“In the first place it must impact the way we do theology. We handle the infallible truth of the divine revelation, but do so as those who ourselves are flawed in our ability to grasp that truth in its fullness and interconnectedness.”

It has been on my mind for quite a while to post an article on ‘sinner theologians’, but I hesitated because of its potential for being misconstrued. However, having just received the latest issue of the Westminster Theological Journal and having read a review article by Professor Donald Macleod, I was persuaded to go ahead and do so.

The catalyst that put this thought in my mind was the fact that theologians whose task it is to expound, connect and configure the thread(s) of saving truth in Scripture are always in need of that saving truth themselves. In much the same way as members of the legal and law-enforcement agencies fulfil their vocation as those who are themselves lawbreakers, so those entrusted with the guardianship of God’s truth fulfil their calling as those whose lives always need to be straightened out by that truth as well.

Professor Macleod highlights this in a statement about Rousos Rushdoony’s theonomy and with a quote from Cornelius Van Til in his review of Michael J. McVicar’s book, Christian Reconstruction: R.J. Rushdoony and American Conservatism.[1] Macleod says,

One of the weaknesses of the theonomist school, not pointed out in the book, was that it lacked a well-rounded systematic theology. Rushdoony never took seriously (nor does the author mention) the noetic effect of sin, a pillar of Van Til’s presuppositionalism. The reality that he was a sinner kept Van Til balanced and thus avoiding much of the either/or approach that seemed to characterise some of his acolytes and later disciples. “Gentlemen, I could be wrong” was a humanising comment he made to his students. [Italics added]

Such self-awareness was one of the hallmarks of the foremost theologian of the New Testament Church, the apostle Paul. He was not reaching for hyperbole when he declared himself to be ‘the chief of sinners’ (1Ti 1.15). Nor was it mere rhetorical theatrics when he lamented, ‘What a wretched man I am! Who shall deliver me from this body of death?’ (Ro 7.24). He was publicly acknowledging what was true about himself in a way that in no way detracted from his theologising; but, if anything, displayed its authenticity.

In a very real sense it is the proverbial ‘elephant in the room’ in the realm of theology. Every theologian knows it is true as does every student of theology; but its significance sits lightly upon us all. It has important implications on a number of planes.

In the first place it must impact the way we do theology. We handle the infallible truth of the divine revelation, but do so as those who ourselves are flawed in our ability to grasp that truth in its fullness and interconnectedness. Our minds are not only finite, they are fallen and our best efforts to grasp what Scripture teaches falls far short of what will be known when we no longer ‘see through a glass darkly’  (1Co 13.12). So our approach to the task will always be with the humility of knowing our sinful limitations. We will recognise that although we aim for a full and clear understanding of revealed truth in all its dimensions, exhaustive and comprehensive knowledge will always be beyond our grasp in a fallen world. Indeed, recognising our creatureliness, even in the perfection of the coming world we will never know in the measure that God knows because he is wholly other.

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