This post comes somewhere in the skies between Seattle, WA, and Anchorage, AK. These are the luxuries of space and time conspiring in favor of productivity.
I am headed to Anchorage to deliver a few lectures on the two Augustines–the first of Hippo and the other of Canterbury. The initial talk is the fruit of one of my chapters in the dissertation on pastoral rituals, which will eventually be published. The other stems from some work I have invested in the last few months on the role of Pope Gregory in shaping pastoral theology primarily through what I call “portable monasteries.”
Gregory pushed the young Augustine to view missiology as more than a mere extension of internalized rituals but as an outward micro-Christendom that travels to far lands, even Anglo-Saxon England in the 6th century.
The theological implications for such an endeavor challenge various modern diseases. Among them is the disquieting noise among some that fear a public Gospel. They are allergic to acts of transformation and are very much content with democratic ideals that keep everything pluralized. Of course, my Kuyperian credentials earn me more than a few credits to make bold assertions. So, you are either with Scott Clark or me. I can do no other!
But here is where I think we should restore James B. Jordan’s language of the “heavenification of earth.” The Lord’s Prayer vindicates that imperative (“On Earth as it is in Heaven”). Earth is to mirror the worship, adoration, and the Trinitarian-shaped culture of heaven. Anything less is a frail eschatology. Those who oppose such a vision are almost content when Biden does something obscene against the Church. They are, after all, pushing for a suffering church, and any sign of victory is indicative of an activist faith. And that, my dear friends, is anathema to them.
But unlike modern strategies among those in Escondido, we give credit to Gregory, who saw England as saveable precisely because he saw the illiterate Anglo-Saxons of the 6th century as capable of embracing Christendom and becoming literate, of becoming historians of time–their time. He saw them as angelic because he believed that even barbarians could embrace the crucified Messiah.
While some were called in Gregory’s day to function in monastic life, others (secular clergy; not to be confused with “pagan,” but clergy set to do external work) were called to take the catholic vision of Christendom and expand its borders for the preservation and propagation of the faith.
This would come as a painful reminder to some. Russell Moore almost basks in the failures of Christendom. No wonder we have an infertile eschatology in our day. We want to talk about public life by using public language, but we are content to keep public society untouched by Trinitarian religion.
I argue that Gregory saw a bigger picture and that his chosen companions saw beyond the comfort of borders and risked their very lives to implement a vision that was distinctly Christian. Gregory saw pastoral theology as simultaneously missiological theology. The hearts of heathens must change internally, and that must affect the outward nature of that culture.
When the Gospel comes–as it did in the 6th century to Kent–it comes to exorcise evil spirits and establish places of worship everywhere. When the gospel comes, heavenly sanctuaries are built to frighten foe and avenger and to reshape life as we know it. God’s portable sanctuaries must cover every square inch.
