Growing up in a conservative Southern Baptist church as a child, I learned to fear nothing more than what my pastor at the time memorably called “loose theology.”
I was made to understand that this kind of theology—sometimes progressive or liberal in scope, certainly not as conservative as our own—was deeply undermining of the message of God, contradictory to Scripture, corrosive to the soul, and deadly, deadly dangerous. We understood what God’s word said and how to interpret it; those who interpreted it differently might as well not be believers at all.
I didn’t question this for some time, even though I questioned some of the doctrines we held.
But as I grew older and into a more mature believer, I learned that theology can be complex, and that believers can differ significantly and in good faith on interpretations of Scripture. I find Albert Mohler’s “theology triage” theory helpful here, because it invites believers to divide theological issues and concerns into three areas of urgency:
- First-level: the crucial doctrines of the faith, such as the doctrine of the Trinity and the birth, death, and resurrection of Christ, the nature of Jesus as fully man and fully God
- Second-level: matters by which congregations and denominations are often arranged, such as church structures, baptism, or women in the priesthood
- Third-level: matters on which even individuals within a given church or denomination might disagree, such as eschatology or worship style
This has been helpful to me, as I’ve been astonished by the depth and breadth of Christian interpretation on any number of topics beyond the first-level issues indicated here. Christians in good faith can believe in the authority of Scripture over the life of the church and the believer and yet have different perspectives on how to apply and interpret that Scripture.
This is made more complex with greater understanding of the original texts, as well—the Bible was not, as some would imagine, written in English, and meanings in the Aramaic, Greek, and Hebrew that might have been forgotten, diluted, or mistranslated over time. Our understandings of Scripture can and do grow as we do.
Still, for a long time, I hoped I might find a church that was a theological “match” for me on every level. In the meantime, I settled for good enough—until the “good enough” church went off the rails to become less and less recognizable in terms of Scriptural teaching, and more and more political and secularized.
That’s how, ironically enough, I found myself at the sort of church I feared as a child.
It is not, I should clarify, a liberal church on first-level matters: orthodoxy is orthodoxy, and creedal beliefs are not only affirmed at every service but also vital to the life and functioning of the congregation and its members. The second- and third-level issues, though, this church interprets quite differently and within the authority of Scripture than some others I have attended in the past.
The world hasn’t caved in, as my old pastor might have imagined.
What I’ve found instead is a loving church with a congregation that does not demand its members fall in lockstep on second- and third-level issues. Believers here hold a multitude of interpretations around various matters. The expectation around dialogue is Christlike affection and mutual respect, not conformity in thinking.
Contrary to what my old church feared—that “loose churches” kidnap people and change their theology to something inevitably foggy and liberal—I’ve been able to be myself here and to hold nuanced theological beliefs at this new church. I see the same in others, which makes us a bit of a motley crew.
When I asked the pastor if this was a concern in terms of membership—as some who may not hold the formally-stated second- and third-level beliefs of the denomination would not feel comfortable as formal members—he laughed. “That’s why we take a sort of common-law approach,” he said. “Half our members aren’t our members!” And that, it seems, is just fine.
To my surprise, I’ve also found this church to be more theologically faithful to first-level issues than some other congregations I have attended. We confess the creeds; we engage in a range of Scripture readings each week; the foundational Christian practices of confession and adoration and communion hold high value and meaning in the community.
And this church strives continually for conciliation with other denominations and local churches, even those with whom it has strong differences, recognizing that an ecumenical approach can increase our impact on the community in which we live, that we all worship the same God, and that second- and third-level differences are just that. A dismissive attitude toward “other” denominations, even those far more conservative, hasn’t held here.
The experience has humbled me.
A long, long time ago, in a debate with a dear friend over second-level theological issues, I finally exploded: “Don’t you worry?” I asked. “That you’re just wrong? What happens if you’re wrong?”
She arched an eyebrow at me. “Then God will forgive me,” she said dryly. “I’ve heard He’s the forgiving sort. And anyway—what do you think happens if you’re wrong?”
The question haunted me, not least because I didn’t know how to answer. Not least because I recognized that these issues to which I was so wed did not constitute the urgent salvation of my soul or hers, did not in any way change the way either of us saw or understood or engaged in relationship with God. Yet I treated them like they did. And I found a superiority in feeling that I was “right” about all the things of God, depending on them rather than Christ to redeem me.
I don’t know if, or for how long, we’ll remain here, or what plans God might have for us. But I am grateful, very grateful for this church, which has been a long drink of water after a desert of seeking. We feel welcomed and loved. We have the opportunity to dig deeply into Scripture. We have a host of art festivals and soup kitchens and book clubs and studies through which we might serve and be served. And we can come here, with others, all carrying our different understandings—not eliding them, but recognizing that Christ comes first over all.
Samaritan's Song 