Borderlands of Theological Education (The Borderlands of Theological Education) 1978715331, 9781978715332

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Borderlands of Theological Education

The Borderlands of Theological Education Series Editors: Joshua B. Davis, Stevenson School of Ministry and Deirdre Good, Stevenson School of Ministry Traditional patterns of educating and training clergy face not only crises of increasing cost and declining enrollment, but also a crisis of identity, since at present it is the academy, not the church, that shapes formation for ministry. This series outlines a new vision, not the current reformist path, as the only future for theological education beyond this impasse.

Titles in the series Borderlands of Theological Education, edited by Joshua B. Davis and Deirdre Good

Borderlands of Theological Education Edited by Joshua B. Davis and Deirdre Good

LEXINGTON BOOKS/FORTRESS ACADEMIC

Lanham • Boulder • New York • London

Published by Lexington Books/Fortress Academic Lexington Books is an imprint of The Rowman & Littlefield Publishing Group, Inc. 4501 Forbes Boulevard, Suite 200, Lanham, Maryland 20706 www​.rowman​.com 86-90 Paul Street, London EC2A 4NE, United Kingdom Copyright © 2022 by The Rowman & Littlefield Publishing Group, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote passages in a review. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Information Available Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Davis, Joshua B., 1977– editor. | Good, Deirdre Joy, editor. Title: Borderlands of theological education / edited by Joshua B. Davis, Deirdre Good. Description: Lanham : Lexington Books/Fortress Academic, [2022] | Includes bibliographical references and index. | Summary: “This book outlines a history and a new vision of the church as the primary location of ministerial formation for the future of theological education”—Provided by publisher. Identifiers: LCCN 2022027225 (print) | LCCN 2022027226 (ebook) | ISBN 9781978715332 (cloth) | ISBN 9781978715349 (epub) Subjects: LCSH: Theology—Study and teaching. | Church. Classification: LCC BV4020 .B67 2022 (print) | LCC BV4020 (ebook) | DDC 230.071/1—dc23/eng/20220815 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022027225 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022027226 ∞ ™ The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of American National Standard for Information Sciences—Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992.

Contents

Figuresvii Prefaceix Joshua B. Davis and Deirdre Good 1 “In this Interregnum, a Great Variety of Morbid Symptoms Appear”: Seminaries and Local Formation in This Crucial Moment for Theological Education Joshua B. Davis 2 The End of Seminary Joseph W. H. Lough

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3 The Dramatic Shifts in Theological Education: A Grounded Theory Approach Kelly D. Campbell and Kris Veldheer

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4 Hope, Theological Education, and the Boardwalk Edwin David Aponte

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5 Integrity in Seminary Leadership Katie Day

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6 Tending the Landscapes of Theological Education: Planetary Crisis and the Demands of Ecological Transition Timothy R. Eberhart

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Index 161 Biblical Index

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About the Contributors

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Figures

Figure 1.1 Number of Ordinations: Episcopal Church, 1960–2012 9 Figure 1.2 Number of Ordinations by Age Group, 1960–2012 10 Figure 1.3 Number of Ordinations by Percent of Age Category, 1960–2012 10 Figure 1.4 Number of Ordinations by Percent of Generation, 1960–2012 11 Figure 1.5 Percent Attending Episcopal Seminary by Age Cohort 12

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Preface Joshua B. Davis and Deirdre Good

There is widespread recognition among institutions of theological education, theological educators, and church leaders that the traditional forms of educating and training clergy are in crisis. Furthermore, it is not just seminaries and university divinity schools that are confronting these problems; mainline churches are increasingly facing the reality of clergy and members who are not as knowledgeable as in previous generations. Most of the literature on this crisis emphasizes the tremendous financial challenges these schools and churches are facing and links this financial reality to dwindling numbers. However, there is an additional factor. Traditional patterns of educating and training clergy face not only crises of increasing cost and declining enrollment, but also a crisis of identity, since at present it is the academy, not the church, that shapes formation for ministry. The relevance and significance of this book lies with its outlining of a counter-narrative of the problems theological schools are now facing, as well as a non-reformist vision to even the most innovative proposals for the future of theological education. In the first chapter, Josh Davis identifies the crisis of theological education as one of pastoral care, that is, a crisis arising out of a basic separation of theological education from pastoral ministry. This has profound implications for reconfiguring theological education within the church. In the second chapter, Joseph Lough situates the decline of residential theological education within the institutional and economic history of the twentieth century. He invites readers to reflect critically on how we can sustain residential theological education within a hostile political and economic environment. Kelly Campbell and Kris Veldheer explore in the third chapter the changing field of theological education which some in the field would categorize as a crisis. In order to assess this change, researchers conducted interviews with faculty and administration from mainline Protestant seminaries and schools. ix

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In this chapter, a grounded theory is applied to the crises in theological education and contours of concerns and crises identified. Edwin Aponte argues in chapter 4 that those who continue to advocate “for an elitist educational gold standard (residential seminary education) with modest adaptations,” are advocating retrenchment. He contends that this gold standard “is not sustainable and distracts from the purpose of theological education, namely, to help people understand, nurture, name, and live into their eschatological hope every day.” He uses 1 Peter 3:15, “Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have,” as a springboard to explain hope in theological education. Theological education takes place in accredited, alternately accredited, and non-accredited settings, appearing in and serving a large number of divergent faith communities, ministers, and ministry situations. Leadership is at the heart of any educational institution. Katie Day makes the case in chapter 5 that a leadership model is literally a model for students who are in the process of formation. Dimensions of the three values at the heart of leadership: interdependence, respect, and truth, are explored in detail, paying attention to specific facets of community life. In chapter 6, Timothy Eberhart explores the place of theological education in the context of the causes, dynamics, and consequences of the Anthropocene age of ecological degradation, injustice, and crisis. He examines how existing institutions of theological education, from the nineteenth century to today, have been dependent upon processes of wealth accumulation based in environmental extraction and ruin. He draws upon warnings from the scientific community in arguing that these very processes are running into hard limits and resulting in profoundly disruptive consequences that will impact the nature and shape of theological education going forward. Finally, he examines emerging responses within and between seminaries and divinity schools to the realities of climate change, biodiversity collapse, and environmental pollution before concluding with a set of principles for theological education in the age of the Anthropocene. We invite readers, through these chapters, to journey with us into the present turmoil of theological education. Each of these chapters is grounded in theoretical and practical reflections on histories and experiences of our common life, rather than in individual vocations. We need such careful analyses of the roots and history of our present condition, together with constructive critiques of current responses, so that through informed collective insights into our current situation, we call forth vibrant new structures and approaches to theological education.

Chapter 1

“In this Interregnum, a Great Variety of Morbid Symptoms Appear” Seminaries and Local Formation in This Crucial Moment for Theological Education1 Joshua B. Davis

The rise of local, diocesan seminaries as an alternative to so-called “traditional,” modern seminaries, reveals that there is an undeniable crisis in theological education.2 Many would prefer the term transformation to crisis, preferring to emphasize the complexities of the administrative and financial challenges that modern seminaries face, in opposition to the implication that there is something critically flawed about the modern form of theological education.3 I will argue, instead, that what modern seminaries are now facing is an endemic crisis of pastoral care.4 I do not mean that theological schools are insufficiently pastoral in their manner of teaching and learning. I mean, rather, that modern theological education is established on the specious assumption that it ought to be and is professional, academic training and not itself a pastoral, spiritual work that is integral to the church’s mission and ministry. Better management of institutional finances, increasing matriculation numbers, or more appropriate mission statements will not mend the fault lines that have begun to shift—and failure to address these pastoral issues will only widen the chasm. So the rise of local, diocesan seminaries is, no doubt, an expression of this crisis of pastoral care. Indeed, it is no accident that these schools are diocesan seminaries, many of which tout their focus on the “practical” rather than “academic” aspects of ordained ministry. Yet, every crisis is also an opportunity, as the cliché has it. Local diocesan seminaries present us with a unique opportunity to rebuild ecclesial institutions of teaching and learning that are fully integrated into the pastoral oversight of the church’s mission and ministry at every level—governance, liturgy, financial management, spiritual 1

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guidance, and so on. All of this, of course, is contingent on the possibility of local, diocesan seminaries not becoming miniature or trade-school versions of modern seminaries, which reproduce, in their own distinctive ways, those constitutive mistakes. And this is all the more reason that we cannot be content with ideal descriptions of the church and its institutions of theological learning or of the vision of theological schools. Ideal descriptions mistake what ought to be for the reality that is.5 Local seminaries are not going away. The development of local options for theological education is the inevitable result of the fragmentation of modern seminary education and its crisis of pastoral care.6 I will elaborate on this fragmentation in the section that follows. Here, it is enough simply to note that, because local seminaries are situated within the mission and ministry of the church in their diocese, they are in the unique position to reintegrate what modern seminaries separate. Local seminaries can provide a concrete practice, not just an ideal vision, of theological education as an extension of the church’s work of pastoral care. Nevertheless, local seminaries have an ambivalent status. While they hold promise to be occasions for reintegration, they may also be—and, in most instances, so far, this is what they have been—agents of further fragmentation. How we navigate this ambivalence will be decisive. If local seminaries do their work of formation well, they will redefine theological education for the whole church, replace the faulty foundation upon which the modern seminary was erected, and in doing so retrieve a unified practice of education and ministry. But local seminaries may also accelerate the disintegration that we are now witnessing, resulting in further breakdown of clergy competence, which will redound to further compromise the church’s ministry. Hence the urgency of the need to understand the reasons for the crisis of the modern seminary. To do this correctly, we must have a critical theory of the modern seminary, which is where I begin.

THE MODERN SEMINARY: CRITIQUE AND BREAKDOWN OF THE PROFESSIONAL MODEL A large body of scholarly literature has emerged, arguing there is a crisis in theological education.7 In fact, it has become something of a distinctive genre. However, it often goes unnoticed just how early the core claims about the dysfunction and crisis of seminary education began. One remarkable publication is a 1957 report sponsored by the American Association of Theological Schools (AATS)—ATS today—and the Carnegie Foundation, which was authored by H. Richard Niebuhr, Daniel Day Williams, and James Gustafson entitled The Advancement of Theological Education: The

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Summary Report of a Mid-Century Study. The authors draw the following remarkable conclusion of their summary of the research: The net result of these observations and critiques may be stated simply: The greatest defect of theological education today is that it is too much an affair of piecemeal transmission of knowledge and skills, and that, in consequence, it offers too little challenge to the student to develop his own resources and to become an independent, lifelong inquirer, growing constantly while she is engaged in the work of ministry (emphasis in original). The fact that similar selfcriticisms are made by faculties of law and medical schools and of many colleges does not lessen the sharpness of the judgment. Indeed it is the impression of the staff members that colleges and the nontheological professional schools are more frequently doing something to remedy their defective practices than are the seminaries.8

One of the most salient insights gleaned from these remarks is the assumption that seminaries are to be compared most directly to the other professional schools, like law and medicine. Niebuhr, Williams, and Gustafson do not question that clergy are professionals or that seminaries are professional schools. They assume it and criticize theological schools for doing a poor job producing good professionals and for failing, unlike their counterparts in medicine and law, to make necessary adjustments to ensure their responsibilities as a professional school are being met. And it is all the more striking a conclusion to draw once it is recognized that it is made at just the moment, as I will show below, that modern seminaries are having their greatest demographic successes in enrollment, prestige, and financial security. Eight years later (1965), Edward Farley published a long and controversial two-part article in Religious Education, criticizing not just the performance of seminaries as professional schools, but the assumptions undergirding it. Farley disparaged theological educators, many by name, for deploying ambiguous concepts like “sanctification,” “salvation,” “conversion,” “redemption,” the work of “the Holy Spirit,” and even the now important buzzword “formation,” to describe the distinctive dimensions of professional ministerial education. Farley maintained that these concepts are meaningless for professional training, that their use concealed the fact that seminaries do not have a coherent, integrating purpose, or aim (telos), which every other professional school has, to define their work and orient their curricula. Imagine, he is suggesting, that a major component of the literature on medical or legal training involved regular appeals to the formative influences of Asclepius or Themis in becoming a doctor or attorney. Or imagine, as is perhaps more common, that medical students regularly objected to the study of anatomy as “impractical” or merely “theoretical” in the same way that seminary students

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often object to the study of portions of seminary curricula. Farley was not objecting to the importance of personal transformation and spiritual growth in preparation for ministry but was asking instead the very important question of what these appeals to personal transformation have to do with the kind of professional training that seminaries say they are providing. Note, Farley is not criticizing seminaries for emphasizing practical concerns, like pastoral care or spirituality. He is actually making the inverse point: namely, not that pastoral care and spirituality have no place in professional training for ministry, but that seminaries do not really know what makes the study of these topics theological because they do not understand the place of teaching and learning in pastoring. Without knowing what makes something to be theological, then theological education becomes dis-integrated, dis-functional, fragmented—divided between an abstract “theoretical” aspect (“scholarly” and disconnected form the concrete work of ministry) and a “practical” aspect (pragmatic and applied). The situation is one, Farley argued, in which we believe we know what ministry is because we can identify its functions, but that leaves us in a situation where we do not know what theological education has to do with ministry. Not long after Farley’s essays were published, the sociologist Jeffrey Hadden published The Gathering Storm in the Churches (1969).9 Hadden argued, based solely on analysis of sociological data, and in the midst of widespread success of seminaries, that theological education was in decline, despite all appearances. The reasons were threefold: (1) schools were entirely fragmented on matters of belief (a point about the disciplinary separations of specialty areas and the issues raised by critical scholarship); (2) schools had lost the sense of any coherent mission that was an extension of the church’s; and (3) the absences of (1) and (2) meant that these schools had become, by default, institutions producing, not professionals, but bureaucrats. Clergy had been redefined and transformed into managers, administrators.10 Issues like these percolated in religious education journals throughout the 1970s. Then Farley published Theologia in 1983, offering the most substantive elaboration of his earlier critique, responding to his critics, and laying out a complete vision of what had gone wrong with modern theological education. Central to Theologia was a genealogy, in the Foucauldian sense, a historiography of theological education that was intended to reveal and disrupt our assumptions about what it is and how it works—and, in doing so, to open up alterative possibilities. Farley was unrelenting in his diagnosis of the failure of the professional model: “Theological schools have compared themselves for generations to schools of law and medicine, yet their graduates do not seem to have the divinity equivalent of the physician-scientist or the dialectician-lawyer”—the same point that Niebuhr and Gustafson had adumbrated twenty-six years earlier. He gave an instructive summary of his

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point in an interview several years later noting that theological schools were organized into fields of study divided between “theoretical” and “practical” fields modeled on other graduate schools and specialized European scholarship, all aiming to hone professional skills of the clergy as equivalent to training of lawyers and physicians. But it all fell apart. Independent specialty areas of languages and methods controlled the curriculum, while ministry subjects were sealed off from the “theory” part. Theological education was of little use to the parish and other workplace settings. The subject matter did not produce useful, powerful, distinctive, and disciplined ways of thinking to undergird and empower all aspects of ministry.11 Farley argued that the solution is to recover theologia: that is, theological education as paideia, a cultural project of character formation in which all aspects of discipleship, study included, are ordered toward the knowledge of God. Theologia, as paideia, has just as much to do with knowledge and right thinking as it does with spirituality and practice. It both elevates the significance of spiritual development by placing it alongside so-called “scholarly” work, while simultaneously recuperating the spiritual dimension of “scholarship.”12 Charles Wood’s Vision and Discernment appeared, then, two years later (1985).13 Wood’s assessment of the problem was, in many ways, the same as Farley’s—that theological education was fragmented—but offered a different answer. Wood argued that all aspects of theological education could be unified if they were ordered to a singular aim of theological inquiry. Interestingly, especially because Wood’s work is most closely allied with post-liberal theology and Farley’s with “constructive” or “revisionist” methods, Wood’s conclusion is the more amenable to the goals of the modern seminary. Farley, in contrast, stays much closer to ancient models of teaching and learning. Wood understands “theological inquiry” in more abstract terms in that it is focused on understanding the conceptual unity of theological work than is Farley’s emphasis on paideia, and tends to seek practical application of these theological concepts within ministry where Farley contests the division of theory and practice, altogether. David Kelsey’s To Understand God Truly: What’s Theological About Theological Education? (1994) and Between Athens and Berlin: The Theological Education Debate (1995) are both also noteworthy. Kelsey’s analysis categorized Farley’s analysis as an “Athens” approach, which Kelsey contrasted to “Berlin,” the university-based professional school model. Kelsey (following the leads of scholars like Max Weber, H. Richard Niebuhr, George Lindbeck, and Hans Frei) identified two “types” of theological education (Athens and Berlin), compared and contrasted them, and then, in characteristic Kelsey fashion, assiduously avoided making any overtly normative judgments. Kelsey’s work is an important and influential

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contribution to the literature on theological education because of its strenuous minimization of the problems so many others previously had identified with the university-based model. Kelsey avoids the language of crisis altogether, commending the very pragmatic approach that we must work with what we have and that Athens and Berlin approaches are both instructive. In the 1990s, also noteworthy are John Haddon Leith’s Crisis in the Church: The Plight of Theological Education, and two of Richard Osmer’s works, The Teaching Ministry of Congregations and A Teachable Spirit, each of which took up the questions of theological education in relation to the virtual loss of the church’s teaching office. Both authors are important and not as widely read on the question of theological education as they ought to be.14 So we can summarize the results of scholarly inquiries into theological education by saying that, by the mid-twentieth century, critical problems had been identified not just with the content, but the form of modern seminary education. The professional model upon which the modern seminary was based had ceased to work, and was eventually judged by many never to have worked at all. All agreed that curriculums of theological education were fragmented, lacking an integrated, ordered goal consonant with the professional training, but differed as to what integration would require or about the severity of this fragmentation’s consequences. Unlike medical and law schools, modern seminary education seemed to require a constitutive distinction between “theory” (i.e., “academic”) and “application” (i.e., “practical”) within their curriculums. Education for professional ministry was so separated from the practice of ministry that one could study scripture, theology, church history, moral theology, or even Christian spirituality at a seminary without any clear understanding of how these different topics hung together and pertained to the practice of ministry, but one could likewise practice the ministry without any clear idea of what good the mastery of scripture, theology, church history, moral theology, or Christian spirituality had to do with the work. A comparable situation in law or medicine is virtually unimaginable. Were the practice of medicine in a comparable way distinguishable from mastery of physiology, anatomy, or organic chemistry; or were the practice of law distinguished from basic logic, rhetoric, torts, contract, criminal codes, there would be no question that the profession and its schools were not only crisis, but in a state of virtual desuetude. Ministry had devolved from a profession to an administrative, bureaucratic task, wherein, despite being based on a professional model, many clergy would be shocked at the suggestion that the knowledge of scripture, ethics, theology, or spirituality could be viewed as the equivalent of anatomy and chemistry in medicine or rhetoric, logic, and torts in law.

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It may help to think about what has happened to theological education in the same terms that Hans Frei made about biblical hermeneutics in The Eclipse of Biblical Narrative. Frei noted that the critical (or universitybased) reading of scripture required the reader (who can be a scholar, a minister, or just a disciple) to separate the text from its “meaning.” In order for the Bible to serve as scripture for the church, Frei maintains, the church has to recuperate a way of reading the text today that can account for academic, critical scholarship, but which does not locate the text’s meaning for the community outside of the text—in historical reconstruction, universal moral teachings, and so on. Like modern biblical scholarship, the modern seminary separates knowledge and practice in the same way, making it impossible for theological education to cohere with ecclesial ministry.15 In different terms, we can advert to Alasdair MacIntyre to say that the goal, purpose, or aim of the modern seminary has become an external good, a mere functional means to the end of practical application. Using MacIntyre’s example to contrast external and internal goods, we can say that we have begun to think of theological education the way he describes beginning to teach a child to play chess. Just as we may give the child a piece of candy for every game she wins (external goal), once they learn the rules and various strategies of chess, then a well-played game itself becomes the reward. Even well-played games that are lost are equally as rewarding as games won. One learns from them an insight into how the game develops. This is because chess is not just a game, in the way tic-tac-toe is. Rather, it is what MacIntyre calls a practice. And if theological education has become more like tic-tac-toe than chess, the educational equivalent of playing a game for a piece of candy, then there is indeed a crisis. It means we are training ministers in ways similar to business or management training—that is, for the sake of utility. Theological education has become a techne, a technique, a technology, not formation in the practice of a set of virtues in a distinct way of life. The first important consequence of this first state of critical inquiry into theological education is that the modern seminary aspires to be a professional school, but is in truth merely managerial, and bureaucratic. But, second, in the absence of an internal good, theological education also becomes a commodified service. It is done for the sake of a certain exchange. And this is far worse a problem, which I will return to in section three below.16 Having surveyed the arguments in favor of fragmentation and breakdown of the professional model of theological education, I will now present some data from one mainline Christian denomination (The Episcopal Church) marking the effects of the breakdown of this professional model, over the course of the same decades.

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SIGNS OF DECLINE In addition to these discussions of fragmentation among theologians and theological educators, there has been a growing trend of demographic data projecting significant declines in seminary stability. After years of extraordinary growth in seminary departments, administrations, and enrollments, all of these have both declined and begun to contract at an alarming rate. This demographic data is often noted in discussions of what the future of the modern seminary looks like. But that same data has not to my knowledge been brought together with the analyses of the fragmentation of theological education and the rupture of the professional model. In this section, I will further develop the arguments for seminary fragmentation outlined in the prior section in light of this demographic data regarding the current social conditions that sustain seminaries. There are many reports about the financial troubles that seminaries either now face or will face in the near future, but those reports rarely, if ever, view these conditions in light of the larger economic frame that structures and determines theological education as a commodity—that is, in the ways in which theological education is now produced, not in order to meet and nurture the life of Christian communities, but in order to be bought and sold. The financial concerns of modern seminaries are inseparable from the fact that theological education is a commodity, which has led both to its fragmentation and demographic decline. This is where one of the most important demographic reports on ­theological education can be particularly illuminating: namely, Wither Thou Goest: Assessing the Current State of Seminaries and Seminarians in the Episcopal Church.17 This report is specific to The Episcopal Church, but, given how successful the Episcopal Church’s seminaries have been throughout the period of time surveyed in the report, as well as how significant their enrollment and financial decline has been, one can cautiously extrapolate from this data to the seminaries of all mainline denominations, provided that appropriate exceptions are made for individual cases. Another report I will point to is entitled “Episcopal Seminaries: Patterns and Prognosis,” authored by Matthew Price, senior vice president for Research and Data at The Episcopal Church’s Church Pension Group, and Derek Darves, who is now a data scientist at Millennium Management. This report further frames this data in relation to larger church trends18 (figure 1.1). The first important point is that the number of ordinations in The Episcopal Church declined over the period between 1960 and 2014, which is the same time in which the modern seminary witnessed its greatest growth. The number of ordinations in 1960 was 300, while that number had dropped below 200 by 2013.19 This number of ordinations is relatively stable, only dipping below 300 between 1973 and 1978 (right in the middle of an economic downturn).

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Figure 1.1  Number of Ordinations: Episcopal Church, 1960–2012. Source: Matthew Price & Derek Darves, “Episcopal Seminaries: Patterns and Prognosis,” 2014.

It dips below 300 from 1995 to 2001, after which it increases to 400 and then almost 450 in 2005, before plummeting in 2007 (again, during a financial crisis), reaching its lowest point in fifty-five years, where it stays for eight years (2007–2015). To contextualize these numbers, the population of the United States in 1960 was 187,000,000, and had grown to 318,000,000 in 2014, having increased overall by 2/3 (70 percent). In contrast, total ordinations decreased by 3/5 (60 percent) during that same period. So, if there were ten priests for every 100,000 persons at the beginning of this time period, then there were only six priests for every 170,000 persons at the end20 (figure 1.2, figure 1.3). Note that the period of exceptional growth corresponds to the same period of time (1955–1969) in which the fragmentation and breakdown of the professional model began to be discussed in the literature. Further interesting is that, at this same time (1955), the average age of a seminarian in the Episcopal Church was twenty-seven. By 2010, that age had doubled to almost fifty.21 We can see how these ages are distributed over the same time period. Ordinations of those thirty-five to fifty-five reach a height that was last occupied by another age cohort, the under-thirty-fives, in 1978 (figure 1.4). The distribution by generation is equally compelling. Baby boomers start their ordinations in 1965, and their numbers steadily increase to a 75 percent share of all ordinations twenty years later (1985), and continues to 1989. During this same period of time, the Silent Generation steadily declines to a point where they share 50 percent of all ordinations with Baby Boomers in 1970. However, Gen-Xers start their ordinations in 1982, but do not

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Figure 1.2  Number of Ordinations by Age Group, 1960–2012. Source: Matthew Price & Derek Darves, “Episcopal Seminaries: Patterns and Prognosis,” 2014.

Figure 1.3  Number of Ordinations by Percent of Age Category, 1960–2012. Source: “Episcopal Seminaries: Patterns and Prognosis,” 2014.

achieve 51 percent of all ordinations until 2006, a full twenty-four years later. By comparison, Baby Boomers reached their height of 75 percent of all ordinations only sixteen years after their first ordinations. It took twentyfour years for Gen-X to get just 51 percent of the share. Millennial numbers at present, by comparison, hover below 50 percent, while Baby Boomers

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Figure 1.4  Number of Ordinations by Percent of Generation, 1960–2012. Source: “Episcopal Seminaries: Patterns and Prognosis,” 2014.

continue to decrease their share of all ordinations. Millennials are now nine years into their ordinations, and they have barely reached 20 percent, which is virtually the same pace of growth as Gen-X. By nine years into their ordinations, though, Baby Boomers had already claimed 60 percent of all ordinations, having already reached half of all ordinations four years prior. When we compare this distribution to the number of overall ordinations, Gen-X and Millennials are conspicuous in not seeking ordination at the same early age or rate as Baby Boomers, who held more than 50 percent of all ordinations for over thirty years and entered the ministry at a steady rate from their late-twenties into their sixties, and even seventies. There are nowhere near comparable numbers for Gen-Xers or Millennials. Ordinations, as a whole, have been in decline since the 1960s.22 There have been considerable growth in the number of ordinations of people over fifty-five, since around the year 2000.23 Of course, this means that there’s a glut of Baby Boomers, but what is most important about this fact is that these over-fifty-five postulants do not attend modern, residential seminaries at the same rate as the much smaller cohort of those who are thirty-five and under. Whither Thou Goest notes: Examining the years 1980–present (the period when older postulants begin to attend seminary in larger numbers), there is a 9.5 percent gap in Episcopal seminary attendance, on average, between priests ordained at the age of 35 or younger and those ordained at 36 years of age or older. With few exceptions (e.g., 1980), this gap has remained somewhat constant over the past three decades.

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Specifically, whereas an average of 84 percent of newly ordained priests age 35 and younger earned an M.Div. from an Episcopal seminary during this period, the corresponding figure for priests over 35 was about 75 percent. Examining this difference over time reveals that decline in the attendance rate among priests over 35 actually increased. That is, while the 35-and-under cohort begin and end the period with comparable rates of Episcopal seminary attendance (76 percent), the corresponding figure for seminarians over 35 dropped from 80 percent to 61 percent. This change—at least from the perspective of Episcopal seminaries seeking to maintain enrollment rates—takes on more significance in light of the rising age at ordination24 (figure 1.5).

We can anticipate that the overall number of ordinations will continue to drop steadily as Baby Boomers reach the mandatory age of seventy-two. Gen-Xers and Millennials will not be able to make up the difference. Fewer ordinations means fewer seminarians. But, even as Gen-Xers grow in their share of the ordination pool, they are only seeking ordination at a much older age than the preceding generation. Gen-Xers reached ordination age in 1982, which means

Figure 1.5  Percent Attending Episcopal Seminary by Age Cohort. Source: Matthew Price, “Whither Thou Goest: Assessing the Current State of Seminaries and Seminarians in the Episcopal Church,” p. 8: https://www​.cpg​.org​/globalassets​/documents​/publications​ /whither​-thou​-goest​-assessing​-the​-current​-state​-of​-seminaries​-and​-seminarians​-in​-the​ -episcopal​-church​.pdf.

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that the oldest Gen-Xer is already well past the fifty-five-age mark, the point at which the likelihood of attending a modern seminary drops considerably.25 The number of both over and under thirty-five-year-olds attending modern seminaries, earning MDiv degrees, has dropped considerably, being only about 75 percent for under thirty-five-year-olds and only 60 percent for those above thirty-five years old.26 This means that local seminaries must be a viable option going forward, on the one hand, just in order for there to be enough clergy, but, on the other hand, because there will be a need to accommodate an increasingly older cohort of potential postulants. The scenario that appears to be developing is one where younger postulants attend residential seminaries, while older clergy attend local formation schools. Yet, the greatest percentage of ordinations will come increasingly from the older pool. This is bad news for seminaries—and especially so as local formation schools become more viable options, as has become even more true since the publication of Whither Thou Goest in 2014. When we combine this demographic data with the analysis of f­ ragmentation in the scholarly literature, discussed in the previous section, then a more ­complex, comprehensive, and illuminating portrait emerges than the one that more common interpretations of this data suggests. That more prominent ­interpretation—represented principally in Whither Thou Goest itself—is focused on the scarcity of an ever-declining diocesan demand relative to both the supply and rising costs of seminaries.27 But what the discourse of fragmentation, discussed in the previous section, adds to the demographic analysis is a wider context within which to understand these developments. As I argued in the previous section, the literature on theological education is virtually unanimous in concluding that fragmentation has meant that seminaries are not producing the kind of professional clergy it purported to train. How might we understand the relationship between this fragmentation and this demographic data? I will suggest in the next section that we can understand what is going on here in terms of what Nancy Fraser calls, following Karl Marx, “the hidden abode of production” that creates our fragmented, institutionalized social order of theological education. We will see that this issue of pastoral care is a crisis that arises from the erosion of the domain of social reproduction, which Fraser calls, specifically, a matter of care.

THE SECOND STAGE OF CRITIQUE: SOCIAL REPRODUCTION AND THE CRISIS OF PASTORAL CARE The modern seminary was conceived of as a professional school within the wider domain of academia. But, as we have seen, its fragmented curriculum

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and separation from its social base (the church), gradually eroded its ability to produce professionals. Instead, it made bureaucrats and managers. Furthermore, in its separation from the mission and ministry of the church, theological education became a commodity for the modern seminary. Though certainly not its intention or purpose, the modern seminary’s relation to the church was configured negatively. On the one hand was the academy (referred to in discussions of theological education as “theory,” often pejoratively), wherein the distinct service of educating theologically takes place. For Schleiermacher, this was the distinctively scientific [wissenschaftlich] dimension of theological education, which justified its place in the academy.28 On the other hand was the church (often referred to as “practical”), wherein that academic knowledge is “applied” in the practice of ministry and pastoral care. We can understand this division within the modern seminary, between theory and practice or academy and church, in terms of the political economy of production and social reproduction. Insofar as seminaries produce the commodity of theological education, the church serves the role of social reproduction upon which the seminary depends for that production. The church supplies seminaries with pastoral care, affective labor, institutional administration, and the building and sustaining of social bonds that allow for the church and the seminaries to endure.29 The point of this separation between seminary (production) and the church (social reproduction) is not to suggest that the seminary denies its dependence on the church, nor that it intends to be divided from the church, and certainly not that it wishes to undermine the church. The point is that the modern seminary is constituted by that separation. The seminary (production) and the church (social reproduction) are mutually constitutive, not by necessity, since the modern seminary is itself innovative, but within the production of theological education as a commodity. We cannot produce theological education without either the seminary or the church, and yet the two are, paradoxically, separated. This is a relationship like the one Gillian Rose describes in Hegel’s diremption: a peculiar relationship between two terms in which they are bound to one another by the split between them. It is this diremption, I maintain, that the discussion of theological education’s fragmentation is describing and attempting to understand. But we will not be able to grasp the situation fully without a critical theory that situates this fragmentation, together with the demographic data, within the material conditions that gave rise to it. This is where social reproduction theory can be most helpful, while also revealing how this crisis of theological education is one of pastoral care. Nancy Fraser notes that all commodities depend on the preservation of a realm of “care,” affective labor, and the preservation of social bonds, which

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serves as the background condition for all “the order, predictability, and infrastructure” that makes its production possible.30 When these background conditions break down, then commodity production experiences a crisis of care, a crisis that in the case of theological education is specifically pastoral. Nancy Fraser describes this crisis of care: Finally, there is the strand [of crisis] pertaining to social reproduction, reflected in the growing strain, under neoliberalism, of what some call “care” or “­ affective labor,” but what I understand more broadly as the human capacities available to create and maintain social bonds, which includes the work of socializing the young, building communities, and of reproducing the shared meanings, affective dispositions, and horizons of value that underpin social cooperation.31

The church is reproduced and sustained—at least, in part—by this care work. But for the modern seminary, this care work is necessary in order to supply the resources—and it can take a number of different forms: people, money, raw materials, institutions, social stability—that are necessary to produce theological education. The value of theological education as a commodity produced by the seminaries is then realized, first, in the perpetuation of the seminary, and, then, in the serviceable priests it provides to the church—who, in turn, assist with social reproduction. Strictly speaking, the production of theological education as a commodity is not identical with the mission and ministry of the church. As the seminary zone expands, it requires more— people, Christians, money, administrators, and so on—from the zone of social reproduction (church) to sustain itself, and thus the service it provides. The greater this growth, the less the seminary returns to the church for social reproduction, and, simultaneously, the more that the seminary needs.32 The relationship between the production of theological education as a commodity in its relation to social reproduction in the church is the wider context within which to grasp the nature of the fragmentation described by Niebuhr, Gustafson, Farley et al. It can further illuminate the demographic data set out in the previous ­section as the historical expression that this dynamic contradiction has taken. As the realm of social reproduction expanded, in the wake of World War II,33 there was a corresponding expansion in the production and c­ ommodification of theological education and its value.34 This is to be expected: more people mean more ordinations. Seminaries grow; they expand their faculties; and they add new programs, new degrees. More programs require new ­administrators, and so it goes. All of these additions increase the value of the ­theological education they produce, and as that value expands, so do the number of ordinations. The majority of these ordinations are coming from the generation that saw a simultaneous expansion of social reproduction. At the

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zenith of this expansion, at exactly the moment we see the greatest number of ordinations seen in the fifty years prior (and probably ever), those numbers drop at a precipitous rate, reaching, over the course of just six consecutive years, the lowest number of ordinations seen in that same period. This point is not merely demographic. It is not simply about population growth and contraction. I am not suggesting, in a crude and quantitative way, that ordaining people erodes numbers within the domain of social reproduction. Instead, I am pointing out the peculiar situation that, because the modern seminary’s connection to the church is established in its separation from it, the better the modern seminary is at being a modern seminary, the more it erodes the social conditions that it depends on to sustain itself. And this reality of production consuming social reproduction is the reason that the modern seminary devolves from a professional school to trade school for managers and bureaucrats. The following long quotation from Farley captures this situation in a particularly salient way, though not in terms of production and social reproduction: The “minister-as-professional” literature tends to permit church leadership to be defined by a variety of tasks set for the minister by a parish or specialized ministry. This is clearly a nontheological approach to church leadership because it permits a set of negotiations or unstated expectations between minister and congregation to determine the leader’s nature, task and responsibilities [e.g., “congregational vitality”]. Leadership, then, is defined by the exercise of these negotiated responsibilities. This approach is closely bound up with the view that the education of the church leader and the education of the believer have utterly different goals and subject matters. The (ordained) leader does things which the believer does not do (preach, administer sacraments, manage the organization, counsel) and must know things the believer need not know (church history, exegesis, pastoral psychology, and so forth).35

And continuing to elaborate on this point: The alienation between theological studies and the needs and tasks of the church’s leadership is promoted, not reduced, by the functionalist attempt to make the tasks of ministry themselves the criteria, subject matter, and end of theological study. The reason is that the public tasks and responsibilities of clergy (preaching, counseling, managing, organizing, teaching, evangelizing) represent altogether only a formal, sociological description of a minister or priest. They pertain to the social duration of the Christian community as it would be sociologically described. . . . Passed over is the Christian community in its essential, defining, ecclesial aspect of being a redemptive community, with a leadership whose tasks center

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in the corporate and individual occurrence of redemption. In other words, the education of leadership for a redemptive community cannot be defined by reference to the public tasks and acts by which the community endures (a formal approach), but rather by the requirements set by the nature of that community as redemptive. Defining ministry by its community tasks ignores the community’s own redemptive nature, its received tradition, its truth convictions. The very thing that makes theological education important to and related to the church and to the church’s leadership . . . is absent. Accordingly, the more the external tasks themselves are focused on as the only [goal] of theological education, the less the minister becomes qualified to carry them out. . . . The functionalist form of the clerical paradigm promotes and worsens the problem with which it is concerned36 (emphasis mine).

The more the functions of the minister—the managerial aspects of ministry, in other words—are the unifying focus of theological education, then, paradoxically, the less able the minister is to perform those distinctive functions. This insight is the most important one to be gleaned from the demographic data. Our concern ought not be, first and foremost, about population contraction, vague cultural notions of “secularization,” or even financial stability of seminary institutions. The more important point is not quantitative, but qualitative: modern seminaries, constituted as they are in diremption to the mission and ministry of the church, have done an excellent job at what they were designed, wittingly or not, to do: produce a management class to oversee the institutions they need to reproduce themselves. However, that very success comes at the devastating cost of eroding the very social life of the redemptive community it understands itself to serve. This crisis is not one within theological education. It is a crisis of pastoral care within the church, within theological education’s base of social reproduction. It arises because the leaders produced by the modern seminary are increasingly, over time, unable to carry out effectively the work that makes the social life of that community redemptive. They are effective at managing its bureaucratic apparatus, but this is not adequate to the seminary’s needs. Intimations of this situation of a contracting social base first appeared in the 1970s, when various strategies began to arise to deal with it. Since then, the primary response has been an attempt to expand student numbers in seminaries. Of course, this also meant increasing the number of ordinations, which we see corroborated in the demographic data. But having reached a threshold of ordinations, seminaries began attempts to expand their market for theological education by developing lay-focused programs, nonordination-track degrees, and various certificate programs. As we have

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seen in the data, after 2007 this strategy reached its threshold. Seminaries had expanded beyond the capacity of social reproduction to sustain. In response, they implemented strategies of austerity, intended to allow them to preserve their current level of production but more efficiently and with lower costs. Seminaries develop strategies to increase productivity, develop programs for online courses, or find ways to distill the “theory” or “academic” part of theological education into an exportable format, available at a distance. We also see significant trends of faculty layoffs. All of these developments, of course, only make the commodification of seminary education—which has always been the sine qua non of the modern seminary, but which had been, up to this point, successfully hidden—undeniable. But the erosion of social reproduction not only affects the seminaries; it affects the church, too. The commodification of theological e­ ducation, its enclosure in the seminaries, means that when we talk about the church’s mission, we are most often, whether we realize it or not, talking about expanding the church’s market share. It is no coincidence that the church leaders educated during the generation of seminary expansion, who were formed in that managerial ethos, can only imagine entrepreneurial solutions to the existential crisis posed by the contraction of its social base. Surveying programs in church leadership, we see again and again references to the Harvard Business Review, Silicon Valley, the emergent church, or the church-without-walls. Buzzwords, like “nimble” and “flexible,” which John Patrick Leary has pointed out are used by corporations to talk about shedding labor and operational costs, have become commonplace at diocesan conventions around the country, in continuing education programs, and especially seminary programs in leadership.37 We often hear talk about innovative ministries, a term which carries a kind of prophetic, rebellious heritage, which we then link to the defiance of the institutionalized ways, in the name of freedom.38 All the while, though, these are just tactics to open up new markets.39 As Nancy Fraser has pointed out, it is just at the point that the institutionalized social order is destabilized, that order moves to find a new point of equilibrium. But because that order can no longer expand into the realm of social reproduction, it is compelled instead to commodify as much of that zone as possible.40 And it is an especially ingenious move to use emancipatory language to conceal the oppressive forces of commodification. The dirty little secret is that, as David Harvey says, what passes here for liberation is just another form of accumulation by dispossession. And, of course, this can be all the more successful if it is possible to pass off this process as “the future of the church.” And it is just here, finally, that we can see where local formation schools are so vital. But their status is not unambiguous. While they are concrete

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sites of theological education, embedded in the realm of social reproduction, they are still ambivalent. From within their standpoint, we can see what is happening both to seminaries and the church in a way that neither seminaries nor bureaucratized clergy can. Local formation schools are sites within which (and about which) the two poles of the crisis of the modern seminary—the one, rededicating itself to the commodification of theological education, the other attempting to commodify the realm of social reproduction—are contested. As such, local formation schools are doing theological education in a way that is fundamentally unlike the modern seminary. Yet, they have just as much potential to serve the forces of commodification as they have to dismantle it. And so I turn now, in the last (short) section, to developing a third possibility, one that moves beyond retrenchment strategies that either double down on the modern seminary model or seek to ally with the commodification of the church, and instead open up a new form of theological education integrally embedded within a project of pastoral care for the church.

A CRITICAL THEORY OF THEOLOGICAL EDUCATION AND ITS CRISIS Antonio Gramsci’s Prison Notebooks contain some remarkable reflections on adult education.41 Because education was one of the central means through which a hegemonic order reinforces its power, Gramsci saw adult education, in particular, as a site for building a new social order. Intellectuals were linchpin figures in that work. Gramsci did not use the term intellectuals to mean what we commonly think of as academics. He meant that broad group in a society that articulates a society’s beliefs and outlooks, and carries out practices that serve to unify that society. He means mostly lawyers, physicians, priests, teachers—traditional professionals. Gramsci says there are two types of these intellectuals. Traditional intellectuals, who operates within a society as though they are an autonomous and independent group. If we think in terms of the classical estates of Europe— nobility, commoners, and clergy—Gramsci is thinking of the clergy as the example of a social group that is not allied with nobles or commoners, but ostensibly serves the interests of society as a whole. Lawyers and physicians, as matter of professional ethics, serve society as a whole. Or, journalists are often called a fourth estate, because of their obligation to be objective. Each of these are intellectuals in Gramsci’s sense. He is emphasizing that, though they may believe they are independent, they do in fact—clergy too—have a key role in legitimating their own social order.

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But when one social order begins to die, the jig is up for traditional intellectuals. They no longer serve the same social purpose. Their claim to neutrality no longer serves the purpose for which it was intended: namely, propping up the establishment. But, as the old order is dying, before the new order has emerged, traditional intellectuals flail. They want to stand on their laurels, but they no longer receive the acclaim they believe they had earned. The other kind of intellectual is the organic intellectual. Organic i­ ntellectuals are, to use Mayo’s phrase, the “cultural or educational workers who are experts in legitimation.”42 Edward Said called them the ones who “struggle to change minds and expand markets.”43 They emerge out of the old order, but no longer deluded by the notion that they are neutral, they work in a conscious way to construct a new social hegemony. The important question for these intellectuals is whose interests they serve. Organic intellectuals may ally with the dominant group of the old order. They can attempt to translate the old wine of the dominant group’s power into the new wineskin of an hegemony they produce. Organic intellectuals of the dominant group most often are not what they appear to be. A good example is the emphasis on “spiritual revolutions” or “spiritual-but-not-religious” that views all moves beyond existing institutional as emancipatory. From Gramsci’s perspective, these kinds of gestures mask their reactionary core, which is driven, in truth, to save the power of the present institutionalized social order by translating it into a new commodified one. In theological terms, this type of organic intellectual can be thought of as a Neo-Liberal Protestant. This turn of phrase saddles them with all the baggage brought by both of these terms, neoliberal and Protestant Liberal, but links them also to the insidious role played by liberal protestants in Germany. On the other hand, there are organic intellectuals who devote their work to liberating what the dominant group suppressed, exposing that group’s ideology, and creating a truly new order of things. Gramsci calls them organic intellectuals of the subaltern, of what has been excluded. This kind of organic intellectual arises in two ways. Either they emerge directly from the subordinated group, or they are converted to the work from the ranks of traditional intellectuals. It is my position that local formation schools can be sites for the cultivation of organic intellectuals of the subaltern. This subaltern theological education is made up of those, in the church and in the seminary, who refuse to accept the diremption of theology and the church’s mission and ministry; or the managerialization of the priesthood; or the commodification of theological education and pastoral care. And it is in terms of these two possibilities of organic intellectuals that the ambiguity and ambivalence of local formation schools come into sharp relief. Many will seek to make these schools not just into sites that further fragment theological education, but which incubate the church’s commodification. If

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this is the case, local formation schools will only accelerate the erosion of the social base of the church’s reproduction, because they will further remake theological education into a trade school rather than a school of management and will be just another means by which the social base is commodified. If the church takes this path, then local formation schools will be disastrous. But local formation schools may also be sites of a truly revolutionary reintegration of theology and church, of theological education and pastoral care. They may be sites in which the profound need for organic intellectuals of a counterhegemony may take refuge and begin to (re)build an institutionalized social order in the church that recognizes no distinction between the church’s mission and ministry in making disciples and the task of teaching and learning that we call theological education. This will require a new kind of theologian, serving the church, a new kind of seminary professor. As theological educators, we cannot be traditional intellectuals. We will have to commit, with conscious intention, to a project of reintegrating theology and church, theological education and pastoral care, and within which theological education belongs to the whole church and is no longer a commodity. This is where I find myself. This is what I attempted to do when I was dean of the now defunct Alabama Integrative Ministry School. This chapter has emerged from my critical reflection on doing theological education within this domain of social reproduction, rather than outside it. I want to underscore that, although I have submitted the modern seminary to considerable critique, the reader should not conclude that I believe seminaries ought to be abandoned. I do not want seminaries eradicated. I want them converted—converted to this work of forging a new and reintegrated order. I want schools training clergy that are integrated into the mission and ministry of their dioceses and its parishes, and which arise out of the teaching and learning of disciples in those places. I want schools that are clear extensions the episcopal, presbyteral, diaconal, and lay ministries that animate them. I want schools that employ the theological resources of their dioceses, as well as fairly remunerate those resources—and this is no small thing, since the zone of social reproduction is always undercompensated. I want schools that are rooted in organizational networks that extend from diocese to diocese and have a voice and place at the national level of their denomination’s governing bodies. There is a crisis in theological education, but it is not a crisis of theological education. It is a crisis of pastoral care, a crisis arising out of a basic separation of theological education from pastoral ministry. Having entered this crisis, though, we cannot turn back to the previous era. As Gramsci says, the old has died and the new cannot yet be born. And in this interregnum, there will be many, many morbid symptoms. Let us unite to ensure that local ministry schools do not become yet another sign of death. Let us unite to create a renewed integration of theological education and pastoral ministry.

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NOTES 1. A version of this chapter was originally presented as the keynote address to the Society of Scholar Priests on June 11, 2019. 2. I use the term “modern seminary” rather than the more familiar terms “traditional” or residential seminary. My reasons for doing so will be clear as the argument proceeds. 3. For a paradigmatic framing of the issues theological schools face as primarily matters of administrative vision and governance, see Daniel O. Aleshire, Earthen Vessels: Hopeful Reflections on the Work and Future of Theological Schools (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2008). 4. I am using this phrase “crisis of pastoral care” in the same manner in which Nancy Fraser and others have developed a critical theory focused on a “crisis of care” in capitalist social reproduction. I discuss this idea in relation to pastoral care below. Some of the relevant literature on this crisis of care is: Cinzia Arruzza, Tithi Bhattacharya and Nancy Fraser, Feminism for the 99% (New York: Verso, 2019); Nancy Fraser, “Contradictions of Capital and Care,” in New Left Review 100 (Summer, 2016): 99–117; Fraser, “Can Society Be Commodities All the Way Down?: Post-Polanyian Reflections on Capitalist Crisis,” in The Common Growl: Toward a Poetics of Precarious Community, ed. Thomas Claviez (New York: Fordham, 2016), 139–58; Ruth Rosen, “The Care Crisis,” The Nation, February 27, 2007; Cynthia Hess, “Women and the Care Crisis,” Institute for Women’s Policy Research Briefing Paper no. 401, April 2013; Daniel Boffey, “Half of All Services Now Failing as UK Care Sector Crisis Deepens,” Guardian, September 26, 2015; Arlie Hochschild, The Time Bind (New York: Henry Holt & Company, LLC, 2001); Heather Boushey, Finding Time (Cambridge: CUP, 2016); Shirin Rai, Catherine Hoskyns, and Dania Thomas, “Depletion and Social Reproduction: The Cost of Social Reproduction,” CSGR Working Paper 274/11, Warwick University: Centre for the Study of Globalisation and Regionalisation, available at https://warwick​.ac​.uk​/fac​/soc​/pais​/research​/researchcentres​/csgr​/papers​/workingpapers​/2011​ /27411​.pdf. 5. As an example of the kind of reflection I am here saying we must avoid, see Gary Guttin, “Why College Is Not A Commodity,” in The Chronicle of Higher Education, September 11, 2015 (https://www​.chronicle​.com​/article​/Why​-College​-Is​ -Not​-a​-Commodity​/233011). As the title clearly states, Gutting argues that a college education is not a commodity, which he clearly intends to be a normative rather than a descriptive claim. The trouble is that he assumes that we simply need to stop treating it as a commodity and, instead, acknowledge its intrinsic value. But the status of education as a commodity is a social and economic reality that is not at all subject to whether we recognize its intrinsic value or not. If we want college education not to be a commodity, then that will have to be a political and economic task and achievement, not merely a matter of recognizing its inherent value. Saying only what this teaching and learning ought to be leads us to keep this issue at the level of an abstract, regulative ideal. But the issue we want to confront is the fact that we do not have

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churches—and I do not mean only The Episcopal Church or other mainline Protestant denominations, but Roman Catholics, Orthodox, and Evangelicals as well—capable of sustaining a coherent teaching office or being a Body of teaching of learning, and we need to rebuild them. That is a material, political, and economic task, not simply an ideal moral description of what we want the church to be. 6. I explain what I mean by pastoral care below. 7. For an excellent bibliography of the core literature, see “A Bibliography of Theological Education,” in Theological Education 30.2 (Spring 1994): 89–98 as well as the summary of that literature by Barbara G. Wheeler and David H. Kelsey, “The ATS Basic Issues Research Project: Thinking about Theological Education,” 71–80 in the same volume. 8. H. Richard Niebuhr, Daniel Day Williams, and James M. Gustafson, The Advancement of Theological Education: The Summary Report of a Mid-Century Study (New York: Harper’s, 1957), 209. This report was also published in a different form, which does not include this quoted portion, under the title The Purpose of the Church and Its Ministry, which is available online at: https://web​.archive​.org​/web​ /20051128035723​/http:/​/www​.religion​-online​.org​/showbook​.asp​?title​=407. 9. Jeffrey K. Hadden, The Gathering Storm in the Churches (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1969). 10. Here, I should advert to Lyndon Shakespeare’s important work Being the Body of Christ in the Age of Management (Eugene, OR: Cascade Books, 2016). 11. The site that hosted the interview is no longer available but a copy is available at: https://religiondocbox.com/Christianity/95379538-Interview-with-edward-farleyfrom-the-web-site-resources-for-american-christianity.html (accessed 25 July, 2022). 12. Farley returned to the topic again five years later with The Fragility of Knowledge (1988), and then the 1990s saw a number of significant works appear, continuing to identify the fragmentation, loss of purpose, and managerialization as the sources of the problem. 13. Charles Wood, Vision and Discernment: An Orientation in Theological Study (Decatur, GA: Scholars Press, 1985). 14. See chapter 3 of the present volume, “The Dramatic Shifts in Theological Education: A Grounded Theory Approach,” Kelly D. Campbell and Kris Veldheer, citing Leith. 15. I should note that it is not incidental Schleiermacher provided the justification for this model of theological education. He was the main figure identified as responsible in Frei’s The Eclipse of Biblical Narrative for attempting in biblical hermeneutics to mediate the particularities of Christianity in relation to the general sciences. We should not be surprised that the vision for theological education that is founded on this model also falls apart at exactly the same point that Schleiermacher’s Christology flounders. That is, however, not a point that many Neo-Liberal Protestants are willing to concede, for various reasons. 16. N.B., I don’t mean normatively, but factually. It’s a matter of extrinsic compulsion, regardless of what any given seminary or professor believes or wants theological education to be.

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17. Church Pension Group Office of Research, Whither Though Goest: Assessing the Current State of Seminaries and Seminarians in The Episcopal Church (Church Pension Group, 2015). Available at: https://www​.cpg​.org​/globalassets​/documents​/ publications​/whither​-thou​-goest​-assessing​-the​-current​-state​-of​-seminaries​-and​-seminarians​-in​-the​-episcopal​-church​.pdf. 18. Matthew Price was kind enough to share his presentation with me for the purpose of this chapter. 19. Also, important to note is that the number of these ordinations that included an MDiv degree from an official seminary of the Episcopal Church (TEC) was roughly 80 percent during this entire time period. (Whither Thou Goest, 5). 20. I do not have statistics for the numbers of priests per parishioners, so I don’t know how it compares in that way. Nor did I track down worship attendance going back that far, but we do know that worship attendance has been in decline, decreasing 12 percent between 2007 and 2012, with virtually identical decreases in numbers of baptized members and communicants in good standing, during the same period. See: https://www​.generalconvention​.org​/par​ochi​alre​port​results. 21. Whither, 6. 22. Whither, 4. 23. See Figure 1.2 and 1.3 in this essay and see also Whither, 7. 24. Whither, 8. 25. See Whither, 2 and 5–9. 26. Whither, 8. 27. Whither, 33–34. Whither identifies four trends, specifically: “rising age at ordination, growing seminary tuition/fees, decreasing average net-worth of U.S. families, and the diminishing number of full-time, well-compensated TEC parish positions” (33). 28. Friedrich Schleiermacher, A Brief Outline of Theology as a Field of Study, trans. Terrence Tice (New York: Edwin Mellen Press, 1990), 5–9. 29. Nancy Fraser and Tithi Bhattacharya, in particular, make the point that traditional systems of production, like the seminary, create broader forms of life that are the condition for the reproduction of that system. These realms of social reproduction are necessary for maintaining social bonds that sustain the system of production itself. That system requires stable, dependable social relations that serve its interests. As Fraser notes, this separates the domain of production from the realm of social reproduction. Production and social reproduction are treated as two separate things, when they are, in fact, integral to one another. As Fraser puts it: “Production moved into factories and offices, where it was considered ‘economic’ and remunerated with cash wages. Reproduction was left behind, relegated to a new private domestic sphere, where it was sentimentalized and naturalized, performed for the sake of ‘love’ and ‘virtue,’ as opposed to money. This separation is also gendered, on the whole. Social reproduction is feminine, separated from the realm of production, which is male. It is also racialized. Production is colonial and white, and social reproduction is colonized and nonwhite.” Sarah Leonard and Nancy Fraser, “Capitalism’s Crisis of Care,” in Dissent (Fall 2016) https://www​.dissentmaga‑ zine​.org​/article​/nancy​-fraser​-interview​-capitalism​-crisis​-of​-care. 30. Nancy Fraser, “From Progressive Neoliberalism to Trump—and Beyond,” in American Affairs 1:4 (Winter 2017): 46–64 (https://ame​rica​naff​airs​journal​.org​/2017​ /11​/progressive​-neoliberalism​-trump​-beyond/).

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31. Nancy Fraser, “Can Society Be Commodities All the Way Down? PostPolanyian Reflections on Capitalist Crisis,” in The Common Growl: Toward a Poetics of Precarious Community, ed. Thomas Claviez (New York: Fordham, 2016), 139–58 (139). 32. This is the way that Moishe Postone describes the relation between labor and value. See Moishe Postone, Time, Labor and Social Domination: A Reinterpretation of Marx’s Critical Theory (Cambridge: CUP, 1996), 289–93. 33. On the significance of the post-World War II era for economics and theological education, see Joseph Lough’s essay in this volume. 34. Fraser describes this historical period “state-managed capitalism.” See Nancy Fraser, “Legitimation Crisis? On the Political Contradictions of Financialized Capitalism,” Critical Historical Studies 2, No. 2 (September 2015): 166–75. 35. Edward Farley, Theologia: The Fragmentation and Unity of Theological Education (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1983), 175–76. 36. Farley, Theologia, 127–28. 37. See John Patrick Leary, Keywords: The New Language of Capitalism (Chicago: Haymarket Books, 2018). See also Leary, “Enough With All the Innovation,” in The Chronicle of Higher Education, November 11, 2018 (https://www​.chronicle​.com​/ article​/Enough​-With​-All​-the​-Innovation​/245044). 38. See John Patrick Leary, “The Innovation Cult,” in Jacobin April 16, 2019 (https://www​.jacobinmag​.com​/2019​/04​/innovation​-language​-of​-capitalism​-ideology​ -disruption). 39. We must be honest about ways the compulsions of commodification that beset and threaten the modern seminary are now being insinuated into the church. For example, when we want to plant churches, we are encouraged to think outside the box and start a coffee shop or hold church in a bar. We regularly hear ministers encouraged to be entrepreneurs. We praise churches “without walls.” We do clergy colleges on Seth Godin or have them read Steve Jobs’s biography. We imagine these to be radical, transformative changes that make the church of the future. But the truth is, these kinds of approaches are animated by deeply reactionary impulses, which redeploy the tropes of social emancipation in service to the interests of the status quo. On this point, see Corey Robin, The Reactionary Mind: Conservativism from Edmund Burke to Donald Trump, 2nd ed. (Oxford: OUP, 2017). 40. Fraser, “Legitimation Crisis,” 178. 41. For Gramsci on education, see the selection in Antonio Gramsci, The Gramsci Reader: Selected Writings 1916–1935, ed. David Forgacs (New York: NYU Press, 2000), 300–22. My summary of Gramsci here is indebted to Peter Mayo, Gramsci, Freire, and Adult Education: Possibilities for Transformative Action (New York: Zed Books, 1999) and Valeriano Ramos, Jr., “The Concepts of Ideology, Hegemony, and Organic Intellectuals in Gramsci’s Marxism,” in Theoretical Review no. 27, MarchApril 1982 (available at https://www​.marxists​.org​/history​/erol​/periodicals​/theoretical​ -review​/1982301​.htm). See also Nancy Fraser’s pairing of Gramsci with Habermas in “Legitimation Crisis?” p. 172. 42. Mayo, Gramsci, Freire, and Adult Education, 41. 43. Quoted in Mayo, Gramsci, Freire, and Adult Education, 41.

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BIBLIOGRAPHY Church Pension Group Office of Research. Whither Though Goest: Assessing the Current State of Seminaries and Seminarians in The Episcopal Church. Presentation. New York: Church Pension Group, 2015. Available at: https://www​ .cpg​.org​/globalassets​/documents​/publications​/whither​-thou​-goest​-assessing​-the​ -current​-state​-of​-seminaries​-and​-seminarians​-in​-the​-episcopal​-church​.pdf. Farley, Edward. Theologia: The Fragmentation and Unity of Theological Education. Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1983. Fraser, Nancy. “Legitimation Crisis? On the Political Contradictions of Financialized Capitalism” Critical Historical Studies 2, No. 2 (September 2015): 157–189. ———. “Can Society Be Commodities All the Way Down: Post-Polanyian Reflections on Capitalist Crisis.” In The Common Growl: Toward a Poetics of Precarious Community. Ed. Thomas Claviez. New York: Fordham, 2016. ———. “From Progressive Neoliberalism to Trump—and Beyond.” In American Affairs 1:4, Winter 2017. https://ame​rica​naff​airs​journal​.org​/2017​/11​/progressive​ -neoliberalism​-trump​-beyond/. Leary, John Patrick. “Enough With All the Innovation.” In The Chronicle of Higher Education, November 11, 2018. https://www​.chronicle​.com​/article​/Enough​-With​ -All​-the​-Innovation​/245044. ———. “The Innovation Cult.” In Jacobin, April 16, 2019. Accessed May, 2020. https://www​.jacobinmag​.com​/2019​/04​/innovation​-language​-of​-capitalism​ -ideology​-disruption. ———. Keywords: The New Language of Capitalism. Chicago: Haymarket Books, 2018. Mayo, Peter. Gramsci, Freire, and Adult Education: Possibilities for Transformative Action. New York: Zed Books, 1999. Niebuhr, H. Richard, Daniel Day Williams, and James M. Gustafson. The Advancement of Theological Education: The Summary Report of a Mid-Century Study. New York: Harper’s, 1957. Postone, Moishe. Time, Labor and Social Domination: A Reinterpretation of Marx’s Critical Theory. Cambridge: CUP, 1996. Schleiermacher, Friedrich. A Brief Outline of Theology as a Field of Study. Trans. Terrence Tice. New York: Edwin Mellen Press, 1990. Wood, Charles. Vision and Discernment: An Orientation in Theological Study. Decatur, GA: Scholars Press, 1985.

APPENDIX 1: FURTHER READING “A Bibliography of Theological Education.” In Theological Education 30.2. Spring 1994. Aleshire, Daniel O. Earthen Vessels: Hopeful Reflections on the Work and Future of Theological Schools. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2008.

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Arruzza, Cinzia, Tithi Bhattacharya and Nancy Fraser. Feminism for the 99%. New York: Verso, 2019. Boffey, Daniel. “Half of All Services Now Failing as UK Care Sector Crisis Deepens.” The Guardian, September 26, 2015. Boushey, Heather. Finding Time. Cambridge: CUP, 2016. Farley, Edward. The Fragility of Knowledge: Theological Education in the Church and University. Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1988. Fraser, Nancy. “Contradictions of Capital and Care.” New Left Review 100 (2016): 99–117. [Delivered in French as the 38th annual Marc Bloch Lecture of the École des hautes etudes en sciences sociales; French text is posted online: https://www. ehess.fr/fr/media/38econférence-marc-bloch-contradictions-sociales-capitalismenancy-fraser. A revised version is published as “Crisis of Care? On the SocialReproductive Contradictions of Contemporary Capitalism,” in Mapping Social Reproduction Theory, ed. Tithi Bhattacharya (Pluto Books, forthcoming)]. Frei, Hans W. The Eclipse of Biblical Narrative: A Study in Eighteenth and Nineteenth Century Biblical Hermeneutics. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1974. Gramsci, Antonio. The Gramsci Reader: Selected Writings 1916–1935. Ed. David Forgacs. New York: NYU Press, 2000. Guttin, Gary. “Why College Is Not A Commodity.” In The Chronicle of Higher Education, September 11, 2015. https://www​.chronicle​.com​/article​/Why​-College​ -Is​-Not​-a​-Commodity​/233011. Hess, Cynthia. “Women and the Care Crisis.” Institute for Women’s Policy Research Briefing Paper No. 401, April 2013. Hochschild, Arlie. The Time Bind: When Work Becomes Home and Home Becomes Work. New York: Henry Holt & Company, LLC, 2001. Leonard, Sarah and Nancy Fraser. “Capitalism’s Crisis of Care.” In Dissent, Fall 2016. https://www​.dissentmagazine​.org​/article​/nancy​-fraser​-interview​-capitalism​ -crisis​-of​-care. Rai, Shirin, Catherine Hoskyns and Dania Thomas. “Depletion and Social Reproduction: The Cost of Social Reproduction.” CSGR Working Paper 274/11, Warwick University: Centre for the Study of Globalisation and Regionalisation. https://warwick​.ac​.uk​/fac​/soc​/pais​/research​/researchcentres​/csgr​/papers​/workingpapers​/2011​/27411​.pdf. Ramos, Jr., Valeriano. “The Concepts of Ideology, Hegemony, and Organic Intellectuals in Gramsci’s Marxism.” In Theoretical Review no. 27, March– April 1982. https://www​.marxists​.org​/history​/erol​/periodicals​/theoretical​-review​ /1982301​.htm. Rosen, Ruth. “The Care Crisis.” In The Nation, February 27, 2007. Shakespeare, Lyndon. Being the Body of Christ in the Age of Management. Eugene, OR: Cascade Books, 2016. Wheeler, Barbara G. and David H. Kelsey. “The ATS Basic Issues Research Project: Thinking about Theological Education.” In Theological Education 30.2. Spring 1994.

Chapter 2

The End of Seminary Joseph W. H. Lough

Between 1984 and 1985, enrollment at residential theological seminaries witnessed an almost imperceptible dip in enrollments, from 56,466 to 56,328, a mere 138 students, less than 1 percent. The drop was nevertheless significant. It marked the first time since the Association of Theological Schools (ATS) began keeping records that overall enrollment at seminaries had dropped. Enrollments dropped again in 1986, and again in 1987. In 1988 they mysteriously recovered. For the next decade and a half, the numbers continued to rise. But just as enrollments appeared to have returned to normal, the numbers once again began to decline, this time permanently. Between 2004 and 2008, seminary enrollments dropped by over 5 percent; and again between 2008 and 2012 by more than 3 percent. Since 2012 they have fallen another 3 percent.1 One way to interpret these numbers is as evidence that mainstream religious traditions are losing “market share.” A March 2016 headline in SBC Life, the journal of the Southern Baptist Convention, says it all: “Southern Seminary Sees Record Enrollment, Program Expansion.”2 A comparison of 1990 enrollments with 2015 enrollments at other Evangelical, Fundamentalist, and Pentecostal seminaries shows similar numbers. The Church of God in Christ recorded 92 students enrolled in 1990; by 2015 enrollment had increased to almost 160.3 In their exhaustive study of Church attendance records from colonial times to the present, Roger Finke and Rodney Stark show similar numbers. Since 1940, the United Methodists have lost 56 percent of market share—the year-to-year percentage change in the total market of churchgoers a denomination enjoys; the Presbyterian Church (USA) has lost 60 percent; my own Episcopal Church (USA) has lost 51 percent; the Christian (Disciples) have lost 79 percent; and the United Church of Christ (Congregationalists) have lost 66 percent. Evangelical, Fundamentalist, and 29

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Pentecostal churches, in contrast, have seen their market share explode since 1940: the Southern Baptists by 37 percent; the Church of the Nazarene by 63 percent; Assemblies of God by 221 percent. But even these numbers are modest when set alongside those of the Church of God (Cleveland, Tenn.), clocking in at 501 percent; the aforementioned Church of God in Christ at 1292 percent; and our newest arrival, the Pentecostal Assemblies of the World, at 2375 percent.4 What is remarkable is that, notwithstanding these huge numbers, in aggregate seminary enrollments are still in decline. Which may help to explain why a small group of scholars who study spiritual awakenings believe that this shift from mainline Protestant and Roman Catholic churches to churches outside of the mainstream (or to no churches at all) is evidence of a new spiritual awakening. Strange as it may seem in this time of cultural anxiety, economic near collapse, terrorist fear, political violence, environmental crisis, and partisan anger, I believe that the United States (and not only the United States) is caught up in the throes of a spiritual awakening, a period of sustained religious and political transformation during which our ways of seeing the world, understanding ourselves, and expressing faith are being, to borrow a phrase, “born again.”5

Awakening scholars specialize almost exclusively in the Americas during the modern period, since the seventeenth century. For our purposes, this may prove a serious limitation. This is because most European scholars frame modern spiritual awakenings as a response to the birth of capitalism, and they trace the birth of capitalism to the textile industry in fourteenth-century Ghent. By the time we reach the First Great Awakening, 1730–1760, the capitalist social formation has already been a half-millennium in the making. If the pattern of awakenings is structured by and in response to the expansion of capitalism, then the history of the Americas since colonization does not provide a broad or long enough frame. The pattern of crisis and renewal established by the Protestant Reformation and repeated in each successive awakening—in 1730–1760, 1800–1830, and 1890–1920—was already a response to the birth of the capitalist social formation. Awakening scholars detect this same pattern repeating itself beginning in the 1970s: The 1970s were a significant period in a long process of moving away from old-style religion toward new patterns of faith. In the last decade, this shift has accelerated exponentially, sweeping millions more into both discontent and the longing for change.6

Awakening scholars point out that this shift differs fairly dramatically from what social scientists have sometimes called the twin processes of

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“disenchantment” and “secularization.” They point to widely circulated studies conducted by the Pew Research Center, whose survey research shows a growing number of those surveyed reporting “spiritual peace and well-being” and a sense of “wonder about the universe” (Pew 2016). Our population is not growing less “spiritual,” but less “religious.” Awakening scholars, such as Diana Butler Bass and Robert William Fogel, see in these numbers evidence of a Fourth Great Awakening.7 Still another way to interpret the decline in residential seminary enrollment is as evidence of nothing more sublime than a shift in market forces. Residential seminaries are part of a much larger set of institutions that economists place within what is called the “educational goods market.” The recent decline in enrollments needs to be set against the backdrop of the historically unprecedented increase in enrollments beginning just after World War II. Between 1938 and 1945, the federal government spent a historically unprecedented sum of nearly $506 billion defeating the Germans and Japanese. That money ended up in the bank accounts of American working families. These families spent their newfound wealth on, among other things, educational goods for their children, including post-secondary education, including seminary. Following the war, working families continued to benefit, first from the elimination of any global competition (Japan and Germany lay in rubble), but then from tax-dollars—nearly $180 billion—spent on the economic recovery of their former enemies. Working families responded to these unprecedented public outlays by sending their sons and daughters in unprecedented numbers off to college and off to seminary. But, what about the dip in enrollments from 1984 to 1987 (when I was attending seminary)? It so happens that that, too, has a straightforward macroeconomic explanation. In 1979, with the US economy weighed down under a combination of stagnant growth and wage and price inflation, Paul Volcker, the Carterappointed Chair of the Federal Reserve, raised interest rates by between 10 and 15 percent, and then to 20 percent. In the words of economic historian Jeffrey Frieden, “This drove the economy into two successive recessions, reduced manufacturing output and median family income by 10 percent, and raised unemployment to nearly 11 percent.”8 Working families in large numbers suddenly found it impossible to afford the newly revalued price tag of higher education. To ease this burden, the new president, Ronald Reagan, could have encouraged investors, through a combination of taxes and incentives, to place more of their capital into manufacturing; or, he could have convinced Congress to do something his Republican predecessor Richard Nixon had tried, but failed, to do: pass universal, single-payer public healthcare legislation; or he could have engaged in massive public works, say, by rebuilding America’s now second-rate rail system. This would not only have provided short-term employment but would also have vastly increased the

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efficiency of transporting goods nationwide. Or he could have dramatically increased subsidies for higher education for working families. The effect of any of these policies would have been real increases in productivity, increases in the efficiency of both human and real capital, and real economic growth. What the new president did instead helped those at the very top of the income hierarchy. To be sure, by deregulating the financial industry and lowering the share of the tax burden that fell to wealthy families and corporations, Reagan made it less burdensome for working families to borrow against the future for their sons’ and daughters’ educations today. In the long run, however, this merely saddled working families with unmanageable debt. Thirty years later, with student debt hovering around $1 trillion,9 it is not too difficult to surmise who were the winners and who the losers in this gamble. Of course, one might still wish to see even in these numbers evidence of God’s handiwork. It is certainly possible that God did not like all of those demonstrators in the streets in the 1960s. Perhaps God did not like the democratization of the educational goods market: the dramatic increase in enrollment from working families; the equally dramatic increase in the enrollment of women, people of color, and those suffering from disabilities. So, it is possible that God used macroeconomic forces to place constraints on the educational goods market; constraints that led to the segmentation of those markets into high-end, mid-range, and low-end educational goods suited to everyone’s bank accounts and everyone’s educational needs. It is certainly possible therefore to see God’s handiwork in the market fluctuations from 1938 to the present. Let me suggest an alternative interpretation.

AN ALTERNATIVE INTERPRETATION At least for the moment, I am deciding not to address the sticky question of whether we should or should not seek or find God’s handiwork whether in the shifting preferences displayed by consumers of religious goods, the declining enrollments at (some) theological seminaries, or in long-term macroeconomic trends. At least initially, I would like us instead to take some time attempting to understand what, more precisely, we mean by “spiritual awakening.” But, for this task I am asking readers to place to one side both formal and functional definitions of “spiritual,” and focus instead on how Christians’ experience of “spirituality” has changed over time. My aim in getting us to think about “spirituality” in this way is very specific. I believe that what Christians naturally, intuitively take to be “spiritual” has changed dramatically over time. If we can explain these changes in how Christians experience “spirituality” without having to resort to explanations that require divine intervention, this, I believe, will bring us somewhat

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closer to understanding the forces at play over the past half century, both in changes in church attendance and in changes in seminary enrollments. Our aim, of course, is not to eliminate God’s role. Rather is it to help us identify and differentiate among the many different causal mechanisms that may be responsible for these changes. We can illustrate the importance of accurately identifying the mechanisms at play with a story most of us already know, the story of Elijah from First Kings. To avoid having to fulfill his calling, we are told, Elijah “went a day’s journey into the wilderness, and came and sat down under a solitary broom tree. He asked that he might die” (1 Kings 19:4). As Elijah sat, he was visited with hurricane winds, by apocalyptic earthquakes, and by fires. The narrator of First Kings then tells us “the Lord was not in the wind, . . . not in the earthquake, [and] . . . not in the fire” (1 Kings 19:11–12 (NRSV)). But then, the narrator reports, there was “a sound of sheer silence.” We might have preferred that Elijah find God in the wind, the earthquake, or the fire, but not Elijah. Elijah, the prophet, heard the “silence.” And, in that “silence” Elijah heard the Lord ask: “What are you doing here, Elijah?” (1 Kings 19:13 (NRSV)). For a moment, I want us to see whether we can channel the spirit of the prophet Elijah. What is “sheer silence”? Is it the same as the apophatic experience of spiritual practitioners? If God is not in the wind, the earthquake, or the fire, does this mean that God has no body? What have Christians heard in this sheer sound of silence? For hundreds of years, spiritual practitioners encountered God through what I call “graceful bodies,” bodies full of grace.10 For these spiritual practitioners, nothing seemed more natural than for God to communicate grace through these bodies: through baptismal waters, through sacramental bread and wine, through anointing oil and incense, but also through specially consecrated individuals—priests, bishops, archbishops, cardinals, monks, nuns, deacons, abbots—and through the institutions where these individuals served— churches, chapels, cathedrals, monasteries, convents, abbeys, hermitages, and priories—and through the literary remains of saints long dead—creeds and confessions, of course, but also commentaries and sermons of Church Fathers and Church Mothers, Canon Law, and Church History. Surrounding living saints, supporting them on all sides, wherever they looked, spiritual practitioners found visible, tangible, evidence of God’s grace. Seminaries in the sense that we think of them today did not exist before the Council of Trent (1545–1563). And, yet, once established, seminaries too were felt, at least among Roman Catholics, Anglicans, and Eastern Orthodox to be institutional means of grace. Beginning in the fourteenth century, however, a growing number of spiritual practitioners began to wonder whether bodies of any kind were suitable for bearing grace. Historians believe that this transformation in

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spiritual experience was closely related to changes in how individuals were coming to experience “value” more generally. Until then, only a handful of philosophers—such as John duns Scotus (1265/1266–1302) and William of Occam (1287–1347), both nominalists—had ventured into such murky territory. Now, however, illiterate peasants and tradesmen began to wonder whether value arose from the materials out of which things were composed, or whether perhaps value might not instead arise from the process of composition itself; or even perhaps, as nominalist philosophers had argued, by the act of “naming” itself. Historians believe that these questions over value began to arise not because tradesmen or peasants overheard debates among scholars at the University of Paris or Oxford, but because of a continentwide transformation in how communities were coming to reckon time and hence value. Economic historian David Landes calls this the “revolution in time.”11 Landes dates it precisely to 1324. We will consider this revolution and consequences for spiritual experience below. In the silence, we hear a dramatic shift in how spiritual practitioners are experiencing value. But that is not all that can be heard. Historians also argue that this “revolution in time” and the new experience of value it gave rise to also lay at the foundations of the new social formation simultaneously taking shape all across Europe. If value lay less in the materials out of which things were composed than in the time spent composing these things, then shortening that time could increase the volume and decrease the per unit costs of any item produced. In that case, clearly, value adhered not in things, but in time, and not in time alone, but in productive time. Below we will explain in greater detail how the “revolution in time” noted by Landes gave rise not only to capitalism but also to a fundamentally new experience of spirituality. Spiritual practitioners in ever larger numbers were coming to experience God’s grace, much as they were experiencing value more generally, less as a substance conveyed through graceful bodies, than as an immaterial substance—in fact, not really a substance at all—conveyed through faith alone. Elijah’s encounter with God’s still, small voice did not bring him or his hearers to abandon a thousand years of tradition, the pascal cup or loaf, the law, or the statutes. Instead, it brought Elijah to view with great skepticism any immediate identification of divine intention with the catastrophes and upheavals surrounding him in the story.

FRÈRE JACQUES The story of Frère Jacques may not look like a catastrophe, but it was. From this catastrophe the entire world marks the passage of time.

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Toward the close of the late middle ages, during Europe’s mini-Ice Age, a piece of technology was introduced into Europe from China that would forever change the course of history. It came, literally, as an answer to prayer. In contrast to equatorial regions of Afro Eurasia, where water clocks and sundials more or less reliably announced times of prayer for cloistered monks, northern Europe suffered from diminished sunlight and freezing waters during its winters, made all the worse by the mini-Ice Age. The Chinese escapement mechanism solved this problem. Affixed to a spring or a weight, the escapement marched off equal units of abstract time. A peg fitted to the gear rotated and, at precisely the right moment it struck a bell and alerted Frère Jacques that it was time to awake his brothers for prayer: “Ding, dang, dong.” By the close of the thirteenth century, cloistered communities, and municipalities all across western Europe were filled with the sounds of bells clanging in unison, announcing times of prayer. They announced times of prayer even for those who had no reason to pray. Terce (9:00 a.m.), Sext (Noon), and None (3:00 p.m.) were non-confrontational. But, particularly during the winter, Matins (2:00 a.m.), Lauds (5:00 a.m.), Prime (6:00 a.m.), Vespers (6:00 p.m.), and Compline (7:00 p.m.) would prevent the nonreligious from enjoying a sound sleep. More importantly, however, over the course of the century, it impressed upon non-religious community members that alongside the variable hours (signaled by the rising and setting of the Sun) that governed their normal workday, there existed fixed hours of equal duration governing the lives of their cloistered neighbors. Obviously, fixed hours are absolutely essential to modern life. But that is not yet the “revolution in time” to which Landes calls our attention. That revolution requires that the value social actors once found in bodies begins to migrate from these bodies to these fixed intervals of time. Social actors need to begin to measure the value of their activity in terms of these fixed intervals of time. And they need to begin to measure the value of the things they produce during these intervals in terms of these intervals themselves. Only once abstract time has replaced bodies as the metric against which value will be measured; only then can we truly speak of a “revolution in time.” For consider, so long as we continue to measure the value of things, of bodies, in terms of the material substances out of which they are composed, those substances are, by their very nature, limited, constrained, and embodied. But, once I begin to measure their value in equal units of abstract time, it is clear that the less time I consume producing the same material good, the greater the material wealth I can generate in the same amount of time. This is the definition of efficiency: more with less, more things of equal or less value. But this is not only the definition of efficiency. It is the definition of capitalism. The bells could not create capitalism on their own. They needed some help.

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THE ABBOT OF SAINT-PIERRE The year is 1324. The abbot of Saint-Pierre has just directed the fuller “to install a bell in the workhouse newly founded by them near the Hoipoorte, in the parish of Saint John.”12 Although it is certain that it was not the good abbot’s intention, to our knowledge his instructions marked the first time anywhere that abstract units of time would be used to measure the value of productive human activity. It marked the birth of capitalism. It also set the stage for the greatest spiritual revolution in history. Georges Espinas and Henri Pirenne were consummate archivists. When in 1906 they collected, edited, and published tens of thousands of records kept by members of the textile industry of Flanders they had collected, there is no evidence that the note issued by the Abbot of Saint Pierre13 held any particular interest to them. However, it did catch the eye of French medievalist Jacques Le Goff14 and, much later, David Landes.15 What Le Goff noticed was how the Abbott’s relocation of abstract time from the cloister to the workhouse also signaled a change in how social actors were experiencing time, a change reflected in their experience of value, in general, but, more specifically, in how they valued bodies. Two centuries still separated the good Abbott of Saint Pierre’s request from Martin Luther’s Ninety-Five theses, and, yet, clearly, the seeds for the Luther’s revolution were planted in the complex relationship formed between the Abbott’s workhouse and his clock tower. If value does not reside in things, where does it reside? Nominalists thought they knew, but their answer required an advanced degree in philosophy simply to formulate, much less understand. The brilliance of the relationships forged between abstract time, abstract labor, and value in Ghent, was that grasping these relationships required no advanced degree at all. Things have value on account of the abstract time spent on their composition. Labor itself has value on account of the time it spends composing things. Things, in contrast, have only material, physical, value. By the time 1517 rolled around, no one had to convince the peasants, farmers, shopkeepers, and tradesmen of northern Germany that divine beings cannot be consumed or that the things we consume cannot be divine—except, of course, spiritually, immaterially, by faith. They were already living—had been living—in a world completely transformed for no less than a century. The foreshortened timeline Americanist scholars have adopted means that as far back as their timeline extends, the world they study has been in constant upheaval, not least religiously and spiritually. The fact that bodies are not graceful, and that grace has no body means that any bodies, however briefly, to which a community might attribute grace is almost instantaneously taken from them. This describes the historical logic, the historical experience, of

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Protestantism since the beginning. But it also describes the historical logic and historical experience of capitalism. Yet, if we begin our story in 1730 or, at the very earliest, 1517, we will miss the signal event that lends our story its coherence; and we will mistake the endless cycles of crisis and renewal as features, not of spirituality under capitalism, but spirituality as such. The gradual attenuation of the institutional body of mainstream Protestantism has been a long time in the making. But its signs were already there at the start. MARY’S BREAST AND JESUS’S WOUNDS We are still a long way from emptied churches and shuttered seminaries. Yet, were it not for the invention of abstract time and value in the fourteenth century, it is certain that we would not be discussing the fate of residential seminaries today. A half millennium of practical education has taught all of us to view institutions—all institutions, no matter how sacred or banal— through the prism of economic efficiency. When a world at war placed hundreds of millions of dollars into the bank accounts of America’s working families, those of us invested in the educational goods market had just cause to celebrate; not the war and its destruction, but the thousands of families that (many for the first time) found it within their means to send their sons and daughters off to college and then off to seminary. When those bank accounts began to run dry in the 1980s, and when the bottom dropped out of the economy entirely in the 2000s, we had good reason to mourn our loss. In the end, however, it scarcely mattered whether God was still calling individuals to holy orders or whether there was still much for those once called to do in their calling. Everywhere shifts in global markets take precedence over divine will, no matter how clear and undisputed the latter might be. Or, we could say, these shifts themselves signal changes in divine will. So certain are we that God is the agent acting in history, that we naturally assume that economic efficiency is among God’s leading tools. If efficiency be a divine instrument, its patent is very recent. Three studies make this recent vintage particularly clear; two on the Virgin Mary and one on Jesus’s wounds.16 In her study, From Sacred Body to Angelic Soul, Donna Spivey Ellington showed, through a careful review of sermons published in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, how Mary’s job description became increasingly attenuated.17 In the fifteenth century, writes Ellington, “The Blessed Virgin was able to do more for God than God could do for himself.”18 Yet, she points out, the Church’s portrait of the Virgin gradually changed during the sixteenth century and became less focused on her body and more on her soul as religious

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life in Western Europe was increasingly dominated by a piety that stressed inner life at the expense of the concrete and the material.19

By the dawn of the modern period, Mary “was a changed individual, no longer quite the same woman who had participated in so dramatic a way in fifteenth-century sermons, artworks, and treatises. She is more distanced from the action, more spiritualized, more passive, and more silent.”20 In her Complex Delight: The Secularization of the Breast (2007), Margaret Miles offers a somewhat more nuanced picture of Mary. “To make a long story—the story of this book—short,” Miles explains, “in 1350, the breast was a religious symbol; by 1750, the breast was eroticized and medicalized, no longer usable, or used, as a religious symbol.”21 More broadly and deeply, from 1350 forward, Mary’s breast was pulled in two directions at once. It was pulled in the direction of erotic titillation, on the one hand, but was suppressed and eliminated by shadows and corsets on the other. High renaissance artists carefully reproduced the exposed breasts of the women to whom their wealthy patrons were attracted: the Mother Mary indeed. Was it a desire to venerate the Holy Virgin, or perhaps some other desire that inspired them? Those eager to venerate the Holy Virgin, on the other hand, had to subject her to a radical mastectomy before they could do so. Both Ellington and Miles credit print media in different ways for the transformation of the Holy Mother. Miles credits the increasingly realistic and increasingly affordable market in erotic art created by the printing press; Ellington credits the visual character of the printed media itself. “Increased reliance on sight and visual awareness” fixed a gulf between the ever-active Virgin that Ellington found at the beginning of the fifteenth century and the distant, spiritualized Virgin found at the end of the sixteenth century. In our view, these both are partial explanations for a more widespread and general transformation in social subjectivity that brought all spiritual practitioners— literate and illiterate, chaste and dissolute—to question the value of bodies as such. In 2003, Peter Widdicombe published a ground-breaking article, tracing in word and in iconography the changing shape of the glorified body of Christ.22 Widdicombe found that “prior to the Reformation, those who wrote about the wounds and the glorified body assumed that the glorified body does retain the marks.”23 But this finding does not quite fit Widdicombe’s research. In fact, according to Widdicombe’s research the transition to which he refers first appeared not in the sixteenth, but in the fourteenth century, when nominalists such as John Duns Scotus and William of Occam argued that God’s declaration was sufficient, absent material causation, to make anything so. More important is the iconography underlying these texts. Throughout the Middle Ages, icons display Christ’s pierced Body suspended

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above the world, blood and water pouring from his sides upon His Church below. The fourteenth century witnesses a decisive shift in such displays. Realistic portrayals of Christ’s pierced Body are no longer offered as lessons in collective redemption, but now bid the isolated viewer to enter the scene individually to feel within him or herself the pain and agony of the Cross. The glorified Body of Christ by contrast knows no such suffering and pain. It stands healthy, strong, and victorious, erect at God the Father’s right hand. The weak, vulnerable, and passible Body celebrated by Cyril, Augustine, and Bede is evidently too flawed to be granted entrance into Heaven. All of this is, of course, summarized by Saint Thomas in his Summa Theologica, Tertia Pars (QQ60–90), where the divine philosopher devotes page after page and chapter after chapter seeking to convince his readers not how God could be present in common bread and common wine—for this would be clear to everyone on its face—but seeking to convince them instead why God was not sacramentally present in all things, everywhere. Saint Thomas, of course, wrote his Summa after the escapement mechanism’s invasion of Northern Europe, but before its specific application to the problem of abstract time and value. Three centuries later the problem was very nearly reversed. Now spiritual practitioners could not imagine how God could be present in anything—bread, wine, water, it made no difference. God, by definition, could not be in it. Clearly Europe was ready for the Protestant Reformation.

ON SPIRITUAL AWAKENINGS No American historian deserves more credit for carving out a sub-field in awakening research than William McLoughlin. According to McLoughlin, spiritual awakenings always pass through five distinct stages: a “crisis of legitimacy”; “cultural distortion”; “new vision”; “new path”; and “institutional transformation.”24 Surely the Protestant Reformation fits this description. Nevertheless, economic historians with more of a European bent, such as Landes and Le Goff, have given us some reason to wonder whether the spirit at work in sixteenth-century Europe was God’s Spirit, or perhaps a spirit of entirely different pedigree. Traditionally, Protestants have been eager to have their cake and eat it too, so to speak. God inspired the Protestant Reformation; and the Protestant Reformation gave rise to capitalism. And, yet, if the story economic historians tell is at least in large part correct, then some credit may also be due to the escapement mechanism, to the cloistered communities of Northern Europe, and to a certain forward-thinking abbot in the parish of Saint John. By shifting how we measure and even how we experience value, the good Abbot set in motion the mother of all “legitimacy” crises:

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no cultural icon, no matter how sacred—not the bread, not the wine, not the Holy Virgin, not even the glorified Body of Christ—would emerge from this crisis unscathed. Here, too, then is “cultural distortion” on the grandest scale. Eventually, of course, spiritual practitioners such as Martin Luther, Huldrych Zwingli, John Calvin, and Thomas Cranmer forged ahead, each with a slightly different “new vision,” each charting a somewhat different “new path,” until, at long last, we arrive at a whole new set—in fact, several sets—of institutions transformed. In fact, one of the problems we have with awakening research is that it takes as its point of departure events and processes some distance down the river of change. Americanists—and this means virtually all of our awakening scholars—are inclined to feel that religious history begins, at the very earliest, in 1620. Europeanists, in contrast, are inclined to view the Americas within a global context. They therefore view colonial America, in particular, as the product of profound world-changing events and processes already well underway when the Mayflower disgorged its radical Protestant passengers at Plymouth. Viewed from Europe, great awakenings appear already from the outset to be freighted with significant economic, social, and political significance. Take, for example, the First Great Awakening. Well before the Mayflower dumped my ancestors at Plymouth, Europe’s new way of measuring value had drifted across the English Channel and had begun to work its magic among British landholders. In fact, by 1516 Sir Thomas More was already crediting enclosure for the rise in vagrancy and vagabondage among the British peasantry: Your sheep . . . that commonly are so meek and eat so little; now, as l hear, they have become so greedy and fierce that they devour human beings themselves. They devastate and depopulate fields, houses, and towns. For in whatever parts of the land sheep yield the finest and thus the most expensive wool, there the nobility and gentry, yes, and even a good many abbots—holy men—are not content with the old rents that the land yielded to their predecessors. Living in idleness and luxury without doing society any good no longer satisfies them; they have to do positive harm. For they leave no land free for the plough: they enclose every acre for pasture; they destroy houses and abolish towns, keeping the churches—but only for sheep-barns.25

Ask Sir Thomas More and you might hear that it was not Thomas Cranmer who inspired the English Reformation, but rather enclosure that inspired the Archbishop. For centuries British Common Law had taught that God granted British commoners rights to noble lands, to supply what was lacking at the noble man’s table in exchange for the privilege of life itself for the commoner and his family. In the sixteenth century, with the invasion of the

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new economic formation, all of this began to change. According to More, the nobility and even churchmen had already learned how to value things and people anew. Historians note how the Catholic monarchs sought to put breaks on economic progress. “But for the consistently maintained policy of the Tudor and early Stuart statesmen,” notes Karl Polanyi, “the rate of that progress might have been ruinous and have turned the process itself into a degenerative instead of a constructive event.”26 Instead, it issued in the mass exodus of peasantry from the English countryside and from there to the shores of North America. And yet the most important point of note in this narrative is not the expulsion of peasant farmers from the British countryside, but the widespread transformation in social subjectivity that rendered this expulsion necessary and even acceptable. Value had already pulled free from the bodies, places, practices, and things to which it formerly had been attached.27 England too was now ready for a spiritual revolution. The Protestant Reformation took many forms in England—high and low church, Baptist, Reformed, and, of course, Henry VIII and Thomas Cranmer’s Church of England. In its most radical form, Reformation meant the complete elimination of all outward signs of grace. We have already seen how beginning in the fourteenth century spiritual practitioners began to doubt the value of institutional means of grace. Nevertheless, continental Reformed and Lutheran communities were never as radical in their rejection of sacred bodies as England’s Puritans. When therefore the opportunity presented itself, which was in 1620, Puritans piled onto the only boat leaving port, the Mayflower. They turned their backs on the old Jerusalem and set out for the new. We can place to one side the troubling fact that when they reached the New Jerusalem, the Puritans found a land already richly populated by communities that had occupied these shores for well over a millennium. A nation ready to uproot thousands of its own families and send them across the icy seas of the North Atlantic was not about to shed tears over the displacement of communities whose outward appearance and behavior differed so greatly from their own. Still, we know from firsthand accounts that the trauma went both ways, touching both those expelled from England and the communities expelled by the invaders. The trauma ran deep. It touched every dimension of social life. For Christians already accustomed to the wide gulf separating dead and lifeless bodies from God’s grace, it was virtually inevitable that they experience this trauma not as the normal and expected consequence of violence, displacement, and fear—not, that is, as the clear signs of PostTraumatic Stress Disorder—but, rather, as the movement of God’s Spirit itself. It is this broad and deep traumatic experience that we call the First Great Awakening.

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Could it have been otherwise? Awakening might have reacquainted these poor lost souls with the material means of grace, the bounty by which they were surrounded. It might have brought them to see in the communion of saints a cloud of witnesses ready to support and bear them forward. Awakening might have opened their eyes to the horrors they were visiting upon the communities they had recently invaded. It might have brought them to wonder at the violence they were committing against members of their own community, especially the women, in their relentless duty to mortify their flesh. Instead, it expressed itself in an often painful, agonizing process where bodies were uprooted even further from the grace they might otherwise have valued. This mortification of the flesh is evident everywhere in the First Great Awakening, but nowhere perhaps more strikingly than in the story of Abigail, a member of Jonathan Edwards’s community, who enjoyed an especially intimate relationship with God. Here is Jeff Sharlet’s account of this saint’s last moments on Earth: “Once, when she came to me,” [Edwards] wrote, “she was like a little child, and expressed a great desire to be instructed, telling me that she longed very often to come to me for instruction, and wanted to live at my house, that I might tell her what was her duty.” Did Abigail long for more than the pastoral care? She was not so ambitionless as she had once seemed. She wanted, most of all, to be seen, and the more she spoke of dying, rapturously, the more he saw her; indeed, seemed to stare at her, even wrote about her. “I am willing to live, and quite willing to die,” she told him, “quite willing to be sick, and quite willing to be well.” Anything for God. She stopped drinking water. Her sister cried; Abigail smiled. “O sister, this is for my good!” Her sister could not understand. “It is best,” explained Abigail, “that things should be as God would have them.” Her brother read to her from the Book of Job, pausing as he came upon a passage about worms feeding on a dead body. No, go on. “It was sweet to her,” Edwards mused, “to think of her being in such circumstances.” Her eyes sank into her skull, her nostrils collapsed. Her hair became brittle. For three days she lay dying. Young men and women came to her bed and leaned in close to her dry lips to hear her. “God is my friend!” she’d whisper. Over and over. God is my friend! . . . “Her flesh,” wrote Edwards near the end, “seemed to be dried upon her bones” (emphasis in original). On Friday noon, June 27, 1735, her “weak clog” of a body submitted to Christ’s desire. She was, at last, beautiful in the eyes of God, and of Jonathan Edwards.28

Sharlet is one of the more eccentric students of spiritual awakenings, less inclined than most to interpret these crises in an emancipatory light. What is clear from Sharlet’s account (and from Edwards’s) is that spiritual awakening

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does not leave the awakened ambivalent over the material means of grace or over the status of bodies more generally. When spiritual practitioners in the late Middle Ages began eliminating wounds in sacred iconography from the glorified Body of Christ, they simultaneously set out to exaggerate these same wounds in their portrayals of the crucifixion. From this, it is difficult not to conclude that the violence to which Christ’s earthly body was made subject was felt to be related to the cleansed and purified appearance of the glorified Lord. Similarly, it seems not unlikely that the eroticization of the Holy Mother’s body was closely related to her androgenization for purposes of worship. Bodies cannot be sacred. Spirits do not have bodies. Even the Holy Sacrament itself can be of value only if it contains no thing divine. The waters of baptism, too, cleanse not because they are consecrated, but only because they symbolize things that are. The First Great Awakening, precisely in its most iconic form, in Jonathan Edward’s New England communities, was an instrument of terror. And, yet, in communities whose social subjectivity was shaped by the new social form, by capitalism, the isolation of bodies from God’s Spirit had become so commonplace that the destruction of Abigail’s body was experienced not as an earthly calamity, but instead as divine grace. Or, more accurately, over the course of the previous three centuries, spiritual practitioners had come to mistake earthly calamity for outward signs of divine grace. Theologically, we are still several decades removed from Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel, Friedrich Wilhelm Joseph Schelling, and Friedrich Scheiermacher. Yet, the distinct outlines of theological romanticism are already present in Jonathan Edward’s First Great Awakening. Threatened bodies, weakened bodies, suffering bodies, bodies in crisis are no more than the outward, external, signs of inner renewal and transformation. When, in the nineteenth century, the new social formation spread across the face of the entire planet, the historical pattern of crisis and renewal it generates will be widely mistaken for the movement of the divine spirit as such. Sharlet is an exception among awakening scholars. Most awakening scholars mistake the crisis-renewal pattern, peculiar to the capitalist period in Christian history, for a transhistorical pattern of quasi-divine origin. In each successive cycle of crisis and renewal, awakening scholars therefore downplay, or ignore, the social, historical, political, and economic occasions for the crises to which spiritual practitioners were responding. They focus instead on the subjective states and inner spiritual conditions especially wellsuited to responding to these crises. This interpretation of recent economic cycles, since the seventeenth century, supports a narrative with which students of economics in the United States are intimately familiar. According to this narrative, social and economic institutions are subject to cycles of crisis and

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renewal. As economies expand and transform more areas of social life, the institutions governing economic expansion must change along with them. Since social groups accustomed to older patterns are threatened by expansion and transformation, each expansionary cycle gives rise to a variety of crises. This was the subject of research for University of Chicago Business School economist Robert W. Fogel, for which he won the Nobel Prize in 1993. Fogel was a consummate economic historian. But he restricted his research and conclusions to the period after 1700, which is precisely the period upon which awakening scholars also stake their case. Is it any wonder, then, that today’s leading awakening scholar, Diana Butler-Bass, is effusive in her praise for Fogel’s study, The Fourth Great Awakening and the Future of Egalitarianism (Fogel 2000)? Only once we broaden our frame to include history prior to the sixteenth century does it become clear that Fogel’s and Bass’s narrative only makes sense within capitalist societies. The crisis and renewal pattern that it takes as divine, economic historians with a somewhat longer memory than Fogel’s identify with economic history since the birth of capitalism when value first pulled free from the bodies with which it had been intimately identified since the beginning of time itself. Once we have adopted a wider frame, it quickly becomes clear that the social, economic, and political convulsions that expelled non-conforming Protestants across the icy Atlantic seas were the same convulsions that prompted Luther, Calvin, and Zwingli to chart a new theological course. Awakening scholars’ crisis-and-renewal model is the spiritual counterpart to Fogel’s economic crisis-and-renewal. But, having established crisis-andrenewal as the divine pattern, awakening scholars then find that its repetition in the eighteenth, nineteenth, and twentieth centuries reinforces the validity of their original interpretation. They forget, or downplay, that the Second Great Awakening is inconceivable without the expansion of slavery across the south and southwest into territories opened up by Thomas Jefferson’s Louisiana Purchase. They forget that it was planters’ insatiable appetite for monetary gain that made these lands prey to land speculators who saw in this “empty” territory unending possibilities for making it rich. But they therefore also forget that these territories were far from empty; that like the northeastern seaboard colonized by their grandparents, the south and southwest was home to thousands of families who for hundreds of years had tended these lands sustainably, but who were now forced to vacate their homes in what was bluntly called the Indian Removal Act. And they forget that the guns, alcohol, prostitution, and gambling that lent first the Louisiana territory and then Texas their peculiar outlaw character were only what one might expect from invaders whose only motivation was money and whose principle means of obtaining that money was the enslavement of families of African descent, the sale of liquor, and the sale of women into prostitution.

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When the Second Great Awakening swept through the south, its preachers might have bewailed the sin of slavery and of Indian removal. They might have invited wealthy planters to mend their ways and actively support efforts to end slavery and grant full civil and social rights to its victims. They might have demanded that the federal government restore seized lands to the Native American communities from which they were stolen, and they might have insisted that these families were compensated for the wrongful deaths of family members and the destruction of their way of life. Instead, Second Great Awakening preachers focused their attention on prostitution, gambling, and alcoholism; that is, they focused on the secondary and tertiary effects of the new social formation spreading across the south and southwest, not upon their cause. Awakening scholars do not deny the intimate relationship between spiritual awakenings and social, political, and economic turbulence. As Bass notes, “The religious recession runs parallel to economic, political, and social recessions as well.”29 Bass even appears to link the two. “As the old forms of economic organization fail, so too the old forms of religious organization that paralleled them are failing.”30 And, yet, instead of faulting these economic forms—old or new—for the violence they imposed and continue to impose upon the bodies of the poor, outsiders, and minorities, awakening scholars are more inclined to see in economic change, crisis and renewal, the invisible hand of God urging us on. Awakening scholars reserve the brunt of their ire for scholars critical of neoliberal practices and policies, who they deem backward and out of step with the times: “Their insistence on the old ways seemed increasingly out of step with the daily lives of regular people, who begin to accept and adapt to economic, social, and technological change.”31 The conviction that change itself is divine—the destruction of old institutions, the building of new ones—is as old as the Reformation itself. But it also highlights an experience of spirituality that resists attachment to bodies of any kind. Whether we are talking about institutions, traditions, creeds, confessions, or practices, it makes little difference. Whether we are focused on the outmoded beliefs and practices rejected by New England Puritans, or the outmoded economic policies promoted by old-style Keynesian economists, the conclusion drawn by awakening scholars is the same. God is in the business of shedding outmoded social, economic, political, and institutional forms. But let us suppose for the moment that it is the economic system that is driving spiritual experience, not only in the sense that any producer needs to move product—that any product not moving has grown stale—but also in the deeper sense that value, even spiritual value, by definition, cannot occupy bodies. In that case, too much attention to bodies—whether of British commoners, women, Native Americans, slaves—brings us to look for grace

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in bodies, where, by definition, it cannot be found. The same, of course, holds true for dead and lifeless institutions, or words, or practices, or deeds or the historical accounts of these dead and lifeless bodies. The cycles William McLoughlin saw repeated in all awakenings—crisis, cultural distortion, new vision, new path, and institutional transformation—might be applied with equal effect to the whole sweep of history since the Reformation. Fogel might have believed that he was breaking new ground. No question, the Nobel Prize selection committee believed that he was. Yet, the narrative upon which Fogel drew in his Nobel Prize-winning research was already deeply etched in the Protestant imagination. Drawing liberally upon McLoughlin’s work, Fogel proposes that, while awakenings arise out of crises, these crises are invariably composed of three factors: At the heart of the turmoil, now, as then, are three factors: a new technological revolution, a cultural crisis precipitated by technologically induced change in the structure of the economy, and two powerful social and political movements confronting each other across an ideological and ethical chasm.32

Of all awakening scholars, Fogel is the keenest to place ethics at the center of his model. “Each cycle consists of three phases, each about a generation long,” writes Fogel. They all begin “with a phase of religious revival that intensifies religious beliefs and ushers in new or reinvigorated ethics and theological principles.”33 “The phase of religious revival is followed by a phase in which the new ethics precipitates powerful political programs and movements.”34 So, for example, the Fourth Great Awakening issued in the election of Ronald Reagan, in whose economic and social policies a new ethic of freedom and religious principles of liberty replaced the old, stale, outmoded ethic of the New Deal and the separation of Church and State.35 Entirely missing from Fogel’s analysis is any attention at all to the form of spirituality itself. Rather are we to assume that like modern economic forms, or like technological innovations, spiritual forms too are driven to constantly change. There is, in fact, more than a hint in Fogel’s study suggesting that the spirituality he has in mind is itself the driving force behind change. This force is compelled by its very nature to repel the bodies to which it becomes episodically attached, isolating itself again and again from the embodied means of grace with which it has become confused. This isolation was already evident, I would argue, in the transformation of Mary’s body, in the disappearing wounds of the glorified Christ, and even in the changing shape of the Holy Sacrament itself. It was also evident in the First and Second Great Awakenings. Yet, its most stunning accomplishment may have been in what religious scholar Jeff Sharlet calls “Jesus, plus nothing”; the notion that Jesus alone, relieved of all of the baggage of

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history, creeds, confessions, buildings, theologies, and traditions—Jesus, plus nothing—might form the entire edifice of a spiritual awakening: the Third Great Awakening. One of the most influential preachers of the Third Great Awakening was Dawson Trotman, founder of the Navigators, whom Jeff Sharlet described as follows: [Trotman] publicly rebuked staffers he thought were “playing games with God,” and he could drive even the manly men with whom he surrounded himself to tears. In place of a traditional ministry, Daws offered a pared-down concept of “discipleship” by which an evangelist picks a target and sticks with him until his “disciple” submits totally to Jesus as the discipler teaches him, the theological equivalent of hazing. Daws wasn’t stupid; he was a strategist who understood that fundamentalism was too intellectual for the men he wanted to reach, men like him—or, more often, men who wanted to be like him. He boiled it down to Jesus plus nothing.36

In effect, once they had removed every distinguishing characteristic from Jesus and from the Church, preachers such a Trotman could in theory bring whatever content they liked to “Jesus.” In fact, the content they gave to their “Jesus” was highly specific. Their Jesus was the antithesis of the “Jesus” of the social gospel, the opposite of the “Jesus” of mainline Protestant churches. On the one hand, Jesus was pure, unadulterated experience: a personal Lord and Savior Who by grace and through faith became one’s own. As Lord and Savior, however, this Jesus demands complete obedience in body, soul, and spirit. Any wandering to one side or the other—to science, to politics, to society, to history, to theology, to ethics—any deviation at all risked abandoning Jesus. This had been the mistake of mainline Protestants. They had mistaken creeds and confessions for faith in Jesus. They had felt obligated for the sake of intellectual integrity to supplement their faith in Jesus with science and history. They had mistaken good deeds and social activism for obedience to Jesus. In its simplest form, however, the Third Great Awakening boils down to this: Jesus, plus nothing. THE FOURTH GREAT AWAKENING If Jesus plus nothing is the essence of the Third Great Awakening, the essence of the Fourth Great Awakening might be “Jesus, plus nothing,” minus Jesus. Any social or historical specificity, Christian or otherwise, stands in the way of an individual’s direct, unmediated encounter with the spirit. Lending any content whatsoever to the divine must, for this reason, be

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counted sacrilegious, an abomination, a violation of the First Commandment. This was also the conclusion reached by the eighteenth-century German philosopher, Immanuel Kant, who showed that any embodiment of the transcendental subject necessarily violated its freedom. In his Religion within the Limits of Reason Alone (1793), Kant established once and for all that embodied, historical, institutional religion, could not, by definition, be divine, since, like all bodies, it would in that case be constrained by the laws of physics. All historical religions, at best, were crude approximations of the absolute transcendental subject, God, Who is the essence of freedom. Jesus, plus nothing, minus Jesus. Entirely on his own, Immanuel Kant’s British contemporary Adam Smith developed a similar approach to political economy. Smith objected to the countless ways that public institutions and private parties intervened into and distorted the “natural” functioning of markets. For centuries, state and religious leaders had believed it their responsibility to care for their subjects and parishioners. In Smith’s view, any intervention into the free flow of goods and services, any constraints upon the freedom of consumers and producers to choose, could not help but harm the very individuals these leaders had felt they were helping. Even where Smith appeared to cross the lines from free markets and unconstrained choice to the constraints imposed by moral sentiment, Smith showed how the two were in fact one: The administration of the great system of the universe . . . the care of the universal happiness of all rational and sensible beings, is the business of God and not of man. To man is allotted a much humbler department, but one much more suitable to the weakness of his powers, and to the narrowness of his comprehension: the care of his own happiness, of that of his family, his friends, his country.37

This cosmic “division of labor,” so to speak, rests at the heart of the Fourth Great Awakening. Boiled down to its simplest principles, the Fourth Great Awakening is all about choice. “Critics assail religious choice as selfish, individualistic, consumerist, narcissistic, navel-gazing, disloyal, thoughtless. But, if for a moment, you strip away all the judgmental religious language, it is just choice.”38 In other words, it is Jesus, plus nothing, minus Jesus. It was evidence of this pure undistorted choice that American historian William McLoughlin saw in the poetry of the Beat movement. McLoughlin was not simply looking for a silver lining to the mass exodus of Americans from mainstream religious institutions. From his vantage point, as an American historian teaching at Brown University in the 1960s, he felt that the freedom expressed by the beatniks, their rejection of literary conventions, and their forays into the depths of human feeling and passion, bore more than

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a slight family resemblance to the ways “new light” awakened Christians rejected the religious forms of “old light” conservatives. Allen Ginsburg, William Burroughs, and Gregory Corso were like “new light” preachers in McLoughlin’s view, prophets charged with announcing the arrival of a new great awakening. The crisis, of course, was not of their making. It was theirs to expose the “cultural distortion,” to frame a “new vision,” and perhaps even to chart a “new path.” Kerouac’s On the Road (1955) and Ginsberg’s Howl (1956) were testimonies of religious rebellion and experience, telling Americans that there was another side to life besides the mechanical escalator of success, the stultifying treadmill of white-collar life. They urged the young to stop worrying about their future and learn to live for the present—to enjoy their feelings, to accept sensuality, to free the essence of their common humanity from lifeless ritual and routine. Beat poetry testified to the personal conversion experiences of these “new lights.”39

That “choice” might be inflected differently seemed not to occur to McLoughlin and his students. Riding the wave of postwar prosperity, they seemed not to notice the intimate relationship the Beat movement bore to “the mechanical escalator of success” and the “stultifying treadmill of whitecollar life” they so abhorred. Projecting their freedom into the not-too-distant future, they could discern the clear outlines of an awakening in full blossom. At some point in the future, early in the 1990s at best, a consensus will emerge that will thrust into political leadership a president with a platform committed to the kinds of fundamental restructuring that have followed our previous awakenings—in 1776, in 1830, and in 1932. Prior to this institutional restructuring must come an ideological reorientation. . . . The godhead will be defined in less dualistic terms, and its power will be understood less in terms of an absolutist, sin-hating, death-dealing “Almighty Father in Heaven” and more in terms of a life-supporting, nurturing, empathetic, easygoing parental (Motherly as well as Fatherly) image.40

What is so deeply troubling about this peculiar reading of recent history is how easily it mistakes surface appearances for the forces giving rise to social, cultural, and political change. The vision of God to which McLoughlin paid tribute was the child of the very institutions—liberal Protestant and Catholic seminaries—that, by his own analysis, had already grown obsolete. Admittedly, 1978 was probably not the best vantage point from which to prophecy the future. Only a year later Federal Reserve Chair Paul Volcker would pull the rug out from under these paradisiacal visions of the future. By raising interest rates to a vertiginous 20 percent, Volcker saved the economy

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by killing the consumer; including the working families that for thirty years had fueled the expansion of American higher learning. In an instant, any visions of a more liberal, open, and progressive future vanished. The first victims of the new economy were the very institutions upon whose demise McLoughlin had predicated the new great awakening. There was a precedent to McLoughlin’s prophecy. Fifty years earlier, when the Great Crash had handed pink slips to more than 25 percent of the American labor force, Christian churches, Protestant and Catholic, were among the first responders; not simply with brass bands and soup kitchens, but with sweeping declarations condemning the evils of free-market capitalism. In his Quadragesimo Anno of 1931, Pope Pius XI made clear that pious Catholics could not support an economic system that failed to provide for families. Five years later at the Oxford Conference of World Protestantism, Protestant leaders issued their own “Report on Christianity and the Economic Order.” Both elicited a blistering response from that bastion of free-market ideology, Fogel’s own University of Chicago. The least familiarity with the “laws” of economics—a much abused term which properly means only the general facts—will show that any general pressure on the employers to pay wages appreciably above the market value of the service rendered is in the first place certain to be injurious to the interests of wageworkers—but more especially to those wageworkers who are already in the weakest position41 (emphasis in original).

Just as Fogel would forty years later, so here in 1939 Frank Knight ridiculed economists and churchmen who believed God might approve of their interventions on behalf of the poor, hungry, and un- or underemployed. According to Knight, “the teachings of Christianity give little or no direct guidance for the change and improvement of social organization”; moreover, where it does give guidance, thought Knight, that guidance can be summarized by the injunction to “obey and support the existing legal order.”42 Anything short of obedience would risk certain disaster. “Evil rather than good,” wrote Knight, “seems likely to result from any appeal to Christian religious or moral teaching in connection with problems of social action.”43 Today’s awakening scholars do not command obedience. Rather do they feel certain that the awakened community will elect representatives and work for progressive legislation regardless of whether or not they enjoy support from shuttered churches and downsized seminaries. They seem not to grasp that the civil rights, anti-war, and women’s rights movements of the 1950s and 1960s succeeded only where they enjoyed institutional support. Free-market ideology becomes propaganda at precisely the moment anticivil rights and anti-voting rights movements acquire institutional power. The

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hundreds of millions of dollars showered upon right-wing social and political groups by wealthy right-wing extremists, such as the Koch brothers, Charles and David,44 earned for right-wing activists the tools and offices they needed to embody their right-wing message. In the name of awakening, progressive spiritual and religious leaders were, in contrast, gleefully celebrating the disappearance of their embodied presence. When in the 1980s President Ronald Reagan maneuvered the largest transfer of wealth from the bottom to the top of the income hierarchy ever attempted until that point in history, Fogel credited this transfer not to active government intervention, but to the natural forces of the free market. And, in an instant, the wealth upon which working families had depended to send their sons and daughters to well-funded, fully staffed universities and seminaries, suddenly dried up.45 Fogel stood in a long line of free-market cheerleaders from the University of Chicago who lent quasi-spiritual authority to the crisis and reform cycles of capitalism. In Fogel’s case, the instrument of divine intervention was technological innovation.46 In the 1930s, working families could rely upon the world council of Protestant leaders and the Catholic workers activists to speak up in their defense. In the 1990s, mainstream Protestants teamed up with an ultraconservative Vatican to celebrate the victory of free-market economics. At the conclusion of her own study of the Fourth Great Awakening, Diana Butler Bass again invoked the memory of Jonathan Edwards, the preacher of the First Great Awakening who attended at bedside to the young woman Abigail during her final moments on earth. Jonathan Edwards imagined each awakening as ripples in the pool of history; throw a pebble in the water and each successive wave moves farther and farther toward the shore. This awakening will not be the last in human history, but it is our awakening. It is up to us to move with the Spirit instead of against it, to participate in making our world more humane, just, and loving.47

A more humane, just, and loving world is presumably something that everyone would agree is good. We might even agree that the transformation in spiritual experience whose evidence we see all around us bears more than a formal resemblance to transformations in the past. Yet, this still leaves us with the question that the Lord posed to Elijah as he sat brooding beneath his broom tree. “What are you doing here, Elijah?” We now turn our attention to posing that question more directly. THE ECONOMICS OF THE END OF SEMINARY Economists both inside and outside the University of Chicago differ on the significance we should lay on technological innovation. Generally speaking,

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however, economists agree; investors innovate whenever they have reason to believe that an innovation will cost them less and will offer them greater returns than will sticking it out with humans or with obsolete technology. We innovate because our marginal returns are improved. Innovation is stressful. It displaces human labor. But it also reverberates through the entire chain of suppliers of goods and services. Here is not the place to review the literature on the role innovation plays in today’s economies. Still, insofar as it bears upon the changing shape of residential seminary, it might be helpful to explore to what extent the “ripples” noted by Jonathan Edwards and celebrated by more recent awakening scholars are either as inevitable or as divine as they suggest. In his study, The Economics of Global Turbulence,48 UCLA economist Robert Brenner carefully reviewed economic data from the last century. His conclusion is that the American economy benefited immensely from its entry into World War II. This conclusion is consistent with the research of any number of economists across the ideological spectrum. Brenner’s research interests us because of the attention he gives to the Japanese and German economies as they returned to full productive capacity in the late-1960s. We might bear in mind that prior to the twentieth-century wars, wealth and wealth expansion was limited to families that already enjoyed wealth. Expanding wealth for working families was an anomaly. Investment patterns during World War I changed wealth distribution in significant ways. These patterns began to redistribute wealth downward. But not immediately. The US contribution to World War I was financed largely by bond sales. To pay its mounting debts, Great Britain initially purchased securities owned by British investors, sold them to US investors, and used the proceeds to purchase the supplies they needed to continue to the war effort. Eventually, as their need grew, the British government simply requisitioned the securities from its citizens. To sell the securities, they called upon J.P. Morgan, with whom they had extensive experience. “From 1914 to 1917,” reports economic historian Jeffrey Frieden, “Morgan’s purchases on behalf of its Allied clients averaged a billion dollars a year, one-quarter of all American exports.”49 The cost of doing business with Great Britain continued to rise. “For a year and a half starting in October 1915, Morgan’s and associated banks brought to Wall Street some $2.6 billion in bonds for the Allies, . . . double the entire outstanding debt of the U.S. government at the time.”50 For J.P. Morgan, it now mattered very much that Great Britain not lose the war. At war’s end, however, a different problem presented itself. In order to retire its debt to J.P. Morgan, Great Britain was dependent on Germany paying the war debts of both France and Great Britain, which, of course, given the draconian terms of the Versailles Treaty, it could not possibly do. This made it increasingly unlikely that J.P. Morgan would be able to settle

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its own accounts, which now ran into the billions. To resolve the dilemma, Morgan called upon his fellow banker and friend, Vice President Charles G. Dawes. The “Dawes Plan,” as it came to be known, provided a channel for J.P. Morgan to lend Germany, on generous terms, sufficient means to begin paying their war debt to France and England, which, in turn, provided France and England sufficient means to pay their debt to J.P. Morgan.51 Seemingly overnight, New York’s banks were swimming in liquidity, capital they were eager to lend to consumers on generous terms. Suddenly families that before the war would never have dreamed of buying on credit found it within their means to purchase a piano, a Model T, or even a home. It was this economy, over-heated by J.P. Morgan’s largesse, that collapsed in 1929. It did not even begin to recover until 1938, when the US Congress approved bonds to pay for the coming war. By war’s end, investors had pumped close to $4.7B into the bank accounts of working families, money that these families spent not only on cars, homes, refrigerators and washing machines but also on sending their sons and daughters off to university and seminary. This is where Brenner’s story takes over. As Japan’s and Germany’s economies return to full industrial capacity, their goods introduce competition into global markets, which, in turn, places downward pressure on prices, but, therefore, also on rates of profit.52 Such downward pressures beg for technological innovation since, at least in theory, technological innovation would allow producers to reduce factor costs—wages and benefits—while maintaining or even increasing output. Yet, since technological innovation risks reducing the work force, it also risks reducing the wages working families have to spend purchasing and consuming the goods produced by others. In this way, even as it improves the efficiency of each individual private producer, the overall effect of innovation on all producers taken together is often absolute decline.53 Nor is this decline solved by expanding what we might call the “social franchise,” that is, by increasing transfers from those who benefit from technological innovation to those working families whose labor innovation has made redundant. For, clearly, if the whole motivation for technological innovation was to restore rates of profit to levels investors enjoyed prior to the 1970s, then transferring their profits to the working families whose labor these innovations made redundant eliminates the motivation for innovation as such. That is because innovation is motivated strictly by the expectation that innovating will give rise to greater marginal returns than failing to innovate. Remove this incentive and innovation will lose its raison d’être. Assuming, for the moment, therefore, that Fogel is right, and that the cultural, social, economic, and spiritual turbulence we see at work in spiritual awakenings is technologically driven, this could suggest that all we

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are lacking at the moment is a new economic equilibrium, a new plateau, sufficiently broad and general for us to catch our breath, reorient ourselves, and move on. What Brenner’s research suggests, however, is that, so long as our motivation remains the accumulation and expansion of abstract value (i.e., profits), that plateau is never reached. This, in fact, is the conclusion reached by the French economist Thomas Piketty and my UC Berkeley colleague Emmanuel Saez.54 When successive US presidents—Carter, Reagan, Bush, and Clinton—deregulated domestic financial and banking markets and shifted tax burdens from capital to wage goods,55 they created a global investment climate that offered investors higher returns on financial goods than they could ever dream of earning by plowing their capital into production units featuring jobs for working Americans. Piketty’s and Saez’ simple formula r > g—where r stands for the average annual return on capital, and where g stands for the rate of growth of the economy—means, first, that there is no longer an incentive for those who enjoy wealth to invest in overall economic growth (g); and, second, that rather than converging toward a new equilibrium, income inequality is destined to grow ever larger with each passing month and year. Those who enjoy wealth will continue to earn higher rates of return than those who do not. Nor will technological innovation, on its own, narrow this growing gap since, once again, the rates of return to those who invest in new technology will always outstrip the returns for those who earn their living working with this new technology or who benefit from its efficiencies.56 Thomas Piketty includes an extensive discussion toward the end of his massive study devoted exclusively to the economics of higher learning. There Piketty notes that the best-endowed institutions weathered the turbulence of the last forty years very differently than those institutions with only modest or no endowments. The best-endowed are all well-known to us: Harvard (with an endowment of some $30 billion in the early 2010s), Yale ($20 billion), and Princeton and Stanford (more than $15 billion). Then come MIT and Columbia, with a little less than $10 billion, then Chicago and Pennsylvania, at around $7 billion, and so on.57

These institutions not only weathered the past forty years. Because of the size of their endowments, owing to the deregulation of financial and banking markets, they actually did much better than they would have had the federal government not intervened. In other words, while universities and seminaries that depended on student tuition and real-time donors for their operating expenses did far worse, universities and seminaries whose operating expenses were paid out of their growing investments did far better—even better than

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they would have had the government failed to redistribute wealth up the income hierarchy. As Piketty puts it: The greater the endowment, the greater the return. For the 60 universities with endowments of more than $1 billion, the average return was 8.8 percent in 1980–2010 (and 7.8 percent in 1990–2010). For the top trio (Harvard, Yale, and Princeton), which has not changed since 1980, the yield was 10.2 percent in 1980–2010 (and 10.0 percent in 1990–2010), twice as much as the less wellendowed institutions.58

This, of course, is terrible news for those seminaries that lack a substantial endowment. But the news gets worse. If Northwestern University economist Robert Gordon is correct, it is next to certain that all of the economytransforming innovations that showered down upon the planet from 1870 to 1970 will not have a successor, especially when we add rising inequality, the growing educational divide, simple demographics, growing debt, and climate change into the mix.59 According to Piketty, income inequality has returned to the same levels it had achieved at the dawn of the twentieth century, when only those at the very top of the income hierarchy could afford or even benefit from a post-secondary university degree.60 This restoration of inequality, particularly in higher education, will be less troubling to some than to others. Throughout the 1950s and 1960s, University of Chicago political philosopher Leo Strauss bewailed the broadening of the educational franchise. As more and more students entered university from households and families unaccustomed to higher learning, the mere presence of these students introduced elements into the university curriculum—race, gender, class, sexual orientation—better suited to coffee houses and taverns than lecture halls and seminar rooms.61 So long as the economy was expanding, Strauss was widely dismissed as a crackpot. Then, during the 1970s, as the economy began to contract, Strauss’s ideas began to catch a second wind. Strauss’s former student, Allan Bloom, used his own appointment at the University of Chicago to disseminate a message that resonated well with the emerging political new right. His 1987 Closing of the American Mind was published well after its ideas had left their mark on President Ronald Reagan’s Secretary of Education, William Bennett. Bennett shared both Bloom’s and Strauss’s conviction that the “democratization” of higher education had been a bad move from the very start. It was Bennett, we might recall, who in response to a question about abortion on a radio call-in show, said: “If you wanted to reduce crime, you could—if that were the sole purpose—you could abort every black baby born in this country and the crime rate would go down.”62 Strauss’s students filled the cabinets of Presidents Reagan, George Herbert Walker and son George Bush, reshaping both economic and

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educational policy. Under their careful watch, educational “choice” increased dramatically. In what economists call market segmentation, the newly deregulated educational market lent itself to an explosion in private, proprietary, educational goods, each specially crafted for and marketed to a specific class of learner. Not all learners are geared for full service, four-year institutions of higher learning. Some learners are better suited to on-thejob learning. Some learners benefit from a complete suite of distinguished tenured professors teaching a full complement of courses in arts, humanities, and sciences. Other learners benefit from more focused offerings. Some learners like to live near campus, study at libraries and coffee shops with other students, and spend their evenings attending special performances or discussions by visiting lecturers. But other learners prefer the flexibility of weekend and evening courses, or courses taught online, giving them the freedom to work during daytime hours and study in between. In strictly economic terms, market segmentation allows investors to craft their products to suit the preferences of a much broader market of consumers. Under the old model, approximately 1912, there was but one product, a university degree, offered to the sons (and occasionally to the daughters) of families perched at the top of the income hierarchy. Since families in the market for educational goods could afford to purchase top shelf products, the competition among those institutions offering such goods was extremely stiff. Each was compelled to field faculty that were highly respected in their fields, faculty who themselves commanded top salaries and security, placing university faculty on par with, or even a step up from, other leading professions such as doctors, lawyers, or industrialists. Interestingly, as war sent wealth down the income hierarchy, it did not give rise to market segmentation. Market segmentation generally is a response to increases, not decreases, in income inequality. When in the 1940s working families suddenly found it within their means to send their sons and daughters off to university and seminary, their sons and daughters received the same full-service, high-end instruction reserved for only the wealthiest families a generation earlier. That is to say, since they could afford the same tuitions that a generation earlier only the wealthiest families could afford, working families were given the same top shelf product. Under the new regulatory regime, approximately 1972, the universal educational franchise was growing increasingly untenable; not only because profit margins across the board were declining, but also because of the dramatic shift in how the central monetary authority was regulating the flow and value of the money it issued. In 1944, economic representatives from the victorious nations in World War II had met in Bretton Woods, New Hampshire, to hammer out a plan to ensure that the global economic outlook would never again grow so unstable as to invite massive political,

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social, economic turbulence and world war. Among the central planks in their agreement was that $35 US dollars would be exchangeable upon request for an ounce of gold. So long as the US economy was expanding, this made US dollars a valuable asset. As the US economy began to contract—and with it the economies of the rest of the world’s industrial economies—this made the US dollar a burden. Nations that possessed dollars could—and did— exchange them for gold. This left the United States, quite literally, holding the bag. The only lasting solution was to impose austerity on the US economy to restore the purchasing power of the dollar. This would bring American prices down and raise the dollar’s true worth toward its official value. Or the American authorities could raise American interest rates high enough to attract foreigners back to dollars; if the Federal Reserve raised interest rates two or three percentage points, investors might buy more American bonds, increasing the demand for dollars and shoring up their price.63 There was only one problem. Either approach would increase unemployment, decrease consumer purchasing power, and depress domestic industry. And 1971 was an election year. President Nixon remembered 1959, when he was serving as vice president to Dwight D. Eisenhower. Nixon was locked in a close-fought battle against Democratic rival John F. Kennedy for the White House. Had Eisenhower taken any steps to weaken the dollar—lowering interest rates, for example, or increasing the monetary supply—Nixon might have seized the upper hand. As it was, he lost by 112,827 votes. Ten years later, a reelection year, Nixon weighed the political costs and decided to take the only step consistent with retaining the White House. He took the Dollar off the Gold Standard. “Over the next few months, the dollar dropped by about 10 percent. Nixon reinforced the impact of the devaluation by imposing a 10 percent import tax to protect American producers, and he also introduced wage and price controls.”64 Up to 1971, working families had relied upon an expanding economy to pay their sons’ and daughters’ college tuition. On the surface, nothing changed. Low interest rates prevailed. A weaker dollar made goods manufactured in the US less expensive to foreign consumers, giving domestic manufacturing a slight bump. And, yet, because the new regulatory regime was based in large part on an accounting gimmick and not on a real increase in productivity, the weaker dollar made foreign goods more expensive for domestic consumers. Internationally, a dollar in 1972 was worth less than a dollar had been worth in 1971. Nixon, to his credit, had tried to get the Democrat-controlled Congress to increase real productivity in other ways. He even proposed universal, single-payer health care as a means for increasing labor productivity, but also in order to relieve large manufacturers, such as auto and steel, of the burden of providing health care for their employees.65 As real productivity

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remained flat, a devalued dollar promoted inflation. The two combined led to an entirely new phenomenon, and a new word: stagflation. Working families continued to send their sons and daughters to universities; their adjusted wages upon graduation continued to rise; but nevertheless, their purchasing power remained flat and even declined. We may recall that it was in this economic twilight that William McLoughlin published his Revivals, Awakenings, and Reform (1978), perhaps hoping against hope that by sheer momentum the spirit of 1968 would survive the 1970s intact. As we already know, it did not. President Jimmy Carter’s modest financial and tax reforms and deregulation gave way to President Ronald Reagan’s radical ones. Working families that had found it surprisingly easy to pay for their sons’ and daughters’ university and seminary training in the 1970s, suddenly found those bills prohibitively burdensome in the 1980s, a direct outcome of what economists call the “Volcker shock.” We have already looked at this shock above. Here we should note its overall effect on market segmentation within the general educational goods market. In the newly deregulated market, where educational goods are crafted to suit the bank accounts and leisure-labor “preferences” of a wide range of consumers, market segmentation is a natural outcome. No one will be the least surprised to learn that this very same regulatory shift also gave rise to an institutional preference for administrators over faculty and outside consultants and subcontractors over in-house staff. Saint Mary’s College of Maryland is typical. Since 2000, the salaries of full faculty have increased by roughly 19 percent; not bad. Yet, during the same period tuition, room and board have sky-rocketed by 60 percent, the salary for the vice president for Business and Finance has increased by 69 percent, for the vice president for Development by 70 percent, and the Provost by almost 75 percent.66 These figures are consistent with figures published by the American Association of University Professors (AAUP).67 But the AAUP numbers document a new trend: the precipitous expansion of the contingent academic labor force at institutions of higher learning. In order to maximize marginal returns, institutions of higher learning are dramatically reducing the number of full-time, tenured faculty and increasing their use of contingent academic labor.68 In 1975, for example, full-time tenured faculty composed 29 percent of the US academic labor force; full-time tenure track 16.1 percent; fulltime non-tenure track 10.3 percent; and 24 percent part-time faculty. The remaining 20.5 percent consisted of graduate student employees. In other words, tenured and tenure-track faculty outnumbered part-time and graduate student faculty. By 1995, this no longer held true. Now tenured faculty made up 24.8 percent of the academic labor force. Tenure-track faculty had fallen more than six percentage points, while part-time and graduate student faculty now made up the lion’s share of the academic labor force: a full 52

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percent. By 2015, the numbers were even more astonishing. Now tenured (21.4 percent) and tenure-track (8.2 percent) faculty made up only 29.6 percent of the academic labor force, while part-time (40 percent) and graduate students (13.7 percent) made up an astonishing 53.7 percent (AAUP 2017). In an attempt to generate efficiencies and expand fiscal flexibility, university trustees and administrators were relying far more heavily on non-tenured, part-time, contingent faculty than tenured or tenure-track faculty. The privatization of formerly public institutions has been a hallmark of neoliberal economic policies. St Mary’s of Maryland is hardly exceptional. Outside of a handful of well-endowed institutions of higher learning, parttime and adjunct faculty are replacing full-time-tenured faculty, lecturers are replacing adjunct faculty, and on-line instruction is replacing in-class, on campus instruction. As wealth at the top of the income hierarchy explodes, working families, whose daughters and sons not long ago could rely upon state and federal revenues to support their public institutions, now find themselves scrambling to make ends meet. But it is important to recognize that their dire straits are less a matter of individual generosity than broad and deep changes in how our economy is regulated. Churches and seminaries thrive where working families enjoy a living wage. All across the United States in the 1950s and 1960s, workingclass neighborhoods featured several mainstream Protestant churches and usually one Roman Catholic Church and one synagogue, that on any given Saturday or Sunday were packed to capacity. Beginning in the 1970s, however, working families were asked to bear an ever-greater proportion of local, state, and federal budgets, while those at the top of the income hierarchy were asked to give less. This shift had a direct impact on how much of their income families could throw into the offering plate. At this very same moment, seminaries and institutions of higher learning were also beginning to feel the pinch, and for the very same reasons. Tuitions had to rise. The downward spiral toward 2000 had everything to do with changes in economic regulation; almost nothing to do with changes in attitudes toward giving. Of course, families that prefer distinguished, full-time, tenured faculty, well-stocked libraries, dining halls, chapels, and a full offering of courses and programs still have this option at well-endowed top tier institutions of higher learning. These institutions look and feel much as they did at the dawn of the twentieth century. Market segmentation takes advantage of rapidly declining income for working families, upon growing income inequality, and upon the reality felt by most seminarians of having to work, provide for a family, and attend classes throughout the school year. For this growing number of seminarians there are night, weekend, and online offerings; offerings which, more often than not, will now be taught by contingent faculty who are themselves sprinting from one campus or online site to another simply to

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make ends meet for their own families. Such offerings are often pitched as “accessible” and “effective,”69 since they can reach communities composed of working moms and dads who often lack the luxury of wiling away their daytime hours in seminar rooms, chapels, coffee shops, libraries, and dining halls. But “accessible” and “effective” suggests that students in the 1980s and 1990s were finding that on-site instruction by distinguished, full-time faculty was no longer “effective”; it suggests that seminarians were finding it difficult to make their way from dorm facilities to lecture halls or mounting the steps to chapel. In fact, what we are talking about is a dramatic shift in the regulatory regime; a shift that offers investors far higher returns from plowing their assets into high-risk financial instruments than into ventures that provide living wages, solid benefits, and a future to working families. This same shift has required that administrators at less well-endowed seminaries shed distinguished, tenured, full-time faculty in favor of contingent labor pools and on-line offerings taught by itinerant scholars. These scholars, run ragged by a nearly impossible schedule and by salaries that rank among the lowest in the nation, are now charged with the high task of training men and women called to holy orders. “Market segmentation” sounds benign, even virtuous; like “accessible” and “effective.” Yet, what we are talking about is, in fact, the end of seminary. Of course, not all seminaries are closing their doors, downsizing their faculties, streamlining their curricula, or moving their operations online. Some—the best-endowed seminaries—are undergoing virtually no change at all. Others—the most theologically and ideologically conservative—are in fact expanding. The largest drops in enrollment, noted above, are in mainline Protestant seminaries; seminaries that, not surprisingly, were among the leading beneficiaries of the demand-side expansion of the 1940s through 1970s. Not surprisingly, perhaps, survey data shows that it is members of these communities—mainstream Episcopalian, Congregational, Lutheran, and Presbyterian—that are overwhelmingly likely to vote Democratic; while it is members of the expanding, growing Christian communities— Assemblies of God, Southern Baptists, and Church of God—that vote overwhelmingly Republican.70 So, perhaps “the end of seminary” is too strong. What we really mean is the end of seminaries that embrace women and men, gay, lesbian, straight, and gender fluid; seminaries that teach a full array of courses covering African, Latin American, Asian, Queer, Feminist and Womanist perspectives on theology, church history, liturgical practice, and mission. What we really mean is the end of seminaries whose administrators dared to offer students from traditionally underserved communities the same high-end instructional experience once reserved exclusively for wealthy, white, male seminarians; administrators who hired and tenured gay, lesbian,

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straight, and gender fluid professors and professors from traditionally underserved communities. What we mean is the end of seminaries that teach a full complement of courses to their seminarians, taught by professors for whom these subjects are more than an avocation or a retirement pastime. These seminaries, so much an icon of the 1960s, 1970s, and 1980s, are fast fading into the past. Still, some interpreters of the last half century of American religious life may be inclined to interpret this changing of the guards as evidence of a Fourth Great Awakening; evidence that we are more attracted to things “spiritual” than “religious,” more attracted to spiritual practices than lifeless institutions. This is how Bass understands this transition: By 2010, the polling data reflect that to be “religious” means that you reject a transcendent and open faith, are afraid to ask questions about the Bible, Jesus, or the creeds, turn your back on the planet, oppose women’s rights, and dislike gays and lesbians, the poor, and immigrants. The experientialists, the romantics, the innovators—Christianity’s creative class—suddenly were called “spiritual.” In popular terms, “religion” stopped the real awakening, but the impulse remained, mostly around movements and practices that became increasingly shy of “religiosity” and that favored a self-understanding of being “spiritual.”71

Yet, what if “spiritual” means abandoning those very institutions—mainline churches and seminaries—that had embraced a transcendent and open faith, that had asked tough questions about the Bible, about Jesus, and about our creeds and confessions, that had defended the planet, that had supported women’s rights, that had embraced gays, lesbians, the poor and immigrants. What if the mass exodus from these institutions was evidence not for spiritual awakening, but for far deeper and broader currents within the capitalist social formation that, while assuming the shape of spiritual forms, are in fact quite diabolical. And, what if “religious” means nothing more than a recognition—for better and for worse—of the always embodied character of faith? “Experimentalists” and “romantics” have a bold, almost revolutionary, sound to them. Christianity’s “creative class” sounds like spiritual entrepreneurs ready to change the world. And, yet, from such emissaries of the new age not a trickle of support for precisely those institutions that, both historically and to this day, have tirelessly labored for the earth and its peoples. Rather has it been the churches and seminaries of the “religious” for whom checkbooks have been opened and legacies delivered. If what we are seeing is a great awakening, perhaps this latest bears a closer resemblance to the first three than we care to notice or to admit.

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ROMANTIC REALISM But the battle against spiritual embodiment is not only or even primarily economic. We have noted how, since the fourteenth century, spiritual practitioners have had the occasion repeatedly to shed the bodies in which their forebears had reason to seek and find grace. This isolation and elimination of graceful bodies can and often does take a purely rationalist form: bodies are simply bodies and nothing more. It was with this rational framework fixed in his mind that the seventeenth-century British philosopher Francis Bacon invited the universal, continuous, total violation of that body we call the Earth. In his 1623 treatise De Augmentis Scientiarum, Bacon counseled: For you have but to follow and as it were hound nature in her wanderings, and you will be able, when you like, to lead and drive her afterwards to the same place again. . . . Neither ought a man to make scruple of entering and penetrating into these holes and corners, when the inquisition of truth is his sole object.72

The strong inference that Bacon was also counseling violence against women’s bodies is surely not coincidental. If bodies are simply bodies and nothing more; if bodies are not sacred and filled with grace, then what is to prevent us from violating them at will? Is anything sacred? Yet, as the eighteenth century drew to a close, Bacon’s purely rationalist account began to make some thinkers uncomfortable. The radical isolation of bodies in space and time from their abstract transcendental subject struck many as just plain false. Immanuel Kant was not a romantic, but a rationalist. Nevertheless, by exploring the violence unleashed by eternity’s entrance into time, Kant laid the groundwork for nineteenth-century romanticism. Kant’s British counterpart Edmund Burke was Kant’s guide. Their central concept was the “sublime,” or, in German, “Das Erhabene.”73 The sublime marked that point, for both Burke and Kant, when what is infinitely large enters that by which it cannot be contained. This infinitely large entity, differing from Bacon, is itself not bound by time and space. Visually this collision of time and eternity was portrayed by romantic artists in the mountainous wave towering above and threatening to engulf the miniature fishing vessel; by a bolt of lightning cutting through the pitch darkness of a virgin forest. In literature, the romantic mood saw spirits and bodies torn apart by the sublime emotions that plagued young lovers. However, wherever the transcendent entered into time, the result was always the same: violence. In another age, where spiritual practitioners sought and found grace in bodies, the presence of God in things was not nearly so terrifying as it had now become. “Infinity,” thought Burke, “has a tendency to fill the mind with

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that sort of delightful horror, which is the most genuine effect, and truest test of the sublime.”74 For Burke, the sublime was necessarily “some modification of power.”75 But why? In Burke’s mind, “this branch [i.e., power] rises as naturally as the other two branches, from terror, the common stock of everything that is sublime.”76 Indeed, more generally, Burke felt that whatever is fitted in any sort to excite the ideas of pain, and danger, that is to say, whatever is in any sort terrible, or is conversant about terrible objects, or operates in a manner analogous to terror, is a source of the sublime.77

Here, in its simplest form, is the spirit of romanticism. Immanuel Kant agreed with Burke up to a point. But, Kant, writing a half-century later, and lacking Burke’s Catholic sympathies, was less eager to focus on the bodily character of the sublime. For Kant, the sublime was a purely spiritual experience. It thus had no body. Where Burke found the sublime in “terrible objects,” in “nature,” in “things which directly suggest the idea of danger,” in “Vacuity, Darkness, Solitude and Silence,”78 Kant reduced the sublime to simple infinite magnitude: “We call sublime what is absolutely large79 (emphasis in original). Our inner perception that every standard of sensibility is inadequate for an estimation of magnitude by reason is itself in harmony with laws of reason, as well as a displeasure that arouses in us the feeling of our supersensible vocation, according to which finding that every standard of sensibility is inadequate to the ideas of reason is purposive and hence pleasurable.80

When faced with our infinite, supersensible vocation, owing to its sheer magnitude, we feel certain that it is God who has so assaulted us in this way; and therefore, we gain pleasure in this assault. “It is a subjective movement of the imagination by which it does violence to the inner sense, and this violence must be the more significant the larger the quantum is that the imagination comprehends in one intuition.”81 It is as though Kant were there in Salem, or on the Jacksonian frontier, or with Dwight L Moody on the streets of Chicago. “This same violence that the imagination inflicts on the subject is still judged purposive for the whole vocation of the mind”82 (emphasis in original). Once God has pulled free from bodies, the only way we can experience God is in God’s opposition to and assault on bodies. That is Burke’s and Kant’s message. That is also the essence of romanticism. Our encounter with God, or the Spirit, or Love—that encounter will tear us apart. It will destroy us. Romanticism, of course, figures large in the discourse of awakening scholarship. It is, after all, where the God of the awakened lives. This God

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lives in order to enter and lay waste to the bodies in which mortals have deigned to imprison God’s Spirit—dead and lifeless practices, creeds, confessions, dogmas, rituals, and institutions. To be sure, awakening scholars are careful to distinguish the romanticism of the Fourth Great Awakening from the conservative, evangelical romanticism of previous awakenings.83 Allen Ginsburg is not Jonathan Edwards. The Beats lie some distance from Billy Sunday. And their visions of “the Kingdom” are worlds apart. Yet, if instead, we interpret romanticism as an outgrowth and expression of a cultural form unique to capitalism whose very essence demands the neverending destruction and reconstitution of bodies, then Ginsburg and Edwards may enjoy a kinship far more intimate than either would acknowledge. In this case, the destruction of the residential seminary; or, rather, its metamorphosis into a set of flexible and lean alternatives especially suited to the preferences of today’s busy and flexible spiritual consumer is prototypically romantic. Bass finds the “romantic” designation too broad to fit contemporary spirituality. She prefers the term “romantic realism,” thereby distinguishing it from the conservative, evangelical romanticism. Romantic realism lays waste not individually, but collectively. It composes a new community, right there, on the spot. Romantic realism begins with the self-in-relationship, not the isolated hero, but the individual whose life is linked with other heroic lives in a quest for beauty and justice and love. Romantic realism is strengthened through spiritual practices that shape devotion, character, and ethics. These practices require attention, time, and teaching; they need to be formed and nurtured in a guildlike community of beginners, novices, craftspeople, masters, and innovators. Through the self, community, and practice, the awakened romantics experience God, discovering new possibilities of trust, devotion, and love directed toward their neighbors and dedicated to anticipating the future of God’s peace, goodness, and justice at work in the world now. The goal is not to bring about a utopian kingdom; rather, the goal is to perform the reign of God in and for the life of the world.84

Except that if romanticism, at heart, is a cultural expression of the capitalist social formation, then the care and support Bass is anticipating from romanticism, however realistic, is not there for the taking. Even if we accept that empty pews and online seminaries are evidence of God’s hand, would this not bring us to wonder why God’s care and support is being dispensed so unevenly among God’s people? For an ever-smaller elite perched atop the income hierarchy: well-manicured grounds, ivy-covered buildings, richly appointed dining facilities, comfortable dormitories, libraries with every conceivable volume, chapels with prayers throughout the day, seminars led

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by distinguished, tenured faculty called by God to introduce future priests and teachers to the wonders of sacred history, theology, worship, and mission. For an ever-larger underclass: a computer, an Internet connection, rushing from work to class, from class to home, logging in and logging on to one’s very own Internet chat room (asynchronously) while reading the kids a bedtime story in between classes. For an ever-smaller elite (almost exclusively composed of men) the most well-appointed pulpits, a full staff, and full pews; the rewards not for hard work and hard study, but the serendipitous reward for landing a spouse with a respectable income, of being called late in life after having already earned and invested responsibly during a lucrative first career, or perhaps the reward for nothing more than enjoying a substantial inheritance. We could count these distinctions evidence of God’s handiwork. Nineteenth and early twentieth-century Victorians counted them as such. Their privilege was evidence, they thought, of God’s favor. The second-class status of those beneath them was also God’s handiwork; God works differently in different communities. One size does not fit all: product differentiation; the segmented market. The cover of a recent seminary quarterly displays the apse of a seminary chapel; a thurifer is surrounded by a full complement of priests, torch bearers, and choir members; they are all European American. A caption to the left of the picture reports: “[Seminary] Extends its Reach: Online Programs Meet Diocesan Needs.” The picture and caption graphically illustrate what the French economist Thomas Piketty had documented with respect to the educational goods market more generally. The segmentation of the educational goods market leads some to enjoy the full complement of instructional goods in person, on site—in this case with candles, choir, and incense. This same segmentation, for identical reasons, permits others to log in and log on, thereby allowing financially strapped institutions to “extend their reach,” and allowing students who prefer distance learning to earn their degree “in the midst of life.” What once required a full complement of distinguished, tenured faculty teaching seminarians in residence now requires only one itinerant online instructor serving a classroom that stretches around the globe. The efficiencies won by the Internet are undeniable. Yet, the destruction that gave rise to online instruction and the carnage that has followed—the gutting of faculties, the changing demographic of residential seminarians, the marginalized condition of many online students and instructors; this carnage is nowhere discussed. But let us suppose that what we are witnessing is a consequence of the largest transfer of wealth from the bottom to the top of the income hierarchy ever in history. And let us suppose that pews and dorm rooms began to empty at roughly the same time for roughly the same reasons. The same working families who had enjoyed sufficient resources to tithe also enjoyed

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sufficient resources to call a full complement of priests and deacons to serve their parishes. The priests they called were trained at full-service seminaries by faculty who took their studies and subsequent appointments as faithful responses to God’s call. These faculty could afford to devote themselves single-mindedly to church history, theology, worship, education, and mission because seminaries enjoyed the resources to support them and their families. Expanding economy, expanding church. Expanding church, expanding seminary. The real problem with romanticism—whether in the poetry of Beats or in the bedside manner of Puritan divines—is that it mistakes historical turbulence and change, rapid exhilarating transformation, the unending creation and destruction of institutions and social forms, for evidence of God’s handiwork. Whether we are looking at the 1660s or the 1960s, tumult and crisis are deemed good; calm and order are counted as evidence that God has left the temple. We are asked to celebrate the fact that the single mom can log in and log on to complete her degree while working two jobs. But we fail to raise a prophetic voice over the fact that a single mom is working two jobs and going to school. We celebrate the fact that an instructor who spent her formative years pouring over Greek manuscripts in pursuit of a degree can now earn a living—almost—by teaching first semester Greek to online students around the globe. Yet we fail to raise a prophetic voice over the fact this scholar has no standing with her colleagues and, even then, can barely make ends meet for herself and for her family. “A guildlike community of beginners, novices, craftspeople, masters, and innovators”85 sounds awakened, perhaps even woke; an online community of students and faculty barely scraping by, less so. Romanticism, however realistic, suffers from this basic flaw. Intuitively it finds God in the wind, the fire, and the earthquake. It finds God in the sublime. For this reason, when asked “What are you doing here?” it falls back upon the momentous events propelling it onward toward its ultimate destiny. “What are you doing here?” That is an “old light” question. “New lights” have moved on. GRACEFUL BODIES Challenging the interpretation of divine mission and history offered by awakening scholars is one thing; offering an alternative interpretation of divine mission and history is another. No doubt, when Rome’s wealthy fled Rome to their estates in Spain, southern France, or the German lands, there were wealthy Christians among them. To think otherwise would require that we ignore the actual histories of these regions as the population of Rome decanted into all part European. Likewise, when neoliberal economic

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thinkers proposed a plan to restore returns on investments to 1950s and 1960s levels, wealthy Christians must have been among those who cheered them on. Since 1970, at least two Episcopalians have occupied the White House. Perhaps they believed that their promotion of neoliberal economic policies was evidence of their faithfulness to God. And yet, it is also doubtless true that families who enjoy wealth made political and economic decisions, in the fifth century no less than in the twentieth, that cast a long shadow over who Christians are and should (or, in any case, could) be. Christians—all Christians: wealthy, poor, fortunate, and unfortunate—are embedded today, as they always have been, in social formations that, at best, are shaped lightly by their presence. Christians—all Christians: wealthy, poor, fortunate, and unfortunate—obviously have an interest in linking their own fortunes to the fortunes of those who enjoy power. Were this not the case, then Augustine’s City of God would have made absolutely no sense. We are, all of us, driven to seek legitimation in the legitimating power of those who enjoy power. A more careful and cautious reading of sacred text suggests that this drive to seek worldly affirmation does not arise from God. A more careful and cautious reading suggests that God identifies with—or, rather, that God has already, from the beginning, been present among—those who, lacking power (or, who, blessed with no power) are thereby marked out as signs of that Power that stands above and before Creation. But—and this is absolutely important—this preference for the poor is not a divine response to those who enjoy wealth; it is not a judgment upon them. It is, instead, an invitation for them to join the table lavishly appointed by the poor. A certain ruler asked him, “Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” Jesus said to him, “Why do you call me good? No one is good but God alone. You know the commandments: ‘You shall not commit adultery; You shall not murder; You shall not steal; You shall not bear false witness; Honor your father and mother.’” He replied, “I have kept all these since my youth.” When Jesus heard this, he said to him, “There is still one thing lacking. Sell all that you own and distribute the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.” But when he heard this, he became sad; for he was very rich. Jesus looked at him and said, “How hard it is for those who have wealth to enter the kingdom of God! Indeed, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God.” (Luke 18:18–25 (NRSV))

The rich man clearly misunderstood Jesus’s counsel. He expressly says at the outset that he wants “eternal life”; but clearly not if eternal life entails transferring his wealth to the poor and following Jesus.

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Consider your own call, brothers and sisters: not many of you were wise by human standards, not many were powerful, not many were of noble birth. But God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong; God chose what is low and despised in the world, things that are not, to reduce to nothing things that are, so that no one might boast in the presence of God. He is the source of your life in Christ Jesus, who became for us wisdom from God, and righteousness and sanctification and redemption, in order that, as it is written, “Let the one who boasts, boast in the Lord.” (1 Cor. 1:26–31 (NRSV))

Had the rich man understood this, it is certain that he would have sold all he had, transferred his wealth to the poor, and followed Jesus. “But we speak God’s wisdom, secret and hidden, which God decreed before the ages for our glory. None of the rulers of this age understood this; for it they had, they would not have crucified the Lord of glory” (1 Cor. 2:7–8). The rich man did not understand that the poor, among whom it is certain that he distributed alms (as is required by the law), are not simply the recipients of God’s grace by way of the rich man’s wealth. They are already, prior to almsgiving, those whom God has chosen for the specific task of “bringing to nothing the things that are.” The rich man is invited to the table set by the poor not to distribute his grace among them. He is invited to the table set by the poor because it is at this table and for this table that God has elected to display divine grace. Indeed, from its first sentence to its last, Saint Paul’s first letter to the Church at Corinth is a sustained, unrelenting critique of Stoic orthodoxy: the belief that earthly power, knowledge, and wisdom derive their authenticity and, hence, their authority from God. The Cross—which Jesus invites the rich man to bear—is God’s decisive judgment against Stoic orthodoxy. The rich man is invited to a table set by and for the poor, not as its benefactor—although it is certain that its benefactor he would be, returning to God’s Creation that which God had first graciously given to him—but as a participant in and benefactor of the grace God has elected to bestow upon the poor. “So then, my brothers and sisters, when you come together to eat, wait for one another” (1 Cor. 11:33). Wait for one another. The rich man was sad because Jesus was inviting him to wait. He was sad because he was being invited to a table he had not set; a table that was instead set for him by the poor. The inference we, the readers, are invited to draw is that the rich man went home and ate alone. “If you are hungry, eat at home, so that when you come together, it will not be for your condemnation” (1 Cor. 11:34). It is only in this way that the invitation is also a judgment. “Do you want to join us for dinner?” The invitation might, and often does, elicit an unequivocal “Yes!” “What can I bring?” And, yet, because the table has been set by and for a community that is not my own—it is not an obviously privileged table;

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or, obviously, it is not a privileged table; it is not set by or for families I recognize and know. I, therefore, do not recognize Jesus at this table; or I recognize Jesus, but do not recognize that he has become “for us wisdom from God, and righteousness and sanctification and redemption”—“But when he heard this, he became sad; for he was very rich”—and, for this reason, I am inclined to decline the offer. “No. I will have to take a rain check.” The judgment against the rich man consists only in his failure to recognize where and upon whom God has elected to distribute grace—upon these bodies in these places. Failing to recognize God’s election, those families that enjoy wealth elect instead to distribute their wealth in familiar ways, among guests and at a table to which Jesus has not been invited. We have come to the end of seminary—to the end of grace embodied in candles, incense, vestments, requiems, masses, and prayers, in dorm rooms, seminar rooms, libraries, chapels, canteens, and facilities—not for lack of sufficient endowments, of which familiar table-fellowship is the certain precursor, but for our misrecognition of the table set by God for us. Saint Paul could not have stated the point more clearly than he did when he expressly identified the bodies of the saints—their mouths, their hands, their minds, their ears, their feet—as the means through which God communicates with the community of faith. Where we had mistaken familiar table-fellowship— table fellowship among those with whom we are already, in any case, family and familiar—for the sure path to heaven, Jesus invites the rich man to recognize the table he has set among those who are not yet members of our family, among those whom Saint Paul describes only as “not.” This is the first misrecognition: the misrecognition we recognize among those not invited to the wedding feast. But there is a second misrecognition of which those invited to the wedding feast are guilty. They do not know where or who they are. Then the righteous will answer him, “Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?” And the king will answer them, “Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.” (Matt. 25:37–40 (NRSV))

The righteous are not rescuing a seminary or retiring the mortgage of a struggling church. They do not recognize that the Lord has set the table. They do not recognize that the guests are members of their own families. Were they condemned with this recognition, they might count it a feather in their cap, a reason to be counted among the sheep and not the goats? But sharing table is absent such dissimilation. Among the hungry, thirsty, estranged, and naked,

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the righteous recognize their own family. They are not guilty of the private economic calculation implied in Saint Matthew’s account: if I only knew that these were members of your family, I would surely have fed, served, welcomed, and clothed them. When an individual is called to holy orders, the righteous are those who, enjoying the means to supply what is lacking, provide them with the same means that they would a member of their own family. They are then surprised to learn that, in doing so, they have also served the needs of a member of God’s own family. Were we to search in this calculus for a path to greater productivity or greater returns on investment—for example, a better equipped, better trained, better educated, better maintained parish/seminary is by definition more productive—we would reject Saint Paul’s and Jesus’s central claim and embrace the Stoic argument against which both are arguing. It is the fellowship itself—set forth in detail in chapters 12 through 15 of Saint Paul’s first letter to Corinth—that is its own argument: this community, where, by contrast to Peter and James, Paul and Barnabas insist on working with their own hands (1 Cor. 9); where, by contrast to “high church orthodoxy,” Paul counsels deference to the less than fully orthodox (1 Cor. 8); where, by contrast to our orderly services, “prophets” may differ from one another and, therefore, as is the case in all genuine midrash, are invited to confer with one another and thereby resolve their differences (1 Cor. 14). Questions of efficiency or productivity never enter the frame. The reasons we might endow a seminary or rescue a community of faith have nothing to do with the returns we might enjoy from doing so. On the other hand, if we decline the invitation to join the table set for us (perhaps because we recognize no one on the invitation list), we risk not simply missing the heavenly banquet, but also the only feast where Jesus promises to be present. Which is to say, endowment is not an economic decision. It was not an economic decision in the 1920s, when only white wealthy men enjoyed the full benefits of mainstream Protestant residential seminaries; it was not an economic decision in the 1960s and 1970s, when the “multiplier” generated by World War II spending made it possible for working families to send their sons and daughters to seminary; and it was not an economic decision when, their wealth depressed by global competition and neoliberal economic policies, working families suddenly found themselves with boat loads of mounting debt and no one to employ or compensate them for their training in holy orders. Endowment is not an economic decision. It is a decision, instead, about who is and who is not on the invitation list, who is and who is not seated at the table. But this also strongly suggests that the kinds of decisions those who enjoy wealth are being invited to make (Luke 18:22) are not different from the decision of where and with whom to share table. Communities

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whose wealth places their members at the bottom of the income hierarchy nevertheless enjoy thriving places of worship and expanding seminaries because—and not in spite of—where and with whom their members have elected to hold their meals. Communities whose wealth places their members at the top of the income hierarchy (e.g., my own Episcopal community) are closing their seminaries and experiencing a dramatic decline in church attendance, again, because—and not in spite of—where and with whom they have elected to share their meals. The wealthy man Jesus counseled in Luke 18 might have expressed joy upon hearing that all that remained for him to do to “inherit eternal life” was “sell all that you own and distribute the money to the poor . . . then come, follow me” (Luke 18:22). Instead, Luke reports, he became sad. Graceful bodies, however, are not limited to the bodies immediately before us. Graceful bodies include all of the things, spaces, objects, processes, practices, and institutions that convey grace to the communities and community members who value them. When in the sixteenth century Protestant reformers isolated grace and faith from the bodies divinely authorized to convey God’s grace, they unwittingly fell victim to a social logic inseparable from the new social formation: capitalism. Protestant reservations over the value of embodied forms of grace could not help but spread to every object, every space, every process, and every institution in which spiritual practitioners had once sought and found grace. And, yet not all Protestant communities have fallen victim to the insidious logic of the capitalist social form. Indeed, as we have already noted, it is often the poorest communities, whose members fall toward the bottom of the income hierarchy, that appear least troubled by the transfer of wealth from public to private institutions and from working families to families at the top of the income hierarchy. Heeding Jesus’s counsel not to fear carries a price, a price too high for many. “Do not be afraid, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom” (Luke 12:32). The occasion is different, but the advice Jesus offered was the same as the advice he offered the young rich man. “Sell your possessions and give alms. Make purses for yourselves that do not wear out, an unfailing treasure in heaven, where no thief comes near, and no moth destroys. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also” (Luke 12:33–34). Too often, readers seek to spiritualize Jesus’s counsel. They foreground “treasure in heaven, where no thief comes near, and no moth destroys” and push into the background “sell your possessions and give alms.” But the two are not separable. When “the least of these” are already members of our community—are already seated at our table—“waiting for them” (1 Cor. 11:33) is also already evidence for where we are storing our treasure, “where no thief comes near, and no moth destroys.” It is different for those who viewed their “investment” in residential seminaries or in their

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faith community as burdens they could no longer afford to carry. Graceful bodies are worth bearing not because they are light, but precisely because they are full of grace. To this extent, awakening scholars are not mistaken. The interpretation of church history they offer fits a pattern that, at least for Protestants, is centuries old. Decade after decade, century after century, mainstream Protestants have been preparing for the Fourth Great Awakening. From the pulpit and from the lectern, preachers and professors have driven home the undeniable truth that God’s grace neither occupies nor is conveyed by things. Their churches now empty, their seminaries online, we now find them celebrating victory at precisely the moment when women and men trained in holy orders is most needful. All evidence shows that God is calling them in record numbers to fill this need. Calling them to what? That is the question.

THE END OF SEMINARY Let us place to one side for the moment whether you or your community is attached in some way to the full banquet of goods that historically, at one time or another, communities of faith have counted as graceful: bread and wine, water, candles, vestments, incense, books of prayer and books of psalms, hymnals, choirs and choir robes, organs, pianos, flutes, stringed instruments and timpani, chalices, plates, platters, banners, bowls baptismal fonts, tapestries, robes, icons, relics and reliquaries, masses and requiems, fire pits, vaults, tombs and columbaria, walls of remembrance and gardens of celebration or of meditation. All of these bodies, appropriately consecrated, have conveyed grace to women and men who sought and found grace in them. But in addition to these (again, placing to one side whether all or only some of these bodies convey grace to you or your community) are the institutions that convey to those called to holy orders a sense of why and how any of these bodies came to convey grace at all. Seminaries are more than repositories of anachronistic knowledge. “For a thousand years in your sight are like yesterday when it is past” (Ps. 90:4). Whatever knowledge seminaries contain can more efficiently and perhaps even more effectively be stored in “the cloud” and accessed with a “click” by anyone with a browser and access to the Internet. What cannot be accessed on the Internet is the time, the community, and the commitment residential seminaries embody and share when, before dawn, they invite students to pray matins; or the real-time exchange between students and professors over a text or musical score or painting that is felt to be graceful; or the time and attention students pay to one another over meals, sharing what they are learning and learning how to share; or gathering at festivals or on holy days to

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remember groups, individuals, or days that are themselves gracious because they convey grace. Embodiment is not only a vehicle to convey something else that might just as easily be conveyed electronically, privately, digitally, on the run and on the fly. Embodiment is itself the message. Which is why the end of seminary is more symptom than cause. But a symptom of what? Let us now assume that we want full, vibrant, and active communities of faith and that we want residential seminaries whose doors stand ever open to the women and men called to holy orders. And let us assume that these two communities are intimately and inextricably related to one another. Let us assume that they are graceful bodies. How can that be? That is: how can we ensure that the supply meets the demand, that seminaries, called and trained for holy orders find institutions that have need for women and men called and trained to meet these needs? To begin with, we need to take a long, careful, and critical look at the complicit roles our communities of faith have willingly, often eagerly, played in the catastrophes that punctuate the birth and spread of the capitalist social order. We can no longer celebrate this social order as though it were our own, as though it were divinely authorized to set the agenda for communities of faith, for their members, or for their mission. The fact that all Christians everywhere today are embedded within the capitalist social formation no more means that we must celebrate its dominance than it means that Christians in fourth-century Rome had to worship Jupiter, celebrate gladiatorial combat, or defend temple prostitution. The world of the market and the world of the community of faith are not the same. They are not governed by the same logic. They do not have the same mission. Second, we need to once again learn how to celebrate and speak intelligibly about God’s Body. One might think that celebrating and speaking in this way would be especially easy for members of my community, the Episcopal Church, which in outward appearance differs so little from its Roman and Orthodox cousins. And, yet, perhaps on account of the wealth its members enjoy, or perhaps because the line separating grace from aesthetic pleasure is not always clear, the relationship between worldly success and divine blessing for Episcopalians has often been exceedingly murky to put it lightly. In all communities, but specially in my own, we need to find ways to celebrate and speak intelligibly about God’s embodied grace; not simply in the baptismal waters and eucharistic feast, but also at meals where “waiting for the others” might mean more than making room at the eucharistic rail. Gracious bodies surround us and yet we often ignore or close our doors to their presence. “But when he heard this, he became sad; for he was very rich.” Third, we need to find different ways to think about the institutions in which we have reason to seek and find grace, including residential seminaries. Not long ago, a seminary president familiar with my research

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remonstrated that I was promoting a “southern plantation model of seminary life,” by which I can only guess that he meant a life where seminarians are dependent upon the success of the plantation owner and his or her business. Since those excluded from the benefits of the real, historical plantation were African slaves, and since those today excluded from the benefits of residential seminary are overwhelmingly women of color, I found the reference deeply troubling to say the least. Then as now, it is overwhelmingly men—and white men—who are selected to fill openings at our best endowed churches, just as it is overwhelmingly men—and white men—who continue to fill tenured openings at our best endowed residential seminaries. The more things change, the more things stay the same. But, what if, instead, we were to ask how best to train women and men in holy orders to meet the expanding need of communities left behind by the Fourth Great Awakening? Are we prepared to argue that seminarians learn best when raising two small children, carrying two daytime jobs, and logging in and logging on after hours to learn the “content” of holy orders? Are we prepared to argue that women and men who have spent the better part of their lives mastering church music, church history, church art, theology and mission fulfill their calling best by logging onto these same platforms after hours? This disembodied model of seminary life and seminary instruction speaks volumes for the low esteem we as a community have for both of these communities. “Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” In this case, our treasure would clearly appear to be neither with the seminarians God has called to holy orders, nor with those whom God has called to instruct them, nor with those whom God is calling both communities to serve. And, yet, what if these women and men were members of our family and guests at our table? What if these, too, were “the least of these”? What if we counted them women and men in and through whom we expected to encounter Jesus? What if, instead of bringing us sadness (because we too are women and men of much wealth), notice of their need instead brought us great joy? What if, rather than desperately seeking to eliminate this “cloud of witnesses” among which they too are certainly numbered, we instead sought to “build up the body,” including their bodies, because we saw in their bodies the grace we sought and expected we might find? God has placed Christians in the uncomfortable position of defending God’s incarnate presence. On its surface, Saint Paul tells us, this presence strikes us as “foolish.” Why would the Infinite allow Herself to be subject to embodiment, incarnation, and, finally, to death? The clear answer given to Saint Paul was that incarnation was the secret hidden from the world. Where is the one who is wise? Where is the scribe? Where is the debater of this age? Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world? For since, in the

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wisdom of God, the world did not know God through wisdom, God decided, through the foolishness of our proclamation, to save those who believe. For Jews demand signs and Greeks desire wisdom, but we proclaim Christ crucified, a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles, but to those who are the called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God. For God’s foolishness is wiser than human wisdom, and God’s weakness is stronger than human strength. (1 Cor. 1:20–25)

But the riddle hidden in Saint Paul’s account arises only, in fact, because we do not truly want a God Who is as near to us as the Cross shows God to be. We—neither Jews nor Greeks—want an embodied God. Bodies are troublesome. They are disturbing. They suggest limits, borders, boundaries, and constraints. “Jesus plus nothing” is still insufficient; because what we want is “Jesus plus nothing, minus Jesus.” A Crucified God, in contrast, has a Body; just as we have bodies. The parallelism is not a defect; it is a feature. And that, precisely, is the problem. Christians are invited to show—to display and exhibit, to illustrate and embody, institutionally, practically, programmatically—what it means to be God’s Body here and now. Embodiment is not the problem. It is the solution; but not for those celebrating the Fourth Great Awakening. For them, just as it was for those celebrating the first three awakenings, embodiment is the problem. Embodiment, however, is not for everyone. There are some religious and spiritual traditions and innumerable secular traditions for which graceful bodies will continue to be viewed as oxymoronic, a contradiction in terms. Happily, that is not the case for Christians. But in that case, it is time for Christian communities of faith—and not least my own Episcopal tradition— to squarely and, I hope, joyfully reckon with the full implications of embodied grace, not only at the rail or the baptismal font, but also in how it deals with the call to holy orders. NOTES 1. Fact Book on Theological Education (1979–2002)/Annual Data Tables (2003–2016). Association of Theological Schools. Vandalia, Ohio/Pittsburgh, PA: Association of Theological Schools, 1979–2016. 2. Corser, Annie. “Southern Seminary sees Record Enrollment, Program Expansion.” SBC Life. March 2016. http://www​.sbclife​.net​/Articles​/2016​/03​/sla16. 3. Fact Book, 1990–91; 2015–2016. 4. Finke, Roger and Rodney Stark. The Churching of America, 1776–2005: Winners and Losers in Our Religious Economy. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2005, 246.

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5. Bass, Diana Butler. Christianity After Religion: The End of Church and the Birth of a New Spiritual Awakening. New York: Harper Collins, 2012, 5. 6. Bass, Diana Butler. Christianity After Religion: The End of Church and the Birth of a New Spiritual Awakening. New York: Harper Collins, 2012, 6; Fogel, Robert William. The Fourth Great Awakening and the Future of Egalitarianism. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2000. 7. Fogel, Robert William. The Fourth Great Awakening and the Future of Egalitarianism. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2000. 8. Frieden, Jeffry. Global Capitalism: Its Fall and Rise in the Twentieth Century. New York: Norton, 2006, 372. 9. Andriotis, AnnaMaria. “Rising Rates Pose a Risk for Students Looking to Refinance Debt.” Wall Street Journal. April 25, 2017. https://www​.wsj​.com​/articles​ /rising​-rates​-pose​-a​-risk​-for​-students​-looking​-to​-refinance​-debt​-1493116201​?mg​ =id​-wsj. 10. Bird-David, Nurit. “Beyond ‘The Original Affluent Society’: A Culturalist Reformulation.” Current Anthropology 33, no. 1 (February 1992): 25–47. 11. Landes, David S. Revolution in Time: Clocks and the Making of the Modern World. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1983. 12. Le Goff, Jacques. Time, Work, & Culture in the Middle Ages. Translated by Arthur Goldhammer. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1980, 45. 13. Espinas, Georges and Henri de Pirenne. Recueil de documents relatifs à l’histoire de l’industrie drapière en Flandre 2. Bruxelles: P. Imbreghts, 1906, 411–412. 14. Le Goff, Jacques. Time, Work, & Culture in the Middle Ages. Translated by Arthur Goldhammer. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1980, 45. 15. Landes, D. Revolution in Time: Clocks and the Making of the Modern World. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1983, 73. 16. Lough, J. Weber and the Persistence of Religion: Capitalism, Social Theory, and the Sublime. London: Routledge, 2006, 21–31. 17. Ellington, D.S. From Sacred Body to Angelic Soul: Understanding Mary in Late Medieval and Early Modern Europe. Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2001. 18. Ellington, 60. 19. Ellington, viii. 20. Ellington, 263. 21. Miles, M. A Complex Delight: The Secularization of the Breast, 1350–1750. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 2008, ix. 22. Widdicombe, P. “The Wounds of the Ascended Body: The Marks of Crucifixion in the Glorified Christ from Justin Martyr to John Calvin.” Laval théologique et philsophique 59, no. 1 (février 2003): 137–154. 23. Widdicombe, 138. 24. McCloughin, W. Revivals, Awakenings, and Reform. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1978, 12–16. 25. More, T. Utopia. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2003, 18. 26. Polanyi, K. The Great Transformation: The Political and Economic Origins of our Time. New York: Beacon, 2001, 39.

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27. Lough, J. “The Extraordinary Science of Ernst Troeltsch.” Papers of the Nineteenth Century Working Group of the American Academy of Religion (1991), 98–108. 28. Sharlet, J. The Family. New York: Harper Collins, 2008, 67–68. 29. Bass, Diana Butler. Christianity After Religion: The End of Church and the Birth of a New Spiritual Awakening. New York: Harper Collins, 2012, 26. 30. Bass, Diana Butler. Christianity After Religion: The End of Church and the Birth of a New Spiritual Awakening. New York: Harper Collins, 2012, 76. 31. Bass, Diana Butler. Christianity After Religion: The End of Church and the Birth of a New Spiritual Awakening. New York: Harper Collins, 2012, 236. 32. Fogel, Robert William. The Fourth Great Awakening and the Future of Egalitarianism. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2000, 15. 33. Fogel, Robert William. The Fourth Great Awakening and the Future of Egalitarianism. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2000, 17. 34. Fogel, Robert William. The Fourth Great Awakening and the Future of Egalitarianism. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2000, 17. 35. Fogel, Robert William. The Fourth Great Awakening and the Future of Egalitarianism. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2000, 16. 36. Sharlet, J. The Family. New York: Harper Collins, 2008, 211. 37. Smith, Adam. An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations. Volume 1. London: Stratman and T. Cadell, 1776, 348. 38. Bass, Diana Butler. Christianity After Religion: The End of Church and the Birth of a New Spiritual Awakening. New York: Harper Collins, 2012, 43. 39. McCloughlin, William G. Revivals, Awakenings, and Reform. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1978, 197. 40. McCloughlin, William G. Revivals, Awakenings, and Reform. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1978, 214. 41. Knight, Frank H. “Ethics and Economic Reform.” Economica 6, no. 24 (Nov. 1939): 398–422, 418. 42. Knight, Frank H. “Ethics and Economic Reform.” Economica 6, no. 24 (Nov. 1939): 398–422, 408. 43. Knight, Frank H. “Ethics and Economic Reform.” Economica 6, no. 24 (Nov. 1939): 398–422, 399. 44. Mayer, Jane. Dark Money: The  Hidden History of the Billionaires Behind the Rise of the Radical Right. New York: Anchor, 2016. 45. Frieden, Jeffry. Global Capitalism: Its Fall and Rise in the Twentieth Century. New York: Norton, 2006, 372. 46. Fogel, Robert William. The Fourth Great Awakening and the Future of Egalitarianism. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2000, 15–17. 47. Bass, Diana Butler. Christianity After Religion: The End of Church and the Birth of a New Spiritual Awakening. New York: Harper Collins, 2012, 269. 48. Brenner, Robert. Economics of Global Turbulence: The Advanced Capitalist Economies from Long Boom to Long Downturn, 1945-2005. New York: Verso, 2006. 49. Frieden, Jeffry. Global Capitalism: Its Fall and Rise in the Twentieth Century. New York: Norton, 2006, 130.

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50. Frieden, Jeffry. Global Capitalism: Its Fall and Rise in the Twentieth Century. New York: Norton, 2006, 131. 51. Frieden, Jeffry. Global Capitalism: Its Fall and Rise in the Twentieth Century. New York: Norton, 2006, 136, 146. 52. Brenner, Robert. Economics of Global Turbulence: the Advanced Capitalist Economies from Long Boom to Long Downturn, 1945–2005. New York: Verso, 2006, 122–142. 53. Brenner, Robert. Economics of Global Turbulence: The Advanced Capitalist Economies from Long Boom to Long Downturn, 1945–2005. New York: Verso, 2006, 143–163. 54. Piketty, Thomas, Emmanuel Saez, and Gabriel Zucman. “Distributional National Accounts: Methods and Estimates for the United States.” National Bureau of Economic Research (NBER) Working Paper No. 22945 (December 2016). 55. Frieden, Jeffry. Global Capitalism: Its Fall and Rise in the Twentieth Century. New York: Norton, 2006, 345. 56. Piketty, Thomas, Emmanuel Saez, and Gabriel Zucman. “Distributional National Accounts: Methods and Estimates for the United States.” National Bureau of Economic Research (NBER) Working Paper No. 22945 (December 2016), 25. 57. Piketty, Thomas. Capital in the Twenty-First Century. Translated by Arthur Goldhammer. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2014, 447. 58. Piketty, Thomas. Capital in the Twenty-First Century. Translated by Arthur Goldhammer. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2014, 449. 59. Gordon, Robert. The Rise and Fall of American Growth: The US Standard of Living since the Civil War. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2016, 605–634. 60. Piketty, Thomas. Capital in the Twenty-First Century. Translated by Arthur Goldhammer. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2014, 28. 61. Strauss, Leo. “Progress or Return? The Contemporary Crisis in Western Civilization.” Modern Judaism 1 (1981): 17–45. 62. CNN 2005. 63. Frieden, Jeffry. Global Capitalism: Its Fall and Rise in the Twentieth Century. New York: Norton, 2006, 345. 64. Frieden, Jeffry. Global Capitalism: Its Fall and Rise in the Twentieth Century. New York: Norton, 2006, 341–342. 65. Nixon, Richard. “Nixon’s Plan for Health Reform, In His own Words” [delivered February 6, 1974] Kaiser Health News, September 3, 2009. http://khn​.org​/news​ /nixon​-proposal/. 66. St Mary’s Wages. “St Mary’s Wages, the St Mary’s Way” (2013) http:// stmaryswages​.org​/st​-marys​-wages​-the​-st​-marys​-way/. 67. AAUP. “Colleges Balancing Books on Backs of Part-Time Faculty, Out-ofState Students.” April 11, 2017. https://www​.aaup​.org​/media​-release​/colleges​-balancing​-books​-backs​-part​-time​-faculty​-out​-state​-students#​.WSthdMbMxYA. 68. AAUP. “Colleges Balancing Books on Backs of Part-Time Faculty, Out-ofState Students.” April 11, 2017. https://www​.aaup​.org​/media​-release​/colleges​-balancing​-books​-backs​-part​-time​-faculty​-out​-state​-students#​.WSthdMbMxYA.

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69. Brown, Eliza Smith. “Accessible, Effective: How Online Theological Education is Shifting the Formation Model.” Association of Theological Schools Monographs. http://www​.ats​.edu​/uploads​/resources​/publications​-presentations​/colloquy​-online​/formation​-online​.pdf. 2016; Leon, L. “CALL has the Right Response.” Crossings (Spring 2017): 7–11. 70. Lipka, Michael. “U.S. Religious Groups and their Political Leanings.” FactTank, Pew Research Center, February 23, 2016. http://www​.pewresearch​.org​/ fact​-tank​/2016​/02​/23​/u​-s​-religious​-groups​-and​-their​-political​-leanings/. 71. Bass, Diana Butler. Christianity After Religion: The End of Church and the Birth of a New Spiritual Awakening. New York: Harper Collins, 2012, 234. 72. Bacon, Francis. “Translation of ‘De Augmentis.’” Works of Francis Bacon, vol. 4. Edited by James Spedding. London: Longmans & Co., 1858, 296. 73. Lough, Joseph. Weber and the Persistence of Religion: Capitalism, Social Theory, and the Sublime. London: Routledge, 2006, 33–37. 74. Burke, Edmund. A Philosophical Enquiry into the Origin of our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful. Edited with an Introduction and Notes by James T. Boulton. Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1968, 73. 75. Burke, Edmund. A Philosophical Enquiry into the Origin of Our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful. Edited with an Introduction and Notes by James T. Boulton. Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1968, 64. 76. Burke, Edmund. A Philosophical Enquiry into the Origin of Our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful. Edited with an Introduction and Notes by James T. Boulton. Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1968, 64. 77. Burke, Edmund. A Philosophical Enquiry into the Origin of Our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful. Edited with an Introduction and Notes by James T. Boulton. Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1968, 39. 78. Burke, Edmund. A Philosophical Enquiry into the Origin of Our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful. Edited with an Introduction and Notes by James T. Boulton. Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1968, 39, 57, 64, 71. 79. Kant, Immanuel. Critique of Judgment. Translated by Werner Pluhar. Indianapolis, IN: Hackett Publishing Company, 1941, 103. 80. Kant, Immanuel. Critique of Judgment. Translated by Werner Pluhar. Indianapolis, IN: Hackett Publishing Company, 1941, 115. 81. Kant, Immanuel. Critique of Judgment. Translated by Werner Pluhar. Indianapolis, IN: Hackett Publishing Company, 1941, 116. 82. Kant, Immanuel. Critique of Judgment. Translated by Werner Pluhar. Indianapolis, IN: Hackett Publishing Company, 1941, 116. 83. McLoughlin, William G. Revivals, Awakenings, and Reform. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1978, 106. 84. Bass, Diana Butler. Christianity After Religion: The End of Church and the Birth of a New Spiritual Awakening. New York: Harper Collins, 2012, 239. 85. Bass, Diana Butler. Christianity After Religion: The End of Church and the Birth of a New Spiritual Awakening. New York: Harper Collins, 2012, 239.

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BIBLIOGRAPHY AAUP. “Colleges Balancing Books on Backs of Part-Time Faculty, Out-of-State Students.” April 11, 2017. https://www​.aaup​.org​/media​-release​/colleges​-balancing​ -books​-backs​-part​-time​-faculty​-out​-state​-students#​.WSthdMbMxYA. Andriotis, AnnaMaria. “Rising Rates Pose a Risk for Students Looking to Refinance Debt.” Wall Street Journal. April 25, 2017. https://www​.wsj​.com​/articles​/rising​-rates​-pose​-a​-risk​-for​-students​-looking​-to​-refinance​-debt​-1493116201​?mg​=id​ -wsj. Aquinas, St Thomas. Summa Theologica. Notre Dame, IN: Christian Classics, 1981. Bacon, Francis. “Of the Dignity and Advancement of Learning.” The Works of Francis Bacon. Volume IV. Edited by James Spedding. London: Longmans & Co, 1858. Bass, Diana Butler. Christianity After Religion: The End of Church and the Birth of a New Spiritual Awakening. New York: Harper Collins, 2012. Benjamin, Walter. Illuminations. Translated by Harry Zohn. New York: Schocken Books, 1968. Bird-David, Nurit. “Beyond ‘The Original Affluent Society’: A Culturalist Reformulation.” Current Anthropology 33, no. 1 (February 1992): 25–47. Brenner, Robert. Economics of Global Turbulence: The Advanced Capitalist Economies from Long Boom to Long Downturn, 1945-2005. New York: Verso, 2006. Brown, Eliza Smith. “Accessible, Effective: How Online Theological Education is Shifting the Formation Model.” Association of Theological Schools Monographs, 2016. http://www​.ats​.edu​/uploads​/resources​/publications​-presentations​/colloquy​ -online​/formation​-online​.pdf. Burke, Edmund. A Philosophical Enquiry into the Origin of our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful. Edited with an Introduction and Notes by James T. Boulton. Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1968. CNN. “Bennett Under Fire for Remarks on Blacks, Crime.” September 30, 2005. http://www​.cnn​.com​/2005​/POLITICS​/09​/30​/bennett​.comments/ Corser, Annie. “Southern Seminary sees Record Enrollment, Program Expansion.” SBC (Southern Baptist Convention) Life. March 2016. http://www​.sbclife​.net​/ Articles​/2016​/03​/sla16. Ellington, Donna Spivey. From Sacred Body to Angelic Soul: Understanding Mary in Late Medieval and Early Modern Europe. Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2001. Espinas, George, and Henri de Pirenne. Recueil de documents relatifs à l’histoire de l’industrie drapière en Flandre 2. Bruxelles: P. Imbreghts, 1906. Fact Book on Theological Education (1979-2002)/Annual Data Tables (2003-2016). Association of Theological Schools. Vandalia, Ohio/Pittsburgh, PA: Association of Theological Schools, 1979-2016. Finke, Roger, and Rodney Stark. The Churching of America, 1776-2005: Winners and Losers in Our Religious Economy. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2005.

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Flaherty, Colleen. “Resignations or Terminations?” Inside Higher Ed, October 2, 2014. https://www​.insidehighered​.com​/news​/2014​/10​/02​/most​-faculty​-general​ -theological​-seminary​-gone​-what​-happened. Fogel, Robert William. The Fourth Great Awakening and the Future of Egalitarianism. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2000. Frieden, Jeffry. Global Capitalism: Its Fall and Rise in the Twentieth Century. New York: Norton, 2006. Kant, Immanuel. Critique of Judgment. Translated by Werner Pluhar. Indianapolis, IN: Hackett Publishing Company, 1941. Keynes, John Milton. “The World’s Economic Outlook.” The Atlantic, May, 1932. https://www​.theatlantic​.com​/magazine​/archive​/1932​/05​/the​-worlds​-economic​ -outlook​/307879/. Klein, Naomi. This Changes Everything: Capitalism vs. the Climate. New York: Simon & Schuster, 2014. Knight, Frank H. “Ethics and Economic Reform.” Economica 6, no. 24 (Nov. 1939): 398–422. Landes, David S. Revolution in Time: Clocks and the Making of the Modern World. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1983. Le Goff, Jacques. Time, Work, & Culture in the Middle Ages. Translated by Arthur Goldhammer. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1980. Leon, L. “CALL has the Right Response.” Crossings (Spring 2017): 7–11. Lipka, Michael. “U.S. Religious Groups and their Political Leanings.” FactTank, Pew Research Center, February 23, 2016. http://www​.pewresearch​.org​/fact​-tank​/2016​ /02​/23​/u​-s​-religious​-groups​-and​-their​-political​-leanings/. Lough, Joseph. “The Extraordinary Science of Ernst Troeltsch.” Papers of the Nineteenth Century Working Group of the American Academy of Religion (1991), 98–108. ———. Weber and the Persistence of Religion: Capitalism, Social Theory, and the Sublime. London: Routledge, 2006. Masci, David. “How Income Varies among U.S. Religious Groups.” FactTank, Pew Research Center, October 11, 2016. http://www​.pewresearch​.org​/fact​-tank​/2016​ /10​/11​/how​-income​-varies​-among​-u​-s​-religious​-groups/. Masci, David, and Michael Lipka. Pew Research Center. “Americans May be Getting Less Religious, but Feelings of Spirituality on the Rise.” January 21, 2016. http:// www​.pewresearch​.org​/fact​-tank​/2016​/01​/21​/americans​-spirituality/. Mayer, Jane. Dark Money: The Hidden History of the Billionaires Behind the Rise of the Radical Right. New York: Anchor, 2016. McLoughlin, William G. Revivals, Awakenings, and Reform. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1978. Miles, Margaret. A Complex Delight: The Secularization of the Breast, 1350-1750. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 2008. More, Thomas. Utopia. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003. Nixon, Richard. “Nixon’s Plan for Health Reform, In His Own Words” [delivered February 6, 1974]. Kaiser Health News, September 3, 2009. http://khn​.org​/news​/ nixon​-proposal/.

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Pew Research Center. “Religion and the Unaffiliated.” October 9, 2012. http://www​ .pewforum​.org​/2012​/10​/09​/nones​-on​-the​-rise​-religion/. Piketty, Thomas. Capital in the Twenty-First Century. Translated by Arthur Goldhammer. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2014. Piketty, Thomas, Emmanuel Saez, and Gabriel Zucman. “Distributional National Accounts: Methods and Estimates for the United States.” National Bureau of Economic Research (NBER) Working Paper No. 22945 (December 2016). Polanyi, Karl. The Great Transformation: The Political and Economic Origins of Our Time. New York: Beacon, 2001. Postone, Moishe. Time, Labor, and Social Domination: A Reinterpretation of Marx’s Critical Theory. New York: Cambridge University Press, 1993. Schneider, N. “Age of Spirit: An Interview with Harvey Cox.” The Immanent Frame, 2009. http://blogs​.ssrc​.org​/tif​/2009​/10​/30​/age​-of​-spirit​-an​-interview​-with​-harvey​ -cox/. Sharlet, Jeffrey. The Family. New York: Harper Collins, 2008. Smith, Adam. An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations. Volume 1. London: Stratman and T. Cadell, 1776. St Mary’s Wages. “St Mary’s Wages, the St Mary’s Way” (2013) http://stmaryswages​ .org​/st​-marys​-wages​-the​-st​-marys​-way/. Strauss, Leo. “Progress or Return? The Contemporary Crisis in Western Civilization.” Modern Judaism 1 (1981): 17–45. Widdicombe, Peter. “The Wounds and the Ascended Body: The Marks of Crucifixion in the Glorified Christ from Justin Martyr to John Calvin.” Laval théologique et philosophique 59, no. 1 (February 2003): 137–154.

Chapter 3

The Dramatic Shifts in Theological Education A Grounded Theory Approach Kelly D. Campbell and Kris Veldheer

INTRODUCTION In recent years, theological education has experienced dramatic shifts. While the reality of the change is widely recognized by institutions of theological education, theological educators, and church leaders, the cause of the change is not clear. Some of the change is attributed to the secular postmodern culture and the fluctuations within it. Other change is the result of the dramatic shifts happening within the traditional forms of educating and training clergy. The emergence of a wide variety of delivery systems, such as hybrid and online courses, as well as an increase in contextualized master’s level programs is rewriting the “traditional professional education” of a seminarian. Seminaries and divinity schools are not the only institutions confronting these shifting sands; there is also widespread acknowledgment that mainline Protestant churches are increasingly facing the reality that the roles of clergy and members are different from the traditional ones of previous generations. Daniel Aleshire summarized the changing environment in a single sentence in his article, “The Future Has Arrived,” “Religion has changed, higher education has changed, and students have changed.”1 A crisis in theological education is the result of these changes. The crisis can be attributed to a variety of factors. Some suggest that a crisis of identity is the result of ministry being viewed as one profession among others for which the academy, not the church, has been the authorizing body. Others believe that central to the current crisis is the absence of substantive leadership from the ecclesial and academic establishments. Many argue that the crisis is a result of the financial struggles that began in 2008, while other 83

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focus on the changing demographics of the seminary student. Some sources state that changes in theological education have been happening for a long time; however, others point out that the rate of change accelerated during the past decade. Considering these numerous factors and opinions and attempting to keep current in the literature about the recent changes in theological education, researchers saw the need to design a qualitative study to discover a grounded theory based on actual data from the field of theological education. In designing the qualitative study, researchers created a working explanation from the information they already had, which was based on what they found in the literature. This qualitative study examined the current crisis in theological education in mainline Protestant denominations. Researchers utilized the grounded theory methodology by forming an initial explanation and testing the theory through interviews with administration and faculty from a variety of mainline Protestant seminaries. A grounded theory study explains a practice or provides a framework for future research. Researchers limited mainline Protestant denominations to the broad categories of Episcopalian, Methodist, Presbyterian, and Lutheran for this study. The working explanation generated by the researchers stated that the current crisis in theological education is due to three factors: financial issues, board and administrative leadership or composition, and the natural decline of mainline Protestant denominations. The working explanation was created as the researchers read various articles on the changing theological landscape. For those of you reading this chapter, probably with a vested interest in theological education, the researchers want to provide a warning. Some of the data may be hard to accept and lead to a sense of hopelessness. You may find yourself in the data. The study will provide a wide variety of opinions and options for institutions to implement in their unique context, so the researchers want to encourage you to keep reading. Hope does exist for theological education in mainline Protestant institutions. A REVIEW OF THE LITERATURE: FROM CHANGE TO CRISIS The claim that theological education is changing is not a new concept. As far back as the 1960s, the literature began documenting the changes in both the church,2 and theological education (Rooks, 1970).3 In his 2008 work, Earthen Vessels, Aleshire surveys a history of theological education and notes, “Theological education is a socially constructed enterprise, and when times and issues change, the case for theological education needs to be reconsidered, if not reconstructed.”4 In the autumn of 1970, the journal Theological Education devoted an entire issue to management and

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governance in theological education and included an article on the topic of crisis (Rooks, 1970).5 Furthermore, five additional issues (vol. 6, 13, 19, 40, and 50) of the same journal contain at least one article on the topic of change. The theory of the changing landscape of theological education first started to appear in the literature in the 1960s. Although not directly mentioning theological education, Hadden’s entire volume is devoted to what he perceives as the widening gap between clergy and laity. Drawing heavily on sociological data and himself as a sociologist, Hadden lays out a sociological approach to the study of mainline churches and their clergy; he envisions that clergy need to change and adapt.6 In fact, he even uses the word “crisis,” starting in the preface.7 Coming from another perspective, Rooks proposes that there is not a single crisis in theological education, but many.8 Although initially only proposing three crises—financial, theological, and spiritual—Rooks later adds a fourth crisis, which he calls insensitivity, to the list.9 Aleshire’s account doesn’t speak of crisis, but of common themes in change, including the emergence of religions, the reasons for educating religious leaders, religious controversy, and the fact that theological schools are value-driven institutions.10 Although not using the same terminology, Hadden, Rooks, and Aleshire echo commonalities about what has been happening in theological education since the 1960s at least. More recent literature addresses the twin issues of crisis and a crisis in theological education in five ways. The first way is through seeing the twin issues as multidimensional.11 Because it is multifaceted, it cannot be attributed to just one aspect of theological education or to a particular denomination or even one group within a seminary. Instead, the literature points to a role for everyone, from faculty and administration to trustees, students, and alumni.12 Similarly, the crises are easy to describe but harder to diagnose.13 A second manner for addressing the issues of the crisis is through tying it to a crisis in the church.14 Although some want to name a crisis in the church, other authors only want to say the church is in the midst of great changes.15 Third, from a distinct perspective, Aleshire suggests the processes of governance are an aspect of past changes and future consequences.16 The other two ways the twin issues of crisis and the crisis in theological education are addressed in the literature focus on financial and societal issues. The literature points out at least two variant financial issues: a seminary education is no longer a career path to upward mobility17 and seminaries are no longer being supported by their denominations like they once were.18 For the purposes of this study, research into the actual financial realities of seminaries and their budgets was not pursued. Instead the focus remained on what the literature identified as the causes. Additional research might reveal more about the impact of the financial issues that could be included in a different research study.

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Finally, the societal issues or causes focused around changing religious, demographic, technological, and market issues.19 These changes have led to ecclesiastical changes, and with demographics, the changing role of women and ethnic minorities.20 Numerous other societal issues, including diversity and multiculturalism, have signaled yet another shift in how seminaries function; these issues have contributed to the crisis.21 Technology and market issues have changed theological education through a shift in what students want from a seminary education. Gone are the themes of learning and exploration for the faith. A specifically vocational or skill-based aspect of theological education has replaced these themes.22 While the literature avoids giving definitive reasons for the new themes, it does include repeated references to shifts in denominational, cultural, structural, financial, and educational needs that have contributed to the twin issues of crisis and crisis in theological education. FACTORS CONTRIBUTING TO CHANGE OR CRISIS For this literature review, books and journal articles covering the period from the beginning of the changes in theological education, namely the 1960s to the present day, were considered. The researchers chose that fifty-year period because it spans the time from the first mentions of the changes through various threads up until 2017. From these sources, the researchers compiled a list of contributing factors and then compared the factors with the responses of the study participants. The literature identified at least ten common threads that have contributed to the crisis in theological education. The literature spoke to the interplay between seminaries, their leadership and their ecclesial bodies even as theological education was changing. Similarly, faculty and changing curriculum were the other threads. What is interesting to note about these first four threads is that as theological education has changed in the past fifty years, the relationship between seminaries, their faculties, and their ecclesial bodies has impacted curriculum and led leadership to ask if faculty still need to be of the same denomination or faith community to teach at a denominational seminary. These threads have led to the crisis in questioning seminary identity within higher education and purpose of theological education. A timely book from 2006 titled Educating Clergy gives various opinions on these first common threads and ends with an invitation for further conversation because change is still happening. Aleshire’s work on governance, which was previously mentioned, brings up the next common thread: corporate versus academic governance models for seminaries. While Aleshire speculates about good governance as a key to leading theological schools forward,23 other threads found in the literature

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include lack of planning and fear of change, as well as financial difficulties. In some cases, these threads might result in slight changes, but in other seminaries, they can bring on a crisis. The last common threads point to the changing student body; they include recruitment, ordination, formal education, and accreditation. The assumption can be made that as the needs of churches have changed in the past fifty years, so have the needs and interests of potential students. As technology has made education more available, students are more reluctant to relocate, they are seeking more practical degrees, and some denominations are changing their requirements for ordained ministry. The concept of what constitutes a formal theological education is changing, and the Association of Theological Schools is planning to update their accreditation standards on a regular basis in order to keep current with new ideas. Although it would be easier to see each of the common threads as wholly independent, they are interrelated. Authors and researchers writing about leadership echo similar ideas as those who write about faculty. About leadership, the literature points to four reasons why leadership is a factor, including societal;24 educational models;25 disparities between seminary and church;26 and clashes in expectations of leaders.27 Some of these sources also point to the next factor of faculty and highlight three underlying issues: faculty that are no longer effective pastors;28 seminaries becoming secular with secular faculty structures;29 and the reduction or retirement of established faculty in favor of adjuncts.30 The research found in the literature says that as seminaries take on more secular structures and lose their distinctive denominational identities, leadership suffers and faculty moves away from the church and toward academia. This movement leaves seminaries facing a “who are we” identity crisis. The question of who a seminary is leads to the next identified factor of identity within higher education and the purpose of theological education. Of the many ideas drawn from the literature, the strongest themes are the tension between theory and practice;31 the tension between the cost of educating clergy and the church’s ability to offer financial support;32 and the value of employability over the pursuit of knowledge.33 The literature does not offer definitive or easy answers to the factor of identity and purpose. Instead, the literature echoes factors listed above about what seminary education truly is, who should lead the seminaries, how seminaries should be structured, and what makes theological education unique. In the literature, researchers could not find agreement about the relationship between theory and practice in seminary education.34 Due to this lack of agreement in the literature regarding the above factors, the next factor of corporate versus academic governance models for seminaries is equally murky. Does a seminary need a more corporate model or should it be

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governed more like an academic institution or a church? The literature points to seminaries needing shared governance35 rather than the corporate topdown structure. Myers also points out that seminaries often don’t operate like corporations. Supporting this viewpoint, both Leith and McGowan write that board candidates are often better known for their qualifications as fundraisers rather than as either academics or having experience in church governance.36 While the literature takes different approaches, what is important is that the literature on governance points not to a solution but to the problem. Continuing with the factors discovered in the literature, some of the authors commented on lack of planning and fear of change as factors for the crisis in theological education. One author pointed out that schools rarely stop doing things; they just add on to what they are already doing.37 Another author noted that since change can be costly, mainline seminaries do not recognize the urgent need for change.38 Institutions are afraid of innovative ways and get stuck doing things the way they were done before.39 Finally, McGowan points out that even the most progressive institutions find it difficult to create sustainable change.40 These factors, like those previously discussed through the literature, give different voices to the twin crises. The final four factors discovered in the literature represent two sides of the same issue, shifting the focus away from the institution and putting the focus instead more squarely on the students. With the focus on students, the final four factors highlight why all the factors listed above are interrelated and important. In looking at the factors of ordination, formal education, and accreditation, Gonzalez and Landrebe note that theological education and its accreditors no longer hold the monopoly on ministerial education they once did.41 Instead, other forms of education are being offered to meet the needs of the church, including certificates and field education. Even the concept of “residency” is not clearly defined.42 This thread in the literature review circles back to the earlier thread that suggests seminaries are moving away from the church.43 Leith argues later in his book, however, that seminary graduates need more than “how to do it” skills as a substitute for theology and theory.44 Although Leith has a different opinion on this factor than the others, a look at their publication dates suggests that perhaps Gonzalez and Landrebe, who published twenty years after Leith, are the next iteration of thinking on this factor. The factor about changing curriculum sets up the same dichotomy. Some of the earlier writings uncovered from the 1990s, such as articles from Wainwright and Leith, agree on what they call the “first task of the seminary,” which is to prepare preachers, or as Wainwright calls it, the “essential disciplines.”45 However, more recent literature, such as Miller’s from 2017 and McGowan’s from 2015, highlights a shifting educational model that Miller identifies as a transition from content transfer to adaptive

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learning (Miller, 2).46 Even though McGowan precedes Miller’s work, his focus on the accessibility of knowledge, whether in the classroom or through the Internet, leads him to wonder if students even need seminaries.47 Morgan highlights the tension in the dichotomy by pointing out that education in the parish is changing too and calls it a “monstrous challenge to existing paradigms.”48 All of these varying voices speak to the fact that seminary curriculums have changed over the last twenty years and are still shifting to meet an ever-changing church. The next two factors uncovered by the researchers in the literature are recruitment and financial difficulties. While the factors are separate issues, they are in fact intertwined because many seminaries are tuition driven and dependent on recruitment to make their budgets. As Gonzalez points out, mainline denominations are recruiting fewer candidates for ordained ministry, and thus the number of students is decreasing.49 Morgan points to the increasing inability of ministry candidates to afford a three-year residential program as being an issue in recruitment.50 Zeigler speaks to another issue in recruitment—the seminary’s inability to provide enough financial aid for students to cover the cost of seminary.51 Finally, Leith highlights the trend, beginning in the 1990s, that many individuals wanting to attend seminary did not have the background or catechetical training to be ready for seminary.52 Hence the pool of possible students continues to constrict. These aspects of the factor of recruitment speak to the need for seminaries to support students with more financial aid so they can afford seminary. It also speaks to seminaries having to engage in remedial work to prepare potential students for a seminary education after the students are recruited. Since seminaries are having a harder time recruiting students, this problem logically leads to the final factor of financial difficulties. The literature shows that financial difficulties go deeper than just recruitment issues, but it is the most obvious challenge in theological education.53 Some of the other aspects of this factor mentioned in the literature include fewer donations from graduates, less denominational support, and decreased giving from other organizations.54 Because of this factor, seminaries have sold property,55 deferred maintenance,56 and reduced expenditures for libraries at a time when all library costs are under inflationary pressures.57 Granted, there are other results of financial difficulties, such as seminary mergers, faculty reductions, and shifts in curriculum delivery from residential to online, but this factor remains a significant part of the crisis in theological education. Although the researchers found these factors, sometimes referred to as common threads, emerging from the literature, assuredly there are more sources to be discovered just as there are more voices speaking to the crisis in theological education. For the purposes of this essay, the researchers only explored sources from mainline denominations and authors. A need still exists

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to explore Catholic and Evangelical sources as well for their perspectives on the crisis in theological education and to determine if the factors are the same. When the researchers considered these factors, they found a commonality in the literature and noted the similar shifts described in the fifty years of literature explored. The literature review gave the researchers the necessary background to confirm that the research framework was viable, so the researchers proceeded with the interviews to ground the working explanation. METHODOLOGY OF STUDY In 1967, two researchers, Barney Glaser and Anselm Strauss, developed qualitative design.58 Glaser and Strauss, sociologists, felt that theories used in research needed to be “grounded” in data from the field. With grounded theory methodology, the intent is to move beyond describing the data, as in narrative research, and to generate a theory. A grounded theory study explains a practice or provides a framework for future research. In this study, the researchers generated a general explanation of the current crisis in theological education and tested this general explanation through qualitative interviews with participants in the field of theological education. To utilize the grounded theory methodology, the researchers contacted prospective participants by email. The participants consisted of faculty and administrators working in mainline Protestant seminaries and divinity schools, as defined by the Association of Theological Schools. All prospective participants were holding or had held administrative and faculty positions with theological institutions at some point in their academic career. Scheduled at the discretion of the participants and ranging in duration from twenty minutes to over an hour, the researchers conducted the interviews. Participant interview settings included offices, homes, and cars (as participants were commuting to work). The researchers completed the interviews between June 2017 and August 2017. For such a study, Creswell59 recommends identifying and interviewing at least three to four individuals, with ten to fifteen individuals being the limit, from a heterogeneous group, such as faculty and administration within mainline Protestant institutions, while Polkinghorne “recommends 5 to 25 individuals who have all experienced the phenomenon.”60 For this study, the goal was to interview ten individuals since Creswell recommends having a “narrow range of sampling strategies for phenomenological studies.”61 With thirteen individuals interviewed, the researchers reached the goal. The thirteen individual interviews were semi-structured and consisted of six questions developed by the researchers to test or ground the general explanation. The six questions focused on the changing landscape of

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theological education, the definition of a crisis, the factors contributing to the crisis, and the impact of the crisis. The researchers are aware that some of the interview questions can be considered “leading,” and they acknowledge this concern might be a limitation of this study. In addition to responding to the interview questions, participants provided a set of socio-demographic information, including age, race, education level, current occupation, religious background, and workplace religious background. Conducted individually, the interviews were audio-recorded using software, including Evernote, Audacity, and Voice Recorder for iPad. The researchers taped the interviews and contracted a professional to transcribe them. Upon translation completion, the researchers listened to the interviews and proofread the transcription to ensure consistency and validity of the data. Tracking the data required a created matrix that listed each participant’s last name, and the researchers assigned a numerical value to each participant. The creation of the matrix allowed for the complete confidentiality of responses. The numerical value was used when coding the data, that is, interview text. Once researchers entered all the data used for the analysis into the software, including the interview transcriptions and the socio-demographic information, they destroyed the matrix. The analysis for this study focused on whether the researchers’ general explanation matched the participants’ experiences. NVivo software analyzed the qualitative data of each of the interviewees. This software helped connect the socio-demographic data to the qualitative data. Similarities and differences found in the data analysis continually refined the researchers’ general explanation, thus grounding the theory from the participants’ data in the field. Researchers coded themes and factors to the emerging grounded theory. DATA FROM INTERVIEWS This section reports the participants’ input and records the refinement of the grounded theory for the current crisis in theological education. The working explanation generated by the researchers stated that the current crisis in theological education is due to three factors: financial issues, board and administrative leadership or composition, and the decline of mainline Protestant denominations. The first interview question for this qualitative study was, “Describe the changing landscape of theological education as you perceive it changing currently.” Sue responded, “Enormous ripple effects are happening across theological education” and “sort of shifting sands underneath us.” Three of the thirteen participants noted that the landscape of theological education began changing long ago. Others felt that the changing landscape was

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“structural” and was having an impact on other fields of higher education, including colleagues in the broader humanities areas such as philosophy. Tyler noted, “It’s an industry like many industries that finds itself amid just cataclysmic change across the board and doesn’t know how to figure it out.” Kendra commented on the “escalation of concern around the value of theological education” while Erica brought up that “theological education comes with a particular set of values and commitments that in many ways overlap with our cultural understanding and in other way precedes it.” The second interview question asked participants how they would define a crisis. While the researchers’ interview question asked for a general definition of a crisis rather than a specific one within the theological educational landscape, the participants’ responses placed the crisis in the theological education landscape. Various definitions of crisis included “a press of either internal or external circumstances or combination thereof that are not chosen, but they are not voluntary things”; “being a disconnect between expectations and present reality which leads to some kind of change which can be positive, but most of the time it is not”; and “an experience of either contradictory forces or some kind of cognitive dissonance.” The researchers coded the new data into an emerging factor of a lack of awareness or response to the changing culture outside theological institutions. This factor of a lack of awareness or response was evident in Tyler’s definition of crisis: “of reacting to and to some extent feeling, again, behind the eight ball in terms of responding.” The researchers coded two participants’ responses into the emerging factor of “the role of tradition.” Tammy stated, “Sometimes you just keep doing the same old things and things get worse and worse and worse.” Kendra noted, Crisis is that there is the tried and true processes and methods that have provided some sort of stability are no longer working. And I think a crisis is when you don’t have the resources and the imagination to create a different system.

The theological education industry acknowledges that theological education and higher education are filled with traditions, customs, and legacies; however, the participants’ data confirmed that theological education can be difficult to change and that institutional leaders are slow in their response to change, especially those changes caused by outside forces. Next, researchers coded several participants’ responses into the emerging factor called the leadership void. Ken’s statement noted the factor of leadership void or the lack of leadership: A crisis arises when there is a lack of direction, a lack of clear direction that where it becomes clear that something is not working or it is not working effectively in a way it has from the past; but the way forward is not clear.

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Since leadership, that is, administration (Presidents and Boards) is the area from which institutional strategic decisions, institutional planning, and institutional vision originate, the researchers coded this data as the factor of leadership void. In response to the interview question, the participants’ data included comments about institutions where leadership is lacking. Two participants talked about creating “a structure which is about opportunity” and “missing a critical juncture.” As Pam noted, one possible solution to the crisis is “not just asking questions; we are going to have to start making strategic decisions.” The third interview question asked participants to define a crisis in theological education. Researchers coded more data into emerging factors and added some new factors. Margaret noted the previously emerged factor of the role of tradition in her response: “The crisis in the theological education is not that dissimilar from the crisis in higher education in general which has to do with an old model.” Tyler agreed with the role of tradition as a factor of the crises and stated, “Any model, any structure of an institution has a certain lifespan to it.” A new factor found in the data from this interview question and one of the researchers’ initial working explanation factors was economic or financial. Participants noted the economic factor in several ways, including “highly endowed institutions,” “crisis can be anything from financial shortfalls,” and “not being supportable anymore because of changing economics.” Further parsing and coding of the emerging economic factor based on the data led researchers to create a new factor of changing church or denomination support. Erica reported, “Especially the denominational seminaries are in crisis,” and Pam agreed with the statement, noting, “Because the relationships are very dynamic and very much changing, the crisis is exacerbated with theological education.” Another new factor emerged from comments by Tyler, who stated, “The church in various institutions outside education, what they expect from theological educational institutes, differs today than what it once was and that’s clearly a crisis.” The researchers coded in this factor as changing culture. In addition, three other factors emerged from participants’ responses to this question. Based on a statement about switching from a “campus based live-in community” to an “online community or to off-campus housing,” the researchers coded this data into the recruitment factor. Technology or advances in technology was the second emerging factor, as a participant responded that a “big impact for theological education right now is distributive learning.” The third factor was lack of leadership. Kristen recognized a “threat on various pressure points, and an opportunity in terms of allowing room for those institutions that have capacity, and have willingness, and have some level of resource to respond to it in terms of opportunity.”

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Based on the responses to the first three interview questions, the researchers refined the working explanation for the current crisis resulting in the initial formation of the grounded theory. Researchers expanded and adjusted their initial three factors of financial issues, board and administrative leadership or composition, and the natural decline of mainline Protestant denominations. The forming grounded theory for explaining the current crisis in theological education appeared to be based on the factors of financial issues, leadership void, role of tradition, advances in technology, changes in recruitment, and the lack of support from mainline denominations. The fourth interview question was, “What are the factors contributing to the crisis in theological education in your opinion?” Participants reported a range of emerging factors from changing societal culture to faculty tenure. In coding these factors, the researchers found eighteen varied factors, although some of the factors were stronger or more grounded than others. For example, only one participant mentioned women’s roles as a factor in the current theological crisis while all thirteen participants noted the influence of a changing societal culture as a factor. Data from this interview question repeated several of the previously emerged factors from the first three interview questions. Listed in the following chart are the eighteen factors and the number of participants who reported each factor (table 3.1). In analyzing the factors, researchers grouped the eighteen factors into three larger categories. The first category was outside factors, meaning factors or reasons outside the direct control and influence of theological institutions or theological education broadly. The second category included internal factors, that is, factors that can be impacted or influenced by the theological institutions or within theological education. The third large category brought together factors related to the leadership of theological institutions. The chart below shows the three larger groupings of the eighteen factors: outside factors, internal factors, and leadership (table 3.2). Factors coded in the outside category included accreditation, changing societal culture, denominational change or changes in the church, financial, and advances in technology and women. In certain instances, researcher knew these factors could have been coded in the internal category; however, based on the participants’ comments, the researchers determined that these factors were outside the control or influence of the participants, their institutions, and theological education. Researchers ranked changing societal culture, denominational changes, financial, accreditation, advances in technology, and women from highest to lowest based on the number of participants responding to each individual factor. All thirteen participants mentioned the factor of cultural or societal changes. Assorted reasons for the societal changes ranged from anti-intellectualism, society’s changing view and relationship with religion, the lessening

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Table 3.1  Factors from interviews and the number of participants that reported each factor Factors

Number of Participants Reported

Accreditation Business Approach to Leadership in Academic Institutions Changing Curriculum Changing Societal Culture Denominational Changes Elitism in Mainline Protestants Institutions Ethics, Questions about Institutional Faculty Financial or Economic Leadership Void or Lack Lack of Planning or Adjusting to the Change Loss of Institutional Purpose Physical Plant Recruitment (Change of Current Students) Technology, Advances in Faculty Tenure Tradition, Role of Women

5 7 9 13 12 7 5 8 8 10 8 10 2 10 4 3 7 1

of the importance of religion, advances in technology, and diversity. Kristen noted, “Churches are being influenced by the anti-intellectual climate of our culture,” while Emily talked about the “great divide between the church and the academy,” specifically noting, “I think that it is especially hard for the liberals.” Other participants discussed the shifting modalities and how people are trying to figure out how to navigate the change. Several participants noted the “changing patterns of religious practice and beliefs” and included Table 3.2  Three larger groupings of the eighteen factors Larger Groupings 1. Outside Factors (outside direct control and/or influence of the institutions and theological education) 2. Internal Factors (inside the direct control and/or influence of the institutions and theological education) 3. Leadership Factors

Factors Assigned to Each Larger Group Accreditation (5), Changing Societal Culture (13), Denominational Change (12), Financial Issues (10), and Technology, Advances in (4), Women (1) Changing Curriculum (9), Elitism in Protestant Institutions (7), Faculty (8), Physical Plant (2), Tradition (Role Of) ((7)), and Tenure (Faculty) ((3)) Business Approach to Leadership in Academic Institutions (7), Ethic (Questions About Institutional) ((5)), Leadership Void (8), Lack of Planning (5), and Loss of Institutional Purpose (10)

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statements such as “we are living in a multicultural, multi-religious world and that theological education can no longer just focus on preparing people to be knowledgeable and pastoral around Christianity.” Carol stated, “The reason why we’re losing numbers is precisely because of people’s ideas about what it means to be religious—and I hate this dichotomy between religious and spiritual.” Several participants noted the changing importance of religion by society. Tammy stated, “We’ve got a situation where being a pastor is not necessarily the prestige position it once was.” Emily specifically commented on the “devaluing of a formal graduate-level theological education.” Finally, Bob said, “I think the crisis is caused by a lack of faith in theological education. People just don’t trust seminaries anymore to educate students.” Closely related to cultural shifts was the emerged factor of denominational changes, as Kristen said, “I noticed churches being influenced by the antiintellectual climate of our culture, before I noticed the change of financial commitment.” Participants Tyler, Kristen, Erica, Carol, Bob, and Emily noted, “Mainline churches have been shrinking.” As Tyler stated, “The biggest one is the decline of mainline Protestant churches, who support— traditionally have needed and supported traditional theological education that has shifted, dwindling members, dwindling congregations, and its impact in terms of clergy.” Participants reported that the factor of denominational change is impacting denominational politics, denominational loyalty and identity, and ecclesiology. Margaret noted that with the changing reality of the church, denominational disagreements over polity and direction are contributing to the crisis in theological education. As Tammy said, “We used to have seminaries associated with the denominational loyalty.” Kendra agreed, commenting, “Theological education has been tied so closely to denominational families and communities.” Finally, Bob stated, “Something is lost when a student isn’t surrounded by their denomination.” Concerning denominational politics, loyalty, and identity losing focus due to societal changes, Emily commented, “The crisis of the church in the 21st century is ecclesiology. What does it mean to be church and struggling with it is it tied to building, is it tied to a program, what is it?” Two participants asked the question, “When the church does not know what it is, how can seminaries prepare leaders for the church?” As Kendra noted, Schools were trying to really think ahead, and think where is—not only where is theological education going, but where’s the church going and to what extent is the mission of theological education broad enough to serve not just failing denominations but the communities that they serve.

With all these denominational changes, the factor of finances emerged. Sue stated, “You are part of a denomination that gives an exorbitant amount of

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money,” while Erica said that fewer congregations were sending students to seminary and that the denomination was not getting enough dollars. James noted, “Conservative institutions are doubling down on their conservative commitment to attract students and financial support from conservative voices.” Bringing these comments together was a statement from Sue: Where the church is diminished in numbers we could see that in almost every mainline denomination these firm, independent, non-denominational churches that continue to flourish and thrive . . . so the cultural change is the fact that we have a lot of churches that are growing and so independent or nondenominational and aren’t requiring seminary.

In this large category of outside factors, the final two emerging factors were accreditation and advances in technology. James noted, “There is an increasing demand by most constituents and accrediting bodies to have usually a verifiable measure to evaluate success.” Three participants felt that accrediting agencies were “playing politics,” having “difficulty in changing and keeping up with themselves,” and “not being an advocate for seminaries”; however, Tyler noted “recent changes in terms of some allowances and the willingness to provide much more frequent and free exemptions to theological schools . . . which has seen some innovative, and some good experimentation.” Four participants commented on the advances in technology factor. Participant responses included terms such as the Internet, social media, distributive learning, distance learning, hybrid learning, and modalities for teaching and learning. A key statement from Carol related to the third large category of leadership: “Our leadership is still primarily coming from a generation of folks who were not educated in current various teaching and learning modalities.” Based on the large category of outside factors, the grounded theory of the crisis in theological education was modified. The current crisis in theological education is due to a wide variety of factors both inside and outside the control and influence of theological institutions and theological education. Outside factors include changing societal culture, denominational changes, and financial issues. Other emerged factors include a leadership void, the role of tradition, and advances in technology. The second large category contains factors coded as internal factors. Researchers defined internal factors as impacted or influenced by theological institutions or within theological education. The six factors, in order of participants’ responses, include recruitment (Change of Current Students), changing curriculum, faculty, tradition, elitism in mainline Protestant institutions, and physical plant. The responses of ten participants were coded in the emerging factor of recruitment. Several of these participants acknowledged declining enrollments as a

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reason for the factor of recruitment. James said, “Progressive seminaries and theological education institutions are suffering from low enrollment,” and Margaret stated, “Residential theological education . . . has had fewer and fewer enrollments.” However, causes for the declining enrollment varied. Some have policy and practical implications for recruitment and admission offices. While Tammy felt that “most seminary decisions made by students are based on location, not on affiliation or denominational identity,” Margaret said, “The kind of people who come for education is different now than it was like say 10 or 15, 20 years ago,” and Kendra noted, “The student population has changed and it continues to change.” Finally, the issue of why students would be interested in a theological program or degree emerged as a reason for the recruitment factor. Pam said, And so we’re talking about a generation of people who are in many ways rejecting those terms. So, are we surprised that the enrollment is declining when people aren’t even embracing what we think we stand for, or at least what we stood for historically?

James raised the question of a return on a student’s investment in a theological degree: I think that potential students of religious education—theological education, whatever—don’t easily see how a degree in that field translates into excellence or a job should they pursue that degree. So, you know, basically, why spend all that money on a degree that you don’t know if you’re actually going to get some sort of reward or some sort of career path out of it.

The emerged factor of the challenge of recruiting students was followed with the emerged factor of changing curriculum. Several participants explained the need for new leadership and new thinking about curriculum changes. Kristen said, “There are people who are still working on solid responsible responses to theological paradigms that drive curricular decisions and the commitments of the schools, but we are being tossed to the winds at many places.” Another reason given for the changing curriculum was the inability to clearly define what skills students need in ministry, as Margaret noted, “There is a need for different leadership and I think theological education is relatively slow catching on to that in terms of what kinds of skills are needed.” Ken captured a third reason for changing curriculum with this statement: Sometimes it manifests itself in projects that—of new programs or whatever that are simply aimed at getting more students—are perceived as getting more at things that will please people to give—who might have money to give without really focusing on the mission and the gospel.

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Pam commented on the challenge of designing a curriculum for the changing church and the ministers who will serve in the church: “We can’t just say that our curriculum has to be Old Testament and New Testament anymore, I don’t think that gets at what we need in the world right now frankly, or it gets at what the students expect or what they need to be equipped with.” The changing curriculum factor is related to the factor of recruitment of students and the next emerged factor, faculty, which is logical since curriculum is developed and delivered by the faculty. Sue noted, “The shaping of the faculty has changed dramatically.” This change in the faculty is intertwined with an institution’s capacity to sustain the traditional full-time tenured faculty model compared with the emergence and impact of adjunct or affiliate faculty. In addition to an institution’s capacity, Sue commented, “A change, I think, by those within theological institutions, what they believe their role ought to be is probably different from what others think, and so there’s a crisis between expectations and on both sides.” Sue connected this tension between different expectations to denominational loyalty, identity, and culture: Now very many people go to university religious studies departments and they don’t have a denominational loyalty or identity or culture within which they are shaped as they are preparing to teach in this field of religious work. So that’s an issue . . . but I think the faculty resources for theological education to deal with some of its problems are not there. And they are not there because people do not even know what a seminary is.

Following the emerged factor of faculty, the next two emerging factors of this internal larger category were tradition (role of) and elitism in mainline Protestant institutions. Tradition (role of) was coded in response to participants’ responses, such as “alumni and board members like to hold on to physical properties or institutional identity.” Phrases the participants used in their responses coded as tradition (role of) included “attached to the old model,” “the assumptions and the illusions of permanence,” and “back to the status quo . . . what we have always done.” Erica recognized that “there is a power thing in the very traditional model,” while Sue captured the essence of the emerged tradition (role of) factor in this statement: “Some places out there that sort of have their noses in the sand that are trying to just keep doing what they are doing.” Pam acknowledged, “We are very slow to adjust to the changes around us.” In addition to the emerged factor of tradition (role of), elitism in mainline Protestant institutions began to emerge as a factor. Participant responses coded as elitism in mainline Protestant institutions included “they boast

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about a kind of educational superiority,” “theological education has become more and more of a luxury in the eyes of many denominations,” and “we have a situation where being a pastor is not necessarily the prestige position it once was.” Another participant’s input connected the previous emerged theme of changing societal shifts to elitism in Protestant institutions. Tammy said, “We have a mix of ethnic and cultural development that seem to mean that theological education is becoming boutique in the sense that there are schools for people with different languages and different cultural traditions.” Links between the emerged factor of elitism in Protestant institutions and denominational change were coded from Ken’s statement that “denominational people want to hold on to denominational identity or vestiges of prestige.” Pam commented on the emerged factor of elitism: “In many ways theological education thinks it is above the fray and it has never been. Is it not right? Because we talk about God being in some way special or different.” The last two emerging factors in this large internal category were tenure (faculty) and physical plant. Participants’ comments about tenure related to the faculty factor; however, they were less significant in that only three participants made a specific referral to tenure. The factor of physical plant was noted by two participants and could be coded as a reason for other emerging factors in this internal category, such as tradition, or within the external factors of denominational change and financial issues. Based on the larger category of internal factors, the grounded theory of the crisis in theological education was modified. The current crisis in theological education is due to a wide variety of interrelated factors, both within and outside the control and influence of theological institutions and theological education. Outside factors include changing societal culture, denominational changes, financial issues, accreditation, and advances in technology. Inside factors include changing curriculum, elitism in Protestant institutions, faculty, tradition (role of), tenure (faculty), and physical plant. Previously emerged factors include a leadership void, which will be discussed next. The third larger grouping developed by the researchers was leadership. As leadership can directly impact an institution in a variety of ways, the researchers grouped five emerging factors in this larger category. The emerging factors as ranked and coded in order of emergence were loss of institutional purpose, leadership void, business approach to leadership in academic institutions, lack of planning, and questions about institutional ethics. From ten participants’ responses, researchers coded the emerging factor of loss of institutional purpose. The reasons given by the participants for this factor included mission’s responses, distractions away from the educational purpose of the institution, and a loss of identity. Kendra and Pam gave almost the exact same reason for the loss of institutional purpose. Kendra said, “The

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mission question around theological education—for whom and for what,” while Pam noted, “So who are we educating and what are we educating them for?” Both responses tied back to the earlier emerged factor of changing societal culture. Tammy responded, “[I] haven’t been thinking much about the concept of mission,” and Bob noted a “lack of confidence and confusion in what theological education should be.” Three participants commented on the distractions to the educational purpose or mission of the institutions; researchers coded these responses as lack of purpose. Margaret said, “All kinds of stuff that is interfering with the actual education process,” while Ken connected the reason for the lack of purpose to the earlier emerged financial issues factor: “What happened is people came up with bright ideas that are basically totally ancillary to the mission or irrelevant to the mission that they think just might somehow be a financial magic bullet that never is.” Loss of identity was the third reason for the emerging factor. Researchers coded the data under the factor of lack of purpose with phrases such as “crisis in mission, I think there’s a crisis in identity,” “a lack of focus in the theological program,” and “we need to identify who we can be in this new culture.” The final statement connects this factor to the earlier emerged factor of changing cultural shifts. Finally, Tyler connected the distinct reasons for the emerging factor of loss of purpose in the statement, “It’s difficult for folks to continue to grapple with a perpetual disconnection between the theological education model and its stated mission of producing a clergy for a totally different context.” In the large grouping of leadership, the second emerging factor was leadership void. Eight participants remarked on this emerging factor. The data provided by the participants discussed the leadership needed, examples of ineffective leadership, and leadership training needed for theological leaders. Kristen noted, “We need people who can think about complex moral and ethical issues and deconstruct false equivalencies.” Margaret commented on the “need for different leadership” and acknowledged, “Theological education is relatively slow in catching on to that in terms of what kind of skills are needed.” Included in Emily’s comment was ineffective leadership, “We have bad leadership,” while Carol felt a factor for the current crisis was “first a failure of leadership.” Other participants commented about “sad, disruptive leadership,” “zero administrative experience,” “the self-promotion of leaders of major institutions,” a “really, really bad seminary president and a board that was lazy,” and the “poor management of seminaries.” Participants raised the question of leadership training. Erica asked, “How do presidents get trained and ministers and board get trained? Well, there’s a vacuum there.” Even if theological leaders are trained, Carol noted that leaders “seem hesitant to actually reeducate or retrain themselves.” Finally,

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James reported that the situation is “very tempting for folks to have too high a view of themselves, and then they think they are going to be, you know, expert in things far beyond their experience and training.” Erica summed up a common perception about leadership in theological education, commenting, “We have this assumption in theological education that if you are a good homiletics professor or a good early church historian, that must mean you will be a great president.” The third emerging factor from the large grouping of leadership was the business approach to leadership in academic institutions. Researchers coded seven comments from participants into this emerging factor, including “sort of business manager,” “model of consolidation of capital,” and “President who wanted to be very controlling.” Margaret stated, “Major factor is the commodification of education in general,” and Kristen said, “Because change has to happen, I feel like it is being driven by business kinds of models.” Erica noted this new model of leadership: “They kind of go to a corporate model and think they are smarter than they are in the corporate model and kind of abandon the premise of can the church do it differently.” In the interviews, participants described cases when a business approach to leadership was experienced in academic institutions. The cases included Presidential and Board leaders. Kristen responded, “He wanted to save the church according to a business model,” and “Wanting to have cash cows . . . he had no understanding of theological education.” This participant’s response was specific while Emily reflected on the broader issue of leadership: “Look at who is being hired into administrative positions, they are hiring outside theological education, they are hiring people who don’t really know education.” Finally, Margaret brought the issues together with the comment, “The idea that I mean of the president as the CEO rather than as an intellectual and thought leader or a spiritual leader or both.” A statement by Erica emerged the question of board leadership: “Boards and administrators have adopted a corporate model.” Another participant noted that boards are changing to become more like corporate boards rather than philanthropic nonprofit boards. Emily restated the concern and issue about the business leadership models with this comment: “They don’t know theological education. They don’t understand how education functions. They talk about students like they are widgets.” The fourth and fifth emerging factors were lack of planning and ethics (questions about institutional ethos). Five participants commented on each of these emerging factors. Data coded as a lack of planning included “slow to catch up” and “very slow to adjust to the changes around us.” Carol’s response connected the previous factors of tradition and elitism in mainline Protestant institutions to this emerging factor of lack of planning: “The failure to think that what is happening now is also good but requires something

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very different.” In addition, participant 6 supported the connection between these factors with the statement, “We have just waited so long to respond to them, turning our head and saying, we don’t see what actually is going on. Normally, visioning is a leadership task and essential in planning.” Erica asked a question about the current visioning in theological education: “What does it mean, who is Christ for us today, and what does that look like and then how do we work back to create training and formation? And that’s the kind of vision I don’t see happening.” Ethics (questions about institutional ethos) was the final emerging factor in the larger category of leadership. Kristen stated, “Behind the scenes they are doing terrible things to their faculties and their staff and their students.” Margaret noted, “Schools are forced to close mostly by their board for rather nefarious reasons.” Researchers coded both statements in this emerging factor. Another participant commented on the debate about the institution’s responsibility regarding student financing for their educational programs: “It is a moral issue because we are taking tuition dollars from students and encouraging them to take out loans.” Ken talked about how people respond in this time of crisis: “Find people to blame in that situation and people did a lot of blaming of various people . . . they were indeed at fault because they were serving their own interests.” Finally, Sue brought out the most serious ethical and moral toll of a crisis: “That’s the crisis right now. It is trying to figure out the balance between the institutional needs and the human toll that . . . all of this upheaval and change and crisis is causing.” Based on the larger category of leadership factors, the researchers modified the grounded theory of the crisis in theological education. The current crisis in theological education is due to a wide variety of interrelated and multifaceted factors, both within and outside the control and influence of theological institutions and theological education, and an institution’s ability to survive and thrive is dependent on the ability of its leadership to lead the institution through these changing factors. Outside factors include changing societal culture, denominational changes, financial issues, accreditation, and advances in technology. Inside factors include changing curriculum, elitism in Protestant institutions, faculty, tradition (role of), tenure (faculty), and physical plant. Factors related to leadership include loss of institutional purpose, leadership void, business approaches to leadership in academic institutions, ethics (questions about institutional ethos), and lack of planning. Interview questions 5 and 6 were “Describe how the crisis would impact you” and “Describe what you think caused the crisis.” The participants’ responses to interview question 5 and question 6 provided data on the consequences of the crisis, the academic response to the crisis, and the church’s response to the crisis. Their descriptions about the consequences of the crisis included “a lot of erratic sort of thrashing around in the seminary,”

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“[the crisis] created a time of high anxiety if not distress, things often become chaotic,” and “with survival at the institution that the human toil . . . is barely registering with them.” Sue talked about the physical toll that the crisis has taken and asked the question, “How do we balance the institutional survival mentality which is a huge part of theological education right now with care for human beings?” Participants recorded physical consequences such as weight gain and headaches as well emotional consequences such as a profound sense of loss. Losses encompassed personal callings, families, homes, and colleagues. One participant stated that one of the reasons for the crisis was “mostly just a matter of there not being enough resources.” Regarding the academic response to the crisis, participants had several recommendations. Ken stated, “What is needed is a clearer focus on their mission and working from the mission,” while Kendra felt that institutions need to “create circumstances for innovation and really thinking outside the box, so that we can renovate this thing and make it a different thing than it currently is rather than sustaining what we currently have.” Finally, Erica said, “Seminaries have to be very entrepreneurial right now.” Speaking to the church’s responsibility for the crisis, Kristen stated, “And it’s—the Churches’ theologians, its doctors. The doctors of the church need to be the ones who can retain a thoughtful stance and offer imaginative possibilities for the church.” After integrating the data from interview questions 5 and 6, the researchers again modified the grounded theory of the crisis in theological education. The current crisis in theological education is due to a wide variety of interrelated and multifaceted factors, both within and outside the control and influence of theological institutions and theological education, and an institution’s ability to survive and thrive is dependent on the ability of its leadership to lead the institution through these changing factors. This current crisis has consequences, including financial and human costs. Outside factors include changing societal culture, denominational changes, financial issues, accreditation, and advances in technology. Inside factors include changing curriculum, elitism in Protestant institutions, faculty, tradition (role of), tenure (faculty), and physical plant. Leadership factors include loss of institutional purpose, leadership void, business approach to leadership in academic institutions, ethics (questions about institutional ethos), and lack of planning. Findings As the researchers began the study, their working explanation was that the current crisis in theological education was due to three factors. The three factors were financial issues, board and administrative leadership or composition, and the decline of mainline Protestant denominations. Based

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on the qualitative interviews and refinement of the working explanation into a grounded theory, the researchers discovered that the grounded theory is supported by the literature review as well. The current crisis in theological education is multilayered and complex, both within and outside the control and influence of theological institutions and theological education, and an institution’s ability to survive and thrive is dependent on the ability of its leadership to lead the institution through these changing factors. Outside factors contributing to the crisis include changing societal culture, denominational changes, financial issues, accreditation, and advances in technology. Factors from within the institutions include changing curriculum, elitism in Protestant institutions, faculty, tradition (role of), tenure (faculty), and physical plant; and leadership factors including loss of institutional purpose, leadership void, business approach to leadership in academic institutions, ethics (questions about institutional ethos), and lack of planning. The consequences are long term and costly, especially in human terms. The major theme connecting the literature review factors with the qualitative interview factors resulting in the grounded theory above is change. Change is a constant, and how institutions respond and adapt to change determines their future. As the grounded theory notes, theological education is experiencing change from without and from within, and theological education’s leadership is a crucial factor in determining an institution’s success. The grounded theory provides several implications for policy and practice for institutions to consider. Implementations for Policy or Practice One implication for policy and/or practice is focusing on key factors that can be influenced by theological institutions instead of focusing on factors outside the theological institutions’ control. Yes, theological institutions are preparing leaders for the Church; however, effective pastors and preachers can respond well to the changing societal forces when they have been formed and educated in ways that provide them a deep and abiding core from which to draw. Internal factors such as curriculum revisions, determining which traditions are values and which are just traditions, and the faculty factors are essential elements in the formation of future students and graduates. By focusing on factors within their scope, theological institutions can renew their purpose and vision for engaging the changing societal culture and strengthening denominational relationships. A second implication is that one of the large groupings of factors in the grounded theory was leadership related. Leadership issues such as lack of planning, loss of purpose, and inadequate leadership can be addressed. Even though theological schools are tribal in their nature and denominational structure, basic leadership principles can be learned and contextualized

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within theological education, and these leadership skills should be required of institutional leaders. The leadership factors of purpose, planning, and ethics can be reversed in the future. Furthermore, a healthy balance between administration leadership skills and board of trustee expectations can be found and maintained. Other recommendation includes looking outside of theological education to similar fields of study for best practices and proven models that can be contextualized into seminaries to address internal factors. A third implication for practice that arose from the study is the challenge of finding a clearer definition of what role accreditation has in relation to theological institutions. While federal and governmental accreditation is outside the theological institution’s influence and control, the role of the Association of Theological Schools and other membership peer-based accrediting agencies can be clarified. FUTURE WORK TO BE DONE Several recommendations for further research include expanding the qualitative interviews within mainline Protestant schools, comparing data from stand-alone schools and embedded institutions, and interviewing diverse groups of participants, such as seminary students, seminary staff, or church members. Members of each of these groups see the crisis from their own unique perspectives. Due to the complexity of this issue and a desire to hear from more voices, researchers will welcome others interested in the topic to join in this conversation. Currently researchers are comparing and refining the current grounded theory with data from Catholic schools. Finally, the researchers are interested in pursuing data from evangelical schools, since evangelical schools compose most of the institutions within the Association of Theological Schools membership ranks. This final course of research would provide information for the broader theological landscape. CONCLUSION In conclusion, the current crisis in theological education can be defined in multiple ways. Some consider the crisis new, while others believe it is a continuation of a long-term, slow moving crisis. The crisis is multilayered, and one fix or solution will not work for all theological institutions. Instead, each institution needs to reflect on the factors in the grounded theory and determine which factor or combination of factors can be changed within its unique context with a positive outlook, acknowledging that downturns or crises are also opportunities for growth, rebirth, and expansion.

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APPENDIX A Interview Questions 1. Describe the changing landscape of theological education as you perceive it changing currently? 2. How would you define a crisis? 3. How would you define a crisis in theological education? 4. What are the factors contributing to the crisis in theological education in your opinion? 5. Describe how the crisis impacts you? 6. What do you think caused the crisis? APPENDIX B Social-Demographics of Participants Table 3.3  Biographical Information of Participants Participant

Education Level Current Occupation

Race/Ethnicity

Sue

PhD

Caucasian

Kendra Tyler Kristen Margaret

PhD EdD PhD PhD

Pam Erica Carol

PhD PhD PhD

Bob

PhD

Tammy Emily Ken James

PhD PhD PhD PhD

Associate Professor/ Associate Dean Academic Administrator Associate Dean Adjunct Professor Vice President for Academic Affairs/ Dean and Professor Assistant Professor Professor Professor

Personal Religious Affiliation

United Church of Christ African American Presbyterian Hispanic (Cuban) American Baptist Caucasian Episcopalian Caucasian United Church of Christ

African American Christian European Presbyterian African American African Methodist Episcopal Zion Church Professor/Academic Caucasian United Church of Administrator Christ Academic Administrator Caucasian Presbyterian Professor Caucasian Presbyterian Academic Administer Caucasian Episcopalian Professor Caucasian Christian

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NOTES 1. Aleshire, Daniel O. “The Future has Arrived: Changing Theological Education in a Changed World.” Theological Education 46, no. 2 (2011): 69–80, 69. 2. Hadden, J. The Gathering Storm in the Churches. Garden City, NY: Doubleday & Co., 1969. 3. Rooks, C. “Crisis in Theological Education.” Theological Education 7 (Autumn 1970): 16–27. 4. Aleshire, Daniel O. Earthen Vessels. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2008, 3. 5. Rooks, C. “Crisis in Theological Education.” Theological Education 7 (Autumn 1970): 16–27. 6. Hadden, J. The Gathering Storm in the Churches. Garden City, NY: Doubleday & Co., 1969, xvii–xxix. 7. Hadden, J. The Gathering Storm in the Churches. Garden City, NY: Doubleday & Co., 1969, xviii–xx. 8. Rooks, C. “Crisis in Theological Education.” Theological Education 7 (Autumn 1970): 16. 9. Rooks, C. “Crisis in Theological Education.” Theological Education 7 (Autumn 1970): 18. 10. Aleshire, Daniel O. Earthen Vessels. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2008, 13–14. 11. Gonzalez, Justo L. The History of Theological Education. Nashville, TN: Abingdon, 2015, ix, xi; Rooks, C. “Crisis in Theological Education.” Theological Education 7, (Autumn 1970): 16. 12. Rooks, C. “Crisis in Theological Education.” Theological Education 7 (Autumn 1970): 16. 13. Leith, J. Crisis in the Church: The Plight of Theological Education. Louisville, KY: Westminster, John Knox Press, 1997. 14. Leith, J. Crisis in the Church: The Plight of Theological Education. Louisville, KY: Westminster, John Knox Press, 1997. 15. Morgan, Donn F. “As through a Glass Darkly: Defining Theological Education in the Twenty-first Century.” Anglican Theological Review 90, no. 2 (Spring 2008): 255–265, 255. 16. Aleshire, Daniel O. “Governance and the Future of Theological Education.” Theological Education 44, no. 2 (2009): 19. 17. Tait, E. “The Chaos that makes American Higher Education—Including Theological Education – So Powerful.” In Trust 29, no. 1 (Autumn 2017): 24. 18. Morgan, Donn F. “As through a Glass Darkly: Defining Theological Education in the Twenty-First Century.” Anglican Theological Review 90, no. 2 (Spring 2008): 255–265, 255; Tait, E. “The Chaos that makes American Higher Education—Including Theological Education—So Powerful.” In Trust 29, no. 1 (Autumn 2017): 25. 19. Landrebe, R. “Creating Your Future Seminary: What are you Doing Today to Create the Theological School of the Future?” In Trust 28, no. 2 (New Year 2017): 8–11, 8. 20. Morgan, Donn F. “As through a Glass Darkly: Defining Theological Education in the Twenty-first Century.” Anglican Theological Review 90, no. 2 (Spring 2008): 255–265, 256.

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21. Leith, J. Crisis in the Church: The Plight of Theological Education. Louisville, KY: Westminster, John Knox Press, 1997, 8. 22. McGowan, A. “Soundings amid the Avalanche: Prospects for Anglican Theological Education.” Journal of Anglican Studies 13, no. 1 (2015): 1–11, 6; Morgan, Donn F. “As through a Glass Darkly: Defining Theological Education in the Twenty-first Century.” Anglican Theological Review 90, no. 2 (Spring 2008): 255–265, 257; Leith, J. Crisis in the Church: The Plight of Theological Education. Louisville, KY: Westminster, John Knox Press, 1997, 52. 23. Aleshire, Daniel O. “Governance and the Future of Theological Education.” Theological Education 44, no. 2 (2009): 11. 24. Miller, Sharon. “Bright Spots: Some Theological Educators see a Future Full of Possibility.” In Trust 28, no. 2 (New Year 2017): 4–7, 4. 25. Landrebe, R. “Creating your Future Seminary: What are You Doing Today to Create the Theological School of the Future?” In Trust 28, no. 2 (New Year 2017): 8–11. https://intrust​.org​/Magazine​/Issues​/New​-Year​-2017​/Creating​-your​-future​ -seminary. 26. Leith, J. Crisis in the Church: The Plight of Theological Education. Louisville, KY: Westminster, John Knox Press, 1997, 88; Morgan, Donn F. “As through a Glass Darkly: Defining Theological Education in the Twenty-first Century.” Anglican Theological Review 90, no. 2 (Spring 2008): 255–265, 261. 27. McGowan, A. “Soundings amid the Avalanche: Prospects for Anglican Theological Education.” Journal of Anglican Studies 13, no. 1 (2015): 1–11; 2, 3; Leith, J. Crisis in the Church: The Plight of Theological Education. Louisville, KY: Westminster, John Knox Press, 1997, 113. 28. Leith, J. Crisis in the Church: The Plight of Theological Education. Louisville, KY: Westminster, John Knox Press, 1997. 29. Leith, J. Crisis in the Church: The Plight of Theological Education. Louisville, KY: Westminster, John Knox Press, 1997; Ziegler, Jesse H. “Indications of Crisis in Theological Education.” Theological Education 13, no. 1 (1976): 40–43; Wainwright, Geoffrey. “Seminaries in Crisis.” Challenge to Evangelism Today 25, no. 1 (Spring 1992): 5, 11. 30. Ziegler, Jesse H. “Indications of Crisis in Theological Education.” Theological Education 13, no. 1 (1976): 40–43; Leith, J. Crisis in the Church: The Plight of Theological Education. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 1997. 31. Tait, E. “The Chaos that makes American Higher Education—Including Theological Education—So Powerful.” In Trust 29, no. 1 (Autumn 2017): 24–25; Morgan, Donn F. “As through a Glass Darkly: Defining Theological Education in the Twenty-First Century.” Anglican Theological Review 90, no. 2 (Spring 2008): 255–265; McGowan, A. “Soundings amid the Avalanche: Prospects for Anglican Theological Education.” Journal of Anglican Studies 13, no. 1 (2015): 1–11. 32. Morgan, Donn F. “As through a Glass Darkly: Defining Theological Education in the Twenty-first Century.” Anglican Theological Review 90, no. 2 (Spring 2008): 255–265. 33. McGowan, A. “Soundings amid the Avalanche: Prospects for Anglican Theological Education.” Journal of Anglican Studies 13, no. 1 (2015): 1–11; Gonzalez, Justo L. The History of Theological Education. Nashville, TN: Abingdon,

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2015; Leith, J. Crisis in the Church: The Plight of Theological Education. Louisville, KY: Westminster, John Knox Press, 1997. 34. Leith, J. Crisis in the Church: The Plight of Theological Education. Louisville, KY: Westminster, John Knox Press, 1997; McGowan, A. “Soundings amid the Avalanche: Prospects for Anglican Theological Education.” Journal of Anglican Studies 13, no. 1 (2015): 1–11. 35. Myers, William. “Business as Usual: From Corporate to Campus Governance.” In Trust 29, no. 1 (Autumn 2017): 22. 36. Leith, J. Crisis in the Church: The Plight of Theological Education. Louisville, KY: Westminster, John Knox Press, 1997, 96; McGowan, A. “Soundings amid the Avalanche: Prospects for Anglican Theological Education.” Journal of Anglican Studies 13, no. 1 (2015): 2. 37. Landrebe, R. “Creating your Future Seminary: What are you doing Today to Create the Theological School of the Future?” In Trust 28, no. 2 (New Year 2017): 8–11, 10. https://intrust​.org​/Magazine​/Issues​/New​-Year​-2017​/Creating​-your​-future​-seminary. 38. Gonzalez, Justo L. The History of Theological Education. Nashville, TN: Abingdon, 2015, 137; Morgan, Donn F. “As through a Glass Darkly: Defining Theological Education in the Twenty-first Century.” Anglican Theological Review 90, no. 2 (Spring 2008): 255–265, 255. 39. Morgan, Donn F. “As through a Glass Darkly: Defining Theological Education in the Twenty-first Century.” Anglican Theological Review 90, no. 2 (Spring 2008): 255–265, 261. 40. McGowan, A. “Soundings amid the Avalanche: Prospects for Anglican Theological Education.” Journal of Anglican Studies 13, no. 1 (2015): 1–11, 3. 41. Gonzalez, Justo L. The History of Theological Education. Nashville, TN: Abingdon, 2015, 136; Landrebe, R. “Creating Your Future Seminary: What are you doing Today to Create the Theological School of the Future?” In Trust 28, no. 2 (New Year 2017): 8–11, 9. https://intrust​.org​/Magazine​/Issues​/New​-Year​-2017​/Creating​ -your​-future​-seminary. 42. Morgan, Donn F. “As through a Glass Darkly: Defining Theological Education in the Twenty-First Century.” Anglican Theological Review 90, no. 2 (Spring 2008): 255–265, 258; Landrebe, R. “Creating your Future Seminary: What are you Doing Today to Create the Theological School of the Future?” In Trust 28, no. 2 (New Year 2017): 8–11, 9. https://intrust​.org​/Magazine​/Issues​/New​-Year​-2017​/Creating​-your​ -future​-seminary. 43. Leith, J. Crisis in the Church: The Plight of Theological Education. Louisville, KY: Westminster, John Knox Press, 1997, 96; McGowan, A. “Soundings amid the Avalanche: Prospects for Anglican Theological Education.” Journal of Anglican Studies 13, no. 1 (2015): 2. 44. Leith, J. Crisis in the Church: The Plight of Theological Education. Louisville, KY: Westminster, John Knox Press, 1997, 70. 45. Leith, J. Crisis in the Church: The Plight of Theological Education. Louisville, KY: Westminster, John Knox Press, 1997, 43, 66; Wainwright, Geoffrey. “Seminaries in Crisis.” Challenge to Evangelism Today 25, no. 1 (Spring 1992): 5. 46. Miller, Sharon. “Bright Spots: Some Theological Educators see a Future Full of Possibility.” In Trust 28, no. 2 (New Year 2017): 4–7, 2.

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47. McGowan, A. “Soundings amid the Avalanche: Prospects for Anglican Theological Education.” Journal of Anglican Studies 13, no. 1 (2015): 1–11, 8. 48. Morgan, Donn F. “As through a Glass Darkly: Defining Theological Education in the Twenty-first Century.” Anglican Theological Review 90, no. 2 (Spring 2008): 255–265, 262. 49. Gonzalez, Justo L. The History of Theological Education. Nashville, TN: Abingdon, 2015, 133. 50. Morgan, Donn F. “As through a Glass Darkly: Defining Theological Education in the Twenty-first Century.” Anglican Theological Review 90, no. 2 (Spring 2008): 255–265, 258. 51. Ziegler, Jesse H. “Indications of Crisis in Theological Education.” Theological Education 13, no. 1 (1976): 40–43, 42. 52. Leith, J. Crisis in the Church: The Plight of Theological Education. Louisville, KY: Westminster, John Knox Press, 1997, 43. 53. Gonzalez, Justo L. The History of Theological Education. Nashville, TN: Abingdon, 2015, 131. 54. Ziegler, Jesse H. “Indications of Crisis in Theological Education.” Theological Education 13, no. 1 (1976): 40–43, 41; Morgan, Donn F. “As through a Glass Darkly: Defining Theological Education in the Twenty-first Century.” Anglican Theological Review 90, no. 2 (Spring 2008): 255–265, 259; McGowan, A. “Soundings amid the Avalanche: Prospects for Anglican Theological Education.” Journal of Anglican Studies 13, no. 1 (2015): 1–11, 5. 55. McGowan, A. “Soundings amid the Avalanche: Prospects for Anglican Theological Education.” Journal of Anglican Studies 13, no. 1 (2015): 1–11, 2. 56. Ziegler, Jesse H. “Indications of Crisis in Theological Education.” Theological Education 13, no. 1 (1976): 40–43, 42. 57. Ziegler, Jesse H. “Indications of Crisis in Theological Education.” Theological Education 13, no. 1 (1976): 40–43, 42. 58. Glaser, Barney and Anselm Strauss. The Discovery of Grounded Theory: Strategies for Qualitative Research. New York, NY: Aldine De Gruyter, 1967, 83. 59. Creswell, J. Qualitative Inquiry and Research Design: Choosing Among Five Approaches. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage, 2013. 60. Polkinghorne, D.E. “Phenomenological Research Methods.” In: Valle, R.S., Halling, S. (eds), Existential-Phenomenological Perspectives in Psychology. Boston, MA: Springer, 1989, pp. 41–60, 51. 61. Creswell, J. Qualitative Inquiry and Research Design: Choosing Among Five Approaches. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage, 2013, 155.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Aleshire, Daniel O. Earthen Vessels. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2008. ———. “The Future has Arrived: Changing Theological Education in a Changed World.” Theological Education 46, no. 2 (2011): 69–80. ———. “Governance and the Future of Theological Education.” Theological Education 44, no. 2 (2009): 11–20.

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Creswell, J. Qualitative Inquiry and Research Design: Choosing Among Five Approaches. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage, 2013. Farley, Edward. Theologia: The Fragmentation and Unity of Theological Education. Philadelphia, PA: Fortress Press, 1983. Foster, Charles R., Lisa Dahill, Larry Golemon, and Barbara Wang Tolentino. Educating Clergy. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass, 2006. Glaser, Barney and Anselm Strauss. The Discovery of Grounded Theory: Strategies for Qualitative Research. New York, NY: Aldine De Gruyter, 1967. Gonzalez, Justo L. The History of Theological Education. Nashville, TN: Abingdon, 2015. Hadden, J. The Gathering Storm in the Churches. Garden City, NY: Doubleday & Co., 1969. Kelsey, D. Between Athens and Berlin: The Theological Education Debate. Grand Rapids, MI: W. B. Eerdmans, 1993. Labaree, D. A Perfect Mess: The Unlikely Ascendancy of American Higher Education. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 2017. Landrebe, R. “Creating Your Future Seminary: What are you Doing Today to Create the Theological School of the Future?” In Trust 28, no. 2 (New Year 2017): 8–11. Leith, J. Crisis in the Church: The Plight of Theological Education. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 1997. McGowan, A. “Soundings Amid the Avalanche: Prospects for Anglican Theological Education.” Journal of Anglican Studies 13, no. 1 (2015): 1–11. Miller, Sharon. “Bright Spots: Some Theological Educators see a Future Full of Possibility.” In Trust 28, no. 2 (New Year 2017): 4–7. Morgan, Donn F. “As through a Glass Darkly: Defining Theological Education in the Twenty-first Century.” Anglican Theological Review 90, no. 2 (Spring 2008): 255–265. Myers, William. “Business as Usual: From Corporate to Campus Governance.” In Trust 29, no. 1 (Autumn 2017): 22–23. Polkinghorne, D.E. “Phenomenological Research Methods.” In: Valle, R.S., Halling, S. (eds), Existential-Phenomenological Perspectives in Psychology. Boston, MA: Springer, 1989, pp. 41–60. Rooks, C. “Crisis in Theological Education.” Theological Education 7 (Autumn 1970): 16–27. Scharen, Christian and Sharon Miller. Bright Spots in Theological Education: Hopeful Stories in a Time of Crisis. New York, NY: Auburn Studies, no. 22 (September 2016). Tait, E. “The Chaos that makes American Higher Education – Including Theological Education – So Powerful.” In Trust 29, no. 1 (Autumn 2017): 24–25. Taylor, Charles. A Secular age. Cambridge, MA: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2007. Wainwright, Geoffrey. “Seminaries in Crisis.” Challenge to Evangelism Today 25, no. 1 (Spring 1992): 5, 11. Wheeler, Barbara and Helen Ouellette. Governance that Works: Effective Leadership for Theological Schools. New York: Auburn Theological Seminary, 2015, 40. https://www​.auburnseminary​.org​/governance​-that​-works​-effective​-leadership​-for​ -theological​-schools. Ziegler, Jesse H. “Indications of Crisis in Theological Education.” Theological Education 13, no. 1 (1976): 40–43.

Chapter 4

Hope, Theological Education, and the Boardwalk Edwin David Aponte

THE UNEXPECTED IN THE ORDINARY It was glorious July day in Ocean City, New Jersey. The sun was shining brightly, but it wasn’t too hot as a gentle breeze came off the sparkling Atlantic Ocean while we lazily walked down the boardwalk. For those who have never experienced it, the boardwalk is that wide, wooden sidewalk with the beach and the ocean on one side, and the shops, arcades, restaurants, and the town on the other. For some people just mentioning that wooden trail instantly conjures up a song by the Drifters, covered by many other performers, of being “under the boardwalk, down by the sea” and images of fun in the sun.1 And the Ocean City boardwalk is one of the best in New Jersey, evoking summer, swimming, smiles, good times, and pleasant memories. On that particular gorgeous day as the sea gulls floated on the gentle wind chanting to one another, their songs combining with the rhythm of the waves washing ashore, the sounds of people laughing and talking on the beach and on the boardwalk, accompanied by the soft sounds of sneakers and flip flops padding the wooden pathway. Nearby some people were flying a variety of kites in the sea breeze. Along the boardwalk the smells included the unique combination of salt air, freshly made apple cider donuts, pizza, and boardwalk French fries. All kinds of people come out on the boardwalk including families, couples, young kids, teenagers, and retirees. With all generations present on the boardwalk from their distinct backgrounds it was a great mixing of lives and stories. Our run-of-the-mill story was that we were vacationing with some of the extended family when two of our nieces came “down the shore” from Philadelphia to join the fun. As our group meandered along the boardwalk with no particular destination in mind, we randomly separated ourselves into 113

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conversation groups of twos and threes. I was walking and talking with my dear niece Taranae, and I was luxuriating in the carefree feeling of that sunny July day. I was definitely listening to what she was saying, but also reveling in the existential joy of being a proud uncle musing on the fact that this person I held as an infant had recently passed the bar exams in both New Jersey and Pennsylvania, and now we were having a pleasant conversation as adults. She had grown into a wonderful, intelligent, witty, insightful, and gifted woman, now a lawyer, and here we were with the sun shining, the waves rolling in, kites flying, the seagulls calling, and just strolling down the boardwalk. It was the carefree bliss of a summer day with nothing to worry about and much to enjoy. And then she turned toward me and asked, “Uncle Ed, why do you believe in God?” At that very moment I was watching the sea gulls when I was stunned by the question. What caused her to make such a weighty inquiry in the middle of this lazy stroll on the boardwalk? Certainly, this question wasn’t what I expected at this particular moment in that carefree place. I thought that it was a good thing that I was wearing sunglasses so that the surprise in my eyes might not be too obvious. But the question was indeed asked, and so it was time to shift gears in milliseconds and try to answer the question as we continued to saunter along the Ocean City boardwalk with the summer rhythms of all the different people, sights, sounds, and smells surrounding us. What could I say in that moment? What should I say? Although it may have felt abrupt to me, certainly it wasn’t a flippant question, or a “gotcha” question, but without a doubt a genuine one. How could I honor the question and say anything that made sense or would be helpful to the one asking such a direct and heartfelt question? It seemed that it was a question clearly contemplated for some time, and for whatever reason now was the moment for it to be asked as we walked along the boardwalk in our sandals and flip flops. Perhaps it was asked in that very time and place because we were walking together in the unthreatening context of the boardwalk that it became the moment for that question. In those brief seconds that were filled with surprise and some slight panic, immediately and remarkably part of the verse from 1 Peter 3:15 sprung into my boardwalk consciousness, “Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have.” And what was an even more unusual experience for me was that part of verse 16 came to remembrance as well, “But do this with gentleness and respect.”2 I was reminded that we are urged to explain our Christian hope in ways that are respectful, reverent, courteous, in other words to explain the reason for our hope with kindness and in a way that values the personhood of others, not just an object of conquest or notches on a belt. Sadly, too many times we

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try to force people to believe what we believe come hell or high water with a hard sell, or shaming. And there is nothing hopeful in that.

CONTEXTS FOR THE QUESTIONS Am I the only person who has been confronted without warning by this question or some other concern like it? Am I the only one traveling through the everyday experiences of life, perhaps distracted by everything around me or focused on my own agenda for the day, and then suddenly pulled up short or surprised by this type of straightforward question? For all of us as we journey through life such boardwalk questions pop up at unexpected times, disrupting our schedules or our leisure, interrupting how we think our day is going to unfold, upsetting the plans that we have already made for ourselves. As I pondered that boardwalk question it caused me to ruminate on the nature of theological education, the calling that I have been working in for so many years. It may seem strange, but in such daily boardwalk questions I think that we find one of the distinctions between theological studies and religious studies, which can be helpful for those of us who work in both areas. As a scholar of religion, I can study, describe, and analyze individuals, faith communities, and movements regarding their beliefs, attitudes, practices, lived theologies, and histories without saying anything about my own particular belief or non-belief, opinions, or judgments. Indeed, as a religious studies scholar I am professionally discouraged from allowing my own beliefs or ideology consciously entering the analysis of the religious or spiritual ways of life that I study. As a matter of fact, I can do religious studies without professing any personal religious or spiritual convictions of my own. I don’t need to be a person of faith to study religion and spirituality. However, in theological studies, and especially when it is done in connection to living communities of Christian faith, I need to attend to boardwalk questions like, “Why do you believe in God?” and “Why do you have hope in God?” In theological studies I need to be ready to respond to such questions in ways that are understandable, possibly even meaningful and dare we hope even helpful for the questioner. Often, we don’t get the chance to decide when, where, or how the questions from the boardwalks of life are asked. If the truth be told, the questions of why we believe and why we have hope can be not only surprising, but also incredibly inconvenient, awkward, embarrassing, and perhaps even annoying. Which is all the more reason for us to be ready by being “prepared to give an answer.” When the questions from daily life come are we prepared to answer why we have hope? Are we ready

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to explain why we believe what we say believe? Can we explain why we behave as we do? If someone asks about our Christian hope, are we willing to explain respectfully, gently, and in plain words about what we claim to be so important and life-giving for us? But this is more than individual question. The work of a seminary, school of theology, or a university divinity school, indeed the work of theological education more generally and not just institutions of graduate theological education, is directly tied to such moments and questions like that unexpected boardwalk question, when life appears to be just rolling along, when we even might be luxuriating in a seemingly carefree moment or focused on some other matter that is vital to us. Then apparently out of the blue comes a disruption from someone who seriously wants, perhaps even desperately needs to know. Perhaps they are questioners doubting their own faith, or they may not have any faith at all. They even might be antagonistic toward anyone who says that they have faith. They may have watched us over a period of time, and they see that we take this “religion and spirituality stuff” seriously, or perhaps some other reason compels them to be honestly curious. Why do we believe in God? Why do we believe in anything? Why do we behave as we do? These questions come at any time in the flow of daily life despite the multifaceted crises faced by theological education. These questions don’t stop to wait for a theological school to determine a pathway to financial viability, or to work its way through the latest leadership upheaval, or to retool institutional mission, vision, and values to be relevant. Perhaps we should not be so surprised by urgent questions that won’t wait, but instead reveal themselves when they are ripe to be asked. Why believe in God and why should anyone have hope? Does it even make sense to talk about hope? We live in a world where many people know from their daily experiences the very opposite of hope, and in far too many instances the deepest despair. For some people life seems to be spiraling out of control and they are flooded by stress and anxiety. For others every day feels dangerous as they sense that their lives and those of their loved ones are at risk in a world of seemingly escalating hatred, animosity, polarization, and marginalization at levels previously unthinkable. In the United States there are deep and growing public and private separation that not only show up in political divisions, but also among families and friends, as well as in private discourse. Daily fears of all types increase including the threat of global nuclear war unlike anything experienced since the 1962 Cuban missile crisis. Recent experiences of extreme weather and related events including killer hurricanes, flood, and fires demonstrate that we are in a global climate change crisis feared by some, even as the crisis still is denied by others. The uncontrollable destruction caused by earthquakes and volcano eruptions produces its own unique terror and uncertainty.

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There are other reasons to question why anyone has hope. We live in a time of incredible transnational migrations of peoples and refugees for all kinds of reasons are met with xenophobia, economic exploitation, and anti-immigrant attitudes and behavior.3 At the time of this writing incredibly it is the official policy of the administration and particularly of the US Justice Department to incarcerate migrants feeling extreme poverty or seeking asylum and to separate children from their migrant parents with the administration citing Romans 13 as its support. Such government policies are concurrent with a wave of racial intolerance of the stranger dovetails with long history of individual, collective, and structural racism in the United States abetted by a resurgent and arrogant White supremacy that seeks to soften its image by calling itself the “Alt-Right.” Is it not reasonable to ask, how can someone have hope when seventy-two years after the defeat of Nazi Germany in World War II there were torch-carrying neo-Nazis, neo-Confederates, and assorted White supremacists openly marching through the streets of Charlottesville, Virginia spewing out their racial hatred? And because of individual and systemic racism there is the ongoing national disgrace and tragedy of the killing of Black and Brown bodies by law enforcement officers and vigilantes who rarely are held liable in these deaths.4 As people go about their daily lives, they are increasingly confronted with both the constant threat and occasionally the tragic reality of planned and random acts of terror killing innocent children, women, and men, while undeclared wars daily claim the lives of even more. Unchecked gun violence in the United States increases as children and adults are horrifically murdered at schools, public concerts, and houses of worship, while some say the answer for such violence is more weapons. Even as a new movement led and inspired by high school student survivors of a school shooting in Parkland, Florida energizes a new push for gun control, there is still limited response from political leaders while some public and religious leaders belittle and vilify the intentions and efforts of young people to end gun violence. Adding to a growing sense of hopelessness is the growing opioid crisis in the United States. Addictions to prescription and non-prescription opioid drugs are at epidemic levels in some parts of the United States. The US Department of Health and Human Services reported that while at one-time pharmaceutical companies declared that opioid pain relievers were perfectly safe, which prompted healthcare providers to prescribe them, the very opposite proved true leading to widespread addiction, and a misuse of prescribed medication as well as a related increase in non-prescription opioids. In 2017 the federal government declared a public health emergency estimating that in 2016 11.5 million people misused prescription opioids, and that 116-people died daily from opioid-related overdoses.5 Some observers assert that drug overdose is the leading cause of injury death in the nation.6

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For some, questions about the reasonableness of any type of belief or hope are reflected in the shifts in religious affiliation. The Pew Research Center reports that one-fifth of the US public—and a third of adults under thirty—are religiously unaffiliated, including more than 13 million self-described atheists, agnostics, or “nothing in particular” as well as the so-called “Nones,” roughly 33 million people who say they have no particular religious affiliation.7 But we need to caution ourselves against jumping to false conclusions in that the research also indicates that something more complicated is happening. Many people in these same groups work for justice and the common good drawing on their own concepts of meaning and connection, in some cases of spirituality. Certainly, the majority of the so-called Nones under thirty years of age share as a chief characteristic their decision to be religiously unaffiliated, even among those who say that they still have some sort of religious commitment. If the Nones are the biggest group of unaffiliated, what compels them still to adhere to some type of religiosity or spirituality? Is lack of affiliation the same as hopelessness? Overlapping with a growing number of religiously unaffiliated, those who say that they have no religion, is a permeable group sometimes referred to as the “Dones,” those with religious upbringing who say that they are now done with the institutional religion, and they feel pretty good about it. The reasons for this life choice are many and multifaceted. Some describe how their understanding of God has broadened once they left Church, including moving beyond a patriarchal androcentric sense of God that restricts the roles of women in leadership of churches, nations, and families. Others testify to having a vibrant spiritual life without being part of a specific local congregation or dealing with the personal and spiritual manipulation of controlling pastors. Some have turned from a theology of trying to discover a mysterious secret divine plan or particular purpose for their lives. Some of the Dones reject the notion that material prosperity is a sign of God’s approval. If they retain a belief in God (i.e., they don’t call themselves a “None”), then it is common to hear of trust in an all-embracing God of love unconfined by dogmatic boundaries about who deserves to be in or out. Some are done with Church because they have more inclusive notions of sexuality and spirituality than their religious communities of origin. Some are done with Church because they see White Christianity embrace politicized situational Christianity in direct contradiction to the teaching of the Bible. People raised religiously may not actually believe because of what they feel. For these or many other reasons they may be done with Church, but are they done with hope? All this is just some of what causes misery, anguish, despondency, and hopelessness as people journey through their daily lives. Desperation and despair often are easily defined, and sadly many people know those meanings

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from their life experience. We live in an age where some people ask about hope, but for others perhaps the question is not why one believes or has hope, but rather why more don’t embrace what Miguel De La Torre calls hopelessness. De La Torre observes that hope seems to be mainly claimed by those with economic privilege as a means of distancing themselves from the unsolvable disenfranchisement most of the world’s wretched are forced to face. . . . I argue that by embracing hopelessness, a peace surpassing all understanding will equip us to engage in radical praxis that might make our short and brutal days upon this earth a bit more just.8

Ironically embracing what De La Torre calls hopelessness assumes the hope for a life that is a little “bit more just,” and prompts the question of why would anyone have such hope? These are just some of the issues confronting theological education. Many engaged in the work of theological education including those at schools of theology wonder both how to address these multiple challenges while remaining true to calling and mission and at the same time being financially viable as they try to do so. In the face of some people experiencing desolation, embracing hopelessness, or even turning away from organized religion, is hope actually an unrealistic and unaffordable commodity? Is it reasonable to believe in God and hope for anything? In trying to deal with pain and challenges of life many may say, “I don’t know where my hope is.” With mounting evil and fear in every realm of life, why do we believe and why do we have hope? In a world of disappointment, despair, pain, loneliness, and hopelessness, why do we believe in God? Why do we who say we are Christians have hope? THEOLOGICAL EDUCATION, APOLOGIA, AND THE UNEXPECTED While considering the purpose and future of theological education it may seem strange to give so much attention to these two verses in 1 Peter 3:15–16. Admittedly there are other significant topics in 1 Peter that are challenging and worthy of discussion. But here the focus is on exploring the connection between the “living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ” (1 Peter 1:3) and being ready with an apologia for that hope.9 Being prepared to give an answer is one way to translate the original Greek word apologia in 1 Peter 3:15, from which we derive our contemporary English word “apology.” In everyday conversations we usually think of an apology as that thing we do when we want to express regret, remorse, or

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sorrow for a mistake, a failure, an unintended insult, injury, or some other way we may have failed or offended another person or group. But, if we are honest sometimes in the flow of everyday life, we give an apology just to move things along to the next matter, whether the apology is heartfelt or not. But in 1 Peter 3:15–16, the focus is not on giving an excuse for some sort of action for which we are sorry (sincerely or disingenuously), indeed far from it. Rather, 1 Peter 3:15–16 is a summons to give a well-thought-out explanation of why we as Christians have hope (or at least say that we do), and more specifically, what we mean when we say that we have Christian hope. In the midst of all kinds of societal changes, crises, challenges, legitimate reasons for hopelessness, and seemingly irresolvable “wicked problems,”10 here is the heart of the matter for everyone interested in any kind of learning for discipleship and ministry, that is, for anyone interested in theological education. Theological education in all its expressions is directly tied to the explanations we have for hope that may make sense in everyday life. At its best theological education helps prepare us for both the planned times and also the unexpected questions and the responses that we might give when we are pressed to give reasons for our faith and living hope. In fact, explaining hope is the past, present, and future of theological education. Often, I am asked, “Is there a future for theological education?” That too is a reasonable question given that theological education in North America is at the very least at a crossroads, although some see it in crisis.11 Certainly, some graduate theological education schools face a many-sided crisis of declining enrollment, increased financial difficulties, occasional fuzziness about the suitability of institutional mission in new times, and unrelenting concerns about the relevancy and effectiveness of their curriculum to church and society. Add to that the facts of living in times of major cultural changes, demographic shifts, and competing visions that produce hopelessness, to which different theological schools have chosen multiple responses. Some of those schools of theology have merged or entered into assorted types of partnerships, whereas others have closed altogether. A number have sold their historic property and relocated, or plan to do so, ranging from schools with small enrollments to those larger student populations and once considered the powerhouses of graduate theological education. Sadly, in some cases these important transitions were not handled well and not always done with the greatest transparency, sensitivity, and care. Surprisingly, despite a context of what seems like the diminishing of theological schools, new seminaries still are being established, and some even experience enrollment growth. At the same time, some congregations at this social and cultural crossroads have made their own judgments about formal graduate theological education. Such congregations have not given up on theological education itself, but rather determined that traditional theological schools were not

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helpful for them and have chosen avenues of educating and preparing ministry leaders within their own contexts. Different schools, associations, congregations, and other entities are exploring new ways of doing theological education, as well as seeking to reform and reimagine existing ways. In such a state of flux is it still reasonable to think that there is only one pathway and one standard for theological education? And what does all of this have to do with giving an answer for Christian hope?

REACHING BEYOND ELITISM Hope and theological education are tied together, or at least should be. On this point Gordon Mikoski declares that in all its forms theological education seeks to realize “an eschatological vision of reconciliation and harmony between God, human beings, and all creation through the education and formation of competent, caring, and capable leaders for Christian communities.”12 But theological education is not only shaped by such appropriately lofty visions of eschatological hope, it is shaped by its history that contributes both to contemporary challenges, but also possibilities of effective work for the future. Understanding the history is essential for assessment and acting. Most existing North American institutions of graduate theological education can be traced back to an educational model from the nineteenth century and the cultural ascendancy of the historic Protestant mainline denominations (mainly racialized White in the social and racial constructions of the United States) that reached its height in the period between the late 1940s and early 1970s.13 Curiously, many of the same denominations behave in ways that seem to indicate that they do not realize that their time of numerical dominance has passed because of the huge social and cultural changes in which many people do not identify with any type of establishment religion or religious institutions, let alone 1950s–1970s “mainline” White Protestantism. Perhaps claims of still being the mainline religion in the United States endure because certain aspects of their social and cultural dominance persist in many settings. But a historical review shows that the cultural and religious dominance of historic Protestant mainline, the unique post–World War II demographic factors, and the significant economic resources of the time were all fleeting. One of the miscalculations of far too many leaders in historic mainline Protestant theological education was assuming that this distinctive combination of factors would be the normal state of affairs in perpetuity. As many theological schools built their futures upon an illusion, it led to what Justo González and others describe as a multidimensional crisis in North American theological education of which “Some of its elements are more readily apparent than others. To varying degrees, especially where

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there are school closures, there is consternation, feelings of loss, and anxiety around crisis.”14 However, the nature of the crisis is such that while some institutions of theological education will not survive, there always will be a need for theological education to understand and explain Christian hope. Again, as González notes, the key is “to develop systems of education that will be viable in the coming decades of the twenty-first century.”15 The issue is not that theological education will disappear, but how to do it in creative, practical, and sustainable ways that contributes to the flourishing of the Church as it does its ministry that engages the everyday realities of life. Even in the midst of a multilayered crisis that is related to dramatic changes in culture, society, and higher education, certainly part of the work of theological education is to help people and Christian communities prepare their own apologia, that is, their own answers for the hope that they profess. Certainly knowing why we have hope, including eschatological hope, helps us in living into that hope each day. Furthermore, by articulating our answer/apologia in anticipation for whenever and wherever the questions might come from those honestly seeking to know why we believe what we believe, there is the potential for our achieving a deeper understanding of our beliefs. Frank Yamada, executive director of the Association of Theological Schools in the United States and Canada (ATS) speaks about confronting the brutal facts of the contextual multidimensional realities of theological schools. In many cases, schools are left with the reality that they will not grow their way out through enrollment, raise their way out of a deficit-laden balance sheet through an angel investor, or cut away their expenses to a better picture.16

Part of a future-orientated response for theological schools is to not give into despair when facing up to such hard facts, but rather to embrace an on-going reimagining, which includes accepting the fact that theological education can take on many legitimate forms. A multidimensional crisis calls for a multidimensional response. Again, Yamada’s assessment, The work of change is usually a multi-pronged and sustained discipline that is developed over time. A coordinated approach can include a combination of factors that include reducing liabilities (debt or deferred maintenance) through hard decisions; expanding, and cultivating fatigued donor bases, or recruiting more diverse student bodies to enhance the mission of the school.17

On Yamada’s last point, one way to engage a more diverse student body is for theological education to recognize the potential of the growth of different

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types of high-quality and effective online and distance education, alongside residential programs. This is so significant that Sharon Miller and Christian Scharen contend that “the old divide between traditional, online and hybrid courses is obsolete.”18 This illustrates González’s call for viable twenty-firstcentury theological education to equip people for the work of ministry that includes providing ways to articulate hope, as well as ways to develop contextual praxis to live into that hope every day. This poses a welcome invitation for graduate theological schools to re-examine their mission in light of their hope. A reexamination of mission certainly is needed in light of these dramatic shifts, but theological education ought not to be held hostage to a limited understanding of education for ministry that embraces a nostalgic social, cultural, and theological past that hides it opposition to contextual innovation by claiming that “we’re a school that trains pastors,” or that “the M.Div. is our bread and butter,” comments I’ve heard from committed and wellmeaning administrators and trustees at different theological schools. We do well to remember that accredited graduate seminaries are not the only place where pastors and other ministry leaders are educated and trained. It has always been the case that there are many effective and flourishing pastors and leaders in ministry who pursued multiple pathways toward being equipped for ministry. By and large, when we use the shorthand term “theological education,” we in fact refer to assorted types of ministerial education and training that takes place in the particular contexts of accredited graduate seminaries, schools of theology, and university divinity schools. However, we should openly affirm what we implicitly know, that accredited graduate seminaries are not the only place where theological education happens. Theological education is bigger than what occurs at formally accredited graduate seminaries, schools of theology, and university divinity schools. What occurs in congregations and intentional communities, both in congregational education, as well as in non-accredited or alternatively credited local, grassroots, congregationally based Bible institutes and institutos are all different forms of theological education. People learn about Christian hope and prepare how to explain their own reasoning for belief in many settings. Theological education is always happening at the congregational level including what occurs through sermons, testimonies, Sunday school, Wednesday night gatherings, Thursday morning breakfast Bible studies, and other congregationally based programs of education. Furthermore, some congregations choose to bring in-house more formal institutional expressions of theological education, saying, for example, that they did not like the results coming from the graduate seminaries.

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The practice of theological education takes place in various settings: Roman Catholic girls’ high schools, Bible colleges, and college/university undergraduate departments of religious studies, theological studies, biblical studies, and religion and philosophy. Theological education takes place in Bible schools and colleges that have accreditation but have shown at the very least little interest in the Commission on Accrediting of the Association of Theological Schools of the United States and Canada. Examples of these alternatively accredited schools doing theological education include the Baptist University of the Américas in San Antonio, Texas with its bilingual multinational approach,19 Lancaster Bible College with its main campus in Pennsylvania that offers undergraduate- and graduate-level degrees in theological education (including through its acquisition of Capital Seminary),20 and City Seminary of New York launched in 2003, which welcomed its first cohort in January 2018 of its Master of Arts in Ministry in the Global City program, and sees itself as “an intercultural, inter-generational institution of theological learning focused on the practice of ministry.”21 Of course, saying that the practice of theological education can take place in multiple ways and varied settings is not something new. Glenn Miller points out in the third volume of his history of theological education in North America that it was recognized in the 1970s that theological education could happen on at least three levels in the proposal of the Resources Commission’s Curriculum for the 1970s, that is, the college level, seminars of at least two years, and a third level of concentrated ministerial education and training.22 This points to a decades-old awareness that there might be alternatives ways to do theological education. While acknowledging divergent avenues of theological education, part of the challenge for existing graduate theological schools desiring a future role is not to view a diversity of educational approaches that help people provide an explanation for articulating and living into their hope as a threat or competition. A diversity of educational strategies recognizes that people are called to ministry, even pastoral ministry, through a variety of master’s degrees, or no degrees at all. Two challenges emerge from this complexity of audiences and cultural shifts as graduate theological schools re-examine mission, the first being that any school of theological education needs to be clear about whom they serve. One school should not feel compelled to try to do it all, and indeed there might be a great sense of emancipation when the burden of being onestop shopping for all is released. In its fullest sense, theological education serves a wide-ranging number of faith communities, ministers, and ministry situations. Persons called to ministry leadership may be ordained or nonordained, full-time, bi-vocational in ministry part-time, bi-vocational in ministry full-time, serving in congregational or non-congregational settings. Participants in theological education may be persons just starting their

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preparation for ministry and beginning to get a sense of calling, as well as those already doing ministry with a clear sense of vocation accompanied by years of experience in ministry. The second challenge in embracing contextual theological education often is internal to an existing school’s life and culture, namely, how to engage in the practice of theological education in a context where not everyone in a school’s constituency acknowledges the dramatic shifts that already have occurred. In such situations, attempts to act may be perceived as assaults on and departures from the theological school’s hallowed mission. There might be an operating assumption that there is one ideal “gold standard” of theological education toward which any school worth the name should strive to achieve, and any deviation from that one ideal is a sure sign of decline. Surely, as the practice of theological education moves into the future, we should jettison the mythology of there being just one gold standard. Reviewing the history of theological schools in North America begs the question: when was there one gold standard that served the entire church? One person’s gold standard may weigh someone else down. Over time, various models of a gold standard of theological education have been offered, often with unstated but implicit classist, hegemonic, paternalistic, and modernist assumptions that have never served all constituencies well, especially those persons who represent the potential enrollment growth in theological education, that is, women and persons of color. This invites consideration that any crisis in theological education has been experienced very differently across racial and gender lines. Willie Jennings insightfully asserts that theological education in the modern Western academy was not built with different bodies in mind or with due consideration of different minds in diverse bodies. The architecture of modern theological education has been likened to the white master’s house built exclusively for his sons.23

Traditional theological education became panicky when different types of bodies entered “the house” at the same time as those in dominance experienced an institutional crisis of theological education. Part of the range of how the crisis of theological education is experienced is that for many in theological education, recent years have felt much like a storm at sea, buffeted this way and that by wind and waves. To others, however, the changing nature of faith and leadership formation looks less like a storm and more like refreshing rain.24

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In such a context of varied experience some theological schools now face a pivotal choice, a kairos moment, a time of transition where much is at risk. At the very moment when analysis of past trends and projections of future development confirms the wisdom of steps that embrace the “refreshing rain,” such as cooperation with alternative pathways and innovative education or partnership for congregationally-based theological education, with all the potential of wider reach of service and increased enrollment, such innovation is under risk of, if not outright elimination, at least severe curtailment because of financial challenges when the status quo gold standard is threatened. It is as if in the face of economic difficulties there is a retreat to some of the old ways of thinking and doing. In such contexts advocates appear for an elitist educational gold standard with modest adaptations, which in reality is retrenchment. Ironically this is not sustainable and distracts from the purpose of theological education, namely, to help people understand, nurture, name, and live into their eschatological hope every day.

EMBRACING CHANGES, PREPARING FOR THE UNEXPECTED There is a different way for theological education to prepare for the future. If we believe that God is at work, institutions of theological education can succeed through clarity of mission, careful assessment of contexts, wellinformed and vigilant efforts, wise and careful management of resources, with vision and creative strategies that are flexible in the face of the variables of life. Existing and new theological schools could embrace a vision that finds the will and the way to serve in rapidly changing contexts and not automatically cut back, even in the midst of financial difficulties. If we are courageous, perhaps even daring, and unfaltering in our efforts, then our theological education praxis will make a tremendous contribution to the missional needs of the church. Visionary theological education is courageous and willing to take a chance on something new. In their research Christian Scharen and Sharon Miller found that theological schools that embraced pedagogical and programmatic innovation shared three characteristics: administrations willing to take a risk, faculty support including senior faculty advocacy, and a distinct place for experimentation.25 Sometimes schools fail because they are afraid to take the risk out of fear that what might be lost is a gamble, or the innovative thing seems too unconventional. Here the words of songwriter Lisa Markley are helpful in naming the fear as well as the alternative to the fear, “Go ahead and expect the worst. A sheltered heart is no less broken than the one who dares believe the best and dances out

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on the limb.”26 If we don’t take the risk we miss out on an opportunity, that yes may lead to a crash, but also might result in dancing out on a limb as they, or we find new ways to equip the saints for the work of ministry, which includes being prepared to give an apologia. Such innovation might involve transforming educational models for clergy preparation to integrate the congregation as a full partner in the preparation of pastors for leadership in the church and its participation in God’s mission for the world. Preparing faithful leaders for the church and society might involve moving into new models of education. Through vital and contextual theological education, we can be prepared so that in the midst of whatever is happening in life when the question is asked, we can respond to the particular initial question, as well as to all kinds of related follow-up questions. We do best to avoid talk of winners or losers thereby avoiding the temptation of binary choices and designations. In such a context, what is the mission and vision of theological education? To answer that question requires further clarification, particularly of the difference between institutions of theological education and the practice of theological education. As we are reminded that theological education takes on many institutional forms, we are also prompted to keep in mind that Christian ministry is bigger than one expression of it. Theological education for the work of ministry is directly tied to all the different types of callings to ministry. If personhood, divine and human, is essentially relational, and if the agenda between the One-Who-Calls and one called is what we name as a calling, vocation is inherently relational, more a verb or activity than a noun or state of being. We become who we are in and through communion with God and others.27

Embracing the relational dimensions of a vocation to theological education is an important piece of doing theological education and the work of providing people holistic preparation as people pursue their own callings. As we put into practice theological education, we need to be vigilant of always being the church in particular social contexts. It is not enough simply to respond to cultural shifts in an ad hoc fashion. As theological educators we need to commit to developing a strategic rendezvous with varied and constantly changing cultural contexts. That means taking up at least three approaches for the practice of theological education: 1. Remaining relevant in a globalized, transnational context of increasing religious, social, and cultural diversity. This is more than a nod to diversity.

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2. Committing to do collaborative theology with all participating in theological education, recognizing that we are part of larger communities of faith. As Orlando Espín observes, “Theology is not a monologue or a parroting exercise. Theology is crafted and engaged en conjunto, whether we are aware of it and want to admit it or not.”28 3. Reclaiming a prophetic voice that challenges any status quo that seeks to enshrine any moment or phase as the ideal of all theological education, lest we create an idol. Collaborative theology needs to be practiced by all those participating in theological education, which is a group much larger than just faculty and students. Furthermore, theological education needs to embrace a public prophetic voice that challenges any cultural status quo that may have an oppressive bent to it. Additionally, through contextual and intercultural pedagogy and experimenting with multiple ways to do theological education the potential exists not only to attain more effective ways of teaching and learning in theological studies, but also directly to address the monumental demographic shifts in our society and our various institutions. As we do so we can better respond to changes and prepare for the unexpected. Keeping theological education simultaneously relevant, effective, and coherent in a world of increasing cultural, social, economic, and religious diversity is a challenge in part because even though diversity itself is not new (although curiously it is new to some), it is quite possible for people still to live in isolated enclaves in a world that is getting smaller by the minute. Carmen Nanko-Fernández rightly asks the question, So, who is mapping the coordinates of contemporary theologizing, and why does it seem that only some of us bear an obligation to socially locate—specially to locate as Other? What are the jarring implications of taking seriously transnational and intercultural compositions of our churches, classrooms, and scholarly academies? Or is the “new normal” disturbingly pointing to the establishment of new norms emanating from positions of dominance that are seeking to control the inevitable and uncontrollable?29

Through diligent effort, the theological education we provide can be relevant in the diverse contexts that God may bring onto our paths, but it takes both a commitment to go beyond our usual way of doing things and a creative effort to do so. The mandate of relevant theological education, however, extends beyond merely nodding to the diversity of transnational and intercultural realities. Theological education needs to be collaborative in the same way Christians have been called to be collaborative in community. Moreover, theological

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educators must commit to a courageous vision of a communal ministry that includes a shared holistic public voice that articulates the role of theology in the life of the church, the community in the academy and in wide-ranging public discourse. Theological educators must go beyond giving students a limited and time-bound toolkit, by fostering an orientation that will help them live lives faithful to the full message of the Gospel, including working for biblical justice in the church and in public spheres. By addressing these critical issues, theological education as practiced in institutions of theological education can be a beacon for people who have a heart for the world, are earnestly thinking about theology and contextual ministry, and are committed to creative ways to promote biblical justice.

THEOLOGICAL EDUCATION AND CHRISTIAN HOPE I come back to the verse that came to me on the Ocean City boardwalk, 1 Peter 3:15, “make your defense to anyone who demands from you an accounting for the hope that is in you” (NRSV). Surely part of the mission of theological education for the present and the future is to help people called to ministry to articulate Christian hope for these times and places. For schools of theology moving in the future as they seek to be creative and nimble, they also will need to embrace what always has been true, namely that people pursue theological education for a variety of reasons. Some come to theological education with hope well defined, and yet like C. S. Lewis are still “surprised by joy” through deeper understandings of that hope. Others come as spiritual searcher and discover reasons for hope, meaning, and undreamt-of avenues for service. Some are called to congregational ministry, but seminaries should acknowledge what God has affirmed, that the church and the world also need excellent counselors, teachers, and those called to specialized ministries, as well as people called to types of ministries that none of us have dreamt of yet. Does anyone go to seminary without some kind of hope, even hope to learn something that might be useful in some way? Some people go to seminary in the hope that they will learn something to prepare them for some type of ministry. Others already engaged in ministry hope that graduate theological education will help them refine their ministry, or give them new insights for ministry, or renew them after years of prior ministry. And still others go to seminary as part of a personal search in the hope that they will grow in their spiritual awareness and practice. Seminary theological education is not for the hopeless. Future efforts in the practice of theological education will embrace gifts of time, space, and community to consider the hope of what we have experienced of God in Christ. Theological education can explore how that

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hope impacts our society and our life together as we realize we should work toward the common good, despite the forces pulling in an opposite direction. At our best in theological education, we engage the traditions, but in ways that are relevant for this moment in time, as we deepen our emphasis on ministry and the formation of leaders who develop the contextual capacity to respond to shifting needs in varying situations of an undetermined future. As theological education produces excellent leaders for contextual ministry, seminaries will be nimbler, offering education in multiple formats and not just for those pursuing degrees, while being in continual dialogue with the communities and contexts they serve. On the boardwalks of life there are all kinds of people: families, couples, individuals, young, and old, traveling in different directions for different reasons. We are walking among them, sometimes even with them. Being ready to explain why we have hope is more than when we are asked why we believe God, why do we have any hope, but is also pointing toward an implicit, unstated question: Why would anyone care whether or not I believe in God? Why believe in God? Why have hope? “Why do you believe in God?” is not just an individual question but is a question to all of us who travel the many boardwalks of life. It is a question for people of faith. It is a question of people of no faith. It is a question of the “One-in-Five Adults Who Have No Religious Affiliation.” Institutions of theological education like seminaries should always look for the ones asking questions, and the ones who have embraced hopelessness. Those of us at traditional institutions of theological education should honor other ways that theological education is done and be open to the possibilities of partnership when it seems right. And most importantly, those of us called to be theological educators always should be ready to share the reason we have for our hope. NOTES 1. Kenny Young and Arthur Resnick, Under the Boardwalk. Atlantic, 8099, 1964. 2. The fact that I remembered these verses from the NIV translation rather than NRSV probably reflects my earlier formation as a Christian. 3. Deborah A. Broehm, Intimate Migrations: Gender, Family, and Illegality among Transnational Mexicans (New York: New York University Press, 2012); Jason De León, The Land of Open Graves: Living and Dying on the Migrant Trail (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2015); Jason Pribilsky, La Chulla Vida: Gender, Migration, and the Family in Andean Ecuador and New York City (Syracuse: Syracuse University Press, 2007). 4. Phillip Atiba Goff, Tracey Lloyd, Amanda Geller, Steven Raphael, Jack Glasser, The Science of Justice: Race, Arrests, and Police Use of Force (Los Angeles:

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Center for Policing Equity, 2016). For more on the racial challenges of the times see Michael Eric Dyson, Tears We Cannot Stop: A Sermon to White America (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 2017); Kelly Brown Douglas, Stand Your Ground: Black Bodies and the Justice of God (Maryknoll: Orbis Books, 2015). 5. Department of Health and Human Services, “About the U.S Opioid Epidemic,” accessed March 31, 2018, https://www​.hhs​.gov​/opioids​/about​-the​-epidemic​/index​ .html. 6. Anna Lembke, Drug Dealer, MD: How Doctors Were Duped, Patients Got Hooked, and Why It’s So Hard to Stop (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2016). 7. Alan Cooperman and Gregory A. Smith, “The Factors Driving the Growth of Religious ‘Nones’ in the U.S,” Pew Research Center, September 14, 2016, https:// www​.pewresearch​.org​/fact​-tank​/2016​/09​/14​/the​-factors​-driving​-the​-growth​-of​-religious​-nones​-in​-the​-u​-s/. 8. Miguel A. De La Torre, Embracing Hopelessness (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2017), 5–6. 9. Those topics for separate consideration at another time might include the author of 1 Peter views on wives and husbands and the roles of women and men in the church, the suffering of Christian believers, honoring the government, slaves accepting the authority of their masters, and of course consideration of what was meant by the proclamation of Christ to the spirits in prison. 10. “A wicked problem is a complex issue that defies complete definition, for which there can be no final solution, since any resolution generates further issues, and where solutions are not true or false or good or bad, but the best that can be done at the time.” V.A. Brown, P.M. Deane, J.A. Harris, and J.Y. Russell, “Toward a Just and Sustainable Future,” in Tackling Wicked Problems through the Transdisciplinary Imagination, eds. Valerie A. Brown, John A. Harris and Jacqueline Y. Russell (New York: Earthscan/Routledge, 2010), 4. 11. Discussion about a crisis in theological education is more than thirty years old, including Cornel West observing in 1988 that there was threefold crisis manifested by institutional confusion, intellectual upheaval, and constituencies disconnected from vital Christian ministry. See Cornel West, Prophetic Fragments: Illuminations of the Crisis in American Religion and Culture (Grand Rapids, IL: Eerdmans, 1988), 273–280. For a recent discussion of the crisis in theological education from a United Methodist perspective see David McAllister-Wilson, A New Church and A New Seminary: Theological Education Is the Solution (Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press, 2018). 12. Gordon S. Mikoski, “Integrating Work at the Course Level,” in Integrating Work in Theological Education, eds. Kathleen Cahalan, Edward Foley, and Gordon S. Mikoski (Pickwick Publications: Eugene, OR, 2017), 127. 13. The so-called seven sisters of historic mainline US Protestantism were the following denominations or their predecessor ecclesiastical bodies: American Baptist Churches, Christian Church (Disciples of Christ), Evangelical Lutheran Church in America, Episcopal Church, the United Methodist Church, Presbyterian Church, USA, and the United Church of Christ. Actually, the story becomes more complicated

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in that there were always portions of these denominations that had de facto multiple concurrent affiliations with streams of Evangelicalism, Pentecostalism, and/or Charismatic movements, in addition to the racialized identities and experiences of those that were/are racial/ethnic minorities within their own denominations.. 14. Justo L. González, The History of Theological Education (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2015), 131. 15. González, The History of Theological Education, 131. 16. Frank Yamada, “Five Principles for Change in Theological Schools,” Colloquy Online, January 2018, 1. 17. Yamada, “Five Principles for Change in Theological Schools,” Colloquy Online, 1. 18. Sharon L. Miller and Christian Scharen, (Not) Being There: Online Distance Theological Education, Auburn Studies No. 23 (New York: Auburn Seminary, 2017), 2–3. 19. Baptist University of the Américas is a school affiliated with the Baptist General Convention of Texas, awards associate and bachelor degrees, and is accredited by the Commission on Accreditation of the Association for Biblical Higher Education (ABHE). 20. Lancaster Bible College is accredited both by the Middle States Commission on Higher Education (MSCHE) and the Association for Biblical Higher Education Commission on Accreditation (ABHE). 21. Mark R. Gornik and Maria Liu Wong, Stay in the City: How Christian Faith Is Flourishing in an Urban World (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2017), 77. 22. Glenn T. Miller, Piety and Pluralism: Theological Education Since 1960 (Eugene, OR: Cascade Books/Wipf and Stock, 2014), 34–35. See also Joseph C. Hough, Jr. and Barbara G. Wheeler, Beyond Clericalism: The Congregation as Focus for Theological Education (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1988). 23. Willie James Jennings, “What Shall We Teach? The Content of Theological Education,” in Teaching for a Culturally Diverse and Racially Just World, ed. Eleazar S. Fernandez (Eugene, OR: Cascade Books, 2014), 109. 24. Christian Scharen and Sharon Miller, Bright Spots in Theological Education: Hopeful Stories in a Time of Crisis and Change, Auburn Studies No. 22 (New York: Auburn Seminary, 2016), 2. 25. Christian Scharen and Sharon Miller, Bright Spots in Theological Education: Hopeful Stories in a Time of Crisis and Change, Auburn Studies No. 22 (New York: Auburn Seminary, 2016), 43–44. 26. Lisa Markley, On A Limb (Jonesborough, TN: Soona Songs, 2003). 27. Kathleen A. Cahalan, “Callings over a Lifetime: In Relationship, through the Body, Over Time, and for the Community,” in Calling All Years Good: Christian Vocation throughout Life’s Seasons, eds. Kathleen A. Cahalan and Bonnie J. MillerMcLemore (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2017), 14. 28. Orlando O. Espín, Idol and Grace: On Traditioning and Subversive Hope (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 2014), ix. 29. Carmen Nanko-Fernández, “Held Hostage by Method? Interrupting Pedagogical Assumptions–Latinamente,” Theological Education 48.1 (2013): 35.

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BIBLIOGRAPHY Broehm, Deborah A. Intimate Migrations: Gender, Family, and Illegality among Transnational Mexicans. New York: New York University Press, 2012. Brown, V.A., P.M. Deane, J.A. Harris, and J.Y. Russell. “Toward a Just and Sustainable Future.” In Tackling Wicked Problems through the Transdisciplinary Imagination. Eds. Valerie A. Brown, John A. Harris and Jacqueline Y. Russell. New York: Earthscan/Routledge, 2010. Cahalan, Kathleen A. “Callings over a Lifetime: In Relationship, through the Body, over Time, and for the Community.” In Calling All Years Good: Christian Vocation throughout Life’s Seasons. Eds. Kathleen A. Cahalan and Bonnie J. Miller-McLemore. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2017. Cooperman, Alan and Gregory A. Smith. “The Factors Driving the Growth of Religious ‘Nones’ in the U.S.” Pew Research Center, September 14, 2016. https:// www​.pewresearch​.org​/fact​-tank​/2016​/09​/14​/the​-factors​-driving​-the​-growth​-of​ -religious​-nones​-in​-the​-u​-s/. De La Torre, Miguel A. Embracing Hopelessness. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2017. De León, Jason. The Land of Open Graves: Living and Dying on the Migrant Trail. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2015. Department of Health and Human Services. “About the U.S Opioid Epidemic.” Accessed March 31, 2018. https://www​.hhs​.gov​/opioids​/about​-the​-epidemic​/index​ .html. Espín, Orlando O. Idol and Grace: On Traditioning and Subversive Hope. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 2014. Goff, Phillip Antiba, Tracey Lloyd, Amanda Geller, Steven Raphael, and Jack Glasser. The Science of Justice: Race, Arrests, and Police Use of Force. Los Angeles: Center for Policing Equity, 2016. González, Justo L. The History of Theological Education. Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2015. Gornik, Mark R. and Maria Liu Wong. Stay in the City: How Christian Faith Is Flourishing in an Urban World. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2017. Jennings, Willie James. “What Shall We Teach? The Content of Theological Education.” In Teaching for a Culturally Diverse and Racially Just World. Ed. Eleazar S. Fernandez. Eugene, OR: Cascade Books, 2014. Lembke, Anna. Drug Dealer, MD: How Doctors Were Duped, Patients Got Hooked, and Why It’s So Hard to Stop. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2016. Markley, Lisa. On A Limb. Jonesborough, TN: Soona Songs, 2003. Mikoski, Gordon S. “Integrating Work at the Course Level.” In Integrating Work in Theological Education. Eds. Kathleen Cahalan, Edward Foley, and Gordon S. Mikoski. Pickwick Publications: Eugene, OR, 2017. Miller, Glenn T. Piety and Pluralism: Theological Education Since 1960. Eugene, OR: Cascade Books/Wipf and Stock, 2014. Miller, Sharon L. and Christian Scharen. (Not) Being There: Online Distance Theological Education. Auburn Studies No. 23. New York: Auburn Seminary, 2017.

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Nanko-Fernández, Carmen. “Held Hostage by Method? Interrupting Pedagogical Assumptions–Latinamente.” Theological Education 48.1, 35–45, 2013. Pribilsky, Jason. La Chulla Vida: Gender, Migration, and the Family in Andean Ecuador and New York City. Syracuse: Syracuse University Press, 2007. Scharen, Christian and Sharon Miller. Bright Spots in Theological Education: Hopeful Stories in a Time of Crisis and Change. Auburn Studies No. 22. New York: Auburn Seminary, 2016. West, Cornel. Prophetic Fragments: Illuminations of the Crisis in American Religion and Culture. Grand Rapids, IL: Eerdmans, 1988. Yamada, Frank. “Five Principles for Change in Theological Schools.” Colloquy Online. January 2018. https://www​.ats​.edu​/uploads​/resources​/publications​ -presentations​/colloquy​-online​/five​-principles​-for​-change​-in​-theological​-schools​ .pdf. Young, Kenny and Arthur Resnick. “Under the Boardwalk.” Side A on Under the Boardwalk. The Drifters. Atlantic Studios 8099, 1964, single record.

APPENDIX #1: FURTHER READING Douglas, Kelly Brown. Stand Your Ground: Black Bodies and the Justice of God. Maryknoll: Orbis Books, 2015. Dyson, Michael Eric. Tears We Cannot Stop: A Sermon to White America. New York: St. Martin’s Press, 2017. Hough, Jr., Joseph C. and Barbara G. Wheeler. Beyond Clericalism: The Congregation as Focus for Theological Education. Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1988. McAllister-Wilson, David. A New Church and A New Seminary: Theological Education Is the Solution. Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press, 2018.

Chapter 5

Integrity in Seminary Leadership Katie Day

I was on the faculty at United Lutheran Seminary for 34 years, a fact that always surprised me. I told my students that I started teaching during the Jurassic Period, certainly before many of them were born. Over the years, so much change had occurred in the Church, in society, and in theological education. I joined the faculty during the Reagan years and was interviewed by a seminary president who asked me about my “reproductive plans.” After stumbling through a response to the illegal question, I somehow managed to get the job. Since then I worked with five other presidents at the seminary, with their own tenures ranging from eight months to fifteen years. Although it felt as if I had worked in several different institutions—so dramatic had changes been—some understandings about leadership became clear to me over the years as a faculty person. “Leadership,” of course, cannot be reduced to the presidency of an institution. It must include deans, senior administrative staff, and the board of trustees. They are entrusted to lead the school in ways that are financially sustainable yet nimble enough to respond to needs of the church and changes in broader society. There are certainly partners who share in the governance of the school while maintaining their own unique roles, such as faculty. The administrative leadership creates not only a track record of decisions but also a culture within the institution that can range along a wide spectrum of effectiveness and dysfunction. Our institution has certainly occupied a variety of points on the spectrum over the last thirty-plus years. Leadership within theological education does not just happen or even evolve. There has to be intentionality in the approach to leading. I want to argue that the models of leadership employed really matter. It is the president who, most often, identifies and develops a particular model of leadership, although, ironically, they are usually not deeply trained in leadership. For 135

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better or worse, the logic in choosing most seminary presidents assumes that because one was a prominent pastor or professor of homiletics, history, theology or other theological discipline, that must mean they will make an effective president. So new seminary presidents often compensate for a lack of leadership training by seeking out short seminars, coaches, or reading business journals. Sometimes they do make outstanding presidents and learn to fly the plane while it’s in the air. Wise leadership can develop over time. Other times, the lack of a strongly developed leadership model rooted in the values of the institution is a recipe for institutional disaster. The primary reason that a strong model of leadership needs to be in place is not as much out of a concern for effectiveness, which is important of course, but of integrity. In a seminary context, a leadership model is literally a model for our students who are in the process of formation. Our emerging leaders are being prepared not only in class, but as they experience the leadership of the school. We cannot teach church administration courses to students that are out of sync with the leadership models being practiced at the school. The coursework can be abstract, but the reality of leadership at the school makes an impact. Students are paying attention to how decisions are made, resources allocated, and staff treated, and not just because many of those decisions impact them. They are also learning about leadership. Even though congregations and seminaries are different entities, they are still both institutions of the Church, living out the Gospel in the world. Despite different functions, there should be continuity in the values that animate and shape their leadership. And what are some of those values? I’m sure there are others but I would like to focus on three—interdependence, respect, and truth. The primary metaphor for the Church is the Body of Christ—the incarnation of Christ in the world even as God was in Christ in flesh and blood. The Church is how Christ is present in the world. But Paul also refers to the Church as Body in functional terms in 1 Corinthians 12. In this familiar text, he affirms the astonishing variety of gifts among God’s people, and compares it to the diversity of parts in the human body. All the parts of the body have particular roles to play in order for the body to function properly. As is true for the physical body, the Body of Christ can only function when there is interdependence among the various members. Paul stresses that even though all parts of the body are distinctive in their contribution, all are equally important and necessary for the body to survive and to thrive. This model of interdependence is remarkably countercultural in human communities that gravitate toward hierarchy. But Paul goes out of his way to critique the consolidation of power and formation of top-heavy hierarchical organization. The head cannot tell the feet it does not need them, he argues. “On the contrary, the members of the body that seem to be weaker are indispensable.”1

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The goal is the common good, which is greater than the sum of all the parts when they work together. Moving this into institutional life within a theological school, interdependency is manifested as shared governance. Administration, students, board, service staff, faculty, senior staff all have different roles to play for the good of the whole. They must work in interdependent partnership for the school to run smoothly and to thrive. Those who consider themselves at the “top” cannot say to the food servers, security staff or maintenance team, “I don’t need you,” any more than the head can say that to the feet. Leaders cannot consider them replaceable cogs but indispensable members of the body. In shared governance, all have a contribution to make in shaping decisions. Who better knows how to shape the curriculum than the faculty, and who better can critique the pedagogy than the students? Who better knows the impact of cutbacks on school safety than the security staff? Who better can give input on shaping public communications than the alumni/ae? When power is shared in the governance—that is, when the contributions of all are recognized and incorporated—then the theological school is walking its talk, living out the values and commitments it professes and hopes to instill in its students. The medium literally becomes the message. But Paul goes further than a Weberian “rationalization of organizations” approach. What is particularly radical is that respect given is not only universal, but is to be extended especially to those who might be considered the “least honorable” members of the body, whom, Paul asserts, “we clothe with greater honor.”2 We can blame God for this social inversion who has “so arranged the body, giving the greater honor to the inferior member.”3 Certainly there are occasions of staff appreciation in our schools in which administrators might say, with some condescension, how much each staff member is appreciated. But ask the staff members—does that appreciation translate into listening to their concerns, or being consulted on relevant decisions, or trusting them with increased responsibilities, or in their remuneration? Is respect differentiated by race, gender, sexuality or position? Such respect to each member of the community should extend to the point that if one is suffering, all suffer; if one is honored, all celebrate. Everyone should have a personal stake in the institution’s success, and know that their contribution is essential and valued. This is not just a good business practice, it is a Gospel value, meant to animate the Body of Christ and cultivate unity in its various incarnations. The second president of our school with whom I served embodied this respect for all at the seminary. In fact, he expanded the boundaries of accountability to include our surrounding community. One of his first acts was to knock on all the doors of our near neighbors to let them know that they were welcome to our beautiful campus. I had just arrived on faculty and

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I was clearly at the bottom of the proverbial totem pole as young, female, non-Lutheran, and not having completed my PhD. I struggled to find my way in this historic seminary and made many mistakes as a neophyte among my well-established and revered colleagues. President John Vannorsdall always had my back and became a mentor and an advocate. I felt respected, appreciated, and understood; in that context I could flourish. Such respect breeds loyalty and commitment to the institution. I’ve always said that I would have walked on hot coals for President Vannorsdall. The third value which is essential for a model of leadership for theological schools is truth. Although it seems obvious to say that leadership must be marked by truth-telling, honesty, and transparency, this is too often a missing ingredient in our institutions. When Nelson Mandela was released from prison and led South Africa from its grotesquely authoritarian and racist structure of apartheid into a democracy, he turned to Archbishop Desmond Tutu to construct a process for the transition. Tutu and others knew that for the new political structure to have any integrity, it had to begin with truthtelling, and so the Truth and Reconciliation Commission was constructed. In this famous process, what had been hidden for years came into the bright light of public confession, witness, and scrutiny. For the TRC, truth was key to both being free from the toxicity of the past and was the basis for accountability going forward. In a theological context which also values confidentiality, what role should transparency play? Certainly there are elements of decisions that should not be made public to protect individuals. But this should be distinguished from secrecy in policy-making and processes. Secretive decisions become toxic and are destructive of community, eroding trust and preventing accountability. The truth frees us: the lack of transparency means the lack of freedom and empowerment. In the War on Poverty during the 1960s, Robert Kennedy advocated a model of governance in which those who were the beneficiaries of federal programs should also be involved in the decision-making as much as possible. The term coined was “maximum feasible participation,” and was meant to break through the fog around resource allocation. As the housing and economic development policies were being implemented, there was serious effort to ensure that those most impacted by them would also see clearly how they were being constructed and how resources were being allocated. The transparency of the process made it inherently more empowering and more democratic. In our institutions, this should mean allowing even difficult truths to be aired in hearings or administrative decisions to incorporate perspectives from faculty, staff, and students in their formulation. Ignoring the core value of transparency denies the seminary community the opportunity to repent from its failings and to deepen its understanding of itself and its vocation.

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Furthermore, the denial of transparency can come back to bite us, as we have seen in our own school in recent years. Because we are so familiar with these values, these words—interdependence, respect, transparency—we have forgotten how very countercultural they are. They have been worn down and domesticated, floating in soft focus as nice ideas, yet reeking of retro. So new seminary presidents and administrators, looking for new leadership models in an age of seismic shifts, can be drawn to whatever the latest trends are in management schools and journals. One major fad has been that of “disruptive leadership,” formulated and promoted by Clayton Christensen of Harvard Business School beginning in the late 1990s. Basically it is a model that is as it sounds. If an institution is not thriving, it will continue in stasis and eventually fail unless there is a disruptive innovation. A leader is needed to come “shake things up” in ways that are very much discontinuous with the past. Strategies to reform and adapt to shifts are not considered to be an effective means of change. In a critique of disruptive leadership in The New Yorker, Jill Lepore focuses on how this model forms leaders: They are told that they should be reckless and ruthless. Their investors, if they’re like Josh Linkner, tell them that the world is a terrifying place, moving at a devastating pace. . . . His job appears to be to convince a generation of people who want to do good and do well to learn, instead, remorselessness. Forget rules, obligations, your conscience, loyalty, a sense of the commonweal. If you start a business and it succeeds, Linkner advises, sell it and take the cash. Don’t look back. Never pause. Disrupt or be disrupted.4

Beyond influencing business entrepreneurs, it has also been applied to leadership in higher education, media, health care, and has been adopted by political figures. It has also been naively adopted by some leaders in theological education. But is this the model in which we want to form our clergy? As creative and courageous priests and pastors, certainly . . . but as congregational disrupters? The model of leadership that emerges from our biblical and theological tradition is not that of the isolated leader who considers him/herself uniquely qualified (read: smarter and bolder) to make abrupt breaks with the past to effect change, but one in which leaders are caring and responsive parts of the Body. The head, after all, cannot say to the foot, “I don’t need you,” but both are in service to each other. Leadership is finally not performance but is socially constructed in interdependent relationships marked by mutual respect and trust built on transparency and honesty. This is not to say that change is not needed or possible—it very much is at this moment in the history of our seminary and, well, our nation. There is much at stake here for

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the future of our Church. We need to get it right. We need to stay grounded in who we are called to be, and whose we are. NOTES 1. I Corinthians 12: 22, New Revised Standard Version. 2. I Corinthians 12: 23. 3. I Corinthians 12: 24. 4. “The Disruption Machine: What the Gospel of Innovation Gets Wrong,” Jill Lepore, The New Yorker, 6/23/14. https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2014/06/23/ the-disruption-machine.

Chapter 6

Tending the Landscapes of Theological Education Planetary Crisis and the Demands of Ecological Transition Timothy R. Eberhart

There is strong agreement across the varied institutions, practitioners, and observers of theological education in the United States that the landscape is rapidly changing. What is assumed by this agreement, most often, is a particular focus upon student demographics, enrollment numbers, the influence of mainline denominations, delivery models, affordability and indebtedness, and views of religion in society. These and related dynamics represent the landscape that has significantly changed and is so quickly changing. The implication for those presently stewarding theological education is a further consensus that responsible leadership today requires an acknowledgment of, adaption to, and ultimately creative innovation within a time of widespread transition.1 What is not assumed by this agreement, and what is therefore not as attentively accounted for in identifying the age as one of transition, is any substantive focus on the actual landscapes—local, bioregional, global—upon and within which any activity, including theological education, takes place in the United States. The term “landscape” in the earliest Germanic references connotes both a particular territory or bordered environment (“land”) and the impact on or organization of the land by a people, conveyed in the German landschaft (“shaffen,” to make). A recent formal definition describes landscape as “an area, as perceived by people, whose character is the result of the action and interaction of natural and/or human factors.”2 References today to the “landscape of theological education” are meant metaphorically, suggesting a broad sweep of financial, cultural, social, and institutional trends. But they are not meant to refer concretely to actual areas of land, apart 141

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from certain management strategies concerning properties understood as real estate, as budgetary assets or liabilities. This is a dangerously irresponsible omission in an age of rapid, devastating ecological change caused by the dominant pattern of organized human activity worldwide. At a time when the scientific community is raising increasingly urgent alarms about the likelihood of biospheric collapse apart from a massive transition in humanity’s impact on the natural world, where is the conversation among those stewarding theological education today about the actual landscapes within which our institutions and their missions are embedded and upon which they are entirely dependent? Where are the conferences, annual reports, accreditation measurements, and strategic plans for theological schools grounded in an uncompromisingly realistic account of what is happening to our living environments, why, and what is to be done in order to sustain life, livelihood, and the mission of theological education in those places in the coming decades? My intent in this chapter is to prompt such a conversation at the same level of widespread attention that enrollment numbers, generational trends, and online classroom formats presently receive. In doing so, I want to emphasize that my thoughts here are provisional and suggestive, even provocative, not only because the future of our natural landscapes and the place of theological education within them represents truly uncharted territory, but also because I very much hope that others from varied perspectives will be taking up and contributing to this formidable work in the years ahead. That said, among the range of possible responses, I will argue that today’s leaders in theological education are responsible, first, for understanding the chief role industrial capitalism has played in the catastrophic planetary crises unfolding in our midst, second, for acknowledging the long-standing dependency of our institutions upon the present economic paradigm, and third, for exploring concrete ways our educational and formational systems might participate in the necessary transition toward more life-sustaining and socially equitable economic systems.

RAPIDLY CHANGING LANDSCAPES The stewards of theological education, from the mid-eighteenth century to the present, have largely ignored the impacts that the particular social formations they share in, represent, and perpetuate have had on land. For the most part, administrators, board members, faculty, and students have related to the places they inhabit abstractly. In other words, they have viewed the particular environs where seminaries and divinity schools have been placed as sites to be used, and even enjoyed, but only as subordinate means and not

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as final ends in themselves. Attending to the tasks of doctrinal catechization, worldview deconstruction and construction, professional preparation, and moral development has been far more central to the mission of theological schools than any comparable attentiveness to the living environment—the community of plants, minerals, soil, water, fungi, insects, and animals— that sustain all human activities, including those of theological education. This was possible, in part, because the impacts of such ignorance were not immediately seen or felt by the primary agents and beneficiaries of our institutions. The age of neglectful ignorance about humanity’s impact on the earth, however, is quickly coming to an end. Aware or willfully unaware, the reality is that we have already entered a fundamentally new era in the relationship between human beings and all other biotic and abiotic life forms and interconnected systems that make up the biosphere. Almost two decades ago, Nobel Prize-winning atmospheric chemist Paul Crutzen introduced the term Anthropocene to suggest that we are living in a new geologic era. Human activities, from the industrial age onward, he argued, have replaced natural processes as the dominant geophysical force impacting the Earth and its many interconnected systems. The term has gained acceptance among not just geologists but others in the scientific community as evidence rapidly mounts that we humans, the anthropoi, are engaged in high-speed planetary modification. Journalist Elizabeth Kolbert, summarizing peer-reviewed scientific research over the last several decades regarding flora and fauna health in diverse habitats worldwide, concludes that we are living amid a Sixth Extinction based on alarmingly accelerated rates of species extinction.3 Environmental author and activist Bill McKibben has suggested the name of planet Earth to convey the truth that we no longer live on the same Earth that supported human societies worldwide over the past ten thousand years.4 The signs of this new age, myriad in scope and staggering in their implications, are already reshaping landscapes worldwide. Over the last century and a half, the planet’s average surface temperature has risen around 1 degree Celsius,5 and the primary causes are all anthropogenic—that is, they are caused by human activities. These include the burning of coal, oil, and gas, which produces carbon dioxide and nitrous oxide, deforestation, increased livestock farming, heavy agricultural application of fertilizers containing nitrogen, which produce nitrous oxide emissions, and fluorinated gases used in a variety of industrial applications.6 The biospheric impacts of anthropogenic global warming occurring at a 1 degree Celsius rise are already enormous: melting glaciers and ice sheets causing rising sea levels and increased coastal immense; more frequent and more severe super-storms, like hurricanes and extreme precipitation rain/snow events leading to a spike in major flooding and mudslides; an increase in massive droughts, heat waves, lightning strikes,

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and wildfires; the destruction of both marine and land ecosystems contributing to the collapsing of earth’s biodiversity; a significant changing rhythm to the seasons impacting the earlier blooming of flowers and trees, a disrupted timing of birds, bees, and butterflies for feeding and pollinating, and northward shifting of plant, animal, and insect species.7 The consequences of these changes on human societies and human well-being have also been similarly dire and include increased migrants and refugees due to food shortages and resource depletion, a rise in social unrest and violence worldwide linked to extreme weather conditions, psychological distress, threats to health like worsening air pollution and the spread of insect-borne diseases, and more.8 Although the changes occurring to the earth’s landscapes, peoples, social relations, and social systems are already significant, the disruptions in the coming decades, even under best-case scenarios, will be far more severe and widespread. The goal identified at the 2016 Paris Climate Agreement was to keep global warming at less than 2 degree Celsius rise through the commitment of participating countries to reduce global anthropogenic emissions to zero by the second half of the twenty-first century. As the 2018 UN Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) report warns, however, the consequences of surpassing 1.5 degree Celsius alone will be devastating, amplifying the intensity and scope of extreme heat, sea-level rise, species loss, ecosystem change, crop failure, and fishery collapse events. To keep warming under 1.5 degrees, global carbon dioxide emissions will have to fall 45 percent by 2030, and reach net zero by 2050. The far greater likelihood is that we will surpass 2 degrees or more within the century, with scenarios that can only be described as cataclysmic: sea-level rises flooding major cities worldwide, hundreds of millions suffering water scarcity and food shortages, large areas of the earth becoming too hot for human inhabitation, the movement of tens of millions of climate refugees from southern regions north and coastal regions inland, and far more. The burdens of these changes will impact every geography and every strata of society, but as is already the case, they will disproportionately affect the world’s poor, communities of color, indigenous peoples, rural communities, so-called developing countries, women, children, and the elderly. PREPARING FOR WIDESPREAD TRANSITION Jürgen Moltmann summarizes the depth of the problem and the scope of the challenge this way: The human ecosystem has lost its equilibrium and is on the way to the destruction of the earth and hence to its own destruction. The slowly spreading

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crisis is given the name “environmental pollution,” and people are seeking technological solutions for it. But in my view it is in actual fact a crisis of the whole total project of modern civilization. . . . Unless there is a fresh orientation of this society’s fundamental values, we shall not succeed in finding a new practice in our dealings with nature; unless human beings arrive at a new way of understanding themselves, and at an alternative economic system—then an ecological collapse of the earth can easily be extrapolated from the facts and trends of the present crises.9

The potential consequences of present and future ecological crises in relation to the landscapes of theological education, both material and metaphoric, are enormous. If we extrapolate from the facts and trends of the present age—which is a central charge for those who steward institutions not just for the present but for future generations—then surely one crucial task must be to anticipate, begin preparations for, and initiate responses to a range of biospheric changes that will undoubtedly impact everything from buildings and grounds to endowments and annual operating budgets to enrollment to food services and more. At present, however, strategic planning within and among our institutions regarding the shape of theological education in relation to the “tough new planet” (McKibben) we already inhabit does not appear to be taking place. Presidents and deans, boards of trustees, faculties, staff, and denominational and accrediting bodies are not currently engaged in intentional, organized processes to address how our seminaries and divinity schools will need to transition, at the breadth and depth of what’s required, in order to do our part amid broader societal, systemic, even revolutionary changes to avert an ecological collapse of the Earth. Among the many complex reasons our institutions are failing to take up this monumental task, the captivity of modern theological education to the reigning economic paradigm of extractive capitalism, I would argue, is a primary culprit. Of course, theological schools are certainly not unique in being bound to the exploitative logics and operations of the global market economy. All of society’s major institutions—civic, cultural, political, and otherwise, regardless of their for-profit or nonprofit status—operate within the parameters set by capitalist processes of privatization, commodification, competition, accumulation, and perpetual financial investment. As such, those stewarding our seminaries and divinity schools, like the leaders of nearly all other organizations today, simply assume that the only way to fulfill their core institutional missions—in this case, to educate and form religious leaders for service to the church and world—is through active participation in and dependency upon those processes. Over the last century and a half, the built environments of our schools have been financed, constructed, and maintained, theological faculty and staff have been paid, endowments have

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gained interest, goods and services for daily operations have been provided, and students have studied and trained to serve in a world governed by the political economy of industrial capitalism. But nothing we do or rely on in fulfilling the mission of theological education today is ultimately possible apart from core planetary life-support systems vital for human survival—for example, soil fertility, freshwater, stable ocean currents and weather patterns, plant and animal biodiversity—and the terribly inconvenient truth is that each of these and more, what Wendell Berry calls the “Great Economy,” are being gravely undermined by the far more narrow capitalist economy on which our institutions are immediately dependent. In an industrial capitalist economy, living systems are given value only if they are commodified through processes of privatization and then market exchange, where they are transformed into property for rent or into innumerable products to be bought and sold. This transformation of the earth into raw materials for the production of commodities to be exchanged via markets, coupled with a belief in limitless economic growth, denies the primacy of finite, limited planetary systems as the foundational precondition for all human activity.10 In addition, extractive capitalism’s myopic focus on shortterm financial profit maximization similarly denies, ignores, and thereby undermines the long-term real wealth of healthy air, water and soil, biodiverse ecosystems, and stable weather patterns. And because the full costs of biospheric extraction, overuse, and degradation are rarely internalized within the costs of production, unfettered capitalist markets are unable to account for the devastating changes occurring to our local, regional, and global landscapes. To be more concrete, these changes are taking place due to the unsustainable pattern of three key dynamics intrinsic to industrial capitalism: (1) the extraction of natural resources like forests and fish at rates faster than they are being naturally regenerated, (2) the consumption of non-renewable resources like fossil fuels, oil, coal, natural gas, and minerals at rates far faster than they are being replaced by the discovery of renewable substitutes, and (3) the externalizing deposit of wastes like carbon emissions into the atmosphere at rates faster than they can be safely assimilated.11 As a 2018 Global Sustainable Development report commissioned by the UN Secretary-General concludes, the dominant capitalist economic theories, approaches, and models that drive global governance “almost completely disregard the energetic and material dimensions of the economy” and are thereby wholly unprepared to address the upcoming era of “rapid climate change, biodiversity loss, and other environmental hazards.”12 The only viable path for the sustainment of human life in this new age of socio-environmental disruption is one that involves a massive and widespread transformation of humanity’s fundamental orientation to the other-thanhuman natural world. Thomas Berry spoke of this as the Great Work of

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integrating all human activities into the rhythms and limits of the biosphere.13 David Korten calls it the Great Turning in shifting from an industrial growth society to a life-sustaining civilization.14 The Stockholm Environment Institute names this as the Great Transition to a future marked by environmental resilience, human solidarity, and life’s flourishing.15 Although this transition will necessarily entail profound shifts throughout every level of society and culture, only a rapid transition away from extractive capitalism toward new forms of political economy, toward an “alternate economic system” (Moltmann), will be commensurate to the hard requirements of adapting to the material realities of this new era and sustaining life for future generations. The particular pathways of economic transition will necessarily be varied and experimental. There is no broad, popular consensus as of yet around any one particular eco-centric economic theory or model to replace industrial capitalism, even as an emerging range of kindred proposals, from Ecological Economics (e.g., Herman Daly, E.F. Schumacher) to Eco-Socialism (e.g., Joel Kovel, John Bellamy Foster, Ian Angus) to Agrarianism (e.g., Wendell Berry, Vandana Shiva, Wes Jackson) to Doughnut Economics (Kate Raworth) to Sacred Economics (Charles Einstein), among many others, are readily available for adaptive implementation. The purpose of this chapter is not to offer a substantive review of these proposals. Rather, at a more basic level, I am simply urging leaders in theological education, first, to be aware of the enormous biospheric changes ahead, second, to be prudent in assessing how these changes are going to impact the institutions we are charged to steward, and finally, to be courageous in the face of monumental decisions concerning political economy that will need to be made in order to avert the increasing likelihood of planetary and social collapse.16 Will we continue to participate within an exploitative capitalist system undermining the earth’s capacities to sustain human life or, as I believe is demanded, align the resources of our respective institutions and networks with experimental attempts to transition toward a new political-economic paradigm? In the final section of this chapter, I will suggest three possible routes toward that transition, but first, I want to address what I believe is a related cause of the widespread unpreparedness among our theological schools amid rapidly changing biospheric landscapes.

WORLDVIEW BIAS Sustained, critical, and imaginative engagement with environmental matters has by no means been absent within theological education in the United States. To be clear, from at least the mid-twentieth century, theologians, biblical scholars, ethicists, historians, and practical theologians have taken

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up the challenges of acknowledging, examining, and responding to the ecological crises that mark the modern era. Key figures like Joseph Sittler, Rosemary Radford Ruether, and Larry Rasmussen and a diversity of approaches, including Catholic, Reformed, Evangelical, Liberationist, Ecowomanist, Process, and far more, have introduced the importance of ecological awareness and sustainable practices to generations of religious leaders. This work has included the revisioning of doctrinal and liturgical language, images, and emphases away from a solely anthropocentric focus toward biocentric perspectives. It has involved reading sacred scriptures and religious traditions anew to find resources that affirm the intrinsic and not just instrumental goodness of the natural world. And it has supported careful moral reflection upon not just careful stewardship of the created world but also the intersecting links between ecological degradation, racism, colonial violence, economic impoverishment, and hetero-patriarchal oppression. These efforts have inspired countless environmentally-focused publications, conferences, guild networks, initiatives, centers, workshops, and spiritual retreats supported by and through our institutions. One can point to the inspiring emergence of seminary and divinity school gardens and farms, green building projects, waste reduction efforts, and related sustainable practices. Many of the most prominent figures, approaches, and initiatives, moreover, have identified the logics and operations of capitalism as a central cause of the ecological crises of the modern age. And yet, in spite of the significant richness of this decades-long intellectual and administrative work across so many institutions, there have been no substantive attempts—at the material and operational levels—to move beyond a basic orientation to and dependence upon the extractive capitalist paradigm. As a result, although theological education in the United States has indeed housed profoundly inspiring and impactful advances in ecological thought, sustainable practice, and environmental advocacy, it is still very much the case that the houses themselves continue to be managed by the logics and processes of the extractive and non-regenerative economic system chiefly responsible for the environmental devastations so many decry. Among the many reasons for this incongruity, I would argue, is the predominance of what Willis Jenkins calls the “cosmological strategy” within nearly all of the major religious and theological approaches to environmental matters over last half century. In this approach, the role of the theological educator is to engage socio-ecological problems like climate change “by investigating the cultural imaginary in which they appear and by uncovering the reality shaping goals and values that have led to a crisis.”17 The driving assumption is that by offering opportunities to interrogate the underlying goals and values of a society’s basic set of worldviews and to explore alternative moral, religious metaphors and symbols, the educational process

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thereby inherently leads to new forms of moral action and political-economic systems. “The fields of religion and ecology, Christian ecotheology, and environmental ethics have often followed that assumption: adequately addressing environmental problems requires constructing a new value theory, reclaiming a doctrine of creation, or telling a different narrative,”18 with the implication being that changing how people think about the natural world will necessarily change how they live in relationship to it. The work of eco-feminist Sallie McFague, one of the most influential scholars of religion to take up the crises of environmental destruction over the last three to four decades, represents a prime example of the cosmological strategy. McFague locates the originating cause of ecological degradation in modernity’s basic worldviews or models of reality. Such models, she argues, because they are predominantly mechanistic, reductionistic, atomistic, hierarchical, and anthropocentric, have directly contributed to social-political structures and economic systems in which the natural world is atomized, objectified, desacralized, and dominated. The constructive work of the eco-theological educator, therefore, involves proposing alternative models of reality—including creative new metaphors for God’s relationship to the world—which will lead toward a new relationship between human beings and the rest of non-human creation. Theology’s “radical character lies not primarily in programs for revolutionary action,” she writes, “but in changes in consciousness, the assumption being that a new imaginative picture of the relationship between God and the world must precede action.”19 And again: “a theologian’s job is to help Christians think about God, other people—and nature—so that we can, will, act differently toward them.”20 McFague does not avoid identifying capitalism as the principal mechanism responsible for earth’s destruction, claiming that “the market ideology has become our way of life, almost our religion,” which is causing “the unraveling of the irreplaceable life systems of the planet.”21 Still, the ultimate remedy for McFague that will prompt Christians and other communities of faith to work for an alternative economic system “is an alternative view [emphasis mine] of the abundant life from that of our consumer culture.”22 This bias toward the deconstruction and reconstruction of worldviews is by no means limited to eco-theological or religio-environmental reflection but is characteristic of the entire project of modern theological education in the West. Modeled after the European university system, theological education from the mid-nineteenth century to the present has been rooted in the philosophical assumptions of the Enlightenment, in which the educational process is principally oriented around the development of human intellection, narrowly defined. Above all else, the education of seminary or divinity school students has been centered upon the professional training of individuals in the rational skills of critical thinking, interpretation, and

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constructive ideation—about God, the self, world, reality, and so on—with far less attention given to the formation of whole persons and communities materially embedded in complex networks of social, political, economic, and ecological relationships. As Edward Farley’s work has shown, the modern paradigm of theological education, which divides the “upper” theoretical and “lower” practical theological disciplines and narrowly focuses the latter upon clerical skill development, is related to a broader range of problematic divides between isolated specialized disciplines and between theory and practice, academy and congregation, clergy and laity, church and world, and more. But even Farley’s vision of theologia as an integrative, unitive process in which theological students gain existential wisdom for faithful Christian responses to the world ultimately succumbs to the modern assumption that the primary function of schooling is to teach students the skills of right thinking, which might then be directed toward right action. Theological education, he writes, ought to confront “any and all believers with the obligation to interpret.” For theologia “names the interpretive or reflective thinking that subjects situations to the power and illumining light of Gospel,” making the primary aim of teaching “the disciplining of the believer’s theological, interpretive, or thinking capacities.”23 Theologia for Farley, ultimately, is the training of Christians to draw upon religious traditions in thinking toward concrete, material situations in the world. The problem with framing theological education in this way is that the learning processes that take place within our schools are by no means confined to the formation of intellectual capacities. Students learn how the world is constructed and how to operate in the world in and through the entirety of a school’s material, political, economic, and ecological operations. As Nicholas Wolterstorff notes, “the entire school situation” is an educative agent and not just what happens in the formation of students’ minds within the classroom. The question then, he says, “is not whether we will have such an influence but whether we will become reflectively aware of the influence we have and whether we will aim at having an appropriate influence.”24 Moreover, there is no necessary correlation, he rightly argues, between the accumulation of certain abstract principles, values, and interpretive skills and the lived performance of relevant, appropriate actions. For “people all too often don’t bother to explore the practical applications of the general principles they hold,” but more often than not “keep their thought and their action in separate compartments.”25 Human beings are far more governed by the habits they learn through everyday imitation of the complex socio-relational spheres they inhabit. Our actions in the world, therefore, emerge not principally through prior thought processes but through daily interactions within the totality of an educational environment. In this sense, Wolterstorff continues,

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The curriculum may well be contradicted by other components within the totality; worse, it may be nullified. If in our classrooms we talk about how Christians should treat the earth, and all the while students see the school itself treating the earth differently, we know what’s likely to be the outcome: students will preach as the school preaches and do as the school does.26

The hard reality is that, after over a half century of eco-theological teaching within our seminaries and divinity schools, the result has been the formation of religious leaders who preach as our schools preach on the importance of creation care and ecological justice and who do as our schools do by participating in the earth-degrading political economy of extractive capitalism that governs nearly all aspects of contemporary life. Despite effecting profound shifts in ecological awareness and creative attempts to rethink doctrine, liturgy, and moral imaginaries in light of the urgent environmental crises we face, the “entire school situation” of our institutions nevertheless continues to instruct students how to live in this world—for example, how to eat, travel, earn a livelihood, manage work environments, operate technologies, and inhabit landscapes—in ways that directly contribute to the earth’s destruction. My point is not that worldview de- and re-construction don’t have a crucial role to play in addressing the planetary crisis; rather, I am suggesting that our institutions will need to be equally creative and bold regarding the material totality of our educational environments. TENDING TO THE LANDSCAPES OF THEOLOGICAL EDUCATION I am urging those of us responsible for tending to the landscapes of theological education amid a rapidly changing biosphere, therefore, to realign our institutions with experimental transitions toward political-economic systems that are ecologically-sustainable, resilient, and just. In this final section of the chapter, I will briefly explore three possible routes modeled after existing transitionary attempts: Ecovillages, Transition Towns, and the Green New Deal. Ecovillage Schools The Division for Sustainable Development Goals in the United Nations Department of Economic and Social Affairs has identified ecovillages as one of the most sustainable forms of community on the planet and encourages the rapid development of ecovillage approaches to restore damaged ecosystems

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and eradicate poverty while ensuring that basic human needs are equitably met.27 An ecovillage, as defined by Robert Gilman, is a human-scale, full-featured settlement, in which human activities can be harmlessly integrated into the natural world in a way that is supportive of healthy human development, with multiple centers of initiative, and which can be successfully continued into the indefinite future.28

According to the Global Ecovillage Network, over 420 eco-villages exist in both urban and rural settings around the world today.29 There are a range of interconnected methods and tools used in ecovillages, including integrated site design planning (e.g., permaculture, conservation community, new pedestrianism); natural building techniques (e.g., strawbale, cobb, adobe, living roofs, wattle and daub, cordwood); local, organic food production (e.g., raised beds, polyculture, community gardens, herb and medicinal gardens, forest gardening, seed saving and sharing); bio-restoration and regeneration (e.g., reforestation, soil building, biomass accumulation, biochar carbon capture); sustainable water use (e.g., roof water catchment, groundwater protection, graywater reuse, constructed wetlands); waste minimization (e.g., composting, recycling and reuse, voluntary simplicity, shared resources); motor-vehicle use reduction (e.g., walking, bicycling, carpooling, public transportation); renewable energy use (e.g., solar, wind, hydro, biomass, geothermal); socially-oriented economic interactions (e.g., cottage industries, green businesses, CSA’s, income circulation, time shares, bartering, surplus sharing); and non-hierarchical, community-scale ownership and governance (e.g., land trusts, resource commons, consensus decision-making, shared leadership, conflict and difference management processes). The route toward an Ecovillage Theological School focuses transitionary planning on the immediate structures, operations, and impacts of an institution within particular environs. In some cases, that might entail repurposing an existing campus through systemic changes to a school’s operations, or in other cases it could mean designing at a new location. Regardless, the aim is a total educational environment in which each element and every socioecological relation provides daily instruction in how to live in sustainable relationship with the community of human and non-human life forms and systems that inhabit the local ecosystem. Analogous in certain respects to medieval monasteries and lay apostolic communities, the curricular rhythms of the ecovillage theological school include the intellectual, spiritual, physical, technical, and social formation of students in an integrated, synergistic whole. In addition to learning about creation spiritualities, eco-theology, and regenerative ethics, for example—as well as receiving a far deeper engagement with the life sciences alongside of the social sciences—students, faculty,

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and staff learn how to build bioswales to hold water in the ground, increase plant and wildlife diversity, and foster nut and berry tree productivity. They move from reading texts in the morning to reading the health of pollinators in the afternoon and from preparing papers at night to preparing raised garden beds in the morning. Within the communally-sufficient village, the activities of a diversity of roles needed to sustain life-together contributes to a far deeper mutuality of teaching/learning, leading/following, and initiating/participating, depending on whether the tasks at hand are focused on interpreting medieval religious practices, building a straw bale classroom, examining doctrinal claims, or spreading humanure amid fruit tree guilds. Ultimately, such schools function as “anticipatory communities” (Larry Rasmussen) in which the broader systemic changes needed in a postindustrial age, as well as the requisite eco-social virtues, are imagined, risked, and cultivated, even if initially small in size and number.30 Transition Town Schools The transition town movement is made up of grassroots projects worldwide aiming to build greater neighborhood, communal, municipal, and regional resiliency in the face of climate disruption, resource depletion, and economic instability. Rob Hopkins, one of the founders of the movement, emphasizes the importance of civil society community-scale responses to the biospheric and economic crises we face. If we wait for governments, he says, it might be too late, and if we act only as individuals, our impact will be too little. But “if we act as communities, it might be just enough, just in time.”31 Transition groups facilitate connection among individuals and community groups who work together to drastically reduce carbon emissions, build ecological and social resilience, and strengthen local and bioregional economic bonds and vitality. Projects include reskilling workshops in appropriate technologies, local food initiatives, common ownership of land, community-owned renewable energy companies, social enterprises focused on communal and regional needs like gardening, farming, and baking, local arts events, communityfocused media initiatives, sustainable transportation, affordable green housing, and more. As Helena Norberg-Hodge, founder and director of Local Futures, writes, “the essence of localization is to enable communities around the world to diversify their economies so as to provide for as many of their needs as possible from relatively close to home.”32 Doing so, she argues, does not mean eliminating trade across regions or nation states but is about finding a more resilient, sustainable, and socially equitable balance between local production and trade. The route toward the Transition Town Theological School focuses transitionary planning on extending and deepening ties with community partners

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who share a commitment to building economic, ecological, and social resilience at the local and regional levels. In addition to internal socio-ecological changes to operations and culture, transition town schools affirm their membership among a rich diversity of institutions, enterprises, and organizations that inhabit and contribute to their immediate neighborhood, municipality, and bioregion. Rather than attempting to achieve economic and ecological sustainability primarily within themselves, therefore, they embrace the unique niche they fill and the particular contributions they offer their surrounding communities, while also being clear about the many assets they receive from other local entities, both human and non-human. In this model, students, faculty, and staff are active members in their local communities, participating, for example, in municipal renewable energy projects, elementary school gardens, and environmental justice task forces. The educational process flows from traditional classroom settings to community organizing meetings in church fellowship halls to watershed restoration projects adjacent nearby rivers, lakes, and streams. The surrounding contexts of such schools—historical, social, economic, and environmental—provide ongoing opportunities for place-based and service learning, field education, vocational training and networking, and more. In this sense, students gain eco-theological literacy, not in the abstract, but by attending to the divine presence within the particular shape and structures of the local landscape, the particular soil types, the major geologic events, the native trees, unique wildlife, and plants, the weather patterns, and just as importantly, how all of these and more sustain life as an interwoven, organic whole. Students similarly gain proficiencies as religious leaders capable of supporting widespread transitionary efforts toward a more sustaining and just socio-economic paradigm as members, not just of a singular educational institution, but of a more complex communal and bioregional educational environment.33 Green New Deal Schools The Green New Deal (GND) represents a broad legislative vision to leverage the power of democratic government in addressing climate change and socioeconomic inequality. Drawing inspiration from the social and economic reforms and public works projects of President Franklin D. Roosevelt during the economic and environmental crises of the 1930s, proponents of the GND aim to initiate a World War II—scale mobilization of national resources to convert the fossil-fuel based economy principally responsible for climate change to a new political-economic model that is environmentally sustainable and socially equitable. The wide-ranging set of legislative elements being advocated include public investments to meet 100 percent of national energy needs through renewable, zero-emission sources, to support the transition of

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the agricultural sector from industrial to regenerative farming practices, to spur growth in clean manufacturing, to restore natural ecosystems that enhance biodiversity and climate resiliency and trap carbon, to overhaul transportation systems, to upgrade buildings, to rebuilt infrastructure, and more, while doing so in ways that directly benefit historically oppressed and vulnerable populations, including indigenous, black, migrant, rural, low-income, and disabled communities.34 Support for the GND is driven by environmental groups like 350​.o​rg and the Sierra Club, youth movements like the Sunrise Movement and School Climate Strikes, non-violent direct action protest groups like the Extinction Rebellion, and left-of-center politicians based mainly in the Green and Democratic Parties and the Democratic Socialists of America organization. Many within these movements, parties, and groups support even more radical efforts to transform the political-economic system. For now, however, the GND is the only political option available with enough potential support to succeed that attempts to address the biospheric and social crises at a scale appropriate to the immense problems they present. The route toward the Green New Deal Theological School focuses transitionary planning on fully aligning an institution’s mission and resources with the political vision and the networks of social power working to realize radical socio-political and economic change for the sake of a viable planetary future. The analogous precedents for this approach, both past and present, are many throughout theological education and include the involvement of seminaries and divinity schools in struggles for fair labor laws, civil rights, women’s equality, the end of apartheid in South Africa, and nuclear disarmament, to name just a few, as well as many of the laws passed through the first New Deal. At the curricular level, this means integrating economic, political, and social movement theory even more centrally into the traditional disciplines, but it also entails the active involvement of faculty, staff, and students, as both participants and leaders, in political movements, voter drives, direct action campaigns, and community organizing activities. In this way, the curricular and extracurricular life of the school nurtures a movemental culture of socio-political change, both receiving from and contributing to grassroots, non-profit, civic, and political groups active in the public sphere. In addition, the GND school is intentional about making faculty and administrative hiring decisions, board of trustee invitations, new course and degree designs, strategic plans, and financial investments in ways that directly align institutional resources, power, and personnel with clearly stated goals to transition toward a life-sustaining and socially-just political economy. And because the center of power within the two major political parties today are ideologically and financially bound to the preservation of the political-economic status quo, this will necessarily entail courageous new partnerships for most schools with entities, organizations, and

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movements—as well as strategies and tactics for socio-political change— that are presently beyond the mainstream political horizon.

CONCLUSION The three routes outlined here toward transitionary political-economic change are neither mutually exclusive nor exhaustive of the many possible routes that institutions of theological education in the United States might explore in this new age of biospheric emergency. In reality, schools will need to experiment across all three levels of campus, community, and public transition by drawing on existing models like ecovillages, transition towns, and radical green movements, as well as a variety of experimental attempts beyond extractive capitalism that I have not mentioned. My stated aim in this chapter is to invite, even provoke, exploratory but also urgent conversation across theological education from a host of perspectives, about how to take seriously the responsibility of tending to the actual landscapes of theological education amid rapidly changing planetary conditions. Predictably, there are those who will dismiss such conversations as impractical or unworkable, because for them, responsible leadership requires operating within the constraints of current institutional and socio-economic realities. But in the real world of climate destabilization and ecological disruption, we should expect that leaders within our schools will soon be facing a range of extraordinary, even unthinkable, scenarios: the closing or relocation of campuses due to inhabitable conditions like coastal flooding and wildfires, severe financial pressures due to socio-economic destabilization, massive waves of climate migrants and refugees rapidly shifting population centers, food shortages that stress the daily functioning of educational environments, and potentially far worse. The hard reality, which I have attempted to clarify throughout, is that apart from widespread transitionary efforts toward a more resilient and just political economy, in whatever forms that might take, there may be few institutions left to steward. In fact, nothing could be more unrealistic than assuming there will be a future for theological education at all without the stability and sustainment of habitable landscapes.

NOTES 1. See The Association of Theological Schools, Transitions: 2017 Annual Report (Pittsburg, PA, Association of Theological Schools, 2017), accessed on June 10, 2019, www​.ats​.edu​/uploads​/resources​/publications​-presentations​/documents​/2017​ -Annual​-Report​.pdf.

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2. Peter Howard, Ian Thompson, and Emma Waterton, eds., The Routledge Companion to Landscape Studies (New York: Routledge, 2013), 18. 3. Elizabeth Kolbert, The Sixth Extinction: An Unnatural History (New York: Henry Holt and Company, 2014). 4. Bill McKibben, Earth: Making a Life on a Tough New Planet (New York: Times Books, 2010). 5. IPCC, 2018: Global Warming of 1.5°C. An IPCC Special Report on the Impacts of Global Warming of 1.5°C above Pre-industrial Levels and Related Global Greenhouse Gas Emission Pathways, in the Context of Strengthening the Global Response to the Threat of Climate Change, Sustainable Development, and Efforts to Eradicate Poverty [V. Masson-Delmotte, P. Zhai, H. O. Pörtner, D. Roberts, J. Skea, P.R. Shukla, A. Pirani, W. Moufouma-Okia, C. Péan, R. Pidcock, S. Connors, J. B. R. Matthews, Y. Chen, X. Zhou, M. I. Gomis, E. Lonnoy, T. Maycock, M. Tignor, T. Waterfield (eds.)]. In Press. 6. European Commission, Causes of Climate Change, accessed on June 12, 2019, ec​.europa​.eu​/clima​/change​/caus​es​_en. 7. Union of Concerned Scientists, Global Warming Impacts, accessed on June 13, 2019, www​.ucsusa​.org​/our​-work​/global​-warming​/science​-and​-impacts​/global​ -warming​-impacts. 8. USGCRP (2016). Impacts of Climate Change on Human Health in the United States: A Scientific Assessment. Crimmins, A., J. Balbus, J.L. Gamble, C.B. Beard, J.E. Bell, D. Dodgen, R.J. Eisen, N. Fann, M.D. Hawkins, S.C. Herring, L. Jantarasami, D.M. Mills, S. Saha, M.C. Sarofim, J. Trtanj, and L. Ziska, Eds. U.S. Global Change Research Program, Washington, DC. 9. Jürgen Moltmann, Ethics of Hope (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2012), 133. 10. See Karl Polanyi, The Great Transformation: The Political and Economic Origins of our Time (Boston: Beacon Press, 1944). 11. See Joel Kovel, The Enemy of Nature: The End of Capitalism or the End of the World (London: Zed Books, 2007); Jason W. Moore, Capitalism in the Web of Life: Ecology and the Accumulation of Capital (New York: Verso, 2015); Jason W. Moore, ed., Anthropocene or Capitalocene?: Nature, History, and the Crisis of Capitalism (Oakland, CA: PM Press, 2016); Ian Angus, Facing the Anthropocene: Fossil Capitalism and the Crisis of the Earth System (New York: Monthly Review Press, 2016); Andreas Malm, Fossil Capital: The Rise of Steam Power and the Roots of Global Warming (New York: Verso, 2016). 12. Paavo Järvensivu, Tero Toivanen, Tere Vadén, Ville Lähde, Antti Majava, Jussi T. Eronen, Global Sustainable Development Report 2019 Drafted by the Group of Independent Scientists Invited Background Document on Economic Transformation, to Chapter: Transformation: The Economy, accessed on June 14, 2019, bios.​​fi​/bi​​os​-go​​verna​​nce​_o​​f​_eco​​nomic​​_tran​​​sitio​​n​.pdf​. 13. Thomas Berry, The Great Work: Our Way into The Future (New York: Broadway Books, 2000). 14. David Korten, The Great Turning: From Empire to Earth Community (Kumarian Press, Inc., 2007).

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15. Raskin, P., T. Banuri, G. Gallopín, P. Gutman, A. Hammond, R. Kates, and R. Swart, Great Transition: The Promise and Lure of the Times Ahead, SEI PoleStar Series Report no. 10. Boston, 2002. 16. David Spratt and Ian Dunlop, “Existential Climate-Related Security Risk: A Scenario Approach,” Breakthrough – National Center for Climate Restoration, May 2019, accessed on June 20, 2019, https://docs​.wixstatic​.com​/ugd​/148cb0​_a14​06e0​ 143a​c4c4​6919​6d30​03bc1e687​.pdf. 17. Willis Jenkins, The Future of Ethics: Sustainability, Social Justice, and Religious Creativity (Washington, DC: Georgetown University Press, 2013), 75. 18. Ibid., 79–80. 19. Sallie McFague, Models of God: Theology for an Ecological, Nuclear Age (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1987), xiv. 20. Sallie McFague, Super, Natural Christians: How We Should Love Nature (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1997), 2. 21. Sallie McFague, Life Abundant: Rethinking Theology and Economy for a Planet in Peril (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2001), xi. 22. Ibid., 11. 23. Edward Farley, Practicing Gospel: Unconventional Thoughts on the Church’s Ministry (Westminster John Knox Press, 2003), 13. 24. Nicholas P. Wolterstorff, Educating for Life: Reflections on Christian Teaching and Learning (Baker Academic, 2002), 86. 25. Ibid., 81. 26. Ibid., 88. 27. The Division for Sustainable Development Goals (DSDG) in the United Nations Department of Economic and Social Affairs (UNDESA), Ecovillage Initiative for Achieving the SDGs, accessed on June 24, 2019, susta​​inabl​​edeve​​lopme​​ nt​.un​​.org/​​partn​​ershi​​p/​?​p=​​11943​. 28. Robert Gilman, “The Ecovillage Challenge,” In Context, No. 29 (1991), 10. 29. Global Ecovillage Network, accessed on June 24, 2019, ecovillage​.org/​. 30. Larry Rasmussen, Earth-Honoring Faith: Religious Ethics in a New Key (Oxford University Press, 2013), 227. 31. Rob Hopkins, The Transition Companion: Making Your Communities More Resilient in Uncertain Times (White River Junction, VT: Chelsea Green Publishing, 2011), 17. 32. Helen Norberg-Hodge, Bringing the Local Economy Home: Local Alternatives to Global Agribusiness (Zed Books, 2002), 65. 33. The Oberlin Project in Oberlin, Ohio is an example of an undergraduate school joining with surrounding community partners in shared transitionary efforts. “The Oberlin Project is a joint effort of the City of Oberlin, Oberlin College, and private and institutional partners to improve the resilience, prosperity, and sustainability of our community. The Oberlin Project’s aim is to revitalize the local economy, eliminate carbon emissions, restore local agriculture, food supply and forestry, and create a new, sustainable base for economic and community development.” Accessed on June 25, 2019, www​.oberlinproject​.org/. 34. See H.Res.109, Recognizing the Duty of the Federal Government to Create a Green New Deal, 116th Congress (2019-2020).

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BIBLIOGRAPHY Angus, Ian. Facing the Anthropocene: Fossil Capitalism and the Crisis of the Earth System. New York: Monthly Review Press, 2016. Berry, Thomas. The Great Work: Our Way into The Future. New York: Broadway Books, 2000. Farley, Edward. Practicing Gospel: Unconventional Thoughts on the Church’s Ministry. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2003. Gilman, Robert. “The Ecovillage Challenge.” In Context, No. 29 (1991): 10–14. Hopkins, Rob. The Transition Companion: Making Your Communities More Resilient in Uncertain Times. White River Junction, VT: Chelsea Green Publishing, 2011. Howard, Peter, Ian Thompson, and Emma Waterton, eds. The Routledge Companion to Landscape Studies. New York: Routledge, 2013. Jenkins, Willis. The Future of Ethics: Sustainability, Social Justice, and Religious Creativity. Washington, DC: Georgetown University Press, 2013. Kolbert, Elizabeth. The Sixth Extinction: An Unnatural History. New York: Henry Holt and Company, 2014. Korten, David. The Great Turning: From Empire to Earth Community. Kumarian Press, Inc., 2007. Kovel, Joel. The Enemy of Nature: The End of Capitalism or the End of the World. London: Zed Books, 2007. Malm, Andreas. Fossil Capital: The Rise of Steam Power and the Roots of Global Warming. New York: Verso, 2016. McFague, Sallie. Models of God: Theology for an Ecological, Nuclear Age. Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1987. ———. Super, Natural Christians: How We Should Love Nature. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1997. ———. Life Abundant: Rethinking Theology and Economy for a Planet in Peril. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2001. McKibben, Bill. Earth: Making a Life on a Tough New Planet. New York: Times Books, 2010. Moltmann, Jürgen. Ethics of Hope. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2012. Moore, Jason W., ed. Anthropocene or Capitalocene?: Nature, History, and the Crisis of Capitalism. Oakland, CA: PM Press, 2016. Norberg-Hodge, Helen. Bringing the Local Economy Home: Local Alternatives to Global Agribusiness. Zed Books, 2002. Polanyi, Karl. The Great Transformation: The Political and Economic Origins of Our Time. Boston: Beacon Press, 1944. Raskin, P., T. Banuri, G. Gallopín, P. Gutman, A. Hammond, R. Kates, and R. Swart. Great Transition: The Promise and Lure of the Times Ahead, SEI PoleStar Series Report no. 10. Boston, 2002. Rasmussen, Larry. Earth-Honoring Faith: Religious Ethics in a New Key. New York: Oxford University Press, 2013. Wolterstorff, Nicholas P. Educating for Life: Reflections on Christian Teaching and Learning. Ada, MI: Baker Academic, 2002.

Index

affective labor, 14–15 Aleshire, Daniel, 22, 83–86, 108, 109 Alt-Right, 117 anthropocene, 143–44 apologia, 119, 122, 127 Aquinas, Thomas, 39 Association of Theological Schools (ATS), 2, 29, 87, 90, 106, 122, 124 baby boomers. See generations Bacon, Francis, 62, 72 Bass, Diana Butler, 31, 44–45, 51, 61, 64–65, 76, 77 Berry, Wendell, 146, 147 Body of Christ, 39–40, 43, 136–37 Brenner, Robert, 52–54, 77, 78 Burke, Edmund, 62–63, 79 capitalism, 18–19, 30, 34–37, 39, 43–44, 50, 51, 64, 71, 142, 145–49, 151, 156 care, 15 Church Bells, 34–35 climate change, 55, 116, 144–48, 153–56 collaboration, 128 Crutzen, Paul, 143 Darves, Derek, 8–10 De La Torre, Miguel, 119, 131

disenchantment, 31 ecovillage, 151–53 Edwards, Jonathan, 42, 51, 52, 64 elitism, 64–65, 95, 97, 99–100, 102–05, 121–26 Ellington, Donna Spivey, 37 embodiment, 35, 46, 48, 51, 61, 62, 66–75 entrepreneurial, 18, 25, 61, 104, 139 The Episcopal Church, 7–12, 23, 29, 60, 67, 71, 73, 75, 84, 107, 131 Espín, Orlando, 128, 132 Espinas, Georges, 36, 76 extinction, 142–44 Farley, Edward, 3–5, 15, 16, 23, 25–27, 112, 150, 158, 159 Finke, Roger, 29, 75 fixed hours, 34–35 Fogel, Robert William, 31, 44, 46, 50–51, 53, 76, 77 Fraser, Nancy, 13–15, 18, 22, 24–27 Frei, Hans, 5, 7, 23 Frieden, Jeffrey, 31, 52, 76–78 generations, 9–12, 46, 56, 83, 97, 98, 113, 142, 145, 147 Ginsburg, Allen, 49, 64 González, Justo, 108–12, 121, 132 161

162

Index

Gramsci, Antonio, 19–21, 25 Great Awakening, 40, 49–50; first, 30, 40–43, 51; second, 45, 46; third, 47; fourth, 46, 48–51, 61, 64, 72, 74, 75 Green New Deal (GND), 151, 154–55 Hadden, Jeffrey, 4, 23, 85, 108 Harvard Business Review, 18, 139 hope, 84, 113–30 Hopkins, Rob, 153, 158 Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC), 144, 157 Jenkins, Willis, 148, 158 Jesus, 37, 46–48, 61, 67–71, 74–75, 119 Kant, Immanuel, 48, 62–63, 79 Kelsey, David, 5–6, 23 Landes, David, 34–36, 39, 76 leadership, 16–18, 83, 84, 86–87, 91–95, 97–98, 100–06, 116, 135–40 leadership model, 136; disruptive leadership, 101, 139; respect, 137–38; shared governance, 137; truth, 136, 138 Leary, John Patrick, 18, 25 Le Goff, Jacques, 36, 39, 76 Luther, Martin, 36, 40, 44 MacIntyre, Alasdair, 7 managerialism, 7, 17, 18, 20, 23 Mandela, Nelson, 138 Marx, Karl, 13 Mary, Virgin, 37–39, 46 McFague, Sallie, 149, 158 McKibben, Bill, 143, 145, 157 McLoughlin, William, 39, 46, 48–50, 58, 79 Miles, Margaret, 38, 76 millennials. See generations

Miller, Sharon, 88–89, 109, 110, 123, 126, 132–34 Moltmann, Jürgen, 144–45, 147, 157 Moody, Dwight L., 63 More, Thomas, 40 Nanko-Fernández, Carmen, 128, 132 neo-Confederates, 117 neo-Nazis, 117 Niebuhr, H. Richard, 2, 3, 5, 15, 23 “Nones”, 118 Norberg-Hodge, Helena, 153 Ordination in The Episcopal Church, 8–13, 15–17, 24 Osmer, Richard, 6 Paideia, 5 Paris Climate Agreement, 144 pastoral care, 1–2, 4, 13–14, 17, 19–23, 42 Pew Research Center, 31, 82, 118 Piketty, Thomas, 54–55, 65, 78, 82 Pirenne, Henri, 36, 76 Pius XI, 50 Price, Matthew, 8–10, 12, 24 professional model, 2–9, 13–14, 16, 83, 143, 149 Puritans, 41, 45, 66 Quadragesimo Anno, 50 rationalization, 137 romanticism, 43, 61–66 Rose, Gillian, 14 Saez, Emmanuel, 54, 78, 82 Scharen, Christian, 123, 126, 132–34 secularization, 17, 31 Seminaries, mainline: Methodist, Presbyterian, Lutheran, Episcopal, 84 Sharlet, Jeff, 42–43, 46–47, 77, 82 Smith, Adam, 48, 77, 82 social reproduction, 13–19, 21, 22, 24 Stark, Rodney, 29, 75

Index

Transition Towns, 153–54 Truth and Reconciliation Commission, 138 Tutu, Desmond, 138

Weber, Max, 5, 137 Whither Thou Goest, 8 Widdicombe, Peter, 38, 76, 82 Wolsterstorff, Nicholas, 150, 158 Wood, Charles, 5, 23

United Lutheran Seminary, 135 Yamada, Frank, 122, 132 Volcker, Paul, 31, 49, 58

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Biblical Index

Scripture References Old Testament 1 Kings 19:4 33 1 Kings 20:11–12 33 1 Kings 20:13 33 Ps. 90:4 72 New Testament Matt. 25: 37–40 I Cor 12–15 Luke 12:32 Luke 12:33–34 Luke 18:15–25 Luke 18:22 Romans 13 1 Cor. 1:20–25

69 70 71 71 67 70 117 75

1 Cor. 1:26–30 1 Cor. 2:7–8 1 Cor. 8 1 Cor. 9 1 Cor. 11:33 1 Cor. 11:34 1 Cor. 12 I Cor. 12: 22 I Cor. 12: 23 I Cor. 12: 24 1 Cor. 14 1 Peter 1:3 1 Peter 3:15 1 Peter 3:15–16

165

68 68 70 70 68, 71 68 136 137 137 137 70 119 114, 119, 129 120

About the Contributors

Edwin David Aponte is dean of the Theological School of Drew University. He holds degrees from Gordon College (BA), Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary (M.A.T.S.), and Temple University (MA, PhD). As a cultural historian he explores faith, spirituality, and culture, especially the intersections of race, ethnicity, and religion, congregational studies, and religion and politics. His writings include ¡Santo! Varieties of Latino/a Spirituality, and he is co-editor of Handbook of Latina/o Theologies and co-author of Introducing Latinx Theologies, both with Miguel A. De La Torre. Kelly D. Campbell is associate dean of Information Services/senior director of the John Bulow Campbell Library at Columbia Theological Seminary in Decatur, GA. Her publications include “Work-life Balance of Women Leaders in the Association of Theological Schools” in Women in Leadership and Work-Family Integration, Vol. 2, “A Women’s Identity, Cambridge Scholars Publishing” (with Andy Keck), “Theological Librarianship as a Career Path” in Introduction to Theological Libraries, part of The Theological Librarian’s Handbook Series 2020, and “Library Volunteers: Friends or Foes?” in Administration in Theological Libraries in The Theological Librarians’ Handbook Series, ATLA. Joshua B. Davis, PhD Vanderbilt University, has been involved in theological education for over a decade, in both traditional seminaries and diocesan schools. He has taught Systematic Theology and Ethics at The General Theological Seminary and the Stevenson School for Ministry, and served as dean of the Alabama Integrative Ministry School. He is co-editor of Apocalyptic and the Future of Theology: with and beyond J. Louis Martyn, with Douglas Harink, author of Waiting and Being: Creation, Freedom, and 167

168

About the Contributors

Grace in Western Theology, and editor of Misrecognitions: Gillian Rose and the Task of Political Theology. He is co-founder and Executive Director of The Institute for Christian Socialism. Katie Day received her PhD in sociology from  Temple University and is the Charles A. Schieren Professor Emerita of Church and Society at United Lutheran Seminary in Philadelphia. She has published four books, including, Faith on the Avenue: Religion on a City Street, and co-edited four other volumes, including A Companion to Public Theology (with Sebastian Kim) and the Routledge Handbook of Religion and Cities (with Elise Edwards: 2021). Her research focus has been on the intersection of race, urban religion, and violence and she has published in numerous collected volumes and journals. Her current research is on faith communities and guns, particularly religious understandings, and practices of security.  Timothy Eberhart is the L. Robert and Marilyn McClean associate professor of Ecological Theology and Practice at Garrett-Evangelical Theological Seminary, where he directs an MA in Public Ministry degree and oversees a concentration in Ecological Regeneration. He teaches in the areas of theology and ethics, concentrating on the relation of Christian doctrine to environmental, economic, political, and social change theory. He earned his PhD from the Graduate School at Vanderbilt University, his Master of Divinity degree from the Vanderbilt Divinity School, and his BA in Religion from St. Olaf College. His publications include Rooted and Grounded in Love: Holy Communion for the Whole Creation,  The Economy of Salvation: Essays in Honor of M. Douglas Meeks, and chapters on mission, ecclesiology, and ecotheology. He is an ordained elder in the United Methodist Church, a trained permaculturalist, UMC Earthkeeper, North American Secretary for the Oxford Institute of Methodist Theological Studies, and co-founder and co-chair of The Institute for Christian Socialism.   Deirdre Good, ThD Harvard Divinity School, was born in Kenya, grew up in the UK, taught as assistant professor at Valparaiso University, as associate professor at Agnes Scott College, as professor and academic dean at The General Seminary for twenty-eight years, and now lives in Maine. Her publications include Jesus the Meek King; Mariam, the Magdalen, and the Mother; Jesus’ Family Values; “Deity: New Testament” Oxford Encyclopedia of the Bible & Gender Studies, vol.1, 91–96; Courage Beyond Fear: Re-Formation In Theological Education, Eds. Katie Day & Deirdre Good. She is a licensed lay preacher in the Diocese of Maine and a faculty member of the Stevenson School of Ministry in the Diocese of Central PA.

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169

Joseph W. H. Lough is a University of Chicago trained social theorist (PhD, 1999) who lectured in economic theory and history in the Department of Economics at UC Berkeley. His research includes project leader for Tropi Rata (Tropes of War), an international academic collective exploring the unstable seam that extends from the Baltics, down through the Balkans, and extending south and eastward into the southern and eastern Mediterranean before flowing westward through Greece, Turkey, Afghanistan, and western China. His book, Weber and the Persistence of Religion, was published in 2006. He has published articles on politics and economics in Bosnia and Herzegovina and on the fate and future of American cultural studies. Kris Veldheer (kveldheer​@ctu​.​edu) is the director of the Paul Bechtold Library at Catholic Theological Union in Chicago. Previously she has worked at Columbia Theological Seminary in Decatur, Georgia, and the Graduate Theological Union in Berkeley, California. He was the editor in chief of the Annual Conference Proceedings of ATLA in 2020.