January 13, 2001, Deseret News (Salt Lake City, Utah, 2001)
Because of my heart surgery, I’ve been told not to lift more than 25 pounds. So I was a little nervous about picking up the new Oxford Companion to Christian Thought.
The book is about the size and weight of the original 10 commandments.
And the book is even weightier on the inside than it is on the outside.
Are you looking to learn more about Monophysitism?
It’s in there.
Interested in the Swiss thinker Huldrych Zwingli?
Page 764.
Years ago, when I was the book critic for the Deseret News, I would have approached this book much differently than I do now. Then, I would have taken a dry-eyed look at it and judged it either “worthy” or “unworthy.” I would have sneered or cheered.
I probably would have mentioned the liberal slant the book takes on topics like abortion, sexuality and capital punishment and warned conservative readers to read it at their own risk.
I would have applauded the insight and depth of the entries, then wondered why so many obvious names were left out. Where was Billy Graham? Mary Baker Eddy? Where was Joseph Smith?
I probably would have said something like, “It’s a reasonable book for an age of reason.”
In fact, I tried to write those things into a book review a few days ago. But they didn’t ring true. The truth is I had a hard time getting caught up in the book at all.
I had a hard time because the book is so strong on thinking and so weak on feeling. It’s scholarship, and scholars steer clear of sentiment. It clouds the thinking.
These days, however, when a toddler’s comments bring a tear to my eye, I find myself leaping into sentiment like a kid leaping into a pile of leaves.
It was Martin Buber who said: “The difference between theology and religion is the difference between reading the menu and eating the meal.”
And I’m growing weary of reading menus. Theology — the analysis of religious beliefs — is a young man’s game. I’m tired of trying to figure things out. I fear we hold our brains in awe simply because our brains tell us to. If gallbladders could reason, they’d demand to be in control.
I used to live in my head. As I age, however, I find myself living more and more in my heart. Trying to make sense of the cosmos seems to me, at this stage, a cosmetic approach to life.
And, to come full circle, that’s probably why this book, this triumph of theology, feels so dry and brittle to me.
Theology tastes like crackers. Religion tastes like cake.
When I open books written by intellectuals these days, I go in hoping for bread.
What I often get is a stone.
That’s not to say the editors of the book haven’t succeeded. They’ve put together the best book of Christian theology money can buy. Some 260 teachers and students of Christian thought contributed. Few books supply so much thinking on so many subjects.
It’s a brilliant book. Bravo, I say. Well done. Tonight, old man, you did it.
For the truth is, I’m really not “anti-intellectual.” I aspired to be one myself. Let the thinkers think, I say. It’s what they do. I simply feel if most people who call themselves “intellectuals” were a little bit smarter, they’d realize they aren’t intellectuals at all. They’re really creatures of the heart.
In the end, a soul much wiser than I am once said, “Theology divides us. Love unites.”
These days, when old movies are often enough to melt my heart, I keep those words in mind. They’re smart words.
Almost as clever, in fact, as what my grandson has to say.