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Theological Table-Talk
By Hugh T. Kerr

SUMMER DOLDRUMS

Someone ought to make a study of what happens to the local Church during the summer months. Most pastors take a month's vacation, some have six weeks, only a few are away the whole summer. Most members of the congregation are not so fortunate, the two-week vacation is still the rule, but the "Program" of the local Church is often given a full vacation. Visiting preachers give variety, if not continuity, to the weekly services, but apparently many take a vacation from Church not because they or their pastor is away, but just because it's summer. There are no doubt individual exceptions, and there is one large segment of Church life-namely the rural Church-where summer sees an increased activity on the part of both pastor and people.

I was led to reflect upon this situation recently after reading a book of essays edited Howard A. Johnson, Preaching the Christian Year (Scribner's, 1957, $3.75). How, I wondered, does one preach the Christian Year during the summer months, especially if pastor, people, and program shut up shop? I was also interested to see what might be made of that long post-Pentecost stretch from Trinity Sunday to the First Sunday in Advent.

The last chapter in the above-mentioned symposium is on "Preaching in the Trinity Season," and it is ably and freshly presented Theodore P. Ferris, Rector of Trinity Church, Boston. The chapter begins with the observation: "There are three facts about the Trinity Season that are worth noting at the outset. First, it is the longest season in the Church's year, a maximum of twenty-seven weeks and a minimum of twenty-three-almost one-half of the entire year. Second, in this part of the world it comes in the summer when the preaching energies of the clergy are not at their maximum, and the receptivity of the congregation is not at its most sensitive point. And third, the season focuses our attention on the teaching of Jesus."

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For anyone following the discipline of the Christian Year, the first two points are obvious enough. They relate to the calendar about which nothing much can be done; some may even think it convenient that no major Church "feast" interrupts the calm of the summer season. But the third point is a theological one worth some attention. Dr. Ferris notes that the traditional emphasis on the teaching of Jesus during the long Trinity season runs counter to recent major Biblical and theological emphases on the teaching about Jesus. During the other seasons of the Christian Year, Advent, Christmas, Epiphany, Lent, and Easter, preaching can make much of the current concern for the Person and Work of Christ--how he came, and why; who he was, and how he was made manifest to the world; how he suffered and died; how he rose from the dead and ascended to heaven."

The teaching of Jesus as a topic for preaching seems threatened, therefore, not only because of the season of the year but because the theme itself has been so largely discredited. Dr. Ferris rightly deplores this and intimates that our preaching and Church life will surely suffer as a consequence. He reminds us that the Trinity season includes such matters as Jesus' proclamation of the Kingdom of God, the parables, and the miracles, and he has some pertinent things to say about how these may become subject-matter for contemporary preaching. Phillips Brooks once said that "the Christian Year preserves the personality of religion." In our day it may help to preserve the, integrity and full-orbed radiance of the Gospel of Jesus as well as about Jesus.

THE IMPATIENCE OF JOB

The dramatic and essentially tragic story of the book of job has always been something of an enigma. The structure of the book presents problems, particularly the relation of the prose prologue and conclusion to the main poetic core. Beyond this is the religious ,question. Does the book really offer an answer to the problem of suffering? If so, what is it? If not, why not? Is the restoration of job's health, family, and fortune in the closing verses credible religiously? Partly because of such questions and partly in spite of them, Job remains not only enigmatic but intriguing and fascinating. Two recent interpretations have re-opened the discussion once more. One is a scholarly commentary, Job: Poet of Existence, by

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Samuel Terrien, Auburn Professor of Old Testament at Union Theological Seminary, New York (Bobbs-Merrill Co., $3.75). The other is a modern verse-play adaptation, entitled J.B., Archibald MacLeish (Houghton Mifflin Co., Boston, $3.50). Both are alike in their appreciation of the story's poetic and symbolic dimension and in their sensitivity to the contemporary relevance of Job's problem.

Professor Terrien takes exception to the familiar interpretation that the book underscores the patience of Job. It would be more accurate, he says, to speak of the impatience of Job. This is not so much a quest for an answer to the problem of suffering as a search for God. But it is no idle question about God's existence or rational reflection about justice and evil. It is a groping for God in the midst of a human existence that denies God's existence. In his agonizing search, Job shows himself to be a victim of moods, now up, now down. He is also something of a heretic and religious nonconformist. He withstands the orthodox Jewish doctrine of individual retribution and puts in question the ancient -and very moderncorrelation between piety and prosperity. The "solution" is not so much that job found God but that God found Job. Thinking of himself and his suffering as the center of the universe, Job learns from the "whirlwind- that it is God who is the real center.

All of this and much more has special meaning for us today, Professor Terrien believes, because of our existentialist patterns of thought. This approach provides us with a new key to unlock some of the mysteries of the poem for our day as the ancient language and contrived conversation speak to our own situation.

Archibald MacLeish picks up where Terrien leaves off and reconstructs the old story as a modern dramatic piece. Last April, the Yale School of Drama produced the play, and the production received general acclaim. In August, the same group will re-enact J.B. at the Brussels World's Fair. MacLeish sets the story in a circus tent which contains a sort of double platform. On the upper one, two erstwhile actors, now vendors, play at God (Mr. Zuss) and Satan (Nickles). On the lower platform as a sort of play within a play, the modern Job ("J.B.") is seated with his family at Thanksgiving dinner. It is a happy, prosperous family, and J.B. is deeply grateful to God for all his blessings. Then one one and with sudden unexpectedness, calamities fall. A son is killed in a post-

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war army mistake. A daughter is raped and murdered by a psychopath. The other children are killed in a traffic accident. J.B.'s factory is blown to bits, he loses his wealth, his health, and his wife. Job's three "friends" in modern costume are a preacher, a psychoanalyst, and a communist, all of whom offer too simple solutions for J.B.'s troubles.

It is too bad MacLeish couldn't have read Terrien's book (or his equally perceptive discussion in The Interpreter's Bible), for the modern play with all its insight doesn't quite know how to conclude. But it is unlikely that MacLeish would appreciate the religious existential point made the Biblical scholar. He does not sentimentalize, but he tries to work in the prose conclusion of the book to indicate in some measure that Job is rewarded and restored. Terrien feels this restitution device really destroys the message of the book, and certainly for MacLeish it makes a lame and strictly humanistic epilogue. When Nickles objects to the return of J.B.'s wife, Mr. Zuss can only say, "It's in the Book." And in the reunion scene, the wife tries to shift J.B.'s concern with God's existence and justice to love-not so much God's love as human love. She has the last word:

THE VOCATION OF ANGLICANISM

This summer from July 3 to August 10, the ninth Lambeth Conference of the Anglican Communion is being held at Lambeth Palace, the London residence of the Archbishop of Canterbury. At the ,time and subsequent to the Conference we will be hearing of the problems and policies which concern Anglicans throughout the world. An interesting preparatory booklet dealing mainly with the Anglican "Church Missionary Society" has been written Gordon Hewitt under the title Church of Free Men (The Highway Press, 6 Salisbury Square, London E.C. 4; 59 pages, 2/6d.).

Much is made of the fact that in recent years the whole question mission and unity has occupied the attention of the World Coun-

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cil of Churches and the International Missionary Council. Mr. Hewitt's brief chronology of Anglicanism's participation in this new emphasis is a needed corrective against the superficial criticism, often voiced non-episcopal churchmen, that the Anglican Communion tends to stand aloof from every practical project for wider. mission and unity. The single notable exception is the Church of South India. Mr. Hewitt, however, lists other ventures which range all the way from "comity" to "consultation" to "co-operation." And. the intent of the booklet, with its repeated Biblical injunction about Christian freedom for the sake of service, is to encourage ever broader conversations and negotiations.

The rapidly changing character of the world we live in, and the constantly shrinking confines of the British empire, are forcing new questions of policy upon the Anglican Churches as upon all other Churches. Mr. Hewitt's conviction is that many of these problems "can have no final remedy or solution apart from organic union in a larger family of Churches….." But then he adds a phrase here italicized, which in some ways constitutes the peculiar problem of Anglicanism-"… into which the Anglican Communion must bring the riches of its experience". Without in any way minimizing Anglicanism's "riches," one misses in this kind of declaration the suggestion that Anglicanism might possibly learn and gain something from other Churches. This note is struck, however, " quotation, which follows upon this statement, from Bishop Stephen Bayne of Oregon who has said, and again we italicize for emphasis is "The vocation of Anglicanism is to disappear. That is its vocation precisely because Anglicanism does not believe in itself, but it believes only in the Catholic Church of Christ; therefore it is forever restless until it finds its place in that one Body."

It is to be hoped that "Lambeth 1958" will strike that note clear and strong-not only for the Anglican Communion but for all the world denominational families and for all the Churches. Only then will we show our willingness to accept the freedom that is in Christ and as a consequence really be the one Church of free men.

A SPLIT-LEVEL CHURCH

Orville Prescott of The New York Times, in a review of the new novel Peter De Vries, The Mackerel Plaza (Little, Brown and Co. ($3.75), says it is a very funny story and "in its own way a very

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regious one." It is certainly funny in a wry, inverted sort of way, and it abounds in rippling lines-"Don't be an imbecile, you idiot!" 'Have you been living it up? Jesus will help you live it down." Molly had sung the Christmas carol, Noel, this way:

The story too is funny, but some will be offended its vulgarity and what they may take to be a dig at the ministry, the Church, and the Christian faith. Andrew Mackerel (known as "Holy" Mackerel) is the pastor of People's Liberal Church in Avalon, Connecticut. He is the very model of a modern minister, having thrown over the older Calvinistic tradition of his boyhood, and his congregation worships in the first split-level church, passively receptive of sermons liberally sprinkled with contemporary allusions, bringing their canned goods for flood relief ("Vichyssoise, artichoke hearts, smoked clms, and even trout pate'"). The young pastor has lost his wife in an incident that is more a comedy of errors than a tragic accident, and he has fallen soon afterwards for a one-time actress whom he would like to marry. The pious folk of his congregation, however, are determined to keep the memory of the first wife alive, first a phosphorescent billboard which reads "Jesus Saves" ("How do you expect me to write a sermon with that thing staring me in the face?"), and then the construction of a village green to be known as the Mackerel Plaza. This forces the ill-fated couple to go underground where they meet clandestinely in cheap bars and seedy hotels.

Is the story also a religious message? Is De Vries, who is reputed to be a devout, tee-totaling Dutch Calvinist as opposed to his irreverhard-drinking Reverend Mackerel, just telling a story? But is a story ever just a story? Clearly "Holy" Mackerel is unholy according to conventional standards, but he is also in his fumbling and bumbling way a reformer who wants to break with hypocrisy, ignorance, pious sentimentalism, and exurbanite complacency. It is unwise, be too solemn or moralistic about a novel that is supposed to be funny, but it seems to me De Vries is pointing up a disturbing dilemma. What happens when the whole accepted theological and ecclesiastical tradition, with all its superfluous baggage, is junked completely? Is "Holy" Mackerel and his split-level, People's Liberal Church the alternative? If the modern pastor finds it insuf-

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ferable to drink tea with the ladies of his congregation, must he lace his own cup with straight bourbon? This dilemma is a false one, but in its sardonic way it provokes reflection on the manner and mores of the ministry in our day.

FOR CRYING OUT LOUD

You can cry in the sense of shouting at the top of your voice, and you can cry in the sense of weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth. The eleven Princeton University seniors in the much-discussed book, The Unsilent Generation (edited Otto Butz, Rinehart and Co., $2.95), do a little of both. The editor, a German-born Canadian and Assistant Professor in Politics, invited twelve seniors (one defaulted because of illness) known to him to be "literate and conscientious" to prepare an anonymous autobiographical essay dealing with the problems and issues of life. Mr. Butz notes that his "poll"' can hardly be regarded as "representative," nor was it in any way sponsored or approved University authorities. It is simply an account of how eleven college seniors look at life. Far from being unsilent and inarticulate, as modern youth is often described, these young men are almost excessively literate, vocal, and opinionated.

Criticisms of the symposium have been no less vocal and opinion rated, if not always so literate. Some deplore what they read as evidence of that kind of self-centeredness, self-grasping, and self-scrutinizing which has, unfortunately, displaced the idealism and romanticism usually associated with youth. Others have noted that this testimony in the aggregate is the worst possible kind of public relations for contemporary American university education in general and for Princeton in particular. Better far, these critics say, had the eleven students kept silent. But taking the autobiographies for what they are and without trying to make unwarranted generalizations about them, let us look at just two items which receive attention all eleven, namely, religion and education.

On the subject of religion, these are some of the comments: I figure I can be indifferent to an indifferent god." "I have not yet felt the need for any kind of divine help or guidance. I seldom think of God as such, and only pray when I am exceptionally troubled. Even when I pray, I don't consider myself to be asking for help or advice. I simply find I derive a measure of comfort and

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self-assurance." "I do not believe in any particular Church, and I do not have faith in Christ; I do, however, believe in God. I was baptized and brought up in the Methodist Church and have experimented with Catholicism, Quakerism, Unitarianism, and Christian Science." "Because my own personal religion tends to be very utilitarian, I am quite naturally rather tolerant of, or should I say indifferent to, religious beliefs of others. I do, however, make one exception. That exception is the Roman Catholic religion, which I regard with disgust." "Since I am a Roman Catholic, I think it is imperative that my wife be of the same religion… Four years here at Princeton have not done my faith any good… I take my religion very seriously." "Religion remained a great force in my life, yet it wasn't orthodox Catholic belief. . . . I did things not at all condoned the Church." "I came to the conclusion that the Roman Catholic Church had failed me . . . it was irrelevant." "I know that man can be good without God and that most men are satisfied to live without him, but I, at least, have a deep and personal knowledge of his necessity." "I was taught to be good for goodness' sake, rather than specifically for God's sake."

On the matter of their own college education: "Princeton has given me just what I came here to get-a good, solid education." "About what one thinks, the university and most professors are quite permissive; that one think and examine history, the world, and oneself, the university and the faculty insist." "My Princeton experience has given me, I'm convinced, as fine an education as a man can get; yet in another sense it has left its scars and a lingering feeling of "resentment." "A Princeton education, in terms of its content and outlook, is perhaps the best college education obtainable in America." "I personally have my doubts about the advantages of a Princeton education." "Most professors think of themselves firstly as scholars. They accept a position at a university in order to have a chance to study or to provide for their families." "I chose history. Why? Frankly, because it seemed slightly less tedious than the other disciplines."

In some ways, the educational comment, or lack of it, is more distressing than the religious comment. One would expect a certain amount of skepticism and even cynicism about religion, theology, and the Church. But apart from general agreement that their education has been good, and even here there are some doubters,

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these eleven seniors have next to nothing to say about their courses of study, the curriculum, the library, the faculty, the precepts, the laboratories, the museums, the graduate school, the lectures, the debates, the conferences in other words, the whole educational process itself as carried on an American university program. One gathers that most of these students would echo the remark which one of their number makes after extolling the general value of his education-"Yet I knew that, like thousands of Princetonians before me, I would love Princeton not primarily for the academic education, but for my club and my social life."