Does anyone else get a little thrill of joy when they start coming up on finishing a book? I love that feeling. It's a little bit of a sense accomplishment, a little bit of excitement that it's time to tell the world what I thought, a bunch of eagerness to decide on what I'm going to read next, all combined into one giddy burst of feeling that gets me all energized.
I felt that way today. It made me happy.
This book made me happy.
That's a bit odd, that it made me happy, because the content contains nothing about happiness, or joy, or really any emotion at all. There's no plot, there's no characters, there's no joy that comes from observing someone else's life and living vicariously through it. Nope. Not that kind of happiness. The kind of happiness I got from this book was the kind of happiness that you get when you explore a beautifully coherent metropolis of pure thought. There are various theoretical constructs to explore, and little alleyways of logic to get all turned around in, and then you have to try and find your way back to the main thoroughfare without losing the grain of truth that you found on your side trip.
It was so much fun.
Reading theology is not normally fun for me. I tend to find it: dry and boring, condescending and pedantic, or laughably basic. I think I can safely say, I have been reading a lot of bad theology. Well, not 'bad' theology, just theology that hasn't been well-written. Or maybe it would be better to say that I've mostly been reading pop-theologians lately, people who...no offense...haven't put the time into thinking about what they are writing that it is obvious that Lutzer put in. People that have read one or two books on a topic and feel that it makes them know enough to go out and write their own book (heavens, that sounds like me....I shall hide behind the defense that I don't write books...just very long reviews).
Lutzer isn't like that, the dude reads. Not only does he read, he expects his readers to read, and gives them recommendations. I love that. I loved reading this book, I enjoyed it. I set a timer and read a theological book for 10 minutes every day, and sometimes those 10 minutes are torture and I'm so glad when they are over, sometimes I don't react positively or negatively, only rarely does the timer go off, I look up, glance around to make sure no one is watching, and then dive gleefully back in. That happened a lot with this book, I didn't want to put it down, it made me think.
So, I'm from a nondenominational background, you know, those fiercely independent types that refuse to bow to an earthly organizational entity. I knew enough going into this book to know the basic difference between arminianism and calvinism...at least I thought I did. Imagine my surprise when I found myself nodding along to the arguments of Erasmus and Wesley, then on the next page shaking my head in disbelief at something the very same said. Or being completely convinced by Luther's declaration, then having my mind boggled by how very wrong he could be...on the same subject! Why, it's almost like this is a super complicated topic that only an omniscient being can understand.
And yet, here we are, free to think about it anyway, and nibble at the edges and come away with a better understanding than we had when we went in.
Isn't that exciting?! I think so.
The chasm between arminianism and calvinism is not small. It's not something that can be papered over, 'tis a vast and wide chasm that I thought could be hopped over. I have since learned it's something so deep I can't see the bottom and can spend a lifetime exploring. I don't know where I fall anymore and that's a reaction from just an overview of thought about it. What if I went and read Calvin and Arminius for myself?! Or Wesley and Whitefield?! How much deeper would my wonder go?!
The other thing that I really appreciated about this book was the explanation of all of the Catholic theology. I've always looked at it as...well...kind of stupid and strange, I mean, where did purgatory even come from? Again, imagine my surprise to find out that it's a logical extrapolation out of some assumptions that were made a lot earlier in the Catholic church. Even the concept of indulgences didn't just arise out of nowhere, they were (and are) something that is lying at the top of a logical edifice. Granted, that edifice isn't built on explicit scriptural passages, but if you accept the initial premise of a possible implied interpretation of a passage, then after that everything else proceeds logically from the prior step.
It made me realize just how careful we need to be when interpreting scripture. That our matter-of-course reading of it, isn't all that matter-of-course and probably has a bunch of our own cultural biases buried in it, and if you play it out to its logical conclusion you find yourself in heretical waters and we never realize it because we don't ever question our own matter-of-course interpretations.
That's what this book was good for, helping me to see that I shall never have the mind of a decent theologian. I can't think on that level. Thank God there are people like Lutzer out there who can, and that they wrote down what they thought. Now I can explore those levels through them.