The nineteenth-century Scottish theologian Edward Irving has been the subject of a remarkable resurgence of interest in recent decades, but many studies focus on specific aspects of his thought. This biography portrays Irving's life and ministry as a whole, drawing on previously unused letters as well as his published writings to offer a readable and well-grounded narrative. Apart from the personal interest of this story, Irving's thought and practice as a preacher and pastoral theologian remains worthy of serious attention.
This book is a long overdue reassessment of Edward Irving (1792–1834). Irving is largely forgotten by most, and equally celebrated and vilified by others, depending on their point of view, but often with little knowledge of the subject or understanding the historical context in which he ministered. He was celebrated and vilified in his own time too. And Grass is quite clear about his faults as well as his strengths.
The author draws on previously unused correspondence alongside published writings. He uses the classic Oliphant narrative and other work, synthesising his material competently. He connects Irving’s theological development with his pastoral responsibilities, resisting the fragmentation characteristic of studies devoted to individual doctrines.
The title of the work is significant, but not obvious. Irving understood himself through Ezekiel’s watchman imagery, commissioned to warn the church of approaching danger. This provides a framework for interpreting his increasingly urgent ministry, as well as much of the controversy. Irving seemed to be a man who stood on principle, and he would reject evangelicalism just as firmly as he rejected other wings of the church.
Irving's ministry was cut short by his early death, and teh nature of his ministry seems to have failed to achieve enduring structures, but his ministry matters because he helped unite expectations of Christ’s imminent return with prayer for renewed spiritual gifts. His advocacy of tongues, prophecy and healing challenged established ecclesiastical assumptions and helped prepare the emergence of the Catholic Apostolic movement. That movement was not, ultimately, his - but it might as well have been. It couldn't have emerged without him.
Pentecostals look at Irving as a proto-pentecostal. There is a truth to that, of course. In Irving we have both the eschatology and the spiritual gifts, and the doctrine of Baptism with the Spirit as power for service. But although that seems to challenge the narrative of the formation of the movement through Asuza Street, the connection from one to the other is, at best, indirect. I see no sign that early Pentecostals were even aware of Irving, let alone consciously taking on board his theology and practice. The charismatic gifts continued in use in the Catholic Apostolic Church, but Pentecostals appear unaware that this was happening. Yet, for Pentecostal historiography, there are links. More in eschatology than in the gifts themselves. And this book also demonstrates why, as one writer put it, by the turn of the Twentieth Century, evangelicalism was but a hair's breadth from Pentecostalism.
Read alongside Grass’s subsequent institutional history of the Catholic Apostolic Church (The Lord's Work), this biography encourages a historically situated understanding of a (mostly) independent charismatic restoration rather than a genealogy.