Monthly Archives: December 2007

Radical Ecumenism

“A theological conception of unity is radical precisely in that it is out of our control.  It unsettles us and takes us uncomfortably beyond ours desires for mastery, possession, and ownership. … For conservatives, ecumenism is an instrumental and strategic task of bringing the other to our side; for liberals, ecumenism is an expression of the giveneness of a unity that is merely misunderstood, such that the work of unity is an exercise in developing better lines of communication; for the radical, unity is an unwarranted and often unwelcome gift that defies and interrupts our sentimental and self-legitimating strategies of closure and reduction.”

–Chris K. Huebner, A Precarious Peace: Yoderian Explorations on Theology, Knowledge, and Identity (Scottdale: Herald Press, 2006), 79-80.

My best reads in 2007

These aren’t necessarily books that all came out this year, but simply the most memorable and/or helpful books I happened to read this year.  My best read, I would have to say is Herbert McCabe’s What Ethics is All About: A Re-Evaluation of Law, Love, and Language.  A better analysis of Christian ethics, particularly in the context of modernity and capitalism I have yet to find.  In fact, I think it is McCabe’s work that has influenced me the most this year out of all the theologians I have read.  His work is not only brilliant theology, but passionately rooted in homiletical practice and ecclesial piety.  His writings on prayer and sin are truly some of the best discussions I’ve encountered on the topic.

Some other runners up for great reads this year include:

  • Thomas P. Rausch, Towards a Truly Catholic Church: An Ecclesiology for the Third Millennium
  • D. Stephen Long, Calculated Futures: Theology, Ethics, and Economics
  • Chris K. Huebner, A Precarious Peace: Yoderian Explorations on Theology, Knowledge, and Identity
  • Simon Chan, Liturgical Theology: The Church as Worshipping Community
  • Henri de Lubac, Catholicism: Christ and the Common Destiny of Man
  • Robert Barron, The Priority of Christ: Towards a Postliberal Catholicism
  • John D. Zizioulas, Communion and Otherness: Further Studies in Personhood and the Church
  • Paul Louis Metzger, Consuming Jesus: Beyond Race and Class Divisions in a Consumer Church
  • Douglas Knight, The Eschatological Economy: Time and the Hospitality of God
  • Bernd Wannenwetsch, Political Worship: Ethics for Christian Citizens
  • N.T. Wright, Jesus and the Victory of God
  • John Milbank, Theology and Social Theory (Second Edition – some very important changes and updates)

And here are some of the books that I have not yet gotten to which I am most excited about this year:

  • Rowan Williams, Wrestling with Angels: Conversations in Modern Theology
  • Stanley Hauwerwas, The State of the University
  • Charles Taylor, A Secular Age
  • Mark Lilla, The Stillborn God

Hither, thither, and yon

Thom Stark has posted an excellent and extremely thorough series of posts on the reality of early Christian pacifism.  It deserves much reading.  

Also, my good friend Christian is making a triumphant return to the blogoshphere, with some great posts on Stanley Hauerwas and Herbert McCabe.

Likewise worthy of note is David Horstkoetter’s recent post on Anthony Kelly’s Eschatology and Hope.

Updated Index of Posts on Ecclesiology and Ecumenism

Here is a further-updated list of all my posts on ecclesiology and ecumenism:

The Silliness of Ecumenism in the Global North

In all the discussions, such as the ones I’ve participated in on ecumenism, I have a nagging suspicion of these conversations.  This is not to say that I do not think that there is a basic rightness to such discussions, only that perhaps they may be missing some glaring missiological facts that could chasten and better inform such discussions, or at least challenge their pretensions.

The key issue I see as a problem in standard ecumenical discussions is the way in which these discussions take place almost totally from within the framework of the global North-West.  Most ecumenical dialogues take place within Europe and North America.  Whether it is acknowledged or not, it is tacitly believed that the “center” of Christianity from which decisions and initiatives about things like unity could be made is the Northern hemisphere (and, of course principally the West).  However, as is becoming more and more clear, the center of Christianity, across denominational lines is moving further and further South.  The real center of Christianity is coming to reside in Latin America and Africa.  Right now there are nearly twice as many Catholics in Latin America as in Europe, and by 2025 it is projected that there may be close to three times as many!  Likewise, the various Free Church congregations (particularly Pentecostalism) are the fastest growing Christian group in the entire world.  It is projected that by 2025 these various Free Church neo-apostolic movements will number 581 million members, outnumbering traditional Protestantism and Eastern Orthodoxy combined, and being nearly half the size of worldwide Catholicism.

Now, certainly these are projections, but to my mind anyone with two eyes can see that, while we may quibble about the details, in the main these projects are not only accurate, but they are happening all around us right now.  So, if it is indeed the case that the geographical center of Christian life is relocating to the global South and dying on the vine in the North, what are we to make of the character of our Western ecumenical dialogues?  It seems to me that ecumenical discussions in the global North-West take on the character of little more than role-playing games in which the established churches of Europe and America close their eyes to the fact that they are no longer the primary geographic locus of the life of the church.  If the established churches in Europe and America continue seeking schemes of unity as if the global South and particularly Free Church communities and Pentecostalism are not really where the action is at, they will simply be playing clerical games which will not have anything to do with the emerging ecclesial reality that will define the third millennium.

Three Theological Quotes on Capitalism

First, I think that Christians should stop yakking about ‘consumerism.’ ‘Consumerism’ is not the problem—capitalism is. Consumerism is the work ethic of consumption, the transformation of leisure and pleasure into duties. Talking about consumerism is a way of not talking about capitalism, and I’ve come to think that that’s the reason why so many people, including Christians, whine about it so much. It’s just too easy a target. There’s a long history behind this, but the creation of consumer culture is very much about compensating workers for loss of control and creativity at work, and those things were stolen because capital needed to subject workers to industrial discipline. (I don’t, by the way, believe that we inhabit a ‘post-industrial’ society. Our current regimes of work are, indeed, super-industrial.) Telling people that they’re materialistic is both tiresome and wrong-headed: tiresome, because it clearly doesn’t work, and wrong-headed, because it gives people the impression that matter and spirit are antithetical. As Christians, we should be reminding everyone that material reality is sacramental, and that therefore material production, exchange, and consumption can be ways of mediating the divine.

-Eugene McCarraher

Not only does capitalism deform the desire of those who prosper or at least survive under its tutelage, it also distorts human relations, even of those who are excluded from its fruits. This is to say, even if capitalism elevated the poor, it would still be wrong on account of the way it corrupts human relations, rendering them antagonistic, competitive. Capitalism has so construed the market that humans interact agonistically, competitively. All of us, winners and losers, consumers and excluded, compete for resources, for market share, for a living wage, for a job, for the time for friendship and family, for inclusion in the market, and so forth. Capitalism is wrong because even if it delivers the goods, it nevertheless works against the Good, corrupting (and perpetuating the corruption of) human sociality in competitive and conflictual modalities. Capitalism is wrong, not simply on the grounds of what it fails to do but because of what it succeeds in doing: distorting human desire and relations.

Daniel M. Bell, Jr.

There is no point to making broad utilitarian claims about the benefits of ‘the free market’ as if we could identify a market as ‘free’ merely by the absence of restraint on naked power. Giving free rein to power without ends is more likely to produce unfreedom than to produce freedom. There is simply no way to talk about a really free economy without entering into particular judgments about what kinds of exchange are conducive to the flourishing of life on earth and what kinds are not. Though my purpose in this essay has not been to go into detail about the specific ends of human work and material possessions, the Christian tradition provides a wealth of reflection on these matters. I believe it would be counter-productive to expect the state to attempt to impose such a direction on economic activity. What is most important is the direct embodiment of free economic practices. From a Christian point of view, the churches should take an active role in fostering economic practices that are consonant with the true ends of creation. This requires promoting economic practices that maintain close connections among capital, labor, and communities, so that real communal discernment of the good can take place. Such are spaces in which true freedom can flourish.

William T. Cavanaugh

I must really just not be a Christian…

Today this blog has gotten two hits off of the search engine term “theology orgasm”.   Wow.  I think we have a new winner.

So, the question to all you lifeless theology readers out there is which theologian, when read, comes closest to fitting this description?  I’ll understand if nobody comments.

This would have been a better pirates movie I’m sure…

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Why are you what you are?

Bob posted a question for protestants a while back inquiring about why they were not Catholic.  More recently Fr. John Fenton, an Eastern Orthodox priest has asked people to share why they are not Orthodox.  While the comments on these threads have been interesting, the discussions have been structured in a primarily negative way.  They ask the question why some one is not such and such rather than asking why they are what they are.  I would like to throw down a more positive ecclesial survey by asking readers why they are what they are.  Why do you belong to the tradition and community that you do?  How strong is your “belonging” where you are?

The Protestant as Critic

The liberal Protestant is essentially a critic. He is a critic of the Bible, a critic of tradition, a critic of traditional Christian morality, a critic of anything that is the received religion. The liberal Protestant feels obliged to pick it apart, reduce it to facts and submit the mysteries of the faith to human reason.

One wonders, if this is true for the “liberal protestant”, is it any less true for the consevative species thereof?  The question really seems to be whether or not the particular mode of protestant criticizing is a movement of the Spirit to reshape the catholic church according to the will of Christ.  Of course the fragmentary, reactionary, and disunified state of protestantism would seem to mitigate or at least severely chasten such an interpretation, wouldn’t it?

 H/T: Fr. Dwight Longenecker

Exploring the Rule of Benedict §4: Contemporary Protestant Approriations of the Benedictine Tradition

In the last number of years, there are a variety of different protestant communities and churches that have come together in ways that resemble and glean from the Benedictine way. This movement has come to be known as the “New Monasticism”. Throughout the United States and the United Kingdom a variety of different monastic-style communities and churches have come to embrace central elements of the monastic, and particularly the Benedictine vision. While these groups are clearly not monastic in the proper sense (i.e. they are free to be married, generally have private possessions, and often live in their own houses), there is a clear resonance between the spirituality of the Rule of Benedict in the life and practice of these communities.

Central to this movement (in varying ways) is the three-fold Benedictine vow of conversatio, obedientia, and stabilitas. There is a clear commitment to live under a more rigorous rule of life and practice than is the case in most protestant churches. In New Monastic communities, at the very least, all members commit to living within the same general area, often with different members living together in common households, depending on the cultural and social location of the community in question. This commitment to reorder one’s life around the common life of the community corresponds to the Benedictine vow of conversatio. Obedience is likewise a central element among New Monastic communities. While these communities are not ordered under an abbot as Benedictine monasteries were, the emphasis is on submission and deference to one another in the making of decisions resonates with the monastic practice of obedientia rather than autonomy. Finally, New Monastic communities practice a form of the Benedictine vow of stabilitas. There is always some measure of permanent commitment to the community of which one is a part. While this is not practiced in the same sort of way as is done in Benedictine monasteries, the concept of covenant is central to the New Monastic understanding of how God calls us to be faithful to one another, forsaking the transience and career-driven mobility of our culture.

While the New Monasticism is certainly not the only appropriation that could be made of Benedictine spirituality, it is perhaps the most pronounced one to take root in Protestantism in recent years. And it is a movement to be welcomed in the church. In an age of hypermobility, fragmentation, and widespread social alienation, stable cells of the body of Christ which embody his presence intentionally in local contexts are more necessary than ever to the mission of the church. Alasdair MacIntyre, in his landmark study, After Virtue chronicled what he termed “the failure of the enlightenment project”. The forces of modernity and enlightenment, he argued, have led to fragmentation, and potential social and economic chaos. In light of this, however, he calls not for some sort of Marxist revolution or a violent overthrow of the status quo, but rather for “the construction of new forms of community within which the moral life could be sustained so that both morality and civility might survive the coming ages of barbarism and darkness.” It is precisely this vision which animates the contemporary appropriation of Saint Benedict on the part of the New Monasticism. In much the same way that the Benedictine tradition preserved the forms of Christian morality and culture that were necessary to Christian life through the barbarism of the dark ages, such communities as the New Monasticism may fulfill a similar function today as our increasingly globalized world grows more and more violent, dominative, and unstable. As MacIntyre says,

What matters at this stage is the construction of local forms of community within which civility and the intellectual and moral life can be sustained through the new dark ages which are already upon us. And if the tradition of the virtues was able to survive the horrors of the last dark ages, we are not entirely without grounds for hope. This time however the barbarians are not waiting beyond the frontiers; they have already been governing us for quite some time. And it is our lack of consciousness of this that constitutes part of our predicament. We are waiting not for a Godot, but for another – doubtless very different – St. Benedict.

It is to this task of constructing local forms of community that the communities of the New Monasticism have applied themselves. And their agenda is not simply to preserve intellectual and moral life – though they may be instrumental in that – but to embody the fullness of Christ’s vision for the church in the world. This is the lesson they have taken from Saint Benedict. MacIntyre was surely correct at the time of his writing that we were waiting for a new Saint Benedict, or better, for new Benedictines. Perhaps, just such new Benedictines have come among us, and for that we should be thankful, for them, for Saint Benedict who lead the way, and for the Spirit of God who brings out of his storehouse treasures new and old.

Exploring the Rule of Benedict §3: Distinctives and Contributions of the Benedictine Tradition

While the spirituality of the Rule of Benedict is multifaceted, there are two basic principles of Benedictine spirituality that have been identified by the followers of Saint Benedict. The first is that the divine presence is everywhere. This is emphasized throughout the Rule of Benedict, both in that God sees all things, and that because of the presence of God, the posture of the brothers is to always be one of obedience and awe. For Benedict, the presence of God is all encompassing and expansive. The whole of human life is laid open before God, and it is in light of that reality of the divine presence that the constant calls of the Rule to abstain from laziness are to be understood (cf. Rom. 13:11-13).

The second principle is that Christ is encountered in others. “To love Christ above all else” (RB 4.21) is the ultimate goal of Benedictine spirituality. This goal is sought out through submission to the abbot and to one another as unto Christ (RB 2), and through hospitality to the stranger in whom Christ himself is welcomed (RB 53). While there are clearly authoritarian elements in Benedict’s account of the relationship between the abbot and the brothers in the monastery (cf. RB 63, 68), it should be remembered that Benedict’s understanding of the presence of Christ being mediated through other persons (rather than solely through the Eucharist, the priesthood, etc.) is distinctive in its historical context. Moreover, Benedict is clear that the abbot is accorded honor on the basis of the love of Christ, not because of the abbot’s own “assumption of dignity” (RB 63).

Another central element, or rather the overarching context of Benedictine spirituality is the monastic profession: the vows into which a brother or sister would enter in coming into the community. The Benedictine vow was a three-fold commitment to conversatio (conversion, or the submission to the shape of monastic life), obedientia (obedience, chiefly to the abbot), and stabilitas (the commitment to stay among the community for the rest of one’s life). These vows were entered into as a way of establishing the context necessary for proper growth in holiness, contemplation, and worship of God. Central to the Benedictine life was the total sharing of all things in common, renouncing possessions and self-determination entirely, seeking instead to learn obedience, humility, and service.

The Benedictine vision of rejecting private ownership – which Benedict firmly brands as a vice (see RB 33) – was central to Benedictine spirituality as well. While the Benedictines were not a mendicant order such as the Franciscans who gave up possessions altogether, the Benedictine vision called for the complete rejection of private ownership and the holding of all possessions in common. This form of life in common, rejecting autonomy and private possessions continues to present the church with a prophetic witness that needs to be heard, especially in our culture of commoditization. Fortunately, in the last few years there has been an increased appreciation for this witness within the protestant church.

The Precarious Nature of Christian (dis)Identity

Right now I’m utterly enjoying Chris Huebner’s recent book, A Precarious Peace.  In it he offers a series of “Yoderian reflections” on theology, knowledge and identity.  His central concern is to engage in theology from the paradigm of John Howard Yoder’s “methodological non-Constantinianism.”  What this meant for Yoder went beyond the simply historical narratives of how Constantianianism transmogrified the church into medieval Christendom.  Rather, for Yoder, methodological non-Constantinianism meant the refusal to impose a sort of closure or certainty on any and all aspects of Christian thought and life.  Central to Yoder’s understanding of the church and theology was the ultimately disruptive, dislocating, and destabilizing presence of Christ.  Thus, Huebner asserts that “Yoder never finally assumed that he knew what peace was.”  The peace of Christ is not something for which  a stable and totalized account can be given.  Rather, the peace of Christ always interrupts and destabilizes our notions of peace by revealing our multi-leveled complicity with violence. 

Huebner’s book proceeds in three sections, the first centered on Mennonite theology and practice, the tradition from which Huebner hails and in which he remains.  He argues for a disestablishing of Mennonite theology, seeking to question the common assumption on the part of the historic peace churches that they have “got peace right.”  Here he questions the idea of “narrative theology” as a methodological paradigm for doing theology, and engages with Milbank and Radical Orthodoxy on the concept of ontological peace and gift. 

His second section moves into a discussion of disowning knowledge where Huebner explores the possibility of a pacifist epistemology and the nature of truth and martyrdom.  Again the focus is on moving from an understanding knowledge as mastery in which the objects of knowledge are “given” to an martyrological understanding of truth as always interrupting and disowning our attempts to master it.

Huebner then moves on to the issue of Christian identity, which, he argues must be constantly dislocated if it is to be faithful to the apocalyptic word which calls the church into being.  This is the part of Huebner’s book which I find perhaps most helpful.  In a great many of the discussions of ecumenism and ecclesial identity that take place in Christian circles seems to be the quest for a distinctly unproblematic account of Christian ecclesial identity.  All Christians who care about unity and the church’s integrity vis á vis the world, it seems are in search of (or have found, some claim) some such unproblematic and final account of the identity and form of the church.  What Huebner helpfully shows is that such a quest for an unproblematic identity is at odds with the shape of the gospel itself.  The gospel dislocates our identity and continues to do so over and over again.  The gospel is always apocalyptic, always disruptive, always supervenes on our attempts to develop a secure and unproblematic account of ecclesial identity. 

Being the church means being constantly put into question by the peace of Christ, by the love of Christ, by the unity of Christ.  Being the church means remaining in the struggle to be open to the radically disruptive and unsettling newness that consistently shatters our world as Christ’s presence continually confronts and interrupts us.  Against the siren’s call to discover some sort of unproblematic account of ecclesial identity in which we have achieved total closure, Huebner calls us into the vulnerable and risky drama of being dislocated, disestablished, and called to disown that which we through we knew.  The drama of discipleship is one of constant dispossession and interruption.  The proper mode of Christian faithfulness is to avoid seeking to tidy up the messy drama of Christ’s interrupting presence, but instead to allow ourselves to be disestablished and dislocated, and to discover within that very experience of disruption the new creation of the triune God breaking in on us.

The Father Almighty

While Zizioulas’ views regarding the monarchy of the Father are, in some important respects problematic, he does offer some very helpful ways in which to understand the person of the Father, a subject woefully neglected in contemporary trinitarian theology.  A chief issue that Zizioulas illumines is the matter of the Creed which proclaims belief in “God the Father almighty”.  As Colin Gunton was fond of saying, we must not ever separate the omnipotentem from the deum patrem if we seek to avoid a demonic definition of God’s almightiness as sheer voluntaristic power.

Zizioulas helpfully notes that among the patristic fathers the primary understanding of the almightiness of the Father that is confessed in the Creed is not one which emphasizes the power to act, but rather the capacity to embrace and contain.  Thus, to confess that the Father is almighty is to confess that he embraces, encompasses and enfolds all things within his own life.  The Father’s almightiness then, does not so much mean the ability of God to do things, but rather the actuality of the infinite communio which flows from the Father to the Son in the Spirit.

This understanding of the omnipotence of God is helpful, especially insofar as it clarifies how we might helpfully re-conceptualize the idea of the the Father as the arche of the Trinity.  If the Father’s almightiness is his embracing and encompassing of that which is other than himself in communio, then the Father’s almightiness seems correlative to the Son’s kenosis and the pentecostal dispersal of the SpiritOr rather, the Father’s infinte openess, his all-encompassing actualization of difference-embraced-in-communion constitutes the ontological ground and the primal form of the inter-trinitarian kenosis about which Balthasar has written so persuasively.  In this light it becomes possible to speak about the Father as the arche of the Trinity without engendering an inappropriate subordinationism.  The Father is the source of the personhood of the Son and the Spirit insofar as he embraces them in love in the ek-static triune relations.  The Father is not so much the fount from which the Son and Spirit eternally spring as he is the circumference of the eternal and unbroken circle of Love which enfolds and constitutes them as his beloved Son in the Spirit of their love.  And it is precisely in so enfolding the Son and Spirit that Father finds his own personhood, his own fatherhood given to him in the form of the loving gift of the Son’s obedience in the Spirit.  The Father, no less than the Son and Spirit receives his personhood in the infinite and eternal circle of the triune relations.  The primal kenosis of the Trinity is from begining to end a circle of mutal self-donation and overabundance.

The Father embraces and lovingly enfolds the Son and the Spirit, and in so doing begets the Son and breaths forth the Spirit, who return to the Father a free sacrifice of love.  Inherent in this understanding of the gift structure whereby the God is God is this sort of kenotic movement in which the going-forth of the Son and Spirit in their respective  economic missions does not alienate them from the Father (as Moltmann would have it in Christ’s cry of dereliction on the Cross), but rather enfolds all created distances within the embrace of the Father, from which they are never torn, even in going into the furthest depths of the far country.

To put it another way, the almightiness of the Father is the reality that takes place when all forms of alienation and distance which seek to  interrupt the divine life in the death and descent of Christ are negated, defeated, and purgatively enfolded into the trinitarian life of communio that is the eternal coinherence of the Father, the Son, and the Spirit.  In short, the almightiness of the Father is the resurrection of the Son, which apocalyptically places all created reality within the new world of resurrection, bringing about the end of the old world of sin and death.  And thus, as Paul says, it is the cross of Christ which is the power and wisdom of God.  Indeed, the power and wisdom of the Father.

Zizioulas on the Father as Cause

One of the points on which John Zizioulas has been roundly criticized is on his insistence that the Father be understood as the arche of the Trinity.  The Father, on Zizioulas’ view, informed by the Cappadocians, is the ground of the personhood of the Son and the Spirit in a distinctly a-symmetrical way.  The Son and Spirit derive their pershonhood, their hypostasis from the Father, and particularly from the Father’s freedom as a person. 

Zizioulas is quick to clarify his view.  Clearly, the Father is never without the Son and the Spirit, they are all co-eternal.  Moreover, the personal causality of the Father vis á vis the Son and Spirit should not be understood at the level of ousia, of substance.  The Father does not bestow the divine nature on the Son and the Spirit (which would result in some sort of Arianism), but rather, personhood.  Zizioulas is clear on this point, the Father is the cause of the personal being of the Son and the Spirit, but the reverse is not the case in any way whatsoever.  The Father’s personhood, unlike that of the Son and Spirit is underived an ingenerate.

This, I think is a fundamental problem in Zizioulas’ trinitarian ontology.  His whole case is built upon the premise that personhood is ontologically ultimate and the personhood can only be rightly understood in an ontological sense as communion.  However, in making the Father the cause of the communion of the Trinity, what are we to make of the Father’s distinctive status as a hypostasis of the Trinity?  How can the Father truly be personal on Zizioulas reading?  He is clear that “a person is always a gift from someone.”  If this is truly the case, how can the Father really be understood as a person?  Zizioulas is clear that the Father does not recieve his personhood from the Son or Spirit in a reciprocal way, because, Zizioulas fears that such a statement would imperil biblical monotheism.

However, does it even make conceptual sense to deny that the Father’s personhood is constituted by his relations with the Son and Spirit?  The tradition of the church has made clear that the only things which distinguish the persons of the Trinity from one another are their relations.  Thus, the Father is the Father because he begets the Son and spirates the Spirit, the Spirit is the Spirit because he is spirated by the Father (through the Son we might add) and the Son is the Son because he is begotten by the Father (through the Spirit we might also add).  If this is the case, then the Father, as a distinct person of the Trinity does not constitute the personhood of the Son and Spirit a-symmetrically, but is himself constituted by his relations of generating and spirating the other two.  In other words, the Father’s fatherhood, which is what makes the Father a distinct hypostasis is only a reality on the basis of his relations with the Son and the Spirit.

Because the Father can never be the Father without the Son and Spirit, how can we say in any meaningful way that the Father causes the personhood of the other two, but is not reciprocally “caused” by the other two?  Clearly the personhood of the Father is constituted by his relation of fatherhood, which is dependent on the eternal co-reality of the Son and Spirit.  There seems no way to say in any meaningful sense that the Father’s personhood, his distinct nature as a hypostasis is underived, for it is contingent upon the Son and Spirit.

All of this seems to indicate the problematic nature of positing the Father as the cause of the personhood of the other persons of the Trinity.  In the first place, it imperils the Father’s own personhood and risks introducing and individualist notion of personhood into our understanding of the personhood of the Father.  Secondly, it introduces the very problematic notion of causality into the Trinity.  As such, it seems that Zizioulas’ monarchical model of the Trinity should not be embraced.  Rather than identifying the One God with the person of the Father, we must be more rigorous in insisting that the Three persons are the One God without remainder.

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