The Vocation of the Theologian

It is an honor to have been invited to speak at the convocation for the faculty of theology and the continuing education division of the University of St. Michael's College. This gathering also marks the fiftieth anniversary of the founding of the doctoral program of theology, which degree I was privileged to receive here in 1977. I have almost nothing but fond memories of my years here in Toronto, of the excellent faculty and fellow students. There was, however, one not so pleasant memory. In 1969, when I began my graduate studies, the Vietnam War continued to profoundly divide the United States. At that time, I was driving a car that had an Ohio license plate, and was twice pelted with eggs. For the record, I opposed that war. In those days, as one of my Canadian professors told me, "Americans are as benignly ignorant of Canadians as Canadians are maliciously informed about Americans." Over the next seven years, I overcame my ignorance of Canada and have developed and retain a great affection for its peoples.

I am not here this afternoon to tell old war stories, to comment on the legalization of pot in Canada or on last Tuesday's mid-term elections in the United States. I am here to speak about something much more important: the sacred calling of being theologians. Walter Burghardt (To Christ I Look, 98–99) reminded theologians that they deal with mystery, before which the most appropriate posture is silence and contemplation. Before we sit at a desk and write, or stand before others and teach, we should be on our knees in prayer. We distort the mystery of God whenever we try to possess it or imagine that we can capture it conceptually. Although the reality of God and God's revelation is objective, it should never be objectified. Good theologians are not spectators. One of my favorite atheists, Frederick Nietzsche, wrote: "For this is the truth: I have left the house of scholars and slammed the door behind me. Too long did my soul sit hungry at their table; I have not been schooled, as they have, to crack knowledge as one cracks nuts … they sit cool in the cool shade: they want to be mere spectators in everything; they take care not to sit where the sun burns upon the steps" (Thus Spake Zarathustra, 147).

Some years ago a student sent me an e-mail complaining about her theology professor who, in Nietzsche's words, left her hungry at his table. She wrote, "Every theology course I have endured seemed like logicians parsing a love letter." I do not remember how I responded, but it should be obvious that theologians need to be on the field, in the contest, and, as St. Paul tells us, gratefully running the race. If we remain spectators in the stands, we will never really understand the game. In other words, when theologians are personally involved with and committed to what they study and teach, students are nourished, not bored.

Forty-five years ago, in the chapel across the street at 95 St. Joseph Street, I heard a homily that I have never forgotten. Basilian priest Bill Irwin based it on a question from the Summa theologiae (III, q. 42) in which St. Thomas asks whether Jesus should have written down what he taught. Thomas, as you know, structures his questions in a predictable way. First, he gives several reasons to answer positively the question he posed; then he states his own position; and finally, he answers, in the light of his own position, the questions he posed at the beginning. Let me summarize how Thomas handles this fascinating question.

He begins by presenting three reasons why Christ should have written down his teachings. First, he writes that since Christ said that his doctrine is supposed to last till the end of time, it would have been fitting for him to put it in writing so that it might more easily and more accurately be handed down to posterity. Second, he cites the biblical precedent of the...