I wasn’t always a theology professor. I used to be a youth pastor, and I was also a chaplain and a family ministries pastor. I have been in the midst of messy life situations with people in turmoil. That’s why I am hurt by comments about being in an ivory tower, or by being called an egghead from the seminary — just an academic. To be honest, I have never felt like an academic (whatever that means). I look at myself in more blue-collar terms, as a trade, and consider myself more a journeyman than a scholar. The skills I have acquired are hard won, and directly connected to my experience as an ordinary person in church.

What bothers me most is when I hear the comment that theology is not practical. The more time passes, and the more experience I gain as a church leader, the more it bothers me. The larger context for such a comment is usually that what someone like me proposes may work or make sense in an ideal situation, but in the real world, it is not helpful. For example, processing a discernment item in a church should ideally solicit input widely from the congregation, but congregational meetings are too messy and time-consuming, so more efficient forms of decision-making are preferable.

Here are a couple of things I have learned about theological principles and the motivations of those who decide to set them aside. I will not suggest that those with whom I disagree have evil intentions. On the contrary, they are intent on doing the right things for the right reasons. The problem is that they are building their theological house out of faulty materials that will ultimately prove to be their undoing.

The first problem I see is the problem of what, in ethics, is called consequentialism. Consequentialism is an approach to doing ethics that evaluates the appropriateness of actions in terms of the outcomes they produce — the consequences.

A classic application of consequentialist ethics emerges in a common critique leveled against people who are usually identified as pacifists. The criticism is that refusing to repay evil with evil (or violence with violence) is impractical in a world where defenceless people need to be protected from evildoers. Violence is not desirable, but protecting innocent people sometimes requires violence against criminals. As a result, the consequence envisioned (protection of others, or even oneself) takes precedence over avoiding the use of violence (presumably against evil people).

There are multiple layers to consider, but I will focus only on one. It is that this line of thinking relies on the use of counterfactuals. A counterfactual is a line of argumentation that considers what would have happened differently if events had been different, or what one expects will happen in light of certain actions in the present. In the context of considering the use of violence against a perpetrator, a person is surmising what will happen if one uses violence and succeeds in preventing that person from accomplishing what one expects that person to do.

Here’s the rub. Counterfactuals are speculative, and humans are not always accurate speculators. What is more, for Christians, this requires that the product of one’s speculation be valued above clear theological principles that are articulated in Scripture as commands. It requires that we assume that God, the author of the principles that guide us, is somehow unable to calculate priorities as well as we are. It also raises the question of how we think our wisdom is greater than we think God’s must be.

This leads to the issue of priorities. Whether in discerning actions in response to crisis situations or other types of less stressful ethical decision-making, Christians have a tendency to set problematic priorities into the mix, or sometimes to slip in priorities, such as contemporary articulations freedom as the absence of external constraint, that are foreign to Christian theology. A related value is personal security, which is not emphasized in Scripture in the way it is commonly understood. These priorities are important — do not think that I am minimizing them — but they are not foundational priorities for Christian theology. If this comes as a shock to you, maybe you need to enrol in one of my theology classes.

As I understand the goal of the Christian life, it is to follow after Jesus, meaning three connected and interrelated things. We believe who Jesus is — God in the flesh. This is the foundation for what Jesus has done — reconcile humans to God. Third, in response to Jesus’ call to follow (which makes sense only if we believe), we are called to live in imitation of his example. This is the result of the transformation that happens in us when we believe in Jesus. After that, we realize our calling to set aside our priorities and follow his.

This brings us to the question of autonomy. Christianity is about the surrendering of one’s autonomy. But you are not ceding it to a white male pastor, or a theologian like me. You are surrendering it to Jesus and his uncompromising call to follow. It is sometime admittedly difficult to discern what this looks like amid a myriad of options, but that is why Christians are called to be a community that does this together. We help one another discern and encourage one another to act, even when it is difficult. And I readily concede that when one’s freedom or financial security or sexuality seems to be at issue, then it can be very difficult indeed.

This brings me back to the initial comment I mentioned. I have come to the conclusion that the real issue is not that theology is not practical. The problem is that it is deeply practical, and practically difficult. And that is at the root of the problem, including among Christians. What comes to mind is the occasion when G. K. Chesterton was asked the question “What’s wrong with the world today?” His reply? “I am.”