Run That You May Win It: Contingency and Emotional Connectedness in the Soteriological Language of Paul

Run That You May Win It: Contingency and Emotional Connectedness in the Soteriological Language of Paul Submitted by Michael Julian Holyland Godfrey M.A. (Hons), B.D. A thesis submitted in total fulfilment of the requirements of the degree of Doctor of Philosophy School of Theology Faculty of Theology and Philosophy Australian Catholic University May 29th 2009 STATEMENT OF SOURCES This thesis contains no material published elsewhere or extracted in whole or in part from a thesis by which I have qualified for or been awarded another degree or diploma. No other person‘s work has been used without due acknowledgement in the main text of this thesis. This thesis has not been submitted for the award of any degree or diploma in any other tertiary institution. March 4, 2011 2 Preface The influence of the apostle Paul on the shape of Christianity in his own century was significant enough, but through the twentieth century he loomed so large that he was even proposed as the founder of Christianity. Paul, who was adamant that ‗it is no longer I who live, but it is Christ who lives within me‘ (Gal. 2.20) would be horrified, but perhaps even a first century pastor and evangelist not exposed to post-modernity might acknowledge that, once a papyrus leaves his or her desk, an author has little control over the fate of their words, and authorial intentions can only be one part of a transaction between author and reader. Paul was only too human: even if the famous text ‗I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate‘ (Rom. 7.15) was not strictly speaking intended as an autobiographical statement, it is not a bad description of the state we share in our vastly different centuries. Paul wrote topical, urgent letters, responding to the contingencies arising in faith communities he had left behind, or in the case of Romans was yet to visit: the process of canonization of these writings, and the as yet unquenchable spirit of the community of which both he and every Christian is a part, have combined to ensure that his writings survive and continue to be interpreted in a world vastly different to his own. But, as a later servant of the Risen Lord would observe, ‗no man is an island‘. As Paul‘s letters became canon his emotional responses to his audiences and their needs were turned into ‗the Word of the Lord‘, shaping the mission of the Church. Pastoral care, evangelism, christology, soteriology: countless aspects of Christian faith were shaped by the converted Hebrew of Tarsus. 3 My own response to Paul‘s writings has been shaped by two millennia of history and by my own life-story. In particular my thoughts are shaped by my task as a presbyter and pastor within post-modern, first world faith communities. As a theological student at Trinity College in Melbourne I began to focus my attention on soteriological questions: inspired by the late Dr. Dick McKinney, to whom I will ever be grateful, I began to wonder how we are to speak meaningfully of salvation in Christ in a multi-faith world. As a priest and pastor, at least until recent years, I was often called to exercise pastoral ministry to those apparently outside the parameters of the Christian community, those who are not, in Paul‘s terms, ‗in Christ‘. Particularly in ministries of bereavement and palliative care, but in reality across the spectrum of Christian mission, I was called to speak words of hope. But did I have a word of hope to speak to those who were, in Paul‘s terms, outside Christ? As priest and pastor I turned to the systematic theologians, especially those proposing universalist doctrines of salvation, to justify my pastoral praxis. I noted differences between various forms of universalist doctrine, and, having completed a Masters thesis on the search for resurrection in the writings of D.H. Lawrence, decided to address the nagging questions of soteriology in a post-modern world. I am grateful to the late Professor Eric Sharpe for offering me a chance to undertake doctoral studies under his direction at the University of Sydney‘s Department of Studies in Religion. Unfortunately his untimely death left me in the academic wilderness, and in that wilderness I was beginning to query why so many of the soteriological debates I was engaging carried on without reference to the seminal writings of Paul. Was it possible to find a basis for compassionate pastoral care and mission in these writings – seminal though Paul never 4 intended them to be so? Could the writer who said both ‗Their end is destruction‘ (Phil. 3.19) and ‗God has imprisoned all in disobedience so that he may be merciful to all‘ (Rom. 11.32) speak a soteriological word of hope in the contexts, often outside the faith community, in which I was ministering? I am grateful, too, to Professor Sharpe‘s colleagues at the University of Sydney: Dr Edward F. Crangle, who discovered a student without a supervisor, and Drs. Carole Cusack and Tony Swain who undertook to read my research and find me a new supervisor and, as it happened, a new institution. Since that time Associate Professor David C. Sim has had the unenviable task of guiding the transformation of my sow‘s ear into something that is, if not a silk purse, at least a far more coherent document than it could have been without his critical judgement and rhetorical style. I deeply appreciate his persistence but emphasize that the faults are categorically mine. As a theological student my thinking was revolutionised by my first encounter with J.C. Beker‘s Paul the Apostle. His recognition of contingencies shaping Paul‘s writings transformed my understanding. But as I read Paul as a pastor it seemed to me that one great unnamed and unmeasured contingency was that of his feelings towards his audience, what I came later to call ‗emotional connectivity‘. Under Professor Sim‘s supervision I was able to discover ways by which I could calibrate this ‗emotional x- factor‘ in Paul‘s writings, utilizing this as a key to understanding anew Paul‘s applicability to my pastoral and missiological roles. While I was researching and writing Reidar Aasgaard published his own findings on Paul‘s emotional connection, referred to 5 throughout this thesis. Fortunately I found that Aasgaard, rather than destroying my findings, served to hone my thoughts, and for that I am grateful. I am grateful too to the faith- and wider communities of Orange and Casino in New South Wales, Semaphore, Port Adelaide and Walkerville in South Australia, Charleville in remote Southwest Queensland, and Whangarei in New Zealand, who have survived the experience of a Pauline spin on every topic imaginable. I hope the great apostle hasn‘t been misrepresented, and that the Spirit he served has indeed been the Spirit that has informed my pastoral and liturgical ministries in these communities. Beker speaks of a ‗word on target‘ and three scholars in particular, who have in passing offered me words of encouragement at the right moment, have my gratitude. Professor Robert Jewett was kind enough to give up an afternoon in Auckland to listen to and critique my perspectives, while Dr. Peter Marshall offered wise words following my presentation to his seminar at the Society of Biblical Literature in July 2008. Tangentially I would like to thank Professor Margaret M. Mitchell, whose kind response to an eccentric email from the outback of Australia did more than she could realize to encourage my academic endeavours. Similarly, Brad Stetson, of AZUSA Pacific University and Vinoth Ramachandra of the International Fellowship of Evangelical Students, simply by taking time to respond to unsolicited correspondence from an outback stranger that I am sure they do not now recall, did more than they can imagine to encourage my slender efforts. My thanks are due, too, to Bishop Bruce Wilson, formerly Bishop of Bathurst in New South Wales, whose encouragement to continue in academic discipline has remained a benevolent monkey on my back for many years. 6 My thanks, too, to Leisa Lance, of Brisbane, and Sheila Swarbrick of Whangarei, church warden extraordinaire, for your kind works of proof-reading; my dear friend Dr Lisa Emerson, of Massey University in Palmerston North, New Zealand, has been a constant source of both critical comment and immeasurable encouragement. It‘s been a long time since we sat in undergrad classes together, but thanks for teaching me the skills of perseverance! to Tony Williams of Melbourne for his hospitality during my three months study leave in 2006; to Dr Andrew McGowan of my alma mater, Trinity College, Melbourne for permitting me the undeserved title of ‗visiting scholar‘ during the same period; to Christine Brunton, formerly of the Roscoe Library at St Francis Theological College in Brisbane, and Judith Bright, Helen Greenwood, and Jenny Harper of the John Kinder Library at St. John‘s Theological College in Auckland, for patient assistance. My thanks also to my friend and colleague, the Rev‘d Christopher Honoré, also of St John‘s, for his provision of hospitality and printing facilities. My role as priest and pastor is secondary to my role as a father and a husband. For more years than I care to admit my eight children have tolerated – or not! – my obsession with some old bloke from Tarsus, far away and long ago. I hope one day Paul may speak to you as he long has to me, not with the dictatorial voice of pseudo-Paul, ‗Children, obey your parents in everything‘ (Col.

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