception of what they are doing but are carrying on traditional actions, making separate responses to various pressures exerted by churches and society, contriving uneasy compromises among many values, engaging in little quarrels symptomatic of undefined issues, trying to improve their work by adjusting minor parts of the academic machine or by changing the specifications of the raw material to be treated.

II. SIGNS OF NEW VITALITY

The first, superficial impression is not erased by more thorough acquaintance with theological schools; many instances of self-satisfied provincialism, inert traditionalism and specious modernization tend to confirm it. But more intimate acquaintance also brings into view a second, very different aspect of the scene. Alongside conventionality, which is sometimes downright antiquarian, one encounters vitality, freshness, eagerness and devotedness among these teachers and students. Alongside perplexed preparation for manifold tasks one finds present in many of these men a drive toward knowledge of the essential, a search for central Christian wisdom about the fundamental issues of life. Alongside tepid birthright loyalties to denominations and schools of thought, one encounters in faculty and students the fervent convictions of new converts about the greatness of the common Christian cause. And amidst the confusions and perplexities of many men doing many things only institutionally connected, the sense of the great tradition of the Church emerges in many places as the idea of a line of march to be taken up, of a direction to be followed, a continuing purpose to be served. Though no clear-cut idea of the theological school or of theology as a whole is as yet in prospect, a sense of renewal and promise, a feeling of excitement about the theological task is to be felt in the academic climate and it is accompanied by invigoration of intellectual inquiry and of religious devotion.

Examples of such a spirit—which is always a new spirit however frequently it has manifested itself in the past—may be found in whole schools. It is also represented on almost every faculty, even the most discouraged, by one or two young men or perennially youthful veterans, and in every corps of students, even the most somber assortment of theological-student stereotypes. Our examples, however, may be more wisely chosen from departments of study and types of educational work.

A remarkable thing has happened in recent years to the study of the Old Testament. There was a time, not too remote, when this subject was studied and doubtless sometimes taught with the kind of enthusiasm one associates with high school recitation periods at two o'clock on drowsy days in May. But now the study of the Old Testament has become a fascinating and exciting business in school after school. Students from various institutions speak of the illumination that has come to them from historic yet living participation in Israel's encounters with God, in the sorrows and exaltations, the judgments and deliverances of patriarchs, lawgivers, psalmists and prophets. In explanation of the phenomenon it may be said that an unusually brilliant group of teachers happens to be at work today in this field; yet such reasoning does not carry very far for these teachers had their peers in previous generations. Perhaps the explanation is to be found in the hints some students give of the extent to which the Old Testament has become for them an introduction to the fundamental problems of man's life before God, a revelation of the greatness, freedom and power of the Sovereign Lord, of the meaning of the people of God and of human history. The indications are that many of them came to theological study with a religion so sentimental or so narrowly Christ-centered that it had left them without answers to their deepest questions about the reason for their existence, about the meaning of human tragedy, and the significance of mankind's history. They had accepted what had been told them, but had remained ill at ease. For instance, they had learned that Jesus Christ is the answer to human problems but the Christ to whom they had been introduced was a figure unrelated to the great context in which he appeared and one who left them without answers to many of their personal questions as existing and historical men. In the study of Old Testament they had now been led by their teachers to discover what their human questions were and to what questions Jesus Christ is the answer. If this means that the Old Testament is being taught in such schools today as a part of theology it does not mean that the historical and critical approach to it is ignored or that inspiration and devotion have taken the place of scholarship. It does mean that the books of the Old Covenant are studied in the context of an intellectual love of God and neighbor, of a faith that seeks understanding.

In the case of New Testament studies a similar though less remarkable development is taking place. Partly again because very able theologians are studying and teaching in this field, partly because critical, historical scholarship is being combined with existential awareness of that human dilemma and of that divine grace with which the New Testament writings are concerned, partly for other reasons, vital interest in the meaning of the New Testament is increasing. In this case as in that of the Old Testament there are differences between conservative and liberal seminaries, but in any case it is the New Testament not as literature in general, or as record of the religious experiences of people remotely related to our generation, or as collection of dogmatic statements of right belief, or as an anthology of wise ethical maxims, but as the story of the central event in the divine-human encounter that is being studied.

The concern for theology, not as a particularist discipline but as the search for human wisdom about the wisdom of God in the creation and redemption of man, is manifest in other disciplines besides Biblical studies: in systematic theology frequently, occasionally in Christian ethics, homiletics, religious education and pastoral counseling. This concern is accompanied by great interest in the Church and its relations to culture. Special courses have been introduced in some schools to deal with the nature of the Church, especially in the perspective of the ecumenical movement. New work is also being done in an effort to interpret the religious or Christian meanings found in modern secular literature, philosophy, science and art. But the measure of these interests is not to be taken by counting the number of such special courses. The question is really how courses in Church history, missions and practical theology on the one hand, in systematic theology, Christian ethics and philosophy of religion on the other, are being taught. An impression one gains from many teachers of these subjects as well as from their students, is that often now a robust sense of Church is accompanied by great willingness to enter into conversation with secular society. That conversation is being conducted in no apologetic tone but with the humility and openness of mind possible to those who are not self-defensive and who are neither ashamed of being churchmen nor hostile to the world outside the Church.

Other symptoms of this new spirit are to be found in the increased interest in the common worship of the academic community, though this is by no means universally evident; in the widespread and intensive discussions of faculties about the purpose and organization of the course of study; in the experiments that are being carried on to relate the work of the seminary more intimately to the work of other church agencies, particularly to the local churches.

Yet it remains questionable whether all these movements and interests are leading in one direction, whether such clear principles of unity and of central purpose are being discovered that the schools are now enabled to correlate their particularistic endeavors to prepare men for multiple services in heterogeneous churches. It is clear, of course, that no single pattern will suffice for a church so complex as the Protestant church in America and for schools with so many heritages and responsibilities. Nevertheless, if a common sense of Church is nascent among the many members of one body and if a relatively clear idea is emerging of the one service to be rendered by ministers in their many duties, then some common idea of a theological school ought also to be possible. Such an idea would not be applicable as a blueprint for the reconstruction of the several institutions but only as a kind of general prescription of the elements every blueprint would need to provide for. No single pattern will suffice as a plan for the building of houses adequate to the needs of all American families in our time; their histories and tastes and duties are too various. But any house built today will provide for all the necessary functions of family life with the use of those instruments that modern civilization affords and with consideration of the services that the larger community now makes available to the home. It will also take into account the special form that family life has assumed in modern times while continuing the long tradition of the home. So it is possible to define the idea of a modern dwelling in the abstract while allowing for the infinite variations necessary before that idea can be made specifically useful for a particular family. The question is whether a general idea of a theological school can be formulated which might be comparable to such an abstract modern version of the traditional idea of a dwelling. Any effort to answer that question today in North America cannot undertake to state an apparent and growing consensus. It can only be a somewhat private essay offered for the sake of furthering and drawing together a lively but rather scattered discussion going on among many groups in the one room of the Church.

III. THE CHARACTER AND PURPOSE OF A THEOLOGICAL SCHOOL

We begin that effort by defining the theological school as intellectual center of the Church's life. Though anti-intellectualism within the Church and anti-ecclesiasticism among intelligentsia outside it will object to the close correlation of intellect and Church, their ill-founded objections need not detain us. We content ourselves at this stage with the reflections that to love God with the whole understanding has ever been accepted by the great Church, if not by every sect, as part of its duty and privilege; and that there is no exercise of the intellect which is not an expression of love. If love is not directed toward God and neighbor it is directed toward something else, perhaps even toward the intellect itself in the universal tendency toward narcissism.

To speak in Aristotelian language, the efficient, material, formal and final causes of the theological school are identical with those of the Church. Its motivation is that of the Church—the love of God and neighbor implanted in human nature in creation, redeemed, redirected and invigorated by the acceptance of the good news of God's love for the world. Its membership consists of churchmen: existing and historic individuals, gathered together in a common life of faith which among other things seeks understanding of itself, of God and neighbor. Its form is the form of the Church—the subject before God, the institution and community, the local and universal, the critical and constructive companion of the world. Its purpose is the purpose of the Church—the increase among men of the love of God and companions.

Of course, the theological school is not Church in its wholeness. It is not even the intellect of the Church; but as an intellectual center it is a member of the body. While intellectual activity is as widely diffused throughout the whole Church as are activities of worship and of compassion, there are also centers or occasions of special intellectual activity in it as there are centers or occasions of special adoration and charity. Wherever and whenever there has been intense intellectual activity in the Church a theological school has arisen, while institutions possessing the external appearance of such schools but devoid of reflective life have quickly revealed themselves as training establishments for the habituation of apprentices in the skills of a clerical trade rather than as theological schools. The intellectual activity of the Church which centers on occasion in a theological school and for which the theological school bears responsibility is like all intellectual action yet derives specific characteristics from the objects toward which it is directed and from the love that guides it. Like all intellectual activity it compares, abstracts, relates; by these means it seeks coherence in the manifoldness of human experience, unified understanding of the objects or the Other in that experience. It also undertakes to correct through criticism, false ideas of the Other and inappropriate reactions to it. Like all intellectual activity it is carried on in constant conversation among many subjects, whose ideas of the common object and whose reactions to it are compared, related and criticized. But theology is differentiated from other kinds of intellectual activity by being the reflection that goes on in the Church; it is therefore the kind of thinking that is directed toward God and man-before-God as its objects and which is guided by the love of God and neighbor. Both objectives and motivation are important in distinguishing its special character. Insofar as it is genuine church-thinking it is distinctly different from all intellectual activity guided by love of self or love of neighbor-without-God, or of intellect itself, or of knowledge for its own sake—if there is such a love. Intellectual activity motivated by such interests may indeed make Ultimate Being and man its objects of study and so seem to share in the thought of the Church; but insofar as it is directed by a love that is not love of Being and of man it cannot see or understand what love understands. Theology differs from such modes of thinking about God and man because it is a pure science, disinterested as all pure science is disinterested, seeking to put aside all extraneous, private and personal interests while it concentrates on its objects for their own sake only. On the other hand theology differs from intellectual activities directed toward other objects than God and man-before-God. Such activities may indeed be motivated by the love that animates theology, but they abstract the objects to be understood from the objects of ultimate love, focusing attention on some part or aspect of creation without making them objects of devotion. Historically theology has not always been aware of the differences between its relations to the former and the latter kinds of "secular" intellectual activity. Sometimes it has relegated both sorts to the realm of "worldly" sciences; sometimes it has presumed to assert its queenship over both though in the course of that assertion it has itself become worldly, allowing itself to be guided by self-love or love of the Church, not by the Church's love. When it follows its own genius it is related to these various sorts of intellectual activity in the various ways that Church is related to world. In all relations it is not a queen but a servant, though its service may at times need to take the form of criticism and polemic.

As center of the Church's intellectual activity, animated by the Church's motivation and directed by its purpose, the theological school is charged with a double function. On the one hand it is that place or occasion where the Church exercises its intellectual love of God and neighbor; on the other hand it is the community that serves the Church's other activities by bringing reflection and criticism to bear on worship, preaching, teaching and the care of souls. Intellectual gifts whether used in one way or the other are indispensable to the functioning of the whole community but they are not pre-eminent as intellectualism asserts. There are theological as well as psychological reasons for denying to the idea-forming, abstracting, comparing and critical work of the mind the kind of superiority to physical action, imagination, emotion and unconscious operation that is often claimed for it. All the warnings Paul uttered, and the Church in principle has accepted, against the tendency of any function of the body to claim priority over others apply to the relation of intellectual to other activities. But granted that "heart and soul and strength," or feeling and intuition and will, or sentiment, the unconscious depths and physical vitality, are all to be employed in exercising love to God and man, yet the "mind"—intelligence and understanding—also has its rightful, indispensable place in the economy of human and of Church life. Though intellectual love of God and neighbor is not the supreme exercise of love, yet it is required and possible since man is also mind and does not wholly love his loves if his mind does not move toward them. He cannot truly love with heart, soul and strength unless mind accompanies and penetrates these other activities as they in turn accompany and penetrate it. The coldness of an intellectual approach unaccompanied by affection is matched by the febrile extravagance of unreasoning sentiment; the aloofness of uncommitted understanding has its counterpart in the possessiveness of unintelligent loyalty. When the whole man is active the mind is also active; when the whole Church is at work it thinks and considers no less than it worships, proclaims, suffers, rejoices and fights.

The theological school is the center where both types of intellectual activity are carried on: the kind that, supported by other actions, moves directly toward the objects of the Church's love and the kind that supports the other movements toward those objects. The theological school in this way is like any other intellectual center where both "pure" and "applied science" are pursued, with the proviso that these phrases are misnomers for the intricate interaction of the science that confines its interest to its object only and the science whose disinterestedness in personal and private concerns is disciplined by interest in humanity. As pure science theology is that response of man's nascent love toward God and neighbor which seeks to know the beloved, not with the question whether it is worthy of love, but with wonder; not for the sake of power over the beloved but as overpowered. Or, speaking by reference to the end rather than the beginning, it is the movement of the mind toward the hoped-for God and the hoped-for neighbor. This is not to say, as some philosophers do, that thinking itself is worship of God; an element of worship is present, to be sure, in all objective thinking but the worship may be that of an idol or the sort of self-worship which desecrates the object of thought by making it a means to the end of self-glorification. It is to say, however, that thinking may be truly worshipful, and that theology is not only ancillary to other actions of the Church but is itself a primary action. Such a movement of the mind toward God and the neighbor-before-God is characteristic of the Church in all its parts but it is the first duty and a central purpose of the theological school.

From everything that has been said it should be clear that theology so considered as a pure science does not have as its object God in isolation. The word "theology'' in its literal sense as the science of God is as applicable and inapplicable to the intellectual activity of the Church as the word "medicine" is to the studies of the healing community. The God who makes himself known and whom the Church seeks to know is no isolated God. If the attribute of aseity, i.e., being by and for itself, is applicable to him at all it is not applicable to him as known by the Church. What is known and knowable in theology is God in relation to self and to neighbor, and self and neighbor in relation to God. This complex of related beings is the object of theology. In the great, nearly central figure of Christianity, the God-man, this complex appears at least symbolically, though theology is distorted if it is converted into Christology. The nature of theology is most pertinently expressed by the Thomist and Calvinist insistence: "True and substantial wisdom principally consists of two parts, the knowledge of God and the knowledge of ourselves. But while these two branches of knowledge are so intimately connected, which of them precedes and produces the other, is not easy to discover." To the present writer it seems better to say that true and substantial wisdom consists of three parts: the knowledge of God, of companions, and of the self; and that these three are so intimately related that they cannot be separated. For self-knowledge and knowledge of the other, even though the other be the human neighbor, remain two different things. This point, however, is not necessary in our argument which is simply that theology has as its complex object God in his relations to the self with its companions, and the self with its companions in their relations to God. With this object the reflections and experiences of the Bible deal, with it the great theologians were concerned. It is only broken into parts for convenience as when Christian ethics as study of man is separated from systematic theology as reflection about God. What this definition of the object of theology means for the organization of theological studies cannot here be developed. What is at issue is the reflection that theology as a "pure science," motivated by love of its object, is directed always toward both God and man, or that as intellectual activity it is subject to the double commandment of love of God and neighbor. The proper study of mankind is God and man-before-God in their interrelation.

The second function of theology as the intellectual activity of the Church and so of the theological school as a center of this activity, is the service of other activities of the Church through the exercise of theoretical understanding. Worship unreflected upon, not understood in its relations to God and to other service of God, or in its relations to works of discipline and mercy, or in its context in the whole life and history of the community, uncriticized in its perversions, tends to become habitual repetition of rites; it becomes magical or theurgistic, or is impoverished by sectarian or temporal rejection of the heritage of the whole community. The worshiper and especially the leader of worship needs not only to worship but to know what this action means in the complex of all his doings, of all the deeds of the Church and of the deeds of God. The worshipping Church needs a theology of worship not as preliminary or as addition to, but as accompaniment of, its action. So also in the case of preaching and teaching. The proclamation of the good news of divine love, of the forgiveness of sin and the deliverance from evil; exhortation to lead the Christian life; instruction of young and old in the Christian faith—these evidently require not only that the minister have heard and apprehended the gospel, comprehended the law and learned the creed, but that he have gained insight into the ways of God and men and that he grow continually in his understanding of them; that further he have grasped the meaning of preaching and teaching in relation to all the other activities he and the Church carry on. The care and cure of souls requires theological comprehension in the broad sense of the word "theology." Psychological understanding of self and other men, sociological perception of the communal setting in which individuals suffer, sin, grow guilty, anxious and despairing, the human empathy and sympathy needed by the men of the Church as they seek to help the needful—these must all be united, informed and transformed by theological understanding of man-before-God and God-with-man if the work of the counselor is to be the work of the Church. The building of the Church as a community with complex organizational structure, with manifold functions and leaders, with various responsibilities to the society around it, can easily degenerate into the building of religious clubs, of sororities and fraternities and of national associations for the promotion of good causes, if the understanding of the Church's purpose, of its responsibility to God, of the nature and action of God, of man and his history, of the meaning of the Church's work in all the complex of human activity and of the interrelation of the various aspects of its work are lost to view.

The need for theological understanding and criticism on the part of the preacher and teacher has always been understood, perhaps especially by the churches of the Reformation though it is probably no accident that theological studies in the Roman Church have been especially developed in times past by the preaching orders. The need for theological preparation and continuous study on the part of the priest or leader of worship and the pastoral counselor has not always been as clearly recognized and these functions of the Church have suffered in consequence. Today, if it is true as has been previously suggested, that the work of the minister centers in his activity as pastoral director of a church, the necessity for profound understanding of the meaning of the Church but particularly of that reality to which it points in all its action seems to be very evident. As a general physician needs a knowledge of the structure, functioning and pathology of a whole psychosomatic person in his physical, social environment; as a statesman needs to understand the constitution, the dynamics, the history, the value system, the social evils, and the international relations of the society he governs, so the pastoral director of a church needs to know the nature, the purpose, the relations, the structure, the history, the deformations, and the responsibilities of the Church. And no such understanding is possible apart from knowledge of God before whom and for whom the Church exists, and apart from knowledge of man in his responsibility to God.

A theological school, then, is that center of the Church's intellectual activity where such insight into the meaning and relations of all the Church's activities is sought and communicated. It is sought there first of all by those who are preparing to assume responsibility for the Church's work. The theological school is a place where young men are taught to understand the world of God in which the Church operates and the operations of the Church in that world, but it is clear that they cannot be taught unless those who teach them as well as they themselves are constantly in quest of such understanding. It is also, however, the place whither maturer leaders of the Church resort for longer and shorter periods of intensive intellectual work in a community of intellectual workers.

How a theological school so defined as intellectual center of the Church's life differs from a trade school, from a bookish center where not understanding of God and man but of books is sought, from a school of philosophy, a Bible school, a school for preachers, a monastery, et cetera, does not need to be described in detail. We shall need, however, to inquire into the chief methods by which theological understanding is gained.

IV. THE THEOLOGICAL COMMUNITY

An intellectual center of the Church's life which serves the purposes of theological activity necessarily has the form of a college, that is of a collegium or colleagueship. It is a community of students in communication with one another, with the common subjects or objects studied, and with companions of the past and present in like communication with the objects. Every genuine school is such a society in which the movement of communication runs back and forth among the three—the teacher, the student and the common object. When communication is a one-way process, proceeding from an authoritative person to an immature learner who is not in direct relation to the object of the study, intellectual activity is at a minimum in both parties; such a school is not a community of students but a propaganda or indoctrination institution. The study of nature is unreal when textbooks and purely verbal communication take the place of laboratories so that natural entities or activities are not the instructors of both tutors and pupils. In view of the nature of the common object of theology—God and man in their interrelations—it is particularly evident that the intellectual community cannot be bi-polar, consisting only of teachers and students. It is even more dependent than the scientific community on the direct relation of the knowers to theological reality—the God of faith and believing men, the subjects and objects of ultimate love, the commander and the commanded, the forgiver and sinner. Indeed the infinitely active and inexhaustible nature of the subjects of theology reduces to relatively small significance the distance between the more and less mature members of the community of inquiry. Teachers and students form one group before their common objects, which are, indeed, subjects, actively making their presence felt in the community.

The presence in the theological community of the ultimate objects or subjects of study, like its engagement in serving the ultimate purpose of the Church, means that theological students are personally involved in their work to an unusual degree. The study of the determination of personal and human destiny by the mystery of being beyond being, of the tragedy and victory of the son of man, of the life-giving, healing power immanent in personal and social existence, of the parasitic forces of destruction that infest the spiritual as well as the biological organism, of the means of grace and the hope of glory—this cannot be carried on without a personal involvement greater than seems to be demanded by the study of history, nature or literature. If students are not personally involved in the study of theology they are not yet studying theology at all but some auxiliary science such as the history of ideas or ancient documents. Hence theological study is hazardous; the involvement may become so personal and emotional that intellectual activity ceases and the work of abstraction, comparison and criticism stops. Other hazards appear because intellectual activity requires that the objects of ultimate concern in the study be often set at the fringe of awareness while ideas and patterns, forms and relations are put in the center. The avoidance of temptations that arise in this situation will need to concern us later. The point to be insisted on here is that the theological community is constituted not by teachers and learners but by these and the subjects of their common inquiry.

In other respects also it is necessary to think of the theological enterprise in terms of community and as an affair of genuine back-and-forth communication. The course of study is a course of constant conversation with members of a wide circle of men who live in community with God and with neighbors-before-God. The necessary introduction to Christian theology is through Biblical studies and these need to occupy the theologian throughout his work, whatever be his specialty. But Biblical studies are in essence participation in the life of the Biblical communities that found their source and their focus in God. To study the Bible is not to study impersonal writings, Utopian ideas, heavenly patterns. It is to participate in the life of Israel and the early Church, in their hearing and interpretation of the Word spoken through all the sounds that assailed their ears, in their obedience and disobedience to the Will beyond all wills, in their mindfulness and understanding of the mighty acts of ultimate judgment and deliverance in all the arbitraments and liberations of history. It is to share in their appeals for mercy, in their questionings and reasonings with God, in their disputes, disagreements and reconciliations among themselves. There is no other way to learn, organize and apprehend experience, think and speak Christianly, than by long and continuous participation in the life of the Biblical communities. In this conversation with those who being dead yet speak we learn the logic as well as the language of the community that centers in God. Whatever the discontinuities between Israel and the early Church on the one hand, the modern Church on the other so far as their participation in natural, cultural and political events go, fundamental continuity prevails so far as divine-human and inter-human relations before God are concerned. For, as was pointed out previously, the knowledge of God and man with which we are concerned in the Church is precisely the knowledge available to those who stand in this historic community and apprehend reality from its point of view. In this communication between the Biblical and the modern communities the movement is not all one way; it is not simply the Bible that speaks to the theological student; he also speaks to the men of the Bible. Nothing is more evident from the history of Biblical interpretation in the Church and from the self-critical conversations of modern Biblical scholars than that the movement is reciprocal. New light does break forth from Scriptures as inquirers learn from their social and personal experience to ask new questions of the old communities and to read apparently familiar communications in a new setting. Every classical literature possesses such power of continuing its life and of developing new meanings in the minds of those who study not only it but the realities with which it deals. So Plato and Aristotle, Aeschylus and Virgil, Dante and Shakespeare continue to play active roles in Western cultural society. Far more than they, Moses and Isaiah, the Psalmists, Paul and John, Matthew, Mark and Luke participate in the life of the modern Christian community.

The theological community includes also the men and societies of Christian history. The Reformers, to be sure, revolted against the dominance of tradition at the expense of the Bible. The Reformation both established the priority of Biblical studies and tended to exclude from the theological community the theologians, prophets and churchmen of the post-New Testament period. It seemed sufficient that theology should combine with the present questionings of men in encounter with God and neighbors intense participation in the life of the men of Scriptures. In fact, however, tradition became established again as soon as it was banished. The second generation of Protestant theological students attended at least to Luther's and Calvin's words about attending to the Word of God. There is no Bible school or Biblical seminary that does not also study the mind of some founder of its method of interpreting Scripture, or of some other groups of Bible students besides itself. The question is not really whether the theological community should include only immediately present human beings and the men of Scriptures; other, historic men and groups will always be included. The question is how representative of the whole Church these men and societies will be, whether the Augustines and Thomases, not to speak of the Senecas and Ciceros, who belonged to the Reformers' community of discourse are to be heard directly; whether the response of Christians to the fall of the Roman Empire is to be understood or only their response to the decay of medieval civilization; whether the thirteenth-century revival of the Church or only its eighteenth-century awakening is to be regarded; whether only the fathers of a denomination or also the Church fathers on whom they relied are to be included in the community of discourse.

The study of historical theology and of the historical Church, whatever the limits within which it is undertaken, is as necessary as it is an inevitable part of theological inquiry. Under the influence of theories of progress or decline or development in history such study has frequently been carried on for the purpose of explaining the differences between Biblical and modern life before God. But, in effect, historical study is always far more important than these patterns of interpretation indicate. What happens in it is that men and communities of the past, confronting strange situations, making new responses and mistakes, yet always concerned with the one God and the same Christ, are included in the conversation of the present theological society. In this conversation chronological priority and posteriority are often unimportant. Augustine’s reflections may be more illuminative of the common subject than the later ideas of Thomas Aquinas; Luther may answer more questions of the modern student about his puzzling situation in guilt and anxiety before God than Schleiermacher; Bernard of Clairvaux may clarify the meaning of the love of God and neighbor more than a twentieth-century theologian. Historical study in theology, when theology is directed toward its chief objects, is always more like a conversation with a large company of similarly concerned and experienced men than like the tracing of a life history, whatever values there are in the latter procedure. But a theological inquiry that narrows the historical community, that excludes from the conversation such men as the early Fathers of the Church, or the medieval theologians, or the Reformers, or the sectarians of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, or the Puritans, Pietists and social gospelers, or such movements as monasticism, scholasticism, Biblicism, et cetera impoverishes itself from the beginning. The study of history is never only the effort to understand the past, or even to understand the human present that has grown out of the past; it is an extension of the effort to understand objects and situations common to the past and the present. It always involves a kind of resurrection of the minds of predecessors in the community of inquiry, and an entering into conversation with them about the common concern.

The principle of communication applies also to the relations of the theological school to other groups and activities in the contemporary Church. The isolated school, out of touch with other intellectual centers of the Church, out of touch also with the worshipping, serving, educating Church, uncognizant of and uninfluenced by the work of the preachers, priests, pastoral counselors and pastoral directors, uncritical and uncriticized, is not an intellectual center of the Church but only of some academic or religious sect. In such a school only fragments of theology can be studied; its partial views are never corrected or illuminated from other perspectives than its own.

Finally, the theological community as a Church center is always in companionship with the "world" and in communication with secular learning. In its participation in the life of the Biblical communities it participates with them in their conversation and conflict with ancient cultures; in its re-enactment of the life of the Church in history it also re-enacts the conversations of theologians with Platonists and Neo-Platonists, with Aristotelians and Averroists, with idealists and realists; it recapitulates the encounters of the institutional Church with Church-reforming and Church-deforming states, of the Christian community with rising and declining cultures. In its dialogue with contemporary churchmen it is involved in their engagements with the metropolitan, industrial society of our time. As center of the contemporary Church's intellectual activity it is also directly responsible for continuous conversation with the intellectual centers of secular society. Its relations to the philosophies, sciences and humanities studied in the latter will be as various as are the relations of the Church to its companion, the world. At times the conversation will be debate and polemic, but even conflict is creative for a theology that has been cured of defensiveness by the faith that infuses it. Frequently the relations will be co-operative, as when views of human nature developed in secular centers illuminate areas inaccessible, though highly germane, to theological understanding, or when the latter supplies insights otherwise unattainable.

This responsibility of the theological school for intercommunication with the world is not discharged by its requirement that those who wish to participate in its work must have previously received a liberal education. Theological inquiry is not something that can be added to humanistic and naturalistic studies. It needs to be constantly informed by them and to inform them. Hence also this responsibility is not met merely by the addition to theological studies of courses in the old or the new humanities—the study of literature, history and philosophy on the one hand, of culture, psychology and sociology on the other. The question is never one of adding bodies of knowledge to each other but always one of interpenetration and conversation. A theological school that is closely related to a university may be in a more favorable situation to maintain connection with humanistic and scientific studies than is the isolated school. It can also more readily make to the body of human learning the contributions that are required of theology. But proximity to a university, even organizational connection with one, does not guarantee that this interchange will take place, nor does distance from such an institution prevent the lively conversation of theology with other disciplines of thought.

This outline of the aspects of theological community activity offers no prescription for the manner in which duties are to be distributed among the members of a school. The division of labor in any society, including the theological school, will always doubtless be somewhat arbitrary. But whatever convenience and expediency require about the way in which the unity of theological study be broken up into manageable parts, the first requirements laid on all the specialists in the community seem to be: that their intellectual participation in the life of the Biblical, the historic and the contemporary Church always have in view the common theological object—God and man in their interrelations; and that it always be carried on in acute awareness of the "world" in which the Church has been assigned its task. One may say that the complex object of theological study always has the three aspects of God in relation to man, of men in relation to God, and of men-before-God in relation to each other, while the method of such study consists of intensive participation in the life of the Biblical, historical and contemporary churches in their encounters with God and interactions with the "world."

V. THEORY AND PRACTICE

Our reflections on the nature of a theological school and on its methods of study have emphasized the theoretical character of its work. Whether its function as the exercise of the intellectual love of God and man or as the illumination of other church activities is stressed, in either case the work of the school is theoretical. As intellectual center of the Church's life it is the place where in specific manner faith seeks understanding. As guide of the immature it seeks to lead them to a knowledge of the whole complex of action in which they are to act; as illuminator and critic the school endeavors to aid the Church to understand what it is doing and by understanding to modify or redirect these actions. Hence it deals with the theory of preaching, of Christian education, of social action and of worship as well as with the theory of divine and human nature, of God's activity and man's behavior. So its work is theoretical through and through.

Objections to this emphasis will arise in various quarters. It will be pointed out that in the past great cleavages between theology and the Church have resulted from a one-sided interest in theory; that the development of the schools, particularly in America during the past hundred years, has been in reaction to the dominance of theory; that the Church needs men who have been practically trained in its work. These objections have some cogency, yet it may be questioned whether they are not directed against a kind of theorizing very different from the sort that has been described and whether they in turn have not led to practices that now stand in need of criticism. This problem of theory and practice which arises in many other contexts in theological schools itself needs theoretical illumination. Though our difficulties in the development of the schools have arisen in part from failure to achieve adequate understanding of our ultimate purposes and our total activity, they seem also to be partly due to inadequate theories of the relations of action and reflection.

Two views of this relation seem to guide and by their antagonism to perplex us. According to the intellectualist theory all human action begins with theory, with an understanding of ideas presented to the mind; the movement is from idea to action, from thought to voluntary deeds. First, it is supposed, we conceive the idea of God, then move toward love and obedience and faith; first we conceive the idea of salvation, then accept this healing work; first we understand the nature of the Church, then proceed to increase and edify it. Directly opposed to this view is the pragmatic theory which regards theoretical activity as an affair of rationalizations, essentially irrelevant to practice; practice is valued both for its own sake and as more directly contributory than thought can be to the welfare of men and the glory of God. The contention between advocates of these two theories of the relations of theory and practice becomes, in theological schools as well as elsewhere, a debate between two kinds of practitioners—the practitioners of theoretical activity on the one hand, of nontheoretical on the other. But in the course of the debate it becomes apparent that a host of issues is involved, not a simple and definable single issue. In consequence members of what seemed to be two parties are forever changing sides and confusion is increased rather than diminished.

Neither an intellectualist nor a pragmatic understanding of the relations of theory and practice has been presupposed in our definition of the theological school as the center of the Church's intellectual activity and as the college in which the Biblical, the historical and the contemporary Church are included in one community of discourse. What has been implied is the conviction that reflection and criticism form an indispensable element in all human activity, not least in the activities of the Church, but that such reflection cannot be independent of other activities, such as worship, proclamation, healing, et cetera. Reflection is never the first action, though in personal and communal life we can never go back to a moment in which action has been unmodified by reflection. Even when we prevision an act, such as worship, and reflect on what we have not yet done, the act contemplated does not grow out of the contemplation; its sources in the complex human soul are more various. Reflection precedes, accompanies and follows action but this does not make it the source or end of action. Reflection as a necessary ingredient in all activity is neither prior nor subservient to other motions of the soul. Serving these it is served by them in the service of God and neighbor or of the self. It serves them in its own way, by abstracting and relating, by discerning pattern and idea, by criticism and comparison. It is served by a will that disciplines, a love that guides, by the perception of incarnate being, by hope of fulfillment.

The work of a theological school is necessarily reflective but if it is carried on in complete abstraction from other action, or if it is reflection on the actions of other men only, it soon becomes theory in the bad sense of the term—a vision of reflections of reflections. The theoretical work of the intellect needs to be carried on in the context of the Church's whole life; hence those whose special duty it is to do this work must participate in that life if they are to discharge their peculiar duty. One cannot understand the meaning of preaching in the total work of the Church apart from direct personal hearing and proclamation of the gospel, nor know the character of worship, its direction, the requirements it makes on the self and its relations to proclamation and service unless one is a worshiper. How shall one understand Christian education in theory without engaging in it as teacher and student, or church administration without participation in the organized common life of a Christian community? The point is not that we learn by doing. Sometimes we learn nothing by doing except the bare deed, as when children are taught to read by being required simply to read but never learn that written words refer to a whole world beyond them or when theological students are taught to "preach" by being required to make public addresses but never discover the difference between a sermon and an oration. The point is rather that we do not learn the meaning of deeds without doing. If action unexamined, unreflected upon and uncriticized is not worth doing, examination, reflection and criticism which are not the self-examination, the self-reflection and self-criticism of a living agent also are scarcely worth carrying on.

A second equally or more important reason why theological study must be set in the context of the Church's whole activity if it is to be genuine theology, lies in the nature of theoretical activity. The intellect abstracts, compares, conceptualizes; it notes relations and forms ideas of them. In theology it turns to ideas of being, of God, of fatherhood and sonship, of sovereignty and mercy, of judgment and salvation. It turns from selves in their concrete personal and communal existence to ideas of the image of God in man, of the soul, of mankind, the people of God, of sin and blessedness. Endeavoring to understand the Church it tries to discern its pattern and to see analogies between churchly and other realities. Now the proper work of the intellect lies in the accurate, critical discovery, definition and testing of such ideas. But this work of theory cannot stand alone because it is a work of abstraction that proceeds from, and must return to, the concrete reality of life. Moreover, engagement in theological inquiry involves the student in personal hazards because he is tempted to regard the abstract as the real and even to make it the object of his love. This danger can be avoided only if theology is set within the larger personal and social context of a life of love of God and neighbor.

While it is true, as has been said before, that theology requires personal involvement on the part of its students, the fact cannot be ignored that in the activity of the intellect the ultimate objects and subjects of love, faith and hope must be set somewhat at the fringe of awareness. In the moment of his study God and neighbor are not present to the theologian as Thous addressing or being addressed by this I. What is immediately present are forms, patterns, ideas ingredient in the Thous. Furthermore, the mind that contemplates ideas is not the self in its whole concrete character with its anxieties and hopes, its highly personal guilt and need of deliverance from evil but rather a kind of common mind, an abstracted self. In the terms Martin Buber has made familiar, theology is an affair of I-It rather than of I-Thou relations, and the I in this I-It relation differs from the I in the I-Thou relation. To be sure, theology does not think of God as an It nor does it make a thing out of the neighbor, but the abstractions it attends to are its, things, rather than selves in their living power. Sin and salvation do not become ideas; but ideas of sin and salvation do occupy the foreground of attention. Neither is the self reduced to the studious, mental self; yet the vocation of the student takes a certain precedence for the time being over the man who among many other things also studies. Because intellectual work requires such attention to the impersonal therefore it is necessary that it be constantly corrected and made serviceable by activities of another sort, especially by the worship of God, the hearing of his Word, and direct service of the neighbor. In worship and in the hearing of the proclamation the eternal Thou and the concrete selfhood of worshiper or hearer of the Word are in a confrontation never actualized in study. In the service of the neighbor not only he as a real person but the self also, in all its weakness and need, with all its concrete obligations, are brought into awareness in a manner never achievable by a student of theology so far as he remains a student. Hence while a community which centers in worship is not a theological school, a theological school in which worship is not a part of the daily and weekly rhythm of activity cannot remain a center of intellectual activity directed toward God. Preaching and hearing the proclamation is not theological study; but if students of theology, in all their degrees of immaturity and maturity, do not attend to the Word addressed to them as selves their study represents flight from God and self. A community of service to men is not as such a theological center; but a school that only studies man-before-God and man in relation to neighbor without the accompaniment of frequent, direct encounter with human Thous, serving and being served, has become too irresponsible to neighbors to be called a divinity school.

Consideration of the relations of study to worship, to the preaching and hearing of the Word, and to the service of men calls our attention to the significance of these activities as they need to be carried on by the theological community itself. But it also puts into a frequently neglected perspective the meaning of participation by students and faculty in the Church's work outside the confines of the school. All too often "field work" (why not call it "church work?") is regarded and directed as though its purpose were the acquisition of skills for future use. Students, it seems, should teach Sunday School classes because sometime in the future they will need to organize Sunday Schools; to do "clinical work" in hospitals because they will learn something beneficial for their later practice as counselors; to practice preaching so that in other times and other places they may proclaim divine righteousness and mercy. When such considerations are urged upon them an inner contradiction comes to appearance; a kind of professionalized self-love has been substituted for love of God and neighbor. The children in the Sunday School class, the patients in the hospital, the hearers of the "practice sermon" have been put into a secondary place; they have become means to a personal end. Fortunately, the situations in which students so sent into "field work" find themselves, their own sensitiveness and the grace of God active in many secondary agencies counteract the influence of the theory that such participation in the Church's work is self-loving preparation for the exercise of future other-loving action. It demands immediate self-forgetful service of others; it puts into the center of attention God on whom the servant is dependent and the neighbor who is in need of service. It requires the young man or woman engaging in it to be a minister now, rather than to look forward merely to future ministry. It puts the intellectual love of God and neighbor into the rich context of the present moment. Doubtless participation in church work by students of theology has educational value, since devoted and intelligent men are bound to learn from experience, especially if they can compare it with that of others. But neither self-education nor the undergirding of intellectual activity constitutes the purpose of work that can have only the glory of God and the welfare of companions as its ends. These and other considerations underscore the significance of participation in church work by those who are engaged in theological study. It is important that their studies be set in the context of the Church's work not simply because theology is thereby enriched, but also because it is not a way of life and because a person is not definable in terms of his vocation even though it be the vocation of theological student. Theology is only the intellectual part of a way of life and the young person's problem is not simply one of attaining intellectual comprehension but of growing up into the measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ.

Yet all this does not mean that the theological school should turn away from its own proper work of intellectual activity. It means that theoretical activity can be only provisionally and partly separated from the Church's total action, or that as the theological community is necessary to the functioning of the Church so also the Church's other agencies are necessary to that community. Once more the old parable of the body and its members finds its application.

These adumbrations of the idea of a theological school will seem to some who have followed the course of our argument to be so general or so Utopian as to be irrelevant to the existing seminaries in the United States and Canada. How shall administrators and teachers gain help from such generalities as they struggle to find answers to pressing questions about the extension of the curriculum to four years, about the place in it of Greek and Hebrew, about making better provisions for the theological education and employment of young women? Such questions cannot be answered on the basis of a general idea of theological study without further theoretic inquiry into the specific situations in which they arise.( A further volume on theological education in the United States and Canada, now in preparation by the staff of the study project, will come to closer grip with some specific problems.) But the problem of theological education, as it presents itself to administrators, boards and faculties, does not consist simply of a series of detailed questions. It is also a problem of the over-all goal and context of the seminaries' work. The reflections here offered on that subject have not been developed in abstraction from the practice of theological education but only in some abstraction from the confusion of many details. The idea has been worked out in the midst of practice and in consultation with hundreds of fellow practitioners.

Like every such theory, like theology itself, it remains incomplete and open. It is an effort to understand in the moment, while the conversation in the Church continues, what are the intelligible outlines of the structure of theological study in the Protestant schools. A theological education which does not lead young men and women to embark on a continuous, ever-incomplete but ever-sustained effort to study and to understand the meanings of their work and of the situations in which they labor is neither theological nor education. Similarly, a theory of theological study which does not lead toward new endeavors toward better, more precise and more inclusive understanding of the nature of theological endeavor under the government of God is not a theory of theology but a dogmatic statement backed by no more than individual authority, that is, by no authority at all.

Chapter 2: The Emerging New Conception of the Ministry

I. THE PERPLEXED PROFESSION

A school, we have noted, is related in a double way to the society in which it carries on its work. Participating in the common life it devotes itself to the social objectives in the special way these can be served by a company of scholars or learners who exercise intellectual love of the values toward which the society is directed. In the second place, as one community agency among many, the school also serves the ultimate social objectives indirectly, insofar as its immediate concern is to teach men who will be able to guide and carry on the activities of other agencies; so it functions as a community of teachers. A medical school, for instance, is a research and often also a healing center, directly concerned with the increase of knowledge about the human organism and with its health; but it is also a training center where men are prepared to work in many other institutions of the society, from private practice to public health offices. So also a university in a free society is devoted in intellectual freedom to the pursuit of the universal, liberating knowledge and wisdom that are objectives of the society; it is on the other hand a teaching institution where men are equipped to direct the affairs of the governmental, legal, cultural, educational and economic institutions of the society.

The Protestant schools of theology in the United States and Canada along with all other schools are subject to the tensions inescapably given with this duality of academic functions. But on the whole they are less bothered by them than they might be, for in their relation to the churches they have chosen or been required to devote themselves primarily to the second, that is, to the teaching function of schools. Their express purpose is to educate men who will direct the affairs of church institutions, especially local churches. They tend in consequence to neglect the first function of a theological school—the exercise of the intellectual love of God and neighbor. To this imbalance we shall need to address ourselves in other connections For the present we must only point out that whatever just criticism may have been made of theological schools in other countries and times because they were too remote from parish and national church activities and because they overlooked their responsibility for training preachers, pastors, evangelists and priests, the North American schools with which we are concerned have not erred in this direction. (Theological schools are characteristically defined in previous reports as institutions for the training of ministers. So William Adams Brown and Mark A. May in The Education of American Ministers (New York, 1934), I, 74; III, 3. See also Robert L. Kelly, Theological Education in America (New York, 1924), pp.vi,vii-ix, 23-28. The idea of a theological school the present study presupposes is described more fully in Chap. III.) Their concentration on the task of educating ministers gives them their unique character; it determines the content of their courses of study and influences decisively their choice of students, teachers and administrators. It also involves them in great difficulties, since the contemporary Church is confused about the nature of the ministry. Neither ministers nor the schools that nurture them are guided today by a clear-cut, generally accepted conception of the office of the ministry, though such an idea may be emerging.

Similar confusion seems to have characterized some other periods of the Church's history but we shall derive more help toward understanding our situation and its possibilities if we attend to those times when a definite conception of the ministry gave to both those who filled the office and those who prepared them for it a standard by which to judge their work. Such a well-defined idea seems to have prevailed in the Middle Ages. The Pastoral Rule of Gregory the Great formulated and disseminated the medieval theory of the minister as the pastoral ruler or the ruling pastor. The pattern was not imposed on the churches by external authority; it grew out of tradition, practice, experience and the needs of the time. Similarly the conception of the minister as priest, though supported by the formidable institutional authority of the Roman Church and its Council of Trent was not legislated into being. The law formulated and gave precision to a conception or a standard that had developed out of traditional and Biblical origins under the influence of historic experiences, resolutions and needs. The theory of the ministry in the churches of the Reformation was also precise; the minister was fundamentally the preacher of the Word, an idea which later, in the days of Pietism and Evangelicalism, was modified in the direction of the conception of the minister as evangelist. In all these instances the men who exercised the ministry, those to whom they ministered and those who prepared them for their task knew with relative precision what was expected of the man who held this office.

The confusion about the conception of the ministry characteristic of the time from which we seem to be slowly emerging was pointed out twenty years ago by Professor Mark A. May. The conclusion of his study of The Profession of the Ministry: Its Status and Problems (May, The Education of American Ministers, II, 385-94.)

was that this confusion presented theological education with its chief problems. On the one hand, he pointed out, the very definite concepts of the ministry held in some quarters conflicted with the desires or needs of students and congregations and with the temper of the times. On the other hand, and partly because of such conflict, the idea of the ministry was vague and uncertain.

What is the function of the minister in the modern community? The answer is that it is undefined. There is no agreement among denominational authorities, local officials, seminaries, professors, prominent laymen, ministers or educators as to what it is or should be. This lack of agreement, even along the most general lines, is a characteristic feature of the situation today and accounts in a large measure for the low educational status of the ministry The work of the lawyer, the physician, the teacher, the artist, the writer and the engineer, is clear-cut and rather sharply defined (at least in the mind of the average man), so that when a young man chooses one of these professions he has some idea of what he is getting into. But not so with the ministry. Entering the ministry is more like entering the army, where one never knows where he will land or live or what specific work he will be called upon to perform. This lack of clear definition of the functions of the pastor that can be widely accepted influences theological education.... How can the seminaries train men for a work that is so tenuous, and concerning the nature of which such a diversity of opinion exists?

Much has happened in Church and world, among ministers and laymen, in the years that have elapsed since this judgment was made, and what has happened has led in directions that could not then be foreseen. We can speak today of an emerging new conception of the ministry. But emergence is not yet appearance and in large areas the indefiniteness, vagueness and conflict characteristic of thought about the ministry in the 1930's continues to prevail.

A decade after Professor May's observations had been made Professors Hartshorne and Froyd undertook to study the ministry of the Northern (now American) Baptist Convention. Making their approach from the functional point of view they tried to discover how ministers defined their more important objectives, how they rated the relative importance of their various tasks and how they divided their time in the performance of their duties. The findings of this study indicated how great was the confusion in 1944 even in a single denominational group. It was noted that in the case of a considerable group of ministers "the more conventional patterns are being broken up as these men face the actual needs of their people in the light of increasing knowledge of what these needs are"; that for many others the ministry tends "to drop to the level of a trade, each man being sent into a church with a set of routine procedures, which he is supposed to use indiscriminately in all situations," unequipped, however, with a set of principles such as are necessary for the exercise of a profession.( Hugh Hartshorne and Milton C. Froyd, Theological Education in the Northern Baptist Convention: A Survey (Philadelphia, 1945), pp. 42, 119.)

The evidence that perplexity and vagueness continue to afflict thought about the ministry is to be found today in the theological schools and among ministers themselves. Some schools and some pastors are highly conscious of the problem; others are in a more difficult state because they have not realized the source of their perplexities. In the schools the lack of a clear-cut conception is evident there where a frankly pluralistic approach to the work of the ministry has been accepted and where men are prepared for the varieties of the ministry as well as the varieties of ministerial work without reference to a common function to be carried out by all ministers and by every minister in all the things he does. In these places the course of study consists of a series of preparations for a series of loosely connected acts In this situation each one of the more general disciplines—such as study of the Bible, theology, church history, psychology, sociology—may then be directly related to a specific function such as preaching? educating, counseling, social action. In the same and in other schools uncertainty about the meaning of the ministry comes to appearance also in the feeling of conflict in a faculty between its loyalty to a traditional idea, such as that of the preacher, and its sense of obligation to denominational officials, alumni and churchmen in general who urge a more "practical" education. Such faculties feel that they are being deflected from their proper work by outside pressures, that they are compromising their ideals and making concessions to expediency when they yield to these demands. Again uncertainty about the meaning of the ministry may be indicated by the silence of many faculties when they are asked to speak of their precise objectives, or by the great generality of the phrases employed when they answer.

Ministers no less than the schools give evidence of the prevailing mistiness of the conception of the ministry. Those who have fought their way through to a clear-cut definition of theiI task and office often say that they have have had to do this in isolation, without real help from school or Church, and that the maintenance of their sense of specific vocation is a highly personal responsibility. Such men will also point out that the over-busyness of some of their colleagues and the great sense of pressure under which these men work may be due to failure to define what is important and unimportant in a minister's work. The minister who knows what he is doing, they say, is able to resist the many pressures to which he is subject from lay groups in the churches, from the society, from denominational headquarters, and from within himself, however hard he must fight to keep his ship on its course; but the man who has no such determinative principle falls victim to the forces of all the winds and waves that strike upon him. There may be a connection also between indefiniteness in the sense of vocation and the fact that sloth or "downright laziness" is often mentioned by ministers as a reason for failure in the ministry. Doubtless a significant temptation to sloth or "accidie"—as this vice was called in older days—is to be found in the frustration a man experiences when he has no clear sense of his duties and no specific standard by means of which to judge himself. One must not, of course, ascribe too much responsibility to the vagueness of theory. At all times human frailty and sin make the ministry whose business it is to point to the highest reality and the profoundest faith a morally perilous vocation. That "we have this treasure in earthen vessels" is generally very clear to ministers, Church and world. Special temptations abound for men in this calling—temptations to authoritarianism, to pretentiousness, to self-deception, to love of prestige, to the cultivation of popularity and visible success, et cetera. No matter how definite the theory of the ministry, the individual pastor and the whole profession will never be able to drop their guard against these and more common human temptations to faithlessness. Yet when the Church's and the minister's idea about his work is uncertain it is not unlikely that some of "our calling's snares" are more than usually difficult to understand and avoid.

Many reasons have been given for the prevalence of this uncertainty and many remedies have been suggested. Some men believe that it is due to a loss of Christian conviction on the part of young men and women entering the schools and applying for ordination or to the weakness of their sense of call to the ministry. Others, who also see the situation only as a result of human failure, believe that ministers and schools have been deflected from their purpose and have lost their sense of mission because they have succumbed to the temptation to improve their personal and professional status by doing anything that might make them pleasing to the greatest number of people. The voluntaristic system of the free churches in North America, it has been said, has tended to transform their officials into merchants who offer all sorts of wares so that as many customers as possible may be attracted to their ecclesiastical emporiums. Those who approach the subject sociologically have sometimes maintained that the difficulty arises out of the fact that many functions the ministry once discharged have been taken over by new agencies.

If then, the educational functions of the church have been taken over by the state, the charity functions by local agencies, so that

"pastors now regard the educational and civic among the least important of their activities; and if the number of mid-week prayer services, evangelistic meetings and Sunday evening meetings are declining: if more marriages are being performed by justices of the peace and civil authorities; if attendance at the Sunday morning service is declining owing to golf, radio, good roads, etc.: then what is left for the pastor to do?" (May, Education of American Ministers, II. 389.)

So Professor May wrote twenty years ago and his ideas are occasionally echoed in our day, especially in circles that have not participated in or observed the renewal of the Church. It is also pointed out that uncertainty about the office of the ministry may be a by-product of that more intimate interaction among denominations and communions which has been characteristic of recent times. Various ideas are merging: the idea of the preacher as this was worked out in the churches of the Reformation, of the evangelist as this developed in the churches founded during the Revivals, of the priest as represented by the Anglican Catholic movement but also as it becomes effective on Protestants in their relations to the Roman Catholic Church. Yet they are not meeting in such a way as to give rise to a definite new conception but only so as to obscure the definite outlines of each traditional idea. Another sociological explanation of the phenomenon is that the traditional functions of the clergy are not adjusted to the needs of the modern world and that the responsibility for the prevailing uncertainty must be placed on the Church as a cultural laggard which has not kept up with the times.

There seems to be a measure of truth in each of these statements. Temptations to abandon the proper work of the ministry because of ambition or the desire to please are encountered— and succumbed to—at all times. Temptations to continue a traditional course by virtue of sheer inertia are also familiarly human. But what critics who point to these reasons for the loss of certainty seem too often to forget is that the Church is never only a function of a culture nor ever only a supercultural community; that the problem of its ministers is always how to remain faithful servants of the Church in the midst of cultural change and yet to change culturally so as to be true to the Church's purpose in new situations. Those who suggest that the ministry should provide for its continuation by turning itself into a kind of social or counseling service ignore the nature of the ministry and really provide for its discontinuation. So do those who seek a remedy for present ills by insisting on unchanging adherence to a form of the ministry developed in some earlier cultural period.

During the time in which analyses of the sort we have alluded to were being made and such remedies proposed, and in part tried, an unspectacular process of reconstruction has been going on in Church and ministry so that we can speak today of an emerging new conception of the ministry, a conception which leaves it ministry and does not change it into something else. It is a conception which has not been manufactured in the study, though theologians in their studies have contributed to its development. It has grown out of the wrestlings of ministers with their problems, out of the experiences of the times and the needs of men, yet it has its roots in the Bible and in the long tradition of the Church. In time it may be so formulated that schools training men for the ministry will have as clear a picture before them of their immediate objective as their predecessors had when the ideas of the pastoral ruler, the priest, the preacher and the evangelist prevailed. Ministers also and the laity of the Church will know what is expected of those who hold this office For the present it is possible only to feel after and to describe in sketchy outline what this new conception is, a conception that we may believe is at least as much gift of grace as consequence of sin and perhaps more something produced by historic forces under divine government than the creature of human pride and fickleness. Before we undertake to set forth our understanding of this emerging new idea we need to analyze what the elements are that constitute any such pattern.

II. PASTORS, PREACHERS AND PRIESTS

Whenever in Christian history there has been a definite, intelligible conception of the ministry four things at least were known about the office: what its chief work was and what the chief purpose of all its functions; what constituted a call to the ministry; what was the source of the minister's authority; and whom the minister served.

a. The Work of the Ministry. Since the days described in the New Testament Christian ministers have preached and taught; they have led worship and administered sacraments; they have presided over the church and exercised oversight over its work; they have given pastoral care to individuals in need. Though at times these functions have been distributed among specialized orders of the clergy, still each minister, in his own domain, has needed to exercise all of them. Yet whenever there has been a clear conception of the office one of these functions has been regarded as central and the other functions have been ordered so as to serve, not indeed it, but, the chief purpose that it served directly. In the case of the medieval pastoral ruler of Gregory's description it seems evident that the chief ministerial function was the exercise of that "art of arts," the government of souls. The pastoral ruler also preached; he also administered the sacraments and led the service of worship; he also supervised the activities of the church; but all these other indispensable activities were directed toward the same end as the care and government of souls. Preaching and sacrament and church administration were dominated by the purpose of so directing needy souls that they might escape from the snares of sin and achieve everlasting life. The great motive was love of neighbor and this was found to be in a certain tension with the love of God, since the latter prompted a servant of the Lord to shun worldly duties as well as distractions and to give his life to adoration and contemplation in monastic seclusion. The great purpose of saving souls from hell was most directly served through the penitential office, but it was also to be achieved through preaching, teaching, prayer and church administration.

Similarly the preacher of the churches of the Reformation carried on all the traditional functions of the ministry. He preached and taught; he administered the sacraments and led in prayer; he presided over the church and he cared for the needy. Yet there was no question about his chief office nor about the chief purpose which he had before him in the performance of all traditional or new functions. His main work was preaching the gospel of forgiveness, declaring God's love for man as revealed in Jesus Christ. And in all his other work the objective of such preaching was the guiding purpose. The objective was salvation. Salvation meant for him as for the pastoral ruler deliverance from the pains of hell, yet not quite so much this as forgiveness of sin and reconciliation with God with all their consequences. The purpose of the ministry was the renewal of life by evangelical faith in God's love for man. As the minister's first work was always the preaching of the gospel of divine love, so all his other activities were directed to the same proximate end of bringing men to a personal, internal apprehension of the good news, an apprehension which resulted in genuine repentance and trust. The meaning of worship and of the administration of the sacraments lay in their preparation for, or their response to, the gospel. The care of souls was a matter of personal admonition and consolation addressed to men who needed to apprehend in penitence and confidence the forgiveness of sin, the great love of God extended toward them, so that in life and death, in sin and sorrow, they knew they were in the hands of a holy, loving God. Churches were organized and administered with this purpose in view. The church building was designed as a place where the gospel could be preached; the laity was organized to support the preaching; the instruction of youth was in catechisms that set forth the content of the gospel. The minister might be tempted, as Richard Baxter's The Reformed Pastor points out, to conceive his office too narrowly as consisting only of public preaching. But even for Baxter preaching was the most excellent part of the pastor's work. Moreover, for the ministers of the Reformed churches "preaching" was a symbolic word; it meant not only public discourse but every action through which the gospel was brought home and men were moved to repent before God and to trust in him. Public discourse was never enough; private admonition, catechetical instruction, personal pastoral care, the administration of the sacrament the leadership of public worship—all these needed to be faithfully attended to; but in everything he did the preacher had one thing to do, namely, to bring home to men the gospel of divine love.

The evangelist of the Wesleyan, Evangelical, Pietist movement represented a variation on the Protestant idea of the preacher. Even more than the minister of the Reformation churches he found his chief function in preaching; insofar as he was often a traveling evangelist he discharged the other traditional functions of the ministry less frequently than the Reformed or Lutheran pastor. So long, however, as he was only evangelist he needed to consider himself as belonging to only one of several orders of ministers, an order which like that of the preaching friars of the thirteenth-century required the accompanying work of the "secular clergy" or of the local parsons. When he became the settled minister of a local church he needed to add to the preaching function the other activities of the ministry—the care of souls, the administration of the sacraments, the conduct of public worship, the government of the church. But the organizing principle of all these activities was the evangelical conversion and sanctification of souls, which was the direct purpose of the evangelistic sermon.

The distinction of the priest-minister from the preacher-minister is relatively easy to make. Though both perform the same functions these are organized in different ways both in relation to each other and to a central purpose. From Chrysostom ("On the Priesthood") to Pius XI ("On the Catholic Priesthood") the idea of the priesthood is marked by emphasis on the importance and greatness of the work of administering the sacraments. The priest also teaches and preaches; he governs and cures souls; he presides over the church; but above all he offers the, sacrifice of Christ in the Eucharist and is the minister of those sacraments "through which the grace of the Savior flows for the good of mankind." The purpose of the sacraments is the reconciliation of God and man, a reconciliation of God to man as well as of man to God, for the priest is always the mediator between God and humanity. This reconciliation is the precondition for the exercise not only of man's love to God and neighbor but also of God's love to man. It is the proximate purpose of the chief sacramental act but also of every other exercise of the priestly office. Few exponents of the priestly idea want to confine priestly activity to the administration of the central sacrament, just as few Reformers understand the preaching minister as solely a preacher. The priest exercises "the ministry of the word," says Pope Pius XI, describing in some detail what this ministry is; the priest, furthermore, leads in public and official prayer, in intercession, adoration and thanksgiving; he is the "tireless furtherer of the Christian education of youth," defends the sanctity of marriage' contributes to the solution of social conflicts, and is the "most valorous leader" in the crusade of "expiation and penance." But in all his acts he serves the purpose chiefly served in the administration of the sacrament—the purpose of mediating between God and man.

As these examples of typical ideas of the ministry all indicate, a clear-cut conception always includes not only an understanding of what the most important work of the ministry is but also the recognition that it must perform other functions. Unity is given to such a conception not only by ordering functions in a scale of importance but by directing each function to a chief, though still proximate, end. Now that end is the salvation of souls from eternal punishment, now the cure of guilty souls through their apprehension of the love of God, now the reconciliation of God and man through sacrifice and sacrament and works of expiation. If there is confusion in the conception of the ministry today, whether only among those who once held to the ideal of the preacher or also among those who have maintained the ideal of the priest, that confusion appears at both points—in inability to define what the most important activity of the ministry is and in uncertainty about the proximate end toward which all its activities are directed. If a new conception of the ministry is emerging it will be marked by the appearance of a sense of the relative importance of the activities and a definite idea of the proximate end sought by the minister in all of them.

b. The Call to the Ministry. A definite understanding of the ministerial office also includes a relatively clear-cut conception of what constitutes the call to the ministry. How and by whom are men appointed to this office? Once more, differences in historic definitions of the ministry are less due to exclusive insistence on some one interpretation of what constitutes a call than to variations in the emphasis placed on the various elements present in every call. Christians of all ages and churches have encountered in their reading of Scriptures socially appointed, institutionally recognized priests, prophets and apostles, but also extraordinary, "natural" or "charismatic" leaders—non-Levitical priests, prophets without human appointment and apostles chosen like Paul. In their contemporary experience they have dealt with both types of ministers and have found virtues and vices attached to both types. Even the most highly organized churches which insist on the importance of `'legitimate'' orders recognize with the Church of England that '`there always remains the power of God to give to the Church prophets, evangelists and teachers apart from the succession," and even the most spiritualistic groups will elect certain men to interpret the sense of meetings in which anyone moved by the spirit is allowed to speak.

It appears that there is general though only implicit recognition of the fact that a call to the ministry includes at least these four elements (1) the call to be a Christian, which is variously described as the call to discipleship of Jesus Christ, to hearing and doing of the Word of God, to repentance and faith, et cetera; (2) the secret call, namely, that inner persuasion or experience whereby a person feels himself directly summoned or invited by God to take up the work of the ministry; (3) the providential call, which is that invitation and command to assume the work of the ministry which comes through the equipment of a person with the talents necessary for the exercise of the office and through the divine guidance of his life by all its circumstances; (4) the ecclesiastical call, that is, the summons and invitation extended to a man by some community or institution of the Church to engage in the work of the ministry. At no time have the Church and the churches not required of candidates for the ministry that they be first of all men of Christian conviction, however such conviction and its guarantees were interpreted. The Church everywhere and always has expected its ministers to have a personal sense of vocation, forged in the solitariness of encounter with ultimate claims made upon them. It has also generally required that they show evidence of the fact that they have been chosen for the task by the divine bestowal upon them, through birth and experience, of the intellectual, moral, physical and psychological gifts necessary for the work of the ministry. Finally, in one form or another, it has required that they be summoned or invited or at least accepted by that part of the Church in which they undertake to serve. But ideas of the ministry have varied as Christian call, secret call, providential call and church call have been related to one another in varying orders of importance and modes of relationship. In the cases of the pastoral ruler of Gregory the Great and of Chrysostom's priest the summons of the church to men whom it found divinely chosen by Christian and providential call was of the first importance. The secret call, the summons and decision that occurred in solitariness, usually came after the public or church call. In the case of the evangelist, however, the order of these calls was reversed. "I allow," said John Wesley, "that it is highly expedient, whoever preaches in his name should have an outward as well as inward call; but that it is absolutely necessary I deny." More extremely, early Friends not only maintained that the "inward call, or testimony of the Spirit" was "essential and necessary to a minister" but denied the validity of the church call and seemed indifferent to the providential call, at least insofar as they discounted the significance of "birth-right" Christianity. Whatever the variations, it seems true that when a clear idea of the ministry prevailed there was also a clear idea of what constituted a call to the ministry and for the most part such a clear idea took into account the necessity of all four calls and ordered their relations.

Modern vagueness in thought about the ministry appears in the uncertainty of the churches, the ministers themselves, of boards and schools about the nature of the call. This vagueness doubtless is partly due to the conflict of traditions—a conflict in which exponents of the primacy of the "secret call" may take the position that it alone is adequate while others who emphasize the first importance of church call come to the indefensible position of renouncing the importance of command and obedience enacted in solitariness. It may be due also to the inapplicability to the Christian experience of young persons in our time of a theory of call developed in another age of Christian experience—the age of revivalism and evangelicalism. Whatever the reasons for the uncertainty, there is evidence that a new idea of call is emerging among Protestant churches and is contributing its share to the emerging new concept of the ministry. The idea is not a simple one but an idea of order and relation in the complex action and interaction of person, community and God, governing providentially, working by his spirit, active in history. But the further description of this idea of the call must be deferred for a moment while we undertake to analyze other elements that enter into the definition of the ministry.

c. The Minister's Authority. In those periods when clear-cut ideas of the ministry prevailed pastors and people were relatively agreed on the acceptable answer to the question: By what authority do you do these things, i.e., preach, care for souls, preside over the church and administer the sacraments? Today, however, answers to the question are frequently uncertain and vague.

Authority, to be sure, is a complex phenomenon and some elements in the power which office-bearers exercise at any given time and place as well as in the respect accorded to them cannot easily be stated in conceptual terms. An effort to analyze the authority of the ministry as this was exercised and recognized in the early and medieval Church and in the centuries immediately after the Reformation would lead us deep into social history and psychology, into theology and political science. The further effort to account for the loss of pastoral authority in the modern world would require no less extensive researches into the effects on men of the democratic, industrial, technological and scientific revolutions. Such detailed inquiries lie beyond the scope of this study; we must content ourselves with a few reflections on the various answers to the question about ministerial authority that have been given at different times.

In those answers there has always been indirect reference to the ultimate power that lies behind all human authority, but the defined source of authority has been some mediate principle. Only in the case of the prophet or some other exceptionable person has the answer pointed more directly to God as the giver of the authority. The ministry in general and the Church, as community and as institution, have been highly aware that false prophets claiming immediate empowerment by the Divine always greatly exceed in number the true spokesmen for God, that there are more lying visions than authentic ones, and that personal inspirations must be subjected to social or historical validation. Hence though the minister in all times is "man of God" he does not as minister undertake to prophesy with a "Thus says the Lord," and to claim that his words are the Word of God. He is "man of God" at least in the sense that his office is as such a human acknowledgment of the sovereignty of God, as the Church in its very existence is a confession of faith in God. But the authority which accrues to him as such an official witness to divine authority is neither under his nor the Church’s control. In times of great unbelief his social authority will be diminished by the fact that the office points to divine authority; he will participate in the humiliation rather than in the exaltation of Christ. While then the office of the ministry refers to ultimate authority the reference is more by way of indication than of representation. Even prophecy points to divine power more than it regards itself as the vehicle of that power; and the ambassador for Christ is no plenipotentiary. Hence when we ask about the authority of the ministry we leave aside, though we do not forget, his authority as "man of God" and "ambassador for Christ."

We must also leave aside, and in this case try to forget, several sorts of incidental authority that have accrued to ministers at various times because of the interactions of Church and world. Among these is the authority of government which is attached to the ministry when Church and state are so closely united that the minister is also an official of the state and represents it in the discharge of his functions. Something of this ambivalent authority remains even when Church and state are separated, as in the case of the military chaplaincy and in the authorization of ministers by governments to perform civilly sanctioned marriage rites. Again the authority of the minister as representative of the community of learning is incidental and not essential to the office. That he ought to be well educated is one thing, but that he ought to have the authority of learning is something else. For a long time in Western history clergymen, like the priests of ancient Egypt, were the only learned group and hence represented the mystery and power of learning. Now it is often bewailed that they have lost that authority and it may be maintained that the fault is theirs or the Church's for not insisting sufficiently on an educated ministry. But the loss of this authority seems due far more to the rise of a large and varied group of learned men in many other professions than to a failure on the part of the Church and ministry as such to maintain previously established standards. The loss of social power by the ministry as a result of the spread of education and the transference to scientists of the representative authority of learning is comparable to the loss ministers suffered when Church and state were separated. Neither civil power nor learning in itself form the basis of ministerial authority however much they may contribute at certain times to the prestige of the ministry.

Ministers have derived their immediate authority to preach and teach, lead worship, care for souls and perform their other offices from the Church and from Scripture. When they have been asked about their authority they have pointed to these two "powers" as the ones they represent. Accordingly they have been questioned about the extent to which they truly represented them and have been accorded the kind of respect which was extended at the time to Church and Scriptures. But within this framework of validation by Church and Scriptures there have been many variations in the ministers' and the churches' conceptions of pastoral authority. For one thing there have been differences in the order of precedence as between Church and Scriptures. For another, there has been variation insofar as now Church as institution, now Church as community has been the source of authority. And again changes have occurred as in some instances the delegation, in others the acquisition, of power has been emphasized.

Ministers at all times have exercised authority as representatives of churchly institutions and the dignity of the institutional Church, the respect accorded to it—whatever its measure at the time—have been in some ways transferred to them. They have also been spokesmen of the Church as community, have represented the mind and tradition of the Church, and so they have exercised the kind of communal authority that accrues to the person who represents the community to itself; for instance, in the parallel case of a national community a leader such as Abraham Lincoln, quite apart from his institutional authority as president representing the state, has particular power as the exponent of the national mind and spirit. Ministers have been, further, representatives of the Scriptures, as interpreters possessing the authority of teachers, and often as judges charged with the responsibility of deciding definitively, though not infallibly, what the meaning of the Church's constitution is in a particular situation.

Finally, it has been expected of ministers that they should acquire the authority possessed by those who have directly experienced what they commend to others. This also is a kind of teaching authority, but even more the authority of the witness. As preachers of the gospel it is expected that they themselves have experienced its power; as guides to the life of penitence and faith they need to know directly the nature of the humble and contrite heart. They cannot teach the law without being under the law nor unlovingly seek to increase love; when they attempt to do so their work lacks authority. Though the authority of experience and character is gift of grace it is also achievement on the part of men who work out their salvation with fear and trembling because God works in them.

These various kinds of authority—church authority as institutional and communal, Scriptural authority as teaching and judicatory, personal authority as spiritual and moral—are intricately interrelated. In some conceptions of the ministry one or the other sort may be entirely lacking, or, as in the case of judicatory authority, may be transferred by communal or institutional decision to certain ministers or companies of them or to representative bodies of clergy and laity. Nevertheless, when we ask the pastoral ruler or the priest or the preacher and evangelist by what authority he carries on his work his answer usually seems to include reference to all these sources of his empowerment. But there are striking differences in the order in which they are mentioned.

The authority of the priest is first of all institutional. His ordination is mentioned first, then his personal discipline of life, and his study of the Scriptures and the mind of the community. His "august powers," says Pope Pius XI, "are conferred upon the priest in a special Sacrament designed to this end." These powers include "power over the very body of Jesus Christ" to make "it present upon our altars" and "the power which . . . 'God gave neither to Angels nor Archangels'—the power to remit sins." The priest, however, must exercise other functions besides administering the sacraments and institutional means cannot empower him to fulfill these duties; hence he needs to practice spiritual discipline, cultivating all the Christian virtues; he also needs to study, for "how can he teach unless he himself possess knowledge" and have gained a "full grasp of the Catholic teaching on faith and morals?"

The sources of the authority of the pastoral ruler Gregory the Great describes are doubtless the same, but as his functions are differently ordered from those of the modern priest so also the bases of his power are mentioned in a different order and with a varying emphasis. The primary source of his authority seems to lie in the personal discipline that enables him, as one who knows how to govern himself as Christian, also to govern and guide others. Ordination can be taken for granted but it seems clear that ordination cannot give the pastoral ruler the strength he requires. Personal experience and discipline as well as study of the Scriptures are the foundation stones of his authority.

The preacher of the Reformation needs institutional empowerment, but ordination plays no such role in his accreditation as do first of all the study and personal appropriation of Scriptures and especially of the gospel, and, secondly, the corresponding discipline of life. In the case of the evangelist institutional ordination can become a matter of wholly minor significance and even the study of Scriptures is often made secondary to personal experience of the power of the gospel. To the priest, the pastoral ruler, the preacher and the evangelist we may add the churchman, the kind of minister, appearing in many periods, who exercises authority in the interpretation of the Scriptures, in the direction of the church, in the leadership of prayer and the care of souls as one who participates deeply in the mind of the community and who has acquired communal authority by study and discipline. Such men—Bernard of Clairvaux is one representative of the type—will also be institutionally authorized, but their authority comes from the community more than from the institution, and their relation to the Scriptures is that of members of the interpreting and obeying community rather than that of isolated individuals.

The confusion in modern Christendom about the meaning of the ministry makes itself evident in uncertainty about pastoral authority as well as in the vagueness present in thought about pastoral functions. Outside the Roman Catholic Church institutional authority is generally weak, partly because in their pluralism the institutions too clearly represent something else than God, Christ and Scriptures or the Christian community. These local churches and denominations, greatly loved as they are by their members, are not so hedged by divinity that pronouncements made in their name invite reverent attention. The ambiguous, sometimes slightly amused attitude many laymen betray toward ordination may be somewhat indicative of the lack of power in the institutional aspect of the ministry. The power of the Scriptures remains very great but that power is ill-defined today when the older theories about the nature of Scriptural authority have been eroded and the Christian's present understanding of it remains still to be formulated. The minister who is a faithful interpreter of the Word continues to exercise considerable authority because of the actual power of the Bible, but not a few ministers themselves have been uncertain about its authority and have not mediated it since they were not subject to it themselves. Communal authority has been weakened by the individualization of religious life in the fragmented modern world and by loss of continuity with the past. To many men there has remained only the spiritual authority they derived from personal religious life, or, as a spurious substitute for any kind of authority, personal attractiveness whether genuine or fictitious. One may speak of a general weakening of the authority of the ministry in the modern world. This weakening may be the ecclesiastical counterpart of that decline of respect for authority which has occurred among men who first having thought themselves masters of their fate then, as mass-men, became the prey of powers which moved them about not as persons but as things or bundles of conditionable reflexes. To such men no power was anything but brute force, unentitled to respect; every word was simple propaganda.

Since this problem of authority among men is always ultimately theological the crisis in pastoral authority is symptomatic of the crisis in civilization, though it is not as some apologists for the Church seem to believe the cause of the latter crisis. At all events it seems true that with increase among men of respect for the Church and Scriptures, above all with increased awareness of the sovereignty of God, the authority o£ the pastor who represents or at least points to these powers also increases. But the problem remains how and what he is to represent in the first place and how such representation can come about.

d. The Idea of the People. The final element in a theory of the ministry which we can consider here is the notion of the people to whom the ministers are sent as servants. When the idea of the ministry is relatively well-defined both of these questions are answered: Is the minister primarily sent to the people of the Church or to those of the world? What, in the light of Christian faith, is the greatest need of the people to whom he is sent, that one need which amidst all their needs is always to be kept in view by the minister?

The relations of Church and world being what they are no ministry has ever been exclusively directed to those within or to those outside the Christian community. Even when the minister begins as missionary to some people in the world he soon gathers a Church that claims his special attention; even when he begins as a shepherd of a separated flock he is bound to have relations to those who seem to be the wolves that prey upon it or the dogs that protect it. Still, there are differences of emphasis. When the Church is regarded as all-inclusive and locally becomes the parish Church, universally the ecumenical Church, then the ministry knows itself to be the servant of all it can reach since all are nominally in the Church. When the Church is regarded as exclusive, separated from the rest of society, an ark of salvation in a great flood of destruction, then the emphasis falls on service to the elect few. Today there is uncertainty about the ministry in Church and world partly because it is not clear whether the Church is fundamentally inclusive or exclusive, whether therefore the minister's concern is to extend to all in his reach or only to a faithful elite. Is the rural, the suburban, the inner-city, the college minister a parish parson or a builder of a separated community? Is the theological teacher a minister of a separate, ecclesiastical science or of a university subject?

A definite theory of the ministry always includes, furthermore, specific awareness of the nature and fundamental need of the people it serves. When Gregory wrote his Pastoral Rule there was present to his mind the immature and sinful yet immortal race whose members needed the service of the pastoral ruler on their wayward course of life that they might escape hell and enter into heaven's joy. The understanding of man characteristic of the Reformers was that of a sublime but perverted creation, a ruined work of art, Milton's Adam. He was a highly dynamic, willful, loving and rebellious being, whose power was thwarted, whose will was in bondage, whose love and anger were misdirected. His fundamental need was for reconciliation to God through repentance and faith. All other wants were secondary to the need for the experienced forgiveness of his sin. Gregory as well as Luther and Calvin knew that man lacked many other things besides the one thing needful and that the cure of all his other diseases would not ensue automatically on the healing of his deepest wound. But they knew where to begin their ministry, to what human need ministers as ministers needed to address themselves in all their words and deeds, whatever else they might be required to do because physicians, social workers, teachers and lawyers were not available.

For a long time now the Christian understanding of man has been obscured by theories of his nature built on other dogmas than that of the sovereignty of God and constructed out of observations of his behavior made from other points of view than those of Christian faith. As the conception of nature to which man is always related has changed, churches and ministers have often succumbed to the temptation to substitute the needs of natural man (that is, of man as primarily related to nature) for the needs of theological man (that is, of man as primarily related to God). Or again' as the great significance of the individual's relation to society became clear the needs of social man seemed to be primary. But the traditional work of the ministry in teaching the Word from God, the word to God and words about God, of administering the sacraments, of building the Church and caring for souls seemed to have too little direct relevance to the needs of men so naturalistically or socially understood. Was not the approach to the needs of such men from natural or social science more direct and more helpful than the circuitous approach from divine science? Hence great discussions developed over the question how to make the gospel relevant to needs it never had had primarily in view. It was translated into evolutionary and social terms, though it resisted efforts to cast it into such strange forms. Confusion was bound to result. The political needs of men struggling for survival or status, the economic needs of hungry and competitive men, the psychological needs of anxious and guilty interpersonal beings, these and other highly important wants seemed to require the ministrations of the Church. And to justify themselves churches and ministers had before them the example of the Great Physician and Reformer who had compassion on every man in natural need and prophesied to an oppressed, divided nation threatened by disaster. The context in which he did these things, the cause for which he came out and why he was sent was often forgotten.

In this situation some ministers abandoned the ministry for medicine or social service, while others attempted to transform their traditional work into semiclinical or social service activity. The great mass of clergymen remained true to their primary calling but they were puzzled. There was good reason for their perplexity, for the theological view of man is always bound up with natural and social views of man and what had happened was that old views of nature and society had changed radically. How to understand men as fundamentally related to God when their relations to nature and society had so changed presented a most difficult practical as well as theoretical problem. The temptation to try to convert the concept of the ministry from one directed to the needs of man-in-relation-to-God to one directed toward the wants of natural or social man was the more attractive because the alternative seemed to be a ministry that could not speak of God and man in their relations to each other without employing thirteenth- and sixteenth-century conceptions of nature and society. Often the ministry seemed to be divided between those who sought to make the gospel relevant by allegorizing it so as to meet the needs of modern men and those who regarded its earlier translations as so literal that any new translation was betrayal. Most clergymen probably avoided these extremes, but their problems were so much the greater.

The confusion is lifting somewhat. Out of the great wrestlings of men with their personal and social problems, out of renewed study of Scriptures and critical reflection on history, a view of man is emerging that sets in the forefront again his relation to God. The scene in which the divine-human encounter takes place is not, to be sure, a flat earth canopied by a heavenly tent; the scene has become stranger and vaster. The human protagonist in this encounter is not a being that thinks with heart and kidneys; he has become an even more mysterious creature. The history of his wrestle with God is not confined to a few thousand years of dramatic events occurring in Asia Minor, though the crucial importance of those events seems even greater as the story expands into remoter pasts and futures. -But still, man is seen as man engaged in conflict, conversation and reconciliation with God. Before the new yet old view comes clear an incalculable amount of work must be done by poets and theologians, by historical scholars and Biblical students, by ministers dealing at close range with men in this encounter, and especially by these men themselves. Those among them most conversant with nature and society in their modern aspects must make particular contributions. Nevertheless, as soon as man has been understood as man-before-God confusion about the nature of the ministry has begun to disappear, no matter how great the remaining problems of "demythologizing" and translating the gospel and the law.

III. THE PASTORAL DIRECTOR

In the foregoing analysis of the elements that enter into any well-defined theory of the ministry some indications have been given of the character of that theory which seems to be emerging out of contemporary study of the Bible, participation in the tradition of the Church, the experiences and reflections of ministers in our day, and the needs of the time. Each of these is an important source of the emerging idea and signs of its appearance are to be found in all the centers of church activity—in the theological schools, in the conferences and discussions of churchmen, and, above all, in the work and thought of ministers themselves The new idea is not equally significant everywhere, for in some areas older conceptions—those of the priest, the preacher and the evangelist—remain more pertinent than the new. Yet the developing idea seems more widely significant and applicable than is often believed by those who are holding fast to the earlier conceptions. Priests are affected by it as well as preachers(Cf. Joseph H, Fichter, S.J., Social Relations in the Urban Parish (Chicago 1954 ), Chap. X, "Social Roles of the Parish Priest.") rural no less than urban ministers are challenged to develop a ministry in accordance with it; it applies to the ministers whose provinces are denominations or regions as well as to those whose concern is a neighborhood. We cannot here raise the question about the part cultural changes on the one hand, renewed Christian convictions and the new sense of Church on the other, play in its development. Our problem is to describe the theory that seems to be emerging and to be gaining ground in the thought as well as the practice of ministers. For want of a better phrase we may name it the conception of the minister as a pastoral director, though the name is of little importance.

What the term is meant to designate is indicated rather indirectly by the character of modern church architecture and by the perverted form in which the idea occurs. The place in which the minister mainly functions always signalizes the Church's idea of his task. The building and room in which the priest discharges his office is designed for the celebration of the mass; it is dominated by the altar, though provision is also made in it for preaching and confession. The space in which the preacher does his work is a room in which the pulpit with its open Bible is the central feature though provision is also made for the administration of the sacraments and sometimes for meetings of the ruling elders. The period of greatest confusion in Protestant conceptions of Church and ministry was marked by the conversion of the room into a place in which organ, choir, pulpit and communion table simultaneously claimed first attention and Akron-plan Sunday School rooms were extruded from an amoebic nucleus. To be sure, contemporary church architecture continues to betray how uncertain and groping are the efforts of the Church to define the nature of its ministry. Some of it is symptomatic of an experimentation controlled by no leading idea but only by vagary and the desire to please as many potential church visitors as possible. Yet there is a dominant movement so that the modern Protestant church building, not to speak now of the Roman Catholic, becomes a sign of what is being done in it. What is being done is evidently a very complex thing for these many rooms of the parish house or religious education building, are designed for a great number of meetings besides those of Sunday School classes and official boards. But the manifoldness is not unorganized. The focal center of the complex building is a room for which no name yet has been found. To call it either auditorium or sanctuary seems false. It is the place of worship and of instruction. The prominence given to Holy Table or altar, to cross and candles, does not indicate so much that this is the place where the sacraments are celebrated as that it is the place of prayer. The pulpit, however, has not been relegated to a secondary place as though preaching were not now important. Another architectural feature is symptomatic. The minister now has an office from which he directs the activities of the Church, where also he studies and does some of his pastoral counseling.

A second indirect indication of the character of the new conception of the ministry may be gained from a glance at its perverse form—the one in which the pastoral director becomes the "big operator." When ministers comment on the kinds of men who are failures in the ministry they frequently describe among these types the person who operates a religious club or a neighborhood society with much efficiency and pomp and circumstance. He is active in many affairs, organizes many societies, advertises the increases in membership and budget achieved under his administration and, in general, manages church business as if it were akin to the activities of a chamber of commerce. In their reaction to such secularization of the office some men try to return to the idea of the preacher or of the priest. But the needs of men and the responsibilities of office prevent them from doing so. Then they realize that the "big operator" represents a perversion of the minister's office not because he is an executive but because he does not administer the church's work. The pastoral director of a contemporary church has his historical antecedent. His predecessor is to be found in the bishop or overseer of an ancient church, a man who, unlike modern bishops, was not primarily entrusted with oversight over many clergymen and local churches but was elected to oversee a single local church. As bishop of Hippo Regius Augustine was such a pastoral director. The bishops described in the First Letter to Timothy were such men—the heads and overseers of the Household of God.

In his work the pastoral director carries on all the traditional functions of the ministry—preaching, leading the worshipping community, administering the sacraments, caring for souls, presiding over the church. But as the preacher and priest organized these traditional functions in special ways so does the pastoral director. His first function is that of building or "edifying" the church; he is concerned in everything that he does to bring into being a people of God who as a Church will serve the purpose of the Church in the local community and the world. Preaching does not become less important for him than it was for the preacher but its aim is somewhat different. It is now pastoral preaching directed toward the instruction, the persuasion, the counseling of persons who are becoming members of the body of Christ and who are carrying on the mission of the Church. It is therefore at its best more inclusively Biblical rather than evangelical only; it is directed indeed to sinful men who need to be reconciled to God but also to men who need in all things to grow up into mature manhood in the measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ and who are to interpret to others the meaning of Christian faith. Leading the "royal priesthood" of the whole Church in worship becomes more important for this pastoral director than it had been for the preacher; this worship is not simply the accompaniment of the preaching of the gospel but the effort of the Church to demonstrate its love of God, whose love of man is being proclaimed in the gospel. The activity of the Church as a priesthood making intercession for all men, offering thanks and praise on behalf of all, now requires the minister's devoted leadership in a particular way. The activity on behalf of individuals is for this pastoral director not only a matter of pastoral rule or of the pastoral cure of souls, though it will include both, but is best designated as pastoral counseling, a counseling that has them in view as needing reconciliation to God but also to men, yet knows that reconciliation is not automatically productive of wisdom. It is a counseling, moreover, that calls into service the aid of many other men and agencies able to help a person in need, and, very frequently, it is a counseling of counselors. So also as teacher, the pastoral director becomes the teacher of teachers, the head of all educational organization which he cannot simply manage but must lead as a competent Christian educator. These and other less central activities of the ministry of all periods are carried on by the pastoral director, but the work that lays the greatest claim to his time and thought is the care of a church, the administration of a community that is directed toward the whole purpose of the Church, namely, the increase among men of the love of God and neighbor; for the Church is becoming the minister and its "minister" is its servant, directing it in its service.

It is significant that when ministers reflect on their theological education they are likely to regret more than any other deficiency in it the failure of the school to prepare them for the administration of such a church. What these men have in mind was expressed by one of them who said in effect: The seminary prepared me for preaching and taught me the difference between preaching and public speaking; it helped me to become a pastoral counselor and not simply a counselor; it prepared me for the work of Christian education; but it gave me no preparation to administer a church as Church; what I learned about church administration was a nontheological smattering of successful business practices. It may also be significant that a superintendent bewailed the fact that while he would like to find for the churches under his care the best preachers available these churches themselves were not so concerned about preaching; they wanted "all-round men."

In the contemporary situation the idea of the minister's call is undergoing a change in the direction of greater emphasis on the significance of the call extended to a person by the Church on the basis of its understanding of his Christian and providential calling. The secret call as always remains important, but in the conception of the ministry that is emerging out of the Biblical and systematic theology of the day and out of the personal reflections of young people and their pastors, the divine action whereby men are chosen for their station and calling is less spiritualistically understood than was the case for the past hundred years. The mode of election whereby God appoints individuals to their lifework is seen as not different in character from the mode whereby he elects them to serve him as men or women, as American or Asian, as first- or twentieth-century men. In every case, to be sure, the call requires internal apprehension of the divine will, the response of human will, the acceptance of the yoke of the kingdom. Without a personal sense of vocation gained in the solitary struggles of the soul with its Maker and Redeemer the minister will always be deficient. But the call to the ministry is not for our contemporaries first of all a mystic matter enacted in the solitariness of lonesome encounter; it is rather a call extended to social man, the member of a community, through the mediation of community. It is more like the ca}l of Stephen than of Paul, of Ambrose and Augustine than of Francis of Assisi, of Calvin than of Fox. Young men and women today feel themselves challenged to identify themselves with the community and institution devoted to the service of God rather than with an ideal; the human need of which they are made aware is one that only the community can minister to; the words through which they hear the Word of God addressed to them are likely to be the words of the Church. As the conception of the work of the ministry changes into the idea of the whole Church ministering so the conception of call changes into the idea of the called and the calling Church—always, of course, as Church under the authority of God. In such a situation the providential call assumes increased importance, for the question the Church raises through its various agencies is which young men and women have been endowed by God with the spiritual, moral and intellectual qualities necessary to this work, which of them through the guidance of their lives have been led by God toward the ministry, which of them it ought therefore to call. Hence also the Church requiring young people to consider whether they are not called of God to this work asks them to reflect especially on the requirements he has laid upon them by his watchful providence over the whole course of their lives and by bringing them into being in this time with its needs.

As in the cases of the ministry's functions and of the call so also when the minister's authority is in question the Church moves nearer the center of the picture in the emerging new conception. The ministry of today and tomorrow must indeed represent all the kinds of authority associated with the office in the past—institutional, teaching or Scriptural, communal and spiritual; but as institutional authority was central in the priest's office and Scriptural in the preacher's so communal authority becomes of greatest importance to the pastoral director. He will continue to be ordained by the institution and will, if he is faithful to it, have as much authority as the institution he represents has; spiritual authority is as necessary to him as to ministers of every other type; he is not less under the authority of Scriptures or less representative of it than the preacher; but his relation to all these authorities is different.

This is most evident in connection with the pastoral director's Scriptural, teaching authority. Community and Scriptures have been brought much more closely together in practice and in theory than was the case in the older view of the minister as preacher. Historical studies have made clear that both under the Old and the New Covenants the people and the book were far more closely associated than was once thought to be the case. Then individual men, personally inspired, were regarded as the original mediators of the Word of God and individual preachers obedient to these writings mediated the Word to men. Now we are aware that frequently the authors and always the editors of the sacred writings were communities which in obedience and by inspiration selected true prophecy from false, genuine gospels from spurious ones, apostolic letters from epistles written by men who had no divine commission. Now it becomes apparent that one cannot know the Scriptures without knowing the community which recorded what it had seen and heard; and that one cannot know the mind of the community without knowing the Scriptures. The result of two centuries of Biblical criticism, as this has affected the thought of the Church, has not been an impairment of the power of the Scriptures but it has been an increase of the sense of the communal character of the book. For this and other reasons the best Biblical preaching going on in the churches today undertakes to interpret the Word of God as a word spoken to Israel and the Church. The minister who is obedient to Scriptures and represents its authority does so as one who is interpreting the mind of the community-before-God. When he undertakes to think with the logic of the community, he does so under the discipline of Scriptures. He must learn to think Biblically if he is to think Christianly. So Scriptural and communal authority begin to fuse but the nature of each changes in the process.

The significance of the communal authority of the minister in our time appears also in his relation to the tradition of the Church. Tradition has assumed a new significance for Protestants in a period dominated by the historical understanding of human life. So long as the Church was understood as primarily institutional, in terms of its parallelism to a state rather than to a cultural society, and so long as tradition meant resistance to reform, conflict between the principles of traditional and Scriptural authority was inevitable. But in our time tradition is conceived otherwise than it was in the sixteenth and eighteenth centuries. It appears in a different form partly because the problem of social continuity has become as great for us as the problem of change and reform, but even more because the historical, cultural character of human existence has come into fuller view. We know tradition now not only in the form of social rigidities resistant to change but as the dynamic structure of modifiable habits without which men do not exist as men. Tradition means a society's language, its conceptual frames of reference, its moral orientation in the world of good and evil, the direction of its science, the selection of the best in its literature and art. We know tradition as a living social process constantly changing, constantly in need of criticism, but constant also as the continuing memory, value system and habit structure of a society. Partly under the influence of comparable movements in a world that has become aware of the significance of tradition in politics and literature, partly under the influence of its own studies and needs, the Church has begun to pay a new attention to its tradition. It sees it not as a dead thing once and for all given for acceptance or rejection, but as living history constantly being renewed, rethought and re-searched for meanings relevant to existing men. The minister of today and tomorrow represents that tradition to a greater or lesser extent. If he knows it and lives in it as the tradition of the great Church he has an authority in the local and the contemporary Christian community which the man who represents only the tradition of a national or denominational or localized community cannot have. If he knows the great tradition he will also know that it is his duty to represent it, interpreting the mind of the Church rather than acting as the representative of a fleeting majority of living and local church members. At worst the effort to exercise this authority becomes a servile representation of old forms, a religious antiquarianism; at its best, however, such communal authority speaks in contemporary language and to contemporary needs out of the long experience and painfully gathered wisdom of the Christian centuries.

It is questionable whether the prominence of communal authority in the new idea of the ministry has special significance for the development of spiritual authority. The latter always remains a highly personal matter; the minister is fitted to exercise this authority by the personal crises through which God leads him It is conferred upon him only in the inner chamber where ordinary thanksgivings, intercessions, confessions and petitions are daily made and where the extraordinary humblings or clarifications take place. Highly personal, however, as this authority is the experiences out of which it grows can also be affected by the participation of the lonely individual in the life of the whole Church, including its life of prayer.

Whether the minister's institutional authority in Protestantism is being established in our times so that we can speak of the emergence of a clearer idea at this point may remain questionable. American Protestant institutions in general are in flux; the common life of the Protestant church is in part seeking institutional forms through which to express and discipline itself, in part it has developed such forms without officially recognizing their presence, continuing to think in terms of historic structures or polities that do not fit the actual situation and operations of the various agencies. New organizations and activities in the Church are being analyzed with the aid of ancient categories in somewhat the same way that in economic society problems of the distribution of rights to income are discussed with the use of private property concepts applicable to lands and houses but not to stocks, bonds and wages. It seems to be clear that the Church in America in our time like Church in any place at any time is deeply influenced in its institutional forms by the political and economic society with which it lives in conjunction. As the polity of all the churches, whether they are episcopal, presbyterian or congregational by tradition, has been modified in the direction of the political structures of Canada and the United States, so the institutional status and authority of the ministry are being modified in the direction of the democratic type of political, educational and economic executive or managerial authority. In this situation the temptation of ministers to become business managers is balanced by the opposite temptation to maintain the kind of status and authority their predecessors enjoyed in more hierarchically ordered society. The question is not whether the ministry will reflect the institutional forms of leadership in the world but whether it will reflect these with the difference that Christian faith and church life require, whether, in short, the minister will remain "man of God" despite the fact that he is now a director instead of a ruler. Perhaps the kinds of studies that have been made of the art of administration, of the relations of policy and administration, of organization and management in other :spheres will be carried forward into the sphere of the Church and may show how much the pastoral director of our time, as pastoral preacher, teacher, counselor and leader of worship has also become the democratic pastoral administrator, that is to say, a man charged with the responsibility and given the authority to hold in balance, to invigorate and to maintain communication among a host of activities and their responsible leaders, all directed toward a common end.

Something has previously been said above about the final point in the emerging new conception of the ministry. The people to whom ministers are sent are first of all the people of the Church but the Church is recognized to be the ministering community whose work is in the world. Hence the minister directs his attention as much toward the "world" as the dean of a medical school has his eye on the potentially and actually sick people of the society outside his closed community of healers, or, to use a wholly different analogy, as much as the mayor of a city keeps in view the nature and the needs of the cultural and economic society of which his city is a center. But the relations of Church and world are as unique as they are constantly changing so that no analogy does justice to the situation. What seems most evident in the case of the modern pastoral director is that he can think of himself neither as parish parson responsible for all the people in a geographic area nor as the abbot of a convent of the saved, but only as the responsible leader of a parish church; it is the Church, not he in the first place, that has a parish and responsibility for it. The minister confronts many of his greatest difficulties at this point, since on the one hand he may lose himself and his ministry among the manifold demands made upon him by the neighborhood, and on the other hand, if he directs his Church as though it had no responsibility for the environing society, he will develop an institution of narrow scope and outlook. Clear understanding of the nature and mission of the Church are prerequisite to any effective solution of the problems that present themselves.

The human needs that the Church exists to meet are much the same at all times. Whether the stars are as near as they seemed to the Psalmist or are removed by the millions and billions of light years to which we must accustom our imagination, still the question is the same: "When I look at thy heavens, the work of thy fingers, the moon and the stars which thou hast established; what is man that thou art mindful of him, and the son of man that thou dost care for him?" (R.S.V.). Whether Israel is exiled by Babylon or a modern people displaced, whether Rachel or a twentieth-century mother mourns for her children they need the same assurance that "your work shall be rewarded.... There is hope for your future, ... and your children shall come back to their own country(R.S.V.)." When the social gospel was at the height its greatest exponent in America, Walter Rauschenbusch, despite his animadversions against traditional religion, saw clearly how much the human problem would remain the same in the best of all possible worlds. He wrote:

"In the best social order that is conceivable, men will still smoulder with lust and ambition, and be lashed by hate and jealousy as with the whip of a slave driver.... No material comfort and plenty can satisfy the restless soul in us and give us peace with ourselves.... The day will come when all life on this planet will be extinct, and what meaning will our social evolution have had if that is all?"

We can make far too much of the changing needs of men in changing civilizations. Religion is a highly conservative thing because the fundamental needs of men as finite and delinquent creatures aspiring after infinity and wholeness do not change.

Nevertheless our views of men change somewhat with the changing forms in which the ultimate dilemmas of existence present themselves. The cry, "What shall I do to be saved?" is made in various ways. At one time it is the cry, "What shall I do to be saved from hell?" At another time, `'How can I have a friendly God?" Again men ask, "How can our lives be rescued out of dissipation and dispersion into unity?" It is always the same cry, with the same implications, yet always newly phrased. The form in which it is uttered and heard today is variously interpreted For T. S Eliot and the many for whom he speaks it is the cry of salvation from '`The Wasteland." For Paul Tillich

"[man] experiences his present situation in terms of disruption, conflict, self-destruction, meaninglessness, and despair in all realms of life. This experience is expressed in the arts and in literature, conceptualized in existential philosophy, actualized in political cleavages of all kinds, and analyzed in the psychology of the unconscious.... The question arising out of this experience is not, as in the Reformation, the question of a merciful God and the forgiveness of sins; nor is it, as in the early Greek church, the question of infinitude, of death and error, nor is it the question of the personal religious life, or of the Christianization of culture and society. It is the question of a reality in which: the self-estrangement of our existence is overcome, a reality of reconciliation and reunion, of creativity, meaning and hope." ( Systematic Theology, Vol. I ( 1951), p. 49)

The cry for salvation here has become the cry for rebirth. There are others who understand the human situation more in terms akin to those prevailing in certain areas in New Testament days, when it seemed to many men that they were in the control of forces indifferent to their fate and that God, however potentially powerful, was very far off. Not a few men today experience their dilemma as that of creatures who were born to be free but are everywhere in chains. Nature for them is a power whose iron laws or chance throws of the dice decide the time and place and race and endowment of the child at birth. History, whether interpreted as the realm of determinism or of chance, moves on its way like a tide carrying individual drops and waves of water to melt into the sands or to disappear on the horizon. Social forces, economic movements, machines and inventions that neither inventors nor statesmen can control, biological movements multiplying populations despite leagues for planned parenthood, psychological powers mysteriously hidden beyond the reach of consciousness—these and many other lesser forces direct the course of life and determine its destiny. And God is a God who hides himself. They are not unbelievers, these men; but for them the dominions, principalities, powers and rulers of the darkness of this world have a reality that makes the difference between ancient and modern mythologies of little importance. The cry for salvation that such men make is the cry for freedom from bondage, or to use a contemporary phrase, from the "other-directedness" and heteronomy of existence, from the life of mass-man. ''

As it becomes aware of the specific form in which ultimate human problems present themselves in our own time, the ministry, and therewith the schools that prepare men for it, begin to understand more sharply what the pastoral function is, in what language the gospel speaks to this need, and what form the Church must take in serving such men in such a time.

Chapter 1: The Purpose of the Church and its Ministry

I. THE CONTEXT OF THEOLOGICAL EDUCATION

When teachers examine themselves and their schools for the sake of discovering how to overcome difficulties or how to improve their work they are quickly led to ask far-reaching questions about the nature and the purposes of education. And in the course of that inquiry they quickly discover that education is so closely connected with the life of a community that queries about the aims of teaching and learning cannot be answered unless ideas about the character and the purposes of the society in which it is carried on are clarified first of all. This was illustrated a few years ago when President Harry S. Truman appointed a Commission on Higher Education which later issued its report under the title Higher Education for American Democracy and began its discussion with definitions of the dogmas and the goals of democratic society. Similarly a Harvard committee appointed to explore the basis for the reorganization of college teaching was instructed to concentrate on the Objectives of a General Education in a Free Society. No other approach to an educational problem seems possible, since a school is never separable from the community in which it works, whose living tradition it carries on, into which it sends citizens and leaders imbued with that tradition and committed to the social values. Moreover, being itself a part of the community the school expresses the common purposes directly. In democratic society it values every individual and maintains academic freedom; in genuinely aristocratic society it seeks to cherish and nurture the excellent persons and to maintain their leadership. Of course the school also usually finds itself involved in the conflicts and confusions of purpose that appear in society.

It may seem that professional schools are an exception to the rule; that social context and purpose need to be considered only in the case of so-called "general education." Studies of medical, legal, engineering and theological education, unlike the inquiries referred to above, frequently ignore the community and raise few questions about social purposes. There are books on legal education in which such words as "nation"and "justice" rarely occur; studies of medical education that scarcely mention "health" and make no allusions to its place in a social system of values; discussions of theological education which seem almost studiously to avoid references to the Church or even to God and neighbor. Doubtless it is often necessary to abstract special from general purposes, and immediate from ultimate problems if progress is to be made toward overcoming irritating difficulties. But it is equally necessary, particularly at critical junctures, to attend to the wider context of special problems and short-range goals. For two reasons this appraisal of immediate against ultimate ends is necessary in theological education today. In the first place such education, now as always, is concerned with the nurture of men and women whose business in life it will be to help men to see their immediate perplexities, joys and sufferings in the light of an ultimate meaning, to live as citizens of the inclusive society of being, and to relate their present choices to first and last decisions made about them in the totality of human history by Sovereign Power. It would be anomalous were an educational work directed toward such an end not under the necessity of considering itself in the same light, of living in such a universal community and of relating its decisions to first commandments and final judgments. In the second place, theology, as expression, understanding and criticism of the life of faith, is today, like that life itself, in a critical situation. At least in many parts of Christendom the quest for meaning, the revival of historic religious convictions about man's nature and destiny, about his lostness and his salvation, and the need to realize the significance of these convictions in relation to contemporary world and life views, have led to a renewal of the theological endeavor. In school and pulpit theology today is not simply an affair of translating ancient ideas into modern language, but of wrestling with ultimate problems as they arise in contemporary forms. It carries on its task in continuity with a great tradition and on the basis of convictions implanted historically into historical men; it works in a community that has a structure and a definable faith. Nevertheless it functions in a situation where many, though not all, things are fluid; education for the ministry must take place in this situation. Under these circumstances it seems imperative that churchmen considering their task in educating men for the work of the Church take their general bearings and try to state in what large context, with what definable orientation, they are going about their task.

To be sure, there are those who argue that the reform of theological education cannot wait on the reformulation of theology. The latter process is likely to be a long one and in the meantime many immediate questions must be answered. Whatever the fundamental problems of theology are, and whatever lines of inquiry may turn out to be most fruitful, the present curriculum is overloaded and the student must be relieved of some of the burden. Whatever the function of the ministry is, theologically considered, ministers must preach, organize churches, counsel the distressed, teach the immature, and they need to be trained by practice for the exercise of these functions. Whatever the Church ought to be, it is expected of schools that they furnish men well prepared to carry on the kind of work demanded of ministers by churches as they are. Again, it seems clear that many more or less technical questions of education cannot be answered theologically. Psychology of learning; social analysis of the societies in which students will work; statistical methods applied to the economic facts of ministers' salaries and the cost of tuition, and the like; and many other relatively precise procedures applied to limited data can give guidance to perplexed administrators that no amount of hard thought about the large question of man's life before God will yield. Those who urge these considerations upon us are plainly justified in criticizing procedures that begin only with questions about ultimate contexts and final goals.

Yet it remains true that if educational questions cannot be answered theologically, neither can theological questions be answered by use of the techniques of social or behavioral sciences however relevant the insights derived from these sciences may be to theology. The situation in theological education is comparable to the one in which every minister finds himself daily. When he deals with a mentally disturbed person he cannot take the place of the psychiatrist, but neither can the psychiatrist take his place; when political issues are involved, he cannot fulfill the functions of the statesman, but neither can the statesman, as statesman, illuminate a civil crisis by bringing only ultimate perspectives to bear on it. Similar ambivalences characterize every human situation; ultimate and immediate concerns, long- and short-range goals, big and little questions, theological and technical perspectives are involved in it. The approach can never be from one direction only. No simple inductive or deductive procedure is sufficiently fruitful. Yet various approaches can meet; various efforts to understand can support each other as well as be at cross-purposes. When the question is one about the education of the ministry it will not do to ignore either the general—the theological— nor the particular—the educational—approach; the theologian as educator or the educator as theologian cannot carry on his theological and his educational critiques separately and independently, nor can he reduce them to one inquiry with one method in the hope of gaining one single answer.

II. DENOMINATION, NATION OR CHURCH?

Under these circumstances we must ask and answer questions about the social context of theological education and about the objectives of the society while we also define special problems and seek their solution. The general question is: What is the community in which the theological schools carry on their work and which they in part represent? Corollary to this is the question about the objectives of the community which the school will serve directly and indirectly.

The first, superficial impression is that the Protestant theological schools in the United States and Canada do not consciously count themselves members of one community but function as though they were responsible to many different societies. They are all "church schools" rather than state institutions in distinction from many European theological faculties; but the word "church" may mean denomination. Most of the seminaries seem to function within the specific context of that peculiar American order of church organization, the denomination. Their very number indicates that other reasons than the desire to perform an effective task in a single community have led to their establishment and maintenance. While some ninety medical schools seem sufficient to supply the United States and Canada with well-trained physicians twice as many theological schools, besides Bible colleges and institutes, are at work in these nations to educate ministers. In their control, in the statements of their objectives, in the composition of their faculties, these seminaries for the most part reflect their dependence on, and their loyalty to, denominations. The context in which theological education is going on is the baffling pluralism of Protestant religious life in the United States and Canada. (The pluralism is somewhat less characteristic of Canada than of the United States. The Ninth Census of Population in Canada lists 28 religious groups, whereas the last published (1936) census of Religious Bodies in the United States listed 256 denominations and the 1956 Yearbook of the Churches 254. The numbers are not quite comparable, however, since in the Canadian census some of the group evidently include several separately organized bodies).

Yet despite their number, their denominational affiliation and their service of denominational purposes the theological schools usually give evidence of sharing in a community of discourse and interest that transcends denominational boundaries. And this is true of the denominations themselves. What then is this common life in which schools and denominations participate? One is tempted to define it as American or Canadian national existence or—since the schools in the two nations have much in common—as "the free society" or as "Western democracy." Something is to be said in favor of the suggestion. The separation of Church and state and the legal recognition of the principle of religious liberty in both nations have led not only to pluralism through the protection of established religious groups and the encouragement of spontaneity and inventiveness; but have also fostered voluntarism in church organization and made the clergy largely dependent on lay support. Churches so thrown on their own resources have become responsible to the felt needs of the people to an unusual degree. Spontaneity and the need for adaptation in a competitive situation have helped to give them a popular, "grass-roots" and sometimes vulgar character that removes them a long way from establishments which still bear the traces of historic alliance with privileged classes. They have had to learn the arts of popular appeal and business efficiency. So they and their schools have come to be very much alike; they seem to be the religious representatives of the American societies.

An English theologian, well-acquainted with the American religious and theological scene, has remarked on these and similar characteristics:

"I suppose that the strongest impression that the visitor from this country receives is of the immense vitality and vigor of American Church life. In this the Churches do but share in the vigor and vitality of American life generally. They seem to be an integral part of the American "way of life"—a vague phrase, but one which does signify something to the feelings of Americans even if hard to analyze in terms and propositions. This is perhaps one reason (only one) why a much larger proportion of the population are attached to Churches, and "go to Church," than in this country. It is a "done thing," not as mere adherence to accepted conventions, but as flowing spontaneously from the "Volk" or community levels of consciousness. One result of this vigor and vitality, this sense of being integrally one with the movement, drive and energy of the community generally, is the admirable efficiency with which, on the whole, the Church organization is run, an efficiency which is made possible by, and itself helps to make possible, a sufficiency of funds for the purpose. I will not say "business" efficiency, for that might be taken to imply a derogatory value judgment which I do not intend: nevertheless it is the counterpart in Church life (there is no reason why there should not be such a counterpart) of the business efficiency which on the whole does characterize the secular side of American life generally. As organizations American churches strike one as being on the whole marvelously well run. There throbs through them the mighty pulse of American life; and it is a very American pulse."

In other ways also the churches in the New World seem to be "American" or "democratic" and to participate primarily in the common life of the "free society." The pluralism of denominationalism seems to be a reflection of the pluralism of democracy. When we think of the overchurching of hamlets and cities, or of the great varieties in training and ability among the ministers, or of the regional character of theological schools, or of any other manifestation of this religious heterogeneity, and then look for a parallel or parable that will make this confusion somewhat intelligible we are led to think of the form in the formlessness of economic and political activity in New World democracy. We cannot helpfully compare this "church-system" to the school system or this Protestant ministry to the profession of medicine. The "church-system" looks more like the "filling-station system," and the clergy in their varieties of responsibility and excellence seem most to resemble democratic political leaders—from town selectmen to governors, from demagogues to statesmen, from ward heelers to national party leaders. The unity present in this diversity is like the unity in the diversity, rivalry and tension of democratic political and economic life.

Yet the principle of unity in this Protestantism is not the democratic principle. Despite the American and democratic character of Protestant churches and the theological schools that serve them, an interpreter who tried to understand them primarily in this context would need to do violence to them, to twist the meaning of their affirmations of purpose and to misconstrue the character of the work that goes on in them. Canadian and American denominational and sectarian as they are in coloration, in function and objective they are churches and their schools are church schools. The community in which they work is the Church; the objectives they pursue are those of the Church. Only one among the schools, and that one unofficially and incidentally, refers in its statement of purpose to "the American way of life." About half of them, to be sure, define their purpose by reference to a denomination which they serve. However, the other half do not mention denominational ties, and even those that do so rarely name the special organization without referring to a wider Church of which the denomination is a part. (The following statements are somewhat characteristic of such schools: Bethany Theological Seminary affirms that its object is "to promote the spread and deepen the influence of Christianity by the thorough training of men and women for the various forms of Christian service, in harmony with the principles and practices of the Church of the Brethren"; Augustana Theological Seminary "prepares students for the ministry of the Evangelical Lutheran Church with the special needs of the Augustana Church in view"; the charter of Berkeley Divinity School begins, "Whereas sundry inhabitants of this state of the denomination of Christians called the Protestant Episcopal Church have represented by their petition addressed to the General Assembly, that great advantages would accrue to said Church, and they hope and believe to the interests of religion and morals in general, by the incorporation of a Divinity School for the training and instructions of students for the sacred ministry in the Church aforementioned.")

What is true of the schools is true of the denominations in general, though one cannot escape the impression that both schools and parish ministers are often less intent on peculiarly denominational objectives and more disposed to think of themselves as first of all responsible in the whole Church for the work of the Church than are many denominational executives. This is not to discount the importance and value to them of their denominations. Few preachers or teachers feel that they can work in the Church, or have loyalties in it apart from work and loyalty within a particular order. But it is to say that they are concerned with the function of the genus—the theological school or the Christian ministry—and that the function of the species—the American or denominational school and ministry—is of subordinate significance to them or at least to increasing numbers of them. It is to say further that they tend to be more aware of the temptations which arise for them as members of the species than of those which come to them as representatives of the genus. Not a few, while rejoicing in the vigorousness of that "American way" of church life which the English visitor comments on, also accept his warning when he follows his statement about the "business efficiency" and popular character of Christianity in America with reflections about its dangers. This "very American pulse" that beats in these church organizations, he believes,

"inevitably and unconsciously affects the minister's apprehension of, and attitude to, his task, as it does also those of the theological stu- dent. The latter is apt to be rather more aware of himself as primarily a person being professionally trained to fulfill a key-office, as an administrator, executive and leader in a vast and important department of the community life of the American people, than as a man on whom God has laid an arresting hand calling him out of that life in the first instance in order to be sent back into it on that basis to a ministerial and prophetic task. This unconscious approach is perhaps fostered to some extent by the great emphasis placed in the seminary curriculum on "practics," and by the comparison I have not infrequently heard drawn between the minister's training and that of the medical man; that the former's work springs from, and is sustained by, a deep and continuous interior transaction with God, is apt to be somewhat overlooked."

As for the temptations which arise out of the denominational organization of the Church, warnings against them are frequent; many ministers, students and teachers become restive when the primacy of denominational loyalties is urged upon them. The denominational-interdenominational type of church organization is doubtless with us to stay, rooted as it is in the history and structure of North American life. But as its modification by means of institutional arrangements for co-operative work constitutes an enduring concern of American churchmen, so efforts to transcend the provincialism to which it tempts ministers and seminaries constitute a striking feature of the contemporary religious scene. Denominational organization and American life are both conditioning elements in the work of the ministry and of the theological schools; from them the latter derive both strength and weakness. Yet the primary context in which the ministry and theology do their work is neither denomination nor nation but the Church in its wholeness.(The lively interaction of denominational and catholic interests in many theological schools with accompanying enthusiasms and tensions makes a variety of interpretations of the situation inevitable. A member of the Advisory Committee, commenting on this section of the report, writes: "When you write of the denominational seminaries you seem to fail to grasp the ecumenical spirit that characterizes so many of them. This fact of the ecumenical spirit in the denominational school is a tremendous thing with great possibilities for the future. It should be played up more." A colleague, however, comments: "My one question of emphasis concerns the characterization of the schools as accepting the 'whole Church' and an ecumenical context as their real base of operations.... I think the denominational tensions are a little more pervasive and difficult than you seem to suggest.... There is still a long way to go." The slight modifications and qualifications which have been made in the essay as a result of such comments, have been made in the direction suggested by the second critic. The "ecumenical spirit" in the schools today is indeed remarkable but the distance still to be traversed is more impressive than the distance covered.)

Certain direct evidence of this sense of context is given in those academic statements of purpose to which reference has been made. Either in connection with some mention of their purpose to train men for a denominational ministry or without such allusion, the theological schools tend to define their objective in such phrases as these: "spreading and deepening the influence of Christianity; promoting the "interest of religion and morals"; "training Christian leaders who are wholeheartedly committed to Jesus Christ and able to share his gospel in all its relevance through the Church and all agencies of God's kingdom"; "to provide leaders capable of bringing to others the saving knowledge of God in Christ Jesus"; "training leaders competent in this age to interpret truth and to direct activities of the Church in its related institutions at home and abroad"; "the preparation of men for the ministry of the Word and the sacraments." The schools work in the context of the Church even though they do not frequently mention that fact. They may not be as conscious of the Church as they are of its objectives, yet when they serve the latter they participate in the life of the whole Church and are moved out of the confines of sectarianism. Their libraries are neither highly denominational nor highly American or Canadian. The denominational "Fathers" doubtless have a place on many shelves and lists of reserve books, but it is also the ambition of every destitute librarian to acquire a set of Migne's Patrologia (it will have at least several kinds of symbolic value); and writings of the Protestant "Fathers" as well as of their sons, almost irrespective of denomination, are everywhere to be encountered. Wherever the theological student is at work he is challenged—at very least by those most catholic of teachers, the competent librarians (It is not implied that all theological librarians are competent any more than all the members of other faculty groups are so. But a heartening sign in the present situation is the increase of interest among these librarians in their work as teachers and the increase of concern among faculties for the development of school libraries as teaching centers)—to enter into conversation with a continuous if not identical group of thinkers. To an increasing extent Eastern Orthodox and Roman Catholic theologians are included in that company.

The courses of study in denominational as well as interdenominational schools are even more indicative of their participation in the common life of the whole Church. Wherever they are being taught, by whatever methods and with whatever preconceptions, theological students are everywhere being asked to enter into long and serious conversations with the persons and communities of the Old and New Covenants of the Bible. The emphasis may be on the Word of God to men through that book ("Thus saith the Lord"); or on the words of men to God ("Out of the depths have I cried to Thee"); or on the words of men to men about God ( "Him whom you ignorantly worship I proclaim to you"). But whatever the emphasis, theological students in classroom, study and chapel are introduced to the great historic reasoning of God with men and led to participate in it. It is not to be denied that there are many contentions about proper methods of instruction, about the possibility of understanding the Bible without the use of Hebrew, Aramaic and Greek; and about its ultimate meanings. Yet it becomes clear to one who listens sympathetically and attentively to what is going on in the classes that there is a great common denominator among these conservatives and liberals, these strict and latitudinarian constructionists. There is more of the whole Biblical content in the thought of most "Fundamentalists" than "liberals" believe. Not only Genesis 1 and Matthew 1 but Isaiah 40 and I Corinthians 13 are inscribed in their minds and hearts. Conversely there is far more Biblical knowledge and conviction in the liberal mind than ultraconservatism imagines.

General participation in a common life appears also in the extent to which church history forms a part of almost every theological curriculum and in the tendency to study it as a single history of one Church with many branches, subordinating the history of the denomination and even of Protestantism and of Christianity in America to the story of the whole Christian society. The community in whose history teachers and students find their orientation is wider then denomination or country. Here again there are variations. The teaching of church history is sometimes made the occasion for developing a sense of alienation from other groups rather than for developing a sense of unity. Like every other history, it is used at times to promote indoctrination in a peculiar tenet. Yet fundamentally and generally it is taught as church history.

In the study of theology proper the whole-church orientation of the schools may be less evident, yet differences are less of a denominational or national than of a party character. Conservative theologians, who were Presbyterians, are studied more widely in some seminaries belonging to new evangelistic groups than among the heirs of John Knox; modern theologians belonging to Lutheran churches, such as Aulén and Nygren, may be used more faithfully in an Episcopalian seminary than in many a Lutheran school less sympathetic to Lund. With a few exceptions teachers and students do not engage in a denominationally restricted discussion but participate in a Protestant and a Christian conversation or debate about the ultimate problems of faith and life. In the so-called practical fields the unity is even greater; here there is common concern for developing relevant, effective preaching in the local church on the basis of Scriptures; for a religious education Christian rather than either humanistic or denominational in character; for guiding men into pastoral work that meets human needs.

Other factors in theological education also point to this participation in a common life. Important among these is the work of the interdenominational schools, staffed by members of many denominations, necessarily teaching church rather than denominational doctrine, history and practice. They are attended by students coming from many church groups who return on graduation to their denominations. While these schools supply only about 15 per cent of each year’s B.D. graduates they represent American Protestantism to a larger extent than such numbers indicate. A large proportion of the teachers in the denominational seminaries has had its doctoral training in these schools; and a considerable number of widely read theological treatises come from the pens of their scholars. In such schools and elsewhere the supradenominational and supranational character of theological education is also significantly indicated by the increasing enrollment of students and the employment of teachers from other areas of Christendom.

Thus implicitly and explicitly the denominations in their concern for the education of ministers, and the schools entrusted with the task, make it evident that they think of themselves increasingly as branches or members of a single community, as orders and institutions with special duties or assignments to be carried out in partnership with other branches of one society. The idea of Una Sancta, of One Holy Church, is very pervasive despite relatively rare expression. There are exceptions; denominations and even more frequently small parties in them, contend for the sole validity of a particular form of creed, organization or liturgy.(0ne school characterizes its attitude toward other denominations as magnanimous; another recognizes only two church bodies—one of these in Europe—as soundly Christian; some denominational programs for the development of theological education move easily from praise of the ecumenical spirit to exclusive concern for the advancement of the denominational ministry. Catholic interest in the whole Church does not always lead to radical change of the denominational mind.) Rivalries and contentions also exist. Sometimes these are reminiscent of the tensions to be found in the relations of states and provinces to nation as a whole, sometimes to the more acerbic dissensions among the branches of the armed forces, all equally pledged to the defense of the country; sometimes they seem very similar to the tensions found among Roman Catholic religious orders; sometimes they seem like economic competition. In the permissive atmosphere of freedom apparently wild and individualistic doctrines flourish; new founders and new religions with new schools appear; false or true prophets rise in protest against established and bureaucratized organizations of religious life; zealous groups maintain that all others are out of step except their select company. But to the sympathetic observer the increasing unity of American Protestantism is more striking than its apparent diversity. He notes that the primary context of Protestant theological education in the United States and Canada is the Christian community in its wholeness. The contention for this orientation of thought and life continues indeed to go on in many a school and poses for it its deepest problems; but the movement toward participation in the universal Church is the dominant one.

III. TOWARD A DEFINITION OF THE CHURCH

The definition of the Church—even the awareness of its actuality—constitutes one of the main concerns of modern theology. Thus we have arrived at one of those points where the reform of theological education apparently must wait on the reformulation of theology. Much confusion and uncertainty in theological schools today seems to be due to lack of clarity about the community—the Church; about its form and matter, its relations and compassion. Without a definition of Church it is impossible to define adequately the work of the ministry for which the school is to prepare its students. It seems impossible also to organize a genuine course of study including the Biblical disciplines, church history, theology, the theory and practice of worship, preaching, and education on other grounds than those of habit and expediency unless there is clarity about the place of these studies and acts in the life of the Church. It is impossible to achieve more than superficial correlation of studies in the history and philosophy of religion, in psychology and sociology, with the older disciplines, unless the relations of the Church to religion in general, to the particular religions and to secular culture have been intelligibly defined.

The results of the inquiry into the nature of the Church in which theologians and churchmen are engaged today cannot be anticipated. The contributions on the one hand of Biblical, historical and systematic theology, of history, the sociology of religion and the theology of culture; and on the other, the practical experiments and experiences in ecumenical, national, municipal and parish organization of church life, will, one may hope, eventually be brought together in some kind of temporary historical synthesis. For the present the question what the Church is in act and potency, remains largely unanswered. The problem is new in many ways; at least it is posed in new forms at the present juncture of history. Thus questions about theological education which arise because of uncertainties in the conception of the Church may be due less to failure to maintain traditional conceptions than to a situation in which new implications of traditional ideas and new possibilities of historical institutions dawn on the horizon.

Nevertheless, we must try to take our bearings; try to formulate some of the nascent agreements about the character of that Church in which theological education goes on and for the furtherance of whose objectives the ministry is being educated. In his effort to state tentatively and in his own way such apparently dawning agreements the author of this essay must employ the method of polar analysis; that is, he must try to do justice to the dynamic character of that social reality, the Church, by defining certain poles between which it moves or which it represents. Such a method is the best one available to him.

By Church, first of all, we mean the subjective pole of the objective rule of God. The Church is no more the kingdom of God than natural science is nature or written history the course of human events. It is the subject that apprehends its Object(The objection that God is never object but always subject often arises from a confusion of the word "object" as meaning "thing" with "object" as meaning the Other toward which sensation, thought, appreciation, worship, et cetera are directed.) that thinks the Other; worships and depends on It; imitates It perhaps; sometimes reflects It; but is always distinct from its Object. It is integral to the self-consciousness of such a subject that it distinguishes itself from its Object. Several things are implied in this understanding of the Church: negatively, the Church is not the rule or realm of God; positively, there is no apprehension of the kingdom except in the Church; conversely, where there is apprehension of, and participation in, this Object there the Church exists; and, finally, the subject-counterpart of the kingdom is never an individual in isolation but one in community, that is, in the Church. Development of these themes would require more space than the scope of the present essay permits. What seems important is the distinction of the Church from the realm and rule of God; the recognition of the primacy and independence of the divine reality which can and does act without, beyond and often despite the Church; and the acceptance of the relativity yet indispensability of the Church in human relations to that reality.

Definition of subject and object are correlative. What the Church is as subject cannot be stated without some description of the Object toward which it is directed. Though an object is independent of a subject, yet it is inaccessible as it is in itself. What is accessible and knowable is so only from a certain point of view and in a certain relation. The communal point of view and perspective of the Church, or, better, the kind of receptivity created in the Church, puts it into a relation to its Object and makes possible an understanding of it that is impossible to every other point of view. The Church is not the only human community directed toward the divine reality; its uniqueness lies in its particular relation to that reality, a relation inseparable from Jesus Christ. It is related to God through Jesus Christ, first in the sense that Jesus Christ is the center of this community directed toward God; the Church takes its stand with Jesus Christ before God and knows him, though with many limitations, with the mind of Christ. Secondly, in that situation there is made available to it, or revealed to it, a characteristic and meaning in the Object—the divine reality—unknown from other perspectives, namely, the reconciling nature and activity of a God who is Father and Son, and also Holy Spirit. Once more it becomes evident that the effort to define the Church involves us in many problems of theology into which we cannot enter in this connection. But certain implications of the historic and apparently necessary Trinitarian understanding of the divine reality on which the Church depends may be called to attention as important for the reorientation of theological education. One of these implications is that in the relative situation occupied by the Church its function is always that of directing attention to its Object rather than to itself. Another is the recognition that it is inadequate and misleading to define the church and the Object on which it depends in terms of Jesus Christ alone. It is indeed the Christian Church, but as the Church of Jesus Christ it is primarily a Church of God and so related to, while distinguished from, all other communities related to the Ultimate.

We need to define Church further by use of the polar terms "community" and "institution." A social reality such as the Church cannot be described by means of one of these categories only and much misconception of the Church results from such exclusive use. Popularly and even among churchmen the institutional Church may be so emphasized that there is little appreciation for the Church that does not come to appearance in organizations and rites. Of the two ecumenical movements in our time the organizational effort to develop world-wide institutions takes precedence in many minds over that spiritual, psychological, intellectual and moral common life, transcending all national boundaries, which seeks institutions through which to express itself. Or again membership in the Church is widely regarded primarily as a matter of participation in institutional forms and actions, less frequently as engagement in common thought, common devotion and worship, common appreciations. But the opposite error is also possible; a common life, vaguely defined by reference to a common spirit also vaguely described, is exalted at the expense of institutional forms. (An example of this may be found in Professor Emil Brunner's The Misunderstanding of the Church (Philadelphia, 1953). Professor Brunner writes: "The New Testament Ecclesia, the fellowship of Jesus Christ, is Q pure communion of persons and has nothing of the character of an institution about it" (p. 17); to this "Ecclesia which is always . . . a dynamic reality and nothing more, the existing churchly institutions are related as means . . . externa subsidia—in very diverse ways and proportions" (p. 109). The Ecclesia . . . is no institution. Therefore the church can never be the Ecclesia either by purification or recreation" (p. 107).

These errors are like those made when a nation is defined either institutionally as state, or as pure community by reference only to national "spirit" or a "way of life." But it seems clear that no community can exist without some institutions that give it form, boundaries, discipline, and the possibilities of expression and common action. On the other hand, no institution can long exist without some common mind and drive that expresses and defines itself in institutions. The questions whether Church is primarily institution or primarily community, or whether one of these is prior, are as unanswerable as similar questions about thought and language. There is no thought without language and no language without thought, yet thought is not language nor language thought. The Church as institution can preserve as well as corrupt the Church as community; it can express and define through word and deed the common mind as well as thwart the common spirit. The Church as community can enliven but also stultify the Church as institution. So it was in the case of the Nazi Christian community which twisted the meaning and eventually the forms of common Christian institutions; so it is also in the confusions of the Christian with the democratic community. The American and Canadian Church scene that we have sketched indicates how much institution and community belong together, yet how distinct they are. In part the realization of the Church community in the New World waits on the development of institutions able to give it form and wholeness; in part the institutionalization in denominations expresses the variety and unity characteristic of the community on this part of the planet.

To describe the Church as a community of memory and hope, sharing in the common memory not only of Jesus Christ but also of the mighty deeds of God known by Israel, expecting the coming into full view of the kingdom on earth and/or in heaven; to describe it further as the community of worship, united by its direction toward one God, who is Father, Son and Holy Spirit yet worshipped more as Father or as Son or as Holy Spirit in this or that part of the community; to describe it as a community of thought in which debate and conflict can take place because there is a fundamental frame of agreement and because there are common issues of great import—to do all this and the much more that needs to be done would be to essay the work of a large part of theology. It must be sufficient here to note that the schools which serve in the Church and serve the Church cannot abstract community from institution nor institution from community; nor can any churchman. One or the other of these polar characteristics of the social reality may be emphasized, but it cannot be defined without some reference to the other pole or served without some concern for its counterpart.

We must deal more briefly with certain other polarities in the Church's existence. Among these are the complementary yet antithetical characteristics of unity and plurality, of locality and universality, of protestant and catholic. The Church is one, yet also many. It is a pluralism moving toward unity and a unity diversifying and specifying itself. It is, in the inescapable New Testament figure, a body with many members none of which is the whole in miniature but in each of which the whole is symbolized. Every national church, every denomination, every local church, every temporal church order, can call itself Church by virtue of its participation in the whole; yet every one is only a member needing all the others in order to be truly itself and in order to participate in the whole. Without the members there is no body; without the body no members. Schools cannot prepare men to work simply in the whole Church but must equip them for particular service; yet they cannot do so unless they keep them mindful of the whole and loyal to it

The Church is local and it is universal. Where two or three are gathered in the name of Christ there he is present, but all to which he points and all that he incarnates is present also. Among other things the universal Church is present, for Jesus Christ cannot be there without bringing with him the whole company of his brothers, who have heard the Word of God and kept it, who were not created without the Word. He is never present without the company of the apostles and prophets, the patriarchs and singers who speak of him; nor without the least of his brothers of whom he speaks. The localized Church implies the universal, but the universal no less implies the local; without localization, without becoming concrete in a specific occasion, it does not exist. The school which educates men for service in this Church cannot but focus their attention on the parish and the meeting; it cannot make them aware of the significance of parish or Sunday morning service unless it turns from the localized occasion to the universal community represented and adumbrated in the occasion.

The Church is protestant and catholic. This is not only to say that there is much historic Protestantism in those institutions called Catholic churches, and much historic Catholicism in the institutions called Protestant. It is also to say that the principle of protest against every tendency to confuse the symbol with what it symbolizes and the subject with the object, is a constituent element in the being of the community, even apart from the institutional organizations. The Church as the people of God, whether under the Old or the New Covenants, is always the party of protest against religion in the religious human world. It protests against every effort to bring the Infinite into the finite, the transcendent into the immanent, the Eternal into the temporal. The only finite symbol of God it tolerates is the symbol of emptiness—the empty Holy of Holies, the empty tomb. But protest has no meaning apart from what is protested against. The Church cannot be protestant without being catholic. The principle of catholicity—as the principle of incarnation rather than the principle of universality—is as much an ingredient of churchliness as is the principle of protest. Unless the Infinite is represented in finite form, unless the Word becomes flesh over and over again, though only as oral preaching, unless the risen Christ manifests himself in the visible forms of individual saintliness and communal authority there is no human relation to the Infinite and Transcendent. Negative and positive movements—the one in rejection of all that is little because God is great, the other in affirmation of the apparently insignificant because God is its creator, redeemer and inspirer; the one away from the world that is not God, the other toward the world of which he is Lord— must both be represented where the Church exists.

The final polarity to be considered in this adumbration of the form and nature of the Church is that of Church and world. This is like the first polarity of subject and object insofar as it is not a polarity in the Church but one in which it participates as itself a kind of pole. The Church lives and defines itself in action vis-à-vis the world. World, however, is not object of Church as God is. World, rather, is companion of the Church, a community something like itself with which it lives before God. The world is sometimes enemy, sometimes partner of Church, often antagonist, always one to be befriended; now it is the co-knower, now the one that does not know what Church knows, now the knower of what Church does not know. The world is the community of those before God who feel rejected by God and reject him; again it is the community of those who do not know God and seem not to be known by him; or, it is the community of those who knowing God do not worship him. In all cases it is the community to which the Church addresses itself with its gospel, to which it gives an account of what it has seen and heard in divine revelation, which it invites to come and see and hear. The world is the community to which Christ comes and to which he sends his disciples. On the other hand, the world is the community of those who are occupied with temporal things. When, in its sense of rejection, it is preoccupied with these temporal matters it is the world of idolatry and becomes foe of the Church. When it is occupied with them as gifts of God— whether or not the consciousness of grace becomes explicit—it is the partner of the Church, doing what the Church, concerned with the nontemporal, cannot do; knowing what Church as such cannot know. Thus and in other ways the relations of Church and world are infinitely variable; but they are always dynamic and important. To train men for the ministry of the Church is to train them for ministry to the world and to introduce them to the conversation of Church and world, a conversation in which both humility and self-assurance have their proper place.

If our interpretation of the spirit of the Protestant theological schools is in any way correct then it is Church defined somewhat in the foregoing manner that constitutes the society in which they function and whose objectives they serve directly and indirectly, consciously or unconsciously. Different schools and different denominations doubtless represent different perspectives and emphases in their understanding of this Church; yet they participate in the common life insofar as they respect and gain profit from each other's contributions.

IV. THE PURPOSE OF THE CHURCH: THE INCREASE OF THE LOVE OF GOD AND NEIGHBOR

What are the objectives of the Church? That they are many in number is clear from the statements of purpose made by schools when they define to what end they are training ministers, and by other church organizations—denominations, councils, conferences, et cetera—when they justify their activities. Some speak in individual terms of the cultivation of the Christian life or the salvation of souls; others state their goal to be the building up of the corporate life of the Church or of some part of it; again the goal is defined as the "communication of the vital and redeeming doctrines of Scriptures," or it is otherwise described by reference to the Bible as the ultimate source of all that is to be taught and preached. Elsewhere the end is defined as the preaching of the gospel and the administration of the sacraments; or, again, as the development of the life of prayer and worship. Perhaps most frequently the goal set forth is increase of belief in Jesus Christ, of discipleship to him and the glorification of his name. These multiple aims of churches and schools are again multiplied as one proceeds from grand statements about the purpose of the large organizations to the specialized goals of boards and departments, of courses and classes, of rural and urban congregations, of ministries of preaching and education and pastoral work and of preparation for such particular functions. The multiplicity of goals corresponds to the pluralism in the Church that is made up of many members, each with its own function; that stands in many relations to God, who is complex in his unity, and in many relations to a world protean in its attitudes toward God and the Church.

The question is whether there is one end beyond the many objectives as there is one Church in the many churches. Is there one goal to which all other goals are subordinate, not necessarily as means to end, but as proximate objectives that should be sought only in relation to a final purpose? When we deal with the complex activities of a biological organism or a person or a society the analogies of mechanical operation are misleading. The circulation of the blood, for instance, is not a means to the end of the functioning of the nervous system, nor is either a means only to the health of the body since that health also comes to expression in them. Still the healthy functioning of the whole body is in a sense a goal that a physician will have in view as he pursues the proximate end of improving circulation. The question of the ultimate objective of the whole Church and of the seminaries in the Church does not reduce questions about proximate ends to questions about means, but it poses the problem of the final unifying consideration that modifies all the special strivings.

Once more then we must venture to anticipate, though only in adumbrations, the answer to a question properly answerable only by the combined and continuous work of many theologians approaching the problem with the aid of many special studies and of many experiences. Such a statement will inevitably be somewhat private, yet though personal it is the report of what has been heard and understood in a conversation in which many contemporary ministers and teachers, many churchmen of the past and, above all, the prophets and apostles participate. As such a report it may gain some assent together with much correction and may be of some aid in moving forward the debate about the objective of the churches and their schools and in overcoming some current confusions.

The conversation about the ultimate objective is many faceted. It includes many interchanges on special issues through which, however, the movement toward the definition of the ultimate issue and the final objective proceeds. There is, as we have noted, a debate between those who define the last end of the Church individualistically as salvation of souls and those who think of it as the realization of the redeemed society. But extreme individualism and extreme emphasis on society are rare. Recognition of the social character of the individual and of the interpersonal character of society brings the parties somewhat closer to each other and both are challenged by the question: What is the chief end of man, whether as redeemed individual or redeemed community? Another debate, the one about Church and Bible, is leading, it appears, to somewhat similar results. Protestantism in general and particularly in America is marked by devotion to the Bible; it often conceives its end to be the dissemination of Biblical truth and increase of devotion to Scriptures. Catholicism, on the other hand, tends to be church-centered and often finds its goal in the building and strengthening of loyalty to the Church. But the study of the Bible in Protestantism, with its demonstrations of the close relations of the people and the Book both in the Old and New Covenant periods, and historical theology with its reflections on the manner in which at different times the Church interprets Bible, bring Church and Scriptures into inseparable relations of mutual dependence. Moreover, in practice concentration on the Book is ultimately self-corrective since the Bible faithfully studied allows none to make it the highest good or its glorification the final end. It always points beyond itself not so much to its associate, the people, as to the Creator, the suffering and risen Lord and the Inspirer. This is true also of the Church; it loses its character as Church when it concentrates on itself, worships itself and seeks to make love of Church the first commandment. Tension and antagonism between Bible-centered and Church-centered members of the community is being ever-renewed but is also being evermore resolved and their debate is led to higher issues by the witness of the Bible and the Church themselves to that which transcends both. Another long debate has gone on in history and is alive today among those who agree that the chief end of the Church is to gain followers of Jesus Christ or to proclaim his Lordship. Christian humanism, present to a minor extent in denominations and schools, but widely prevalent in the "latent" church which seems large and important in America, is strong in its devotion to the Son of Man; reliance upon the Son of God is more characteristic of the ecclesiastical institutions and of the majority movement in the community. Yet exclusively Jesus-centered and exclusively Christ-centered groups contradict not only each other but also contradict Jesus Christ himself who will not bear witness to himself but to the one who sent him. The great central position of the historic Church maintains itself amidst these variations, affirming not only the actuality and unity of both human and divine natures, the identity of the historic with the risen Lord, but also some form of the Trinitarian conviction, which does not allow the separation of the Son of Man and Son of God, from the Father and the Spirit. Devotion directed toward Jesus Christ is at least partly redirected by him to the One he loves and who loves him, and to the world created and redeemed by the love of God. Nothing less than God—albeit God in the mystery of his being as Father, Son and Holy Spirit—is the object toward which Scriptures, Church and Jesus Christ himself direct those who begin by loving them.

Is not the result of all these debates and the content of the confessions or commandments of all these authorities this: that no substitute can be found for the definition of the goal of the Church as the increase among men of the love of God and neighbor? The terms vary; now the symbolic phrase is reconciliation to God and man' now increase of gratitude for the forgiveness of sin, now the realization of the kingdom or the coming of the Spirit, now the acceptance of the gospel. But the simple language of Jesus Christ himself furnishes to most Christians the most intelligible key to his own purpose and to that of the community gathered around him. If the increase among men of love of God and neighbor is the ultimate objective may it not be that many of our confusions and conflicts in churches and seminaries are due to failure to keep this goal in view while we are busy in the pursuit of proximate ends that are indeed important, but which set us at cross-purposes when followed without adequate reference to the final good?

Any adequate discussion of the theme of love of God and neighbor and of its relevance to Church and school requires all the resources of the theological curriculum from study of the Scriptures through systematic theology, the philosophy, psychology and history of religion, Christian and social ethics to pastoral theology, Christian education and homiletics. Yet in relative brevity some things can be said about this theme which, one hopes, will invite the assent of many members of the community, however great their dissent because of the incompleteness of the statement and because differences of emphasis are inevitable. The statement of a final end can never be a final statement until the whole community confesses it in the moment of its achievement.

In the language of Christianity love of God and neighbor is both "law" and "gospel"; it is both the requirement laid on man by the Determiner of all things and the gift given, albeit in incompleteness, by the self-giving of the Beloved. It is the demand inscribed into infinitely aspiring human nature by the Creator; its perversion in idolatry, hostility and self-centeredness is the heart of man's tragedy; its reconstruction, redirection and empowerment is redemption from evil. Love of God and neighbor is the gift given through Jesus Christ by the demonstration in incarnation, words, deeds, death and resurrection that God is love—a demonstration we but poorly apprehend yet sufficiently discern to be moved to a faltering response of reciprocal love. The purpose of the gospel is not simply that we should believe in the love of God; it is that we should love him and neighbor. Faith in God's love toward man is perfected in man's love to God and neighbor. We love in incompleteness, not as redeemed but in the time of redemption, not in attainment but in hope. Through Jesus Christ we receive enough faith in God's love toward us to see at least the need for and the possibility of a responsive love on our part. We know enough of the possibility of love to God on our part to long for its perfection; we see enough of the reality of God's love toward us and neighbor to hope for its full revelation and so for our full response.

In both law and gospel the love of God and the love of neighbor are inseparably related. Historically they are associated in Judaism and Christianity, in the two tables of the Ten Commandments, in the double summary of the law offered by Jesus, in apostolic preaching, in the theology and ethics of Catholic and Protestant churches. Despite tendencies in Christian history toward solitary union with God on the one hand and toward nontheistic humanitarianism on the other the unity of the two motifs has been vindicated many times. The inseparability of the two loves has been less manifest in theological analysis than in the actuality of history but theology has pointed out often enough how the thought of God is impossible without thought of the neighbor and how the meaning and value of the companion's life depends on his relation to God. With their understanding of the divine-human nature of Jesus Christ and of the ubiquity of Christ in all compassionate and needy companions, Christians are led to see that as the neighbor cannot exist or be known or be valued without the existence, knowledge and love of God, so also God does not exist as God-for-us or become known or loved as God except in his and our relation to the neighbor. The interrelations of self, companion and God are so intricate that no member of this triad exists in his true nature without the others, nor can he be known or loved without the others. If we substitute "Jesus Christ" for "neighbor" Christians in general will accept that statement; but there is danger in that substitution as well as the possibility of enlightenment, since the relation of Jesus Christ to our other neighbors is often obscured in theology; his revelation of what it means to be a man is often forgotten in favor of exclusive attention to his disclosure of what it means that God is, and is Good. Yet the latter illumination could not take place without the former.

God's love of self and neighbor, neighbor's love of God and self, self's love of God and neighbor are so closely interrelated that none of the relations exists without the others. The intricacy and unity of the human situation before God is not less dynamic and complex than the one we encounter in nature when we explore the energetic world of the atom or of a sidereal system. Yet we can only speak in succession of what appears in contemporaneousness; in discourse we must abstract relations, such as love, from the terms related and the terms from each other, so that we are always in danger of speaking of God without reference to the being he loves and that loves him; of speaking about religion or love of God as distinct from ethics or the love of neighbor. Such dangers must be accepted and faced; theology must be content to spend no small part of its energies in the correction of the errors which ensue from its necessary mode of working.

What then is love and what do we mean by God and by neighbor when we speak of the ultimate purpose of Church, and so of theological education, as the increase of love of God and neighbor among men? By love we mean at least these attitudes and actions: rejoicing in the presence of the beloved, gratitude, reverence and loyalty toward him. Love is rejoicing over the existence of the beloved one; it is the desire that he be rather than not be; it is longing for his presence when he is absent; it is happiness in the thought of him; it is profound satisfaction over everything that makes him great and glorious. Love is gratitude: it is thankfulness for the existence of the beloved; it is the happy acceptance of everything that he gives without the jealous feeling that the self ought to be able to do as much; it is a gratitude that does not seek equality; it is wonder over the other's gift of himself in companionship. Love is reverence: it keeps its distance even as it draws near; it does not seek to absorb the other in the self or want to be absorbed by it; it rejoices in the otherness of the other; it desires the beloved to be what he is and does not seek to refashion him into a replica of the self or to make him a means to the self's advancement. As reverence love is and seeks knowledge of the other, not by way of curiosity nor for the sake of gaining power but in rejoicing and in wonder. In all such love there is an element of that "holy fear" which is not a form of flight but rather deep respect for the otherness of the beloved and the profound unwillingness to violate his integrity. Love is loyalty; it is the willingness to let the self be destroyed rather than that the other cease to be; it is the commitment of the self by self-binding will to make the other great. It is loyalty, too, to the other's cause—to his loyalty. As there is no patriotism where only the country is loved and not the country's cause—that for the sake of which the nation exists—so there is no love of God where God's cause is not loved, that which God loves and to which he has bound himself in sovereign freedom.

What, further, do we mean by the word God when we speak of the love of God? Not less than this surely—the Source and Center of all being, the Determiner of destiny, the Universal One—God the Father Almighty, Maker of Heaven and Earth. 13y God we cannot mean first of all love itself as the relation that binds all things together; the proposition that God is love cannot be converted without loss and error into the statement that love is God. Neither do we mean by God any lovely being easily made the object of our affection. We encounter no demand in ourselves or in our world to love that to which we are naturally attracted. Neither is there any promise or hope in the idea that we shall come to love with rejoicing, gratitude, reverence and loyalty, all that now easily arouses in us the movements of our desire. The movement of our love toward all these things, though they go by the name of God or gods, is the way of our idolatry; it is the movement toward the many away from the One, toward the partial instead of the universal, toward the work of our hands rather than toward our Maker. The demand and the promise refer to the One beyond all these.

The problem of man is how to love the One on whom he is completely, absolutely dependent; who is the Mystery behind the mystery of human existence in the fatefulness of its selfhood, of being this man among these men, in this time and all time, in the thus and so-ness of the strange actual world. It is the problem of reconciliation to the One from whom death proceeds as well as life, who makes demands too hard to bear, who sets us in the world where our beloved neighbors are the objects of seeming animosity, who appears as God of wrath as well as God of love. It is the problem that arises in its acutest form when life itself becomes a problem, when the goodness of existence is questionable, as it has been for most men at most times; when the ancient and universal suspicion arises that he is happiest who was never born and he next fortunate who died young.

Reconciliation to God is reconciliation to life itself; love to the Creator is love of being, rejoicing in existence, in its source, totality and particularity. Love to God is more than that, however, great as this demand and promise are. It is loyalty to the idea of God when the actuality of God is mystery; it is the affirmation of a universe and the devoted will to maintain a universal community at whatever cost to the self. It is the patriotism of the universal commonwealth, the kingdom of God, as a commonwealth of justice and love, the reality of which is sure to become evident. There is in such love of God a will-to-believe as the will-to-be-loyal to everything God and his kingdom stand for. Love to God is conviction that there is faithfulness at the heart of things: unity, reason, form and meaning in the plurality of being. It is the accompanying will to maintain or assert that unity, form and reason despite all appearances. The dark shadow of this love is our combative human loyalty which in its love of gods—principles of religion, empires and civilizations, and all partial things—denies while it seeks to affirm the ultimate loyalty and so involves us in apparently never-ending religious animosities which at the same time unite and divide neighbors, as they forge close bonds of loyalty to each other in a common cause among closed societies disloyal to each other.

Who, finally, is my neighbor, the companion whom I am commanded to love as myself or as I have been loved by my most loyal neighbor, the companion whose love is also promised me as mine is promised him? He is the near one and the far one; the one beside the road I travel here and now; the one removed from me by distances in time and space, in convictions and loyalties. He is my friend, the one who has shown compassion toward me; and my enemy, who fights against me. He is the one in need, in whose hunger, nakedness, imprisonment and illness I see or ought to see the universal suffering servant. He is the oppressed one who has not risen in rebellion against my oppression nor rewarded me according to my deserts as individual or member of a heedlessly exploiting group. He is the compassionate one who ministers to my needs: the stranger who takes me in; the father and mother, sister and brother. In him the image of the universal redeemer is seen as in a glass darkly. Christ is my neighbor, but the Christ in my neighbor is not Jesus; it is rather the eternal son of God incarnate in Jesus, revealed in Jesus Christ. The neighbor is in past and present and future, yet he is not simply mankind in its totality but rather in its articulation, the community of individuals and individuals in community. He is Augustine in the Roman Catholic Church and Socrates in Athens, and the Russian people, and the unborn generations who will bear the consequences of our failures, future persons for whom we are administering the entrusted wealth of nature and other greater common gifts. He is man and he is angel and he is animal and inorganic being, all that participates in being. That we ought to love these neighbors with rejoicing and with reverence, with gratitude and with loyalty is the demand we dimly recognize in our purer moments in science and religion, in art and politics. That we shall love them as we do not now, that is the hope which is too good to be true. That we are beloved by them and by God, that is the small faith, less than the mustard seed in size, which since the time of Abraham and of Jesus Christ remains alive, makes hope possible, encourages new desire and arouses men to anticipated attainments of future possibility.

When all is said and done the increase of this love of God and neighbor remains the purpose and the hope of our preaching of the gospel, of all our church organization and activity, of all our ministry, of all our efforts to train men for the ministry, of Christianity itself.

V. CONFUSING PROXIMATE WITH ULTIMATE GOALS

Our efforts to define the context of theological education as the whole Church, and to describe its goal as the increase of the love of God and neighbor, have removed us a long way from the actuality of schools, churches and ministry in the United States and Canada. To be sure, these institutions reveal in various ways that this context and this goal are implied in what they do but they also make evident that very often they are not directly concerned about such apparently remote things. They usually speak of more proximate contexts and goals and often manifest an almost ultimate concern in less ultimate matters. From such confusions of the proximate with the ultimate arise some of their external and internal conflicts. Not all conflicts about proximate ends and immediate means are traceable to this source. Theological like every other type of education is involved, as has been noted, in a host of dilemmas that cannot be solved theologically; but its difficulties are increased tremendously by the internal conflict in which it is engaged when it substitutes the relative for the absolute.

Of these confusions the most widely criticized, though not the most important, is the confusion of a branch of the Church with the whole Church. The tendency to regard a denomination as the ultimate environment in which the school carries on its work or as at least the last society to whose purposes reference must be made is on the wane, as has been pointed out, in most of the seminaries and Bible colleges in the United States and Canada. But it is still strong in many places and one may expect that it will manifest itself in ever-new forms. Where it prevails theological education is necessarily provincial in character; it is neither theological nor educational, since it does not lead a student to any direct confrontation with the theological object nor induce him to participate in liberating dialogue with all companions directed toward that object. Against this tendency theology and faith will wage constant battle, though it is clear that no technical approach to curriculum construction or teaching method will enable any group to win this struggle and that no victorious party is secure against falling into the temptation to substitute a new form of this fallacy for the defeated one. That schools and churches so provincial in character and out look make contributions despite themselves to the whole Christian movement is not to be gainsaid. Neither would one be justified in maintaining that a Church of undifferentiated wholeness and unity can exist or that the elimination of denominational differences would solve the underlying problem. The confusion between part and whole is not to be avoided by denying the reality of the parts but only by the acceptance of diversity and limitation and the corollary recognition that all the parts are equally related in the whole to the ultimate object of the Church. The denominational structure of the Church in the United States and Canada does not need to be eradicated before theological education can be put on a sounder basis, but a denominationalism that puts loyalty to the branch of the Church above all other loyalties involves theological education in internal self-contradictions that vitiate its work.

More significant today than the confusion of a branch of the Church with the whole Church is the confusion of Church, considered as whole or in its essence, with the ultimate context of theological education. Whether the term Church or the term Christianity is used, there is an internal contradiction in a theology and a Christian educational system that regard the work of the Church as the final activity to be considered. The confusion is a common one. It has become more prevalent in recent years since the fallacies of concentration on religion have become apparent. Not long ago religion was often credited with the power and grace that belong only to the God of faith; religion, it was said, inspired, healed and saved. Now that subjectivism is often replaced by another which puts the Church in the place of religion but confuses its work with that of its Lord and equates devotion to it with loyalty to the kingdom of God. The resulting confusion is similar to the one that appears in political life when a particular democratic society is made the object of a devotion that genuine democracy extends only to humanity, created free and endowed with natural rights prior to any recognition of these facts. In the case of Communism it has become plain what internal contradictions and perversions ensue when the promotion of the party is substituted for the pursuit of the party's cause. That substitution has led to all manner of corruption. Christianity and the Church have not been slow to criticize Judaism because in it the idea of a people chosen for service was often converted into the idea of a people chosen for privilege while the victory of the cause which the people was chosen to promote was frequently equated with the victory of the people. It is always easy to discern the mote in the eye of another. The beam in our churchly or Christian eye is not so easily seen. Both in thinking of the context in which we work in the Church and of the goal we pursue, it seems easy to accept and propagate the idea that the last reality with which we are concerned is the Church itself, and that the summary commandment we obey is to love Christianity with heart, soul, mind and strength. This exaltation of Church or of Christianity leads us then to an effort not to reconcile men with God or to redirect their love and ours toward God and the neighbor but rather to convert them to Christianity. These purposes are not more identical than subject and object are identical. It is one thing to be reconciled to God and to conceive some love for the neighbor and hence to participate in the community of which Jesus Christ is the pioneer and founder; it is another thing to take for granted that if one is brought into membership with the historical society called the Church love of God and neighbor will automatically ensue.

It is evident that in dealing with this confusion we are attending to a subject that is important not only to theological education but to all the work of the churches. The confusion of a proximate, churchly, with the ultimate, divine, context and the attendant confusion of goals, lies at the heart of many dilemmas in which the Christian missionary enterprise is involved in its dealings with the adherents of other religions. It is close also to the problems of Protestantism in its encounters with the Roman Church. Having begun with protest against tendencies in the latter branch of Christianity to regard the Church as the representative of God it has often succumbed to the same tendency itself. In consequence it has found itself engaged in competition on the same ground its rival occupies and using weapons which its own principles deny to it. But if the confusion is serious in all other areas of Church action it is not the less serious in theological education. When it prevails such education necessarily becomes indoctrination in Christian principles rather than inquiry based on faith in God; or it is turned into training in methods for increasing the Church rather than for guiding men to love of God and neighbor. The confusion of the subject with the subject's object is more than an epistemological fallacy.

A similar confusion to which Protestantism is even more prone ensues when the Bible is so made the center of theological education that the book takes the place of the God who speaks, and love of the book replaces devotion to the One who makes himself known with its aid. The problem of the relation of Scriptures to revelation, of the Word of God spoken through the prophets and incarnate in Jesus Christ to the living Word, is one that has greatly concerned theology especially since the days of the Reformation. It is of particular importance in contemporary discussion. But it is not necessary to await the outcome of a long debate before one arrives at the conclusion that whatever else is true about these relations, the identification of the Scriptures with God is an error, a denial of the content of the Scriptures themselves. To give final devotion to the book is to deny the final claim of God; to look for the mighty deeds of God only in the records of the past is to deny that he is the living God; to love the book as the source of strength and of salvation is to practice an idolatry that can bring only confusion into life. Without the Bible, as without the Church, Christians do not exist and cannot carry on their work; but it is one thing to recognize the indispensability of these means, another thing to make means into ends. There is much theological education that suffers from inadequate attention to the Biblical history of divine words and deeds; there is more that suffers from so close a concentration on these that the One to whom Scriptures bear witness is overshadowed by the witness. The lines between theological education and Bible study are hard to draw. Genuine Bible study is theological and genuine theology cannot succeed without Bible study. But there is a Biblicism that is not theological because it does not make God so much as Scriptures the object of its interest, and which depends for law and grace not on Father, Son and Holy Spirit but on Bible. This kind of Biblicism involves theological education as well as the churches in inner contradictions.

The most prevalent, the most deceptive and perhaps ultimately the most dangerous inconsistency to which churches and schools are subject in our time (perhaps in all the Christian centuries) arises from the substitution of Christology for theology, of the love of Jesus Christ for the love of God and of life in the community of Jesus Christ for life in the divine commonwealth. Once more we touch upon a problem with which theology in our time is deeply concerned, and which makes evident how much the reconstruction of theological education depends on the reconstruction of theology. Yet as in the case of Biblicism it is hardly necessary to await the outcome of many inquiries before concluding that substantial error involving many further confusions is present when the proposition that Jesus Christ is God is converted into the proposition that God is Jesus Christ. If the long story of the Trinitarian debate in Christendom is to be re-enacted in our present time its outcome may result in somewhat different formulations from those of the past, but scarcely in a substantive change of the affirmation that God is One and that however the doctrine of the Personae is stated it must still be affirmed that the Father is not the Son and the Son is not the Father and the Spirit cannot be equated with either. Yet in many churchly pronouncements the faith of Christians is stated as if their one God were Jesus Christ; as if Christ's ministry of reconciliation to the Creator were of no importance; as if the Spirit proceeded only from the Son; as if the Christian Scriptures contained only the New Testament; as if the Old Testament were relevant only insofar as it contained prophecies pointing to Jesus Christ; as if Jesus Christ alone were man's only hope. When this is done the faith of Christians is converted into a Christian religion for which Jesus Christ in isolation is the one object of devotion and in which his own testimony, his very character, his Sonship, his relation to the One with whom he is united, are denied.

This kind of Christian religion has many forms. It is present in popular forms that are similar to Eastern Bhakti and Amida Buddha faiths. It is present in a liberal cult of Jesus and of "the Jesus way of life"; present also in mystical forms as the cultivation of personal companionship with the divine Christ. Historically and theologically we are dealing here with devout yet aberrant forms of faith that are unable to illuminate the more profound problems of human existence, suffering, guilt and destiny or to answer questions about human history in its wholeness. They tend moreover to make of that faith a religion much like all other human religions instead of a relation to the Transcendent that goes beyond all our religions. This confusion of the proximate with the final introduces many internal conflicts into the work of the churches and of theological education. It leads directly to the effort to emphasize the uniqueness of the Christian religion, to define it as the "true" religion, to recommend it because of its originality, to exaggerate the differences between Christian and Jewish faith, to re-erect walls of division that Jesus Christ broke down, to exalt the followers of the one who humbled himself, to define the neighbor as fellow Christian. That the confusion has not led to greater spiritual disasters than have been encountered is doubtless due to the fact that Jesus Christ in his nature and witness is a constant corrective of the perversion of his worship.

Denominationalism not the denominations; ecclesiasticism not the churches; Biblicism not the Bible; Christism not Jesus Christ; these represent the chief present perversions and confusions in Church and theology. There are many other less deceptive, cruder substitutions of the proximate for the ultimate. But the ones described seem to set the great problems to faith and theology in our time. In them the need for a constant process of a radically monotheistic reformation comes to appearance.

If many theological schools today seem uncertain about the context in which they are working and about the purposes they serve this may be due in no small part to the confusions present in that contemporary Christianity itself in which they participate. These internal conflicts are doubtless rooted in the perennial human condition; there is no way to eliminate by any single movement of reformation the temptations and the failures from which the last rebirth alone can set us free. But unless the forms in which idolatries appear at any particular time are illuminated and criticized there is no prospect for ultimate health. The critique of education requires the critique of theology and the critique of theology involves the critique of the Church. Such self-criticism in seminary and Church is always part of that total repentance which is the counterpart of faith.

Forward

The following chapters on the nature and purpose of the Church, the ministry and the theological school constitute the first part of the report of The Study of Theological Education in the United States and Canada.

Hundreds of schools in the United States and Canada make it their business to educate men and women for the Christian ministry in Protestant, Roman Catholic and Orthodox churches. Their graduates form a large proportion of the three hundred thousand clergymen active in the numerous church organizations of North America. They work as pastors, preachers and priests, teachers and scholars, evangelists and missionaries, writers and editors, administrators of denominational, educational, social service and reform agencies, as chaplains in prisons, hospitals and military establishments. Doing splendid, indifferent or woefully inadequate work these ministers and the schools that train them are subject to praise and blame by themselves, the churches and the environing society. They are questioned and they question themselves. In this situation more than a hundred theological schools have agreed to examine themselves and the status of theological education in general, to raise immediate and ultimate questions about their purposes, their methods and their effectiveness in discharging their duties; to seek also ways of improving their own ministry. Under the leadership of the American Association of Theological Schools and with the financial support of the Carnegie Corporation a study center was established to correlate the work of self-examination and to formulate its results.

The general reason for the inquiry is to be found, of course, in the conviction that "the unexamined life is not worth living"— a principle that has been given a special form in the Christian demand for daily and lifelong repentance. Institutions and communities no less than individuals are subject to this requirement. It is said that an uninspected army deteriorates and this is doubtless true of all human organizations. We tend to repeat customary actions unaware that when we do today what we did yesterday we actually do something different since in the interval both we and our environment have changed; unaware also that we now do without conscious definition of purpose and method what was done yesterday with specific ends in view and by relatively precise means. Education in general, and not least ecclesiastical education, is subject to this constant process of deterioration and hence in need of periodic self-examination.

Some special considerations have strengthened such general concern for self-study. The thought is abroad among theological educators and students that in the course of apparent repetition of traditional functions they have so adjusted themselves day by day to new pressures in the changing environment that they have lost the form and direction of inherited educational policy, so that the curriculum no longer is a course of study but has become a series of studious jumps in various directions. At the same time many of them are oppressed by the feeling that theological study does not sufficiently consider the changes that have taken place in human thought and behavior in the course of a revolutionary century. They note that in both respects they face problems similar to those that have led educators in other fields to undertake more or less promising reformations. Such examples have encouraged them to look forward to comparable efforts in the theological schools.

An even more significant occasion for theological self-examination lies in the temper of the times. In large sections of the Western world a new attitude toward theology and religion has become manifest. After a long period in which the need of many for a sense of life's meaning seemed to be supplied by the progress of civilization or by the realization of national destiny, disillusionment with the half-gods has made itself felt. Men who felt that they were born to die for the glory of nation or culture or for the sake of unborn generations or the advancement of knowledge, have been succeeded by generations who ask the ultimate questions with which religion and theology are concerned. Further, it is increasingly recognized by the thoughtful that the foundations of our civilization rest on deeper convictions than those generally acknowledged; that science and democratic life, literature and art, derive their ultimate orientation from religious faith; and that without renewal of the foundations the structure cannot endure. In this situation churches and theological schools sense that more is expected of them by their fellow men than they once thought and that they owe their neighbors more than they are prepared to give.

Moved by these concerns, in awareness of such needs, pastors and teachers of theology, administrators and boards of theological seminaries and now groups of these gathered loosely around a staff of inquirers with their advisers have undertaken for a brief space of time to examine their work and to ask large and small questions about its adequacy and improvement.

The subjects and objects of this study are, by and large, the Protestant theological schools in the United States and Canada. The community of inquiry goes beyond these boundaries at certain points; it is narrower at others. Geographically it often extends beyond the United States and Canada since the questions and answers of theological educators and churches in Germany, England and France, Asia, South America and Africa, as over-heard in the New World or as directly addressed to us here, enter into the discussion. Moreover, Christians can never forget that they are one people whatever the country of their residence. Again, the questions raised by Roman Catholic educators about their own schools and methods often run parallel to those of Protestants and their reflections are helpful to the latter. This is true also of the schools in which Jews carry on their theological work and educate young men to be rabbis. Primarily, however, those engaged in this particular inquiry are Protestants. First among them, again, are the institutions and men federated in the American Association of Theological Schools, but many schools not belonging to the association have co-operated freely. In general the group which has been drawn into the discussion has consisted of graduate schools of theology; but those who have been engaged in the task of correlating the inquiry have become very much aware that many non-graduate schools—among them Bible colleges and institutes—play a significant role in the educational venture and have a genuine interest in the outcome of theological self-examination. Various limitations have prevented the thorough study of this group of schools, but failure to draw them into the central community of inquiry does not imply any oversight of their significance.

No one can venture to speak for all those who have participated in the process of self-examination which has been focused for a little while in the office and the staff of The Study of Theological Education in the United States and Canada. All that is possible is that this small group should state in its own way the knowledge, reflections and convictions that have come to it in the course of an inquiry in which they have participated intensively for fifteen months. The members of the study staff—H. Richard Niebuhr, the director, Daniel Day Williams, the associate director, and James M. Gustafson, the assistant director—have visited more than ninety theological seminaries. They have had interviews with the deans of most of these schools and with scores of professors; they have met with more than forty faculties and have participated in regional conferences on theological education in Texas, California and Toronto. They have examined the publications of schools they were unable to visit. All but one of the schools of the American Association of Theological Schools and many non-member institutions have supplied them with detailed information on organization, finances, enrollment, faculty, curriculum, et cetera. These reports have been studied and the statistical information has been analyzed. Thirty-six seminaries have given particular help by supplying information about their development during the last twenty years.

Considerable time has been devoted by the staff to the study of the American denominations, their ministries and interests in theological education. Denominational executives, particularly those charged with responsibility for the seminaries, have been most helpful in providing information and counsel. Members of the staff have participated in conferences of educators of the American Baptist Convention, the United Church of Canada, the Lutheran Church—Missouri Synod, the Disciples of Christ, the Presbyterian Church, U.S., and the Presbyterian Church, U.S.A. With the advice of denominational leaders and others they compiled a list of pastors regarded by their colleagues as "good ministers" and entered into correspondence with a number of them, chosen so as to make the whole group representative of the denominational pattern. Thirty pastors gave their time for personal interviews; conferences were held with groups of others. A hundred members of the panel wrote reflective and illuminating letters about the purpose, limitations, opportunities and hazards of the Protestant ministry and offered their counsel on the improvement of theological education. In another phase of the study intensive and repeated interviews were held with first-, second- and third-year students at seven seminaries. Some of these interviews were conducted by the assistant director, others by members of the faculties. The reports—in some instances tape recordings—of the interviews have been of great importance to the staff in its efforts to understand how the various aspects of theological education affect students. Among other things "field work" was brought into a new perspective for them when it was seen through the eyes of the young men and women. Conferences with students in some thirty schools supplemented the data gained from interviews. Various limitations prevented the development of a program of consultation with Christian laymen. The limited number of interviews held with representatives of the business and academic communities and organized labor were very enlightening, and reports of lay assessments of the ministry made by other students of the subject were also helpful.

The data, insights and ideas gained from these sources and from the study of many special documents have been worked through by the members of the staff, individually and in many seminar sessions. Now they venture to report on what they believe to have learned in the course of their study and attempt to state what they think is the main content and meaning of the long discussion that is going on among theological educators. On many matters of fact the statement can be relatively precise and objective. But when it deals with principles and aims it must undertake to set forth what has been variously expressed by many or has been only implicit in what others have communicated. In this respect the report cannot be "objective" but must remain a somewhat personal effort to clarify and organize ideas about Church, ministry and theological education that seem to be "in the air" or that seem to be developing in "the climate of opinion." This first volume, in particular, is necessarily an essay of this sort.

The whole report is to be issued in three relatively independent publications. The present book will be followed, presumably within the year, by a volume offering a more detailed study of the schools, faculties, students, curricula, et cetera. The third portion of the report is being published in a series of bulletins dealing with subjects requiring special emphasis or statistical tables too detailed for inclusion in the general volume. Of the former sort is the Memorandum on the Theological Education of Negro Ministers which appeared in September, 1955; of the latter sort, a study of trends in thirty-six representative schools from 1935 to 1955 which is now in preparation.

A further book, sponsored by the study but not written by members of the staff, is to be published soon. It will contain a series of essays on the history of the Christian ministry written by Church historians who have met in several conferences and submitted their manuscripts to one another so as to produce a genuine symposium. They are: Professors Roland Bainton of Yale University Divinity School, Edward Hardy of Berkeley Divinity School, Winthrop Hudson of Colgate Rochester Divinity School, John Knox of Union Theological Seminary, New York, Sidney Mead of the Federated Faculty of the University of Chicago, Robert Michaelsen of the State University of Iowa School of Religion, Wilhelm Pauck of Union Theological Seminary, and George Williams of Harvard Divinity School.

|There now remains the pleasant task of expressing publicly the gratitude of the directors of the study to the persons and organizations who have helped them in the inquiry. Among the scores and hundreds of these the following immediately come to mind: the chairman and members of the Executive and Administrative Committees of the American Association of Theological Schools who set the study in motion; the members of the Advisory Committee, The Reverend Theodore Ferris, Bishop Paul N. Garber, Reverend Ralph W. Loew, President Franc L. McCluer, President Walter N. Roberts, Professor Lewis J. Sherrill, Dean Charles L. Taylor, Jr., Reverend Gordon M. Torgersen; the presidents and deans of seminaries who gave their time and counsel liberally, and cheerfully answered irritating questionnaires; the denominational executives, secretaries of education, of departments of the ministry, and the secretaries of the National Council of Churches who advised us in many matters; the ministers who gave precious hours for interviews and letters; Professor Samuel Blizzard of Pennsylvania State University and Union Theological Seminary in New York who shared with us some of the preliminary results of a study of the ministry he is carrying on under the auspices of the Russell Sage Foundation; Marcus Robbins, the comptroller, and other officials of Yale University who administered the funds; Dean Liston Pope of the Divinity School of Yale University who provided ample and pleasant quarters for the office of the organization and supported it in many other ways.

All these and many others have made greater contributions than the study staff has been able to appropriate and to transmit. The defects of the report are not due to any failures on their part but are chargeable to the director.

Special thanks are due to the Carnegie Corporation of New York which made the study possible through its grant of sixty-five thousand dollars, and to its vice-president James A. Perkins whose interest in the project and whose counsel were constant sources of strength. The Carnegie Corporation, it should be said, is not the author, owner, publisher or proprietor of these or of the other publications issued by the staff of The Study of Theological Education in the United States and Canada, and is not to be understood as approving by virtue of its grant any of the statements made or views expressed therein.

Particular acknowledgment must be made of the work of those members of the staff whose names do not appear on the title pages of its reports. Robert Gessert, now of Smith College, rendered important service during the summer of 1955 in collating and interpreting statistical material. Mrs. Miriam C. Smith brought considerable experience in research and high competence to her work as secretary. Mrs. Fleur Kinney Ferm, the staff secretary, has worked on this project longer than any other member except the director. Her good judgment, skill and patience have made contributions to the study which though they remain unidentified are conspicuous to her associates.

Finally, the director must take this occasion to express his great gratitude to his colleagues, Professor Daniel Day Williams, now of Union Theological Seminary in New York, and Professor James M. Gustafson, now of the Divinity School of Yale University, for their faithful comradeship in service and for the deepened understanding of Church, theology and education he gained from them. Their contributions to the present essay are much greater than can be indicated on the title page. The book is the result of a co-operative effort, though in the end one member of the group needed to develop and formulate the "sense of the meeting.", He, therefore, must accept responsibility for the inadequacies and errors of the interpretation.

H. RICHARD NIEBUHR, Director

The Study of Theological Education

in the United States and Canada

Reflections

It has been painful for me to read this recent apocalyptic literature. I have watched Jerry Falwell and Jimmy Swaggart on TV for months, sometimes also Pat Robertson and Jim Bakker. I am shocked that lately both Fallwell and Swaggart claim to have been called to evangelize the world. What is good news (evangel) in their message?

Forty percent of Americans say they are listening to these kinds of "gospels." Thirty-four percent of Americans responding to a poll believe that nuclear war is inevitable. They hear and absorb what is said or written often enough.

In this section we have seen that through both content and method the same conclusions are reached:

— because Good must not compromise with Evil we must be prepared to defend what is Good;

— because Armageddon is coming we are to provide for the need of Israel in that battle and stand on the same side;

— because the "literal" interpretation is free to choose any text and find all texts plastic enough to mold,

the dispensational conclusion is reaffirmed: PEACE IS NOT POSSIBLE, PREPARE FOR WAR. Until the return of Christ, war will be with us. Military expenditure, even if disproportionate and unrealistic,is to be supported. That such preparations may upset the international balance of power, or even provoke war, is no reason to reject a military budget, since the final war is coming according to the will of God.

How can people live with such a view? They do not need to worry about Armageddon. The horror of the Tribulation will not touch them because it pits only evil people against evil people. The raptured believers will be safely elsewhere.

After all the reading and listening, the central question remains: what picture of God emerges from these dreadful imaginings? The God of Rapture plays with the world and humanity. The evil that will overwhelm humanity -- Armageddon, the Tribulation -- is God-determined, as is the murder of most Jews and Gentiles. (The writers have not yet noted that these two categories do not exhaust the variety of humanity.) This view has nothing to do with the permissive will of God that allows us to live with the consequences of our actions. Rather, this is presented as the will of God for the fulfillment of the divine plan which is to save a handful of converted Jews and another handful of converted Gentiles, and destroy the rest.

What is so wrong with these men (no woman has yet become known with this kind of message) that they can preach and rejoice in a God who actively wills the destruction of most of humanity, whose idea of peace is to destroy all contrary voices, and who calls us to be fellow destroyers by sanctioning build-ups of nuclear weapons?

Feeling pain, sensing mischief and inordinate arrogance as I read books for this study. I was in need of healing. One evening I started to jot down notes for my picture of God. What I put on paper is not new, but it helped me and I want to share it with you.

God who loved us into being does not play cruelly with the universe or a planet.

God who creates women and men for freedom and for community,divine and human community, does not play pre-determination with those very creatures.

God who re-creates community through the covenant teaches us that we belong to God and to each other; that our life is fused with the life of others in sickness and in health, in poverty and in wealth.

God who came to us as a baby, God whose glory we have glimpsed in the face of Jesus Christ, is the God who is with us and for us in our birth, our life, in death and eternity.

In Jesus Christ we see that we are to attend to the present. We are called to be co-creators alongside the Creator. No one in need was turned away by Jesus because his concern for the future never overrode a response to present need.

In Jesus Christ we see that God’s victory over evil and death is not by might, but by weakness, not by weapons but by suffering. Christ took upon himself our griefs, our sorrows and transgressions, and taught us the way of peace.

The Holy Spirit confirms in our heart that the divine plan for the wholeof creation is mending, healing, redemption.

Praise be to God.

Suggestions for Further Reading

Allan A. Boesak, Comfort and Protest (Philadelphia: The Westminster Press,1987).

Flo Conway, Holy Terror (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1982).

Gabriel Fackre, The Religious Right and Christian Faith (Grand Rapids, Ml: Eerdmans, 1982).

Grace Halsell, Prophecy and Politics: Militant Evangelists on the Road to Nuclear War (Westport, CT: Lawrence Hill & Co., 1986).

Samuel S. Hill and Dennis E. Owen, The New Religious Political Right in America (Nashville, TN: Abingdon, 1982).

Robert Jewett, Jesus Against the Rapture: Seven Unexpected Prophecies (Philadelphia: The Westminster Press, 1979).

A.G. Mojtabai, Blessed Assurance: At Home with the Bomb in Amarillo, Texas (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1986).

Peggy L. Shriver, The Bible Vote: Religion and the New Right (New York: The Pilgrim Press, 1981).

Gayraud S. Wilmore, Last Things First (Philadelphia: The Westminster Press, 1982).

VIII: Why Should the “New Teaching” Trouble Us?

The Christian community always takes notice, early or late, of erroneous teachings. We noted that in the former Presbyterian Church U.S. two General Assemblies (1944, 1978) attended to earlier manifestations of dispensationalism. All of a sudden we find ourselves in the midst of a constant barrage of promises and threats of a Rapture plus nuclear holocaust. This is dangerous and we must attend to it. People who hold the views we have examined call themselves evangelical fundamentalists. But we must make a clear distinction. What we find in the proponents of Rapture and Millennium is a fundamentalist temperament, a fundamentalist note of certainty, a fundamentalist claim of "literal" interpretation -- but also lots and lots of other elements. Fundamentalists may believe that they interpret the Scriptures "literally," but most of them are not in the prophecy business. They do not have millennial, rapture, tribulation expectations. They remain in the framework of eschatology shared by all historic churches and creeds. We must be sure not to attribute dispensational doctrines to all fundamentalists. I called the situation dangerous for two reasons: first, the significant spread of this view; secondly, the consequences of this view.

"Of the 4,000 evangelical-fundamentalists who annually attend the National Religious Broadcasters Convention an estimated 3,000 are dispensationalists ..." writes Grace Halsell (Prophecy and Politics, p.14). Halsell adds that 1,400 religious stations carry this voice and that of the 80,000 evangelical pastors who broadcast on 400 radio stations, a very large majority are dispensationalists. Halsell’s book painstakingly documents part of the political consequences of dispensationalist prophecy in our day. Yes, the spread of this voice is dangerous, because the content of this voice is dangerous.

A. Knowledge of Good and Evil. I can recall saying during an argument, "I know I am right. You must be mistaken." That at least is more polite than "I am right and you are wrong," but the feeling is the same. Of course we realize that each side is convinced of its rightness, or there would be no argument. Communities argue too. Canada and the U.S. have debated damage from and solutions for acid rain for several years. This argument differs from the previous example, because even though the U.S. side may not have felt "right," any admission of being wrong would have been too expensive. We have come toward that admission now.

But what would happen in a personal argument -- or in the Canada-U.S. debate on acid rain -- if one side said: "I am good and you are evil." How would you settle any argument? Would you give in, just a little bit, to evil? Of course not. Wrong, error, mistake is partial; a wrong view partially contains the right, so we negotiate. But not with evil.

In his "Nuclear War and the Second Coming of Jesus Christ" (Old Time Gospel Hour, 1983), Jerry FaIwell says that the Russians (the usual term used by dispensationalists) will invade Israel, and their forces will be annihilated "on the mountains of Israel." The battle will end this way: "Scripture tells us that five-sixths (83 percent) of the Russian soldiers will have been destroyed (Ezek. 39:2). The first grisly feast of God begins (Ezek. 39:4,17-20). A similar feast would seem to take place later, after the battle of Armageddon (Rev. 19:17-18, Matt. 24:28). The communist threat will cease forever." Since Armageddon, the world’s final battle, will have been fought, a lot of other things will cease forever also. "Seven months will be spent in burying the dead" (Ezek. 39:11-15), adds Falwell.

No sympathy is wasted on the devastated. "There are some very recent developments in Russia," said Falwell in 1979, foretold "by the prophet Ezekiel, which point up the soon return of our Lord. These communists are God-haters, they are Christ-rejecters and their ultimate goal is world conquest. Some 26 hundred years ago, the Hebrew prophet Ezekiel prophesied ..." just such a nation, north of Israel, as Russia is ("Dr. Jerry FaIwell Teaches Bible Prophecy," Old Time Gospel Hour, 1979).

Pat Robertson and most of the politically inclined dispensationalists speak about the Soviet Union in this vein. It is indicated that President Reagan shares this view also. James Mills of the California State Senate reported on 1971 conversations with the then Governor Reagan (San Diego Magazine, August 1985). Mr. Reagan referred to the Ezekiel prophecy, noting that "Gog, the nation that will lead all the other powers of darkness against Israel, will come out of the north. Biblical scholars have been saying for generations that Gog must be Russia." And since the only powerful nation on the north is "Russia," the question is settled. Earlier it did not make sense, said Mr. Reagan. "Now it does, now that Russia has become communistic and atheistic, now that Russia has set itself against God."

That was in 1971. a long time ago, and everyone, even governors and presidents, are entitled to their own beliefs. Yes, but belief provides perspective and influences action. In 1983 Jerry FaIwell attended National Security briefings and discussed plans for a nuclear war with the U.S.S.R. with top officials. Arrangements for the meeting came from President Reagan. (See Grace Halsell, Prophecy and Politics, p. 47.) According to Hal Lindsey, writer of The Late Great Planet Earth, with Mr. Reagan’s approval he gave a talk to Pentagon strategists on nuclear war with the Soviet Union (ibid.).

On the other hand --we are fine. "America has more God-fearing citizens per capita than any other nation on earth," says FaIwell. And because the Bible says that the gospel is to be preached to the whole world before the end, it will be so, says FaIwell. Then, because his interpretation of the Bible is always colored by his reading of the situation, FaIwell notes that God could use any nation for this, but "we have the churches, the schools, the young people, the media, the money and the means ..." (Listen America! New York: Doubleday, 1980), so we will evangelize the world. Using the term "evil empire" for the Soviet Union may not be a rhetorical device or a matter of style, but a matter of belief. As in our earlier example, if good is confronting evil, there can be no negotiation. Peace then is not possible, we cannot compromise with the Soviet Union. In that case, our military build-up and total inability or unwillingness to make any step toward disarmament reveals itself in a different light. If our leaders are depending on dispensations, we may be arming ourselves not in a world of international politics -- but for God’s battle when Good will overcome Evil and open the world for the Second Coming of Christ.

B. Hope and hopelessness. The reader probably noticed that prophecies are read by dispensationalists as railroad timetables. However much the scenarios may vary from each other with each person giving his own, yet each gives it with complete certainty. This is possible because to these interpreters the future is determined in all its parts. It is so clearly determined that most of the dispensational writers I have read present time charts to indicate which event follows which in lineal progression. And because there is an insatiable appetite for this kind of reading, the output is so great that there is now even an End-time News Digest edited by Jim McKeever of Medford, Oregon. All this is possible because dispensationalism is thoroughly deterministic. If we live in such a cut-and-dried world, what then can we do? What difference would be made by anyone’s beliefs and actions?

"We are in a terminal era, close to the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ, in which angelic forces are warring against demonic forces for the control of this planet that wandered away from the Lord," writes the Rev. Carlos L. Ramirez in a sermonette in the Amarillo Globe-Times (April 9, 1984).

Amarillo, Texas, the town where Pantex, the final assembly plant for nuclear weapons is located, is one of the most religious towns in the U.S. The book about life, religion and the bomb in Amarillo, Blessed Assurance by A. J. Mojtabai, is recommended reading for everyone -- but most of all for Christians. This town of 160,000 people has one synagogue, ten Roman Catholic and 191 Protestant (64 Baptist) churches. In addition, there are some Bahais and other small and diverse religious groups. The town is immersed in religion -- for anxiety relief’? Mojtabai records some of the religious signs that abound: "Jesus is Lord of Amarillo" or "Jesus Christ is king of kings. Alternators started."

"I really think there is nothing much us human beings can do," (Blessed Assurance, p. 79) Mojtabai records. "...I think that the things that are in God’s timetable and these times are going to happen and ain’t a whole lot we can do...we might prolong it...but I think it is prophesized, and I think it’s gonna come to pass" (ibid., p. 80).

These voices speak of utter powerlessness -- it’s all God’s ballgame -- we might prolong it, that is all. One might as well go on making bombs, and a living. One is just participating in God’s plan.

Since Scofield promulgated his dispensations at the turn of the century, new notes have been added to his deterministic scheme. One new emphasis surfaces not only in Amarillo, but on the question of weapons production in general. Since God is going to destroy, or partly destroy, this earth, or at least decrees "some nuclear holocaust," then believers may -- even should support the means of destruction. At present the great men of dispensationalism agree and support the military budget.

A second new note centers on Israel. We saw that Scofield expected the "time of the Gentiles" to end with the coming of the Lord in glory (Rev. 19:11,21), until which time Jerusalem is "politically subject to Gentile rule (Luke 21:24)" (Scofield on Rev. 14:14). Since Scofield wrote, the nation of Israel has come into being and all the sign seekers have seen a new sign. And they speak of this sign as if it had been expected all along, but hope was delayed through all the centuries until the formation of the nation rekindled it. We noted earlier that further signs are foreseen: the whole of Jesusalem needs to be a Jewish possession, the temple needs to be rebuilt. We do not know the exact location of the first and second temples. Since many people think that the temple stood where the Dome of the Rock -- one of the most holy places of Islam -- is located, or at a place near it, Jewish terrorists several times have stormed the mosque to destroy it. Christian dispensationalists have contributed significantly, together with Jews, to a temple fund, or to a legal defense fund for such terrorists.

There is a strange alliance here. FaIwell, Robertson, Lindsey and hundreds of other leading preachers find Israel the key to the whole play: Armageddon will take place there, the Tribulation may largely or entirely be there, and where else would the New Jerusalem be? Remember, the New Jerusalem is where God will move his headquarters, and not in Swaggart’s view alone. The political state is Israel is seen as God’s Zion, God’s chosen people. Therefore Israel is of central significance, so all military and economic support is to be extended to them. The best we can do, as Christians and Americans, for our eternal future, is to stand with God’s people.

On the other hand these same preachers can speak calmly of the destruction of almost all the Jewish people. "The primary subject of the tribulation...is Israel." God will save 144,000 -- perhaps. But even that is no comfort to Israel. Dispensationalists agree that in the end the only people not thrown into the fiery lake are those who accept the Lord Jesus Christ. So this is a tenuous alliance, but for the time being it is an alliance.

Since Scofield dispensationalists have categorically rejected the possibility of peace. And new occasions have brought new variations on this rejection. Jerry FaIwell, speaking after the Camp David agreement, acknowledged the Prime Minister of Israel and the President of Egypt, in that order as great men who truly want peace. He failed to mention the President of the U.S., Jimmy Carter, who was the architect of the accord. But it will not work, said FaIwell. There will be no peace in the Middle East or elsewhere, until Jesus Christ sits on the throne of David in Jerusalem. This means there is no need to work for a just peace, no need to speak to Palestinians (never mentioned by any of the preachers) or deal with Arabs. Peace is not in the script until the coming of Christ.

Where is hope in all this? For the dispensationalists there is no hope in change, but the hope of escape belongs to them.

C. Molding the message. I said at various points that we basically disagree with the dispensationalists because we read the Scriptures differently. Now that we have dwelt on the visions of some major preachers, we can be more specific.

"Mold" is defined in the Oxford English Dictionary as "a pattern by which something is shaped," "a hollow form or matrix into which plastic material is cast or pressed." That is what I mean by molding the message. The division of history into seven dispensations is not a biblical doctrine. It is the mold that Dr. Scofield’s mind -- an overly orderly mind, I came to see -- placed on the material. Millennialism was a "feeling" at times, not a doctrine. Rapture and Tribulation are newcomers arriving in the second part of the 19th century. The newest signs concerning Israel are usually not proof-texted, but sometimes are. Both Hal Lindsey and Gordon Lindsay refer to Ezekiel 36:24, where God says: "I will...gather you from all the countries, and bring you into your own land." And they rejoice that 2,600 years ago the prophet foretold it all. To disregard that Ezekiel is a prophet of the Babylonian exile and that those words gave hope to fellow exiles about their return is an example of molding the message.

Choosing texts with what I call the catch-as-catch-can method is also molding the message . Any text with enough warfare in it is serviceable for an end-of-the-world prediction. The resulting tone of violence characterizes the prophecies of the current prophets.

Here is an example of the contrivance and confusion that result from pushing texts into preformed molds. Ezekiel 38 and 39 are well-thumbed chapters. Revelation 20:7-10 is indebted to these chapters, which are oracles in apocalyptic language. These passages are used to point to the great battle, as standard evidence that history is coming to the end time. I referred to this text earlier and noted Mr. Reagan’s interest in it. It is time we looked at Ezekiel 38:24 (verse numbers are given):

(2)Son of man, set your face toward Gog, of the land of Magog, the chief prince of Meshech and Tubal, and prophesy against him (3) and say, Thus says the Lord God: Behold I am against you, 0 Gog ... (4) and I will bring you forth, and all your army ... all of them with buckler and shield, wielding swords; (5) Persia, Cush, and Put are with them,...(6) Gomer and all his hordes; Beth-togarmah from the uttermost parts of the north... many peoples are with you.

Interpreting Ezekiel 38 Pat Robertson free-quotes: "...when Israel is regathered from the nations...I am going to put hooks in the jaws of the confederation that is going to be led by someone named Gog in the land of Magog (the Soviet Union). And the people that will be with it are Beth Togarmah (Armenia), Put (Libya), Cush (Ethiopia), Gomer (South Yemen) and Persia" (CBN program, July 9, 1982).

Jerry Falwell interprets the same passage in his Bible Prophecy tapes. He tells us that the land of the God-haters, according to Ezekiel "would be Rosh -- that is Ezekiel 38 verse 2 in the American Standard Version -- Rosh, ROSH." Note that is not so in the Revised Standard Version, but earlier translations place it in v. 2. Then Ezekiel, says Falwell, "continues by mentioning two cities of Rosh. There he called Meschech and Tubal -- the names here are remarkably similar to Moscow and Tobolsk, the two ruling capitals of Russia today." Tobolsk may be interested to learn about its new status. "He also said that Russia or Rosh would invade Israel in the latter days." Then Falwell turns to verses 5 and 6. "He named those allies: Iran (Persia), South Africa or Ethiopia, North Africa or Libya, Eastern Europe (called Gomer here in Ezekiel 38)" [Robertson’s South Yemen] "and the Cossacks of Southern Russia called Togarmah" (Robertson’s Armenia -- whose inhabitants would not be Cossacks]. Remember that for Robertson Cush means Ethiopia, and Magog is the Soviet Union. Hal Lindsey asserts that Libya refers to the whole of Arab Africa and Ethiopia to Black Africa.

According to Scofield, "The primary reference is to northern (European) powers headed up by Russia, all agree." The notion of Moscow and Tobolsk comes from Scofield, although when Scofield first outlined the stages of history, Russia was still Tsarist Russia and not the "godless" U.S.S.R.

Now can we sit with all these "learned" men and play a game? If you have a reasonable study Bible you find quite different explanations. Meshech and Tubal and Gomer and Beth-togarmah are Assyrian place names, not surprising in that place and time. The Oxford Annotated Bible footnote adds: "Though people and places in apocalyptic literature can often be identified, they are part of the literary equipment and should rarely be taken literally." But if you want to show that before Christ’s return the Soviet Union will attack Israel according to the Scriptures, you have a lot of molding to do.

A final look at the process of molding on two points. Both of the following quotes come from Jerry Falwell. The first is from his interview in the Los Angeles Times (March 3, 1981). The point he makes is made by most of his fellows. He is talking about Armageddon: "And Russia will be the offender and will be ultimately totally destroyed... I don’t mean every person -- Russia has many wonderful Christians there too. The underground church is working very effectively...It [the war] will come down out of the north -- that has to be the Soviet Union -- upon the midst of the earth -- Israel and the Middle East...That’s why most of us believe in the imminent return of Jesus Christ."

Think for a moment. Why does Falwell believe in the imminent return of Christ? Because Ezekiel in the sixth century B.C. wrote that the enemy will come down from the north? You may want to look up the word "north" in a good concordance. If you check out the Old Testament usage in books that depict Israel as a nation in the land (i.e., not in Egypt, not in the wilderness or during the conquest of Canaan), you find that many of the references in various periods speak of the "enemy from the north." Only once did Egypt, from the south, come against Judah. Throughout their history Israel and Judah were threatened and/or invaded by their northern neighbor Syria, or by the great successive empires on the east. But in order to avoid the waterless, roadless desert, the foe from the east also came around from the north. If one looks again at the assured prediction of Mr. Falwell, one is amazed. Could a certainty be more flimsy? A final shaping is reflected in one of the tapes, "Dr. Jerry Falwell Teaches Bible Prophecy" (Old Time Gospel Hour, 1979). Going back to Ezekiel 38, the question is why the Soviet Union would invade Israel. Verse 12 says the purpose is "to seize spoil and carry off plunder...."Mr. Falwell says, ‘If one removes the first two letters from this word ‘spoil’ he soon realizes what Russia will really be after -- obviously, oil. And that is where we find ourselves today." So much for Hebrew prophecy.

VII. What Do Our Creeds and Confessions Say?

We in the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) are in the fortunate position of having not just one or two confessions, but a Book of Confessions. This is characteristic of Reformed churches. When we sense that God puts new challenges before us, together we rethink before God what we believe. I cannot recommend strongly enough that you take The Book of Confessions and read it through -- maybe not all at one sitting, but not too many either, because you lose the threads. And there are threads. Before we go into details, I want to share with you a thread that I noted as I read the Confessions for eschatological notes. There are not too many eschatological references but they are there. But what is there in greater abundance -- besides the constant subjects, the Trinity, the work of Christ and Scriptures, and the differing theological emphases of different ages -- are the references to our common life here and now. These include:

References to the church, for God calls us not only to faith but to a life of faith in community (3.16,18,25; 5.124-141; 6.140-145,169-172; 9.20-26,31-40,43-50).

References to the Sacraments, inclusion in the community and food for the journey of faith (3.21-23; 4.065-085; 5. 169-210; 6. 161-168; 7.272-287;

9.51-52).

References to good works which are done "to show gratitude to God, and for the profit of the neighbor" (5.117). (3.13,14; 5.115-123; 6.087-093).

References to civil authorities (3.24; 5.252-260; 6,119-122; and 8, the Barmen Declaration).

References to marriage and divorce (5.245-251; 6.131-132).

Our tradition is persuaded that our Creator is concerned not only with the parts, but with the whole. "The kingdom has drawn near," Jesus’ first proclamation, was followed by healing of bodies and minds; by freeing persons who felt bound; by challenging authorities, religious and secular, when they stepped beyond their limits (the cleansing of the temple; on paying tax). The Christian gospel is not addressed to a part of life, but to the whole of it Reformed Christians have understood this; it is what they saw in the prophets and in the ministry of Jesus. They involved the church and its members in the whole of life. We are not to retreat into a .religious life; rather, we are called to transform our common life. Church and state, the world of labor and of education, the family and the economy are to be touched by God’s redeeming work. For God so loved the world, that God gave: Christ, the Spirit and the Christian community to participate in the work of transformation. That is the context in which Reformed confessions speak about the last things. The current edition of The Book of Confessions has an index, so one can find all the references. I will highlight only a few.

The Nicene and Apostles’ Creeds mention the four themes -- resurrection, return of Christ, judgment and eternal life -- with clarity and economy.

The return of Christ is confirmed in the catechisms: The Heidelberg (4.046,052), the Shorter (7.028) and the Larger (7.166), the Westminster Confession (6.180-182). (Note that since 1983 Westminster is numbered differently than in previous editions.) And in the Confession of 1967 (9.32,52).

The resurrection is spoken of in the Scots Confession (3.10,11,25), in the Heidelberg Catechism (4.057), in the Second Helvetic Confession (5.075), the Shorter (7.038) and the Larger Catechisms (7.197).

The last judgment is pointed to in the Scots Confession (3.11), the Heidelberg Catechism (4.046,052), the Westminster Confession (6.180-182).

Eternal life is set forth in the Heidelberg Catechism (4.042,052,058,059,076) and in the Confession of 1967 (9.11,26).

The four elements of the last things are affirmed by Reformed Christians but we speak more of what God requires of us and equips us for now, than of the last things. When we look at the whole picture of God’s will, what we see is very different from what the dispensationalists and millennialists teach. Because we see the kingdom both here and yet not fully here, our concerns are different. Listen to the Heidelberg Catechism:

What is the second petition [of the Lord’s Prayer]?

A "Thy Kingdom come." That is: so govern us by the Word and Spirit that we may more and more submit ourselves unto thee. Uphold

and increase thy church. Destroy the works of the devil ... until

the full coming of thy kingdom in which thou shalt be all in all.(4.123)

How rooted we must be in both this world and eternity, how deeply we need to understand the power of the kingdom already here and the hope of its full presence, that is, the dynamics of the Christian life, is beautifully expressed in the Confession of 1967. This is the inclusive language text prepared by Cynthia A. Jarvis and Freda A. Gardner. Read it slowly to savor the description:

God’s redeeming work in Jesus Christ embraces the whole of human life: social and cultural, economic and political, scientific and technological, individual and corporate. It includes the natural environment as exploited and despoiled by sin. It is the will of God that the purpose for human life shall be fulfilled under the rule of Christ and all evil be banished from creation. (9.53)

Biblical visions and images of the rule of Christ such as a heavenly city, the household of God, a new heaven and earth, a marriage feast, and an unending day culminate in the image of the kingdom. The kingdom represents the triumph of God over all that resists the will and disrupts the creation of God. Already God’s reign is present as a ferment in the world, stirring hope in all people and preparing the world to receive its ultimate judgment and redemption. (9.54)

With an urgency born of this hope the church applies itself to present tasks and strives for a better world. It does not identify limited progress with the kingdom of God on earth, nor does it despair in the face of disappointment and defeat. In steadfast hope the church looks beyond all partial achievement to the final triumph of God. (9.55)

"Now to him who by the power at work within us is able to do far more abundantly than all we ask or think, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus to all generations, forever and ever. Amen." [Quoting Ephesians 3:20-21.1(9.56)