has defined the discipline of theological ethics: What is the nature of the good? What is the nature of moral agency? And, what are the criteria for moral judgment? See James M. Gustafson, “Christian Ethics,” The Westminster Dictionaryof Christian Ethics, James F. Childress and John Macquarrie, eds. (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1986), pp. 87-90. Also see James M. Gustafson, Protestant and Roman Catholic Ethics (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1978), esp. pp. 139-44.
9. For a historical and scriptural account of the development and meaning of the Ten Commandments see Walter J. Harrelson, The Ten Commandments and Human Rights (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1980). For a contemporary discussion in light of contemporary Christian ethics see Paul Lehmann, The Decalogue and a Human Future (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1995).
10. Here the purpose of law is understood in terms of love — love of God and love of neighbor as these two are integrally related. But, as indicated below in this chapter, the nature of love of God and neighbor is not clear. Love of God is not even mentioned in the Old Testament; in the New Testament, outside of the summary of the law, it is mentioned only one other time (Luke 11:42). As one line of thought this book is the development of such an understanding of divine and human love. For a summary of the reasons for the lack of such an account, and in turn a constructive account to which I am in basic agreement and with which this account coheres, see Edward C. Vacek, Love, Divine and Human: The Heart of Christian Ethics (Washington, D.C.: Georgetown University Press, 1994), pp. 131-33.
11. Irving Singer, The Nature of hove. Vol. 1: Plato to Luther, 2nd ed. (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1984), pp. 233-67.
12. See Kathryn Greene-McCreight, “Restless Until We Rest in God,” Ex Auditu 11 (1995): 29-41. For recent discussion of the origins and meaning of the Christian Sabbath see D. A. Carson, ed., From Sabbath to Lord’s Day: A Biblical, Historical, and Theological Investigation (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1982).
13. See James M. Gustafson, Protestant and Roman Catholic Ethics (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1978) for an account of the similarities and differences between the two.
14. Charles Curran, “The Sacrament of Penance Today,” in Contemporary Problems in Moral Theology (Notre Dame: Fides, 1970), pp. 1-96.
15. For an example of a traditional moral theology, see Thomas Slater, A Manual of Moral Theology for English-Speaking Countries, 3rd ed. (New York: Benziger, 1908).
16. See, e.g., Martin Luther, “Lectures on Galatians,” Luther’s Works, vols. 26-27, trans. Jaroslav Pelikan (St. Louis: Concordia Publishing, 1963, 1964).
17. Karl Barth, “Gospel and Law,” Community, State and Church, trans. Will Herberg (Gloucester, Mass.: Peter Smith, 1968), pp. 71-100.
18. Martin Luther, “The Freedom of a Christian,” Luther’s Works, vol. 31, trans. Harold J. Grimm (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1957), p. 365.
19. Martin Luther, The Large Catechism, tr. Robert H. Fischer (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1959), p. 5.
20. See Documents of Vatican II, trans. Walter M. Abbott (New York: American Press, 1966), p. 3.
21. See Lisa Sowie Cahill and James F. Childress, eds., Christian Ethics: Problems and Prospects (Cleveland: Pilgrim, 1996), especially pp. 3-182.
22. See, e.g., Charles E. Curran, Margaret A. Farley, and Richard A. McCormick, eds., Feminist Ethics and the Catholic Moral Tradition. Moral Theology 9 (New York: Paulist, 1996).
23. For an introduction to contemporary voices in theology, see Roger Badham, ed., Introduction to Christian Theology: Contemporary North American Perspectives (Louisville, Ky.: Westminster/John Knox, 1998).
[CHAPTER 2]
An Anglican Perspective
I was born into the Episcopal Church. My earliest memories were at ages four and five. My parents lived in a one-bedroom apartment, a fortunate find at the end of World War II when housing was limited. Two small boys meant no automobile. We walked the mile plus to the English Victorian-style church with dark wood pews and beams. The stained glass diffused what light there was. But from the light outside and the candles inside, the vaulted space was ethereal. We kneeled, sat, and stood in line — parents, sons, and my very English paternal grandmother. The world was filled with the spirit or spirits of God. God simply was in the fabric of things — just there, like my grandmother in her silent prayers.
We moved, my grandmother died, and there were different churches, some with, some without the colored glass and the vaulted space. But week-in and week-out, with some periods of exception, we went to church and listened to the stories of the Bible (however disconnected they were from week to week), sometimes retold in the sermon. And we regularly celebrated the Lord’s Supper, receiving bread and wine as the apostles did in remembrance of Jesus’ last supper, death, and resurrection. I became Christian as I grew up in the church, though this was no more a natural process then is the learning of a language. I actually became Christian as the stories I heard became my story, as they made sense of life as I knew it and as I lived it — the command of the prophets to do justice, the lament of the psalms, the call to forgive, the promise of forgiveness and new life. The themes that construed my life were themselves always framed more broadly by the story of Jesus — his life, ministry, death, and resurrection.
My Christian faith was quite simply a way of life formed in a community of faith. This faith born from the church has matured in the church as well, for 20 years now in the daily worship and life of a seminary community. This has meant quiet meditation, listening to scripture, common prayer, and often Eucharist together. My family joined me regularly, often followed by a community meal. Worship thus framed our life together. To the outside observer, this may have seemed self-contained. This life, however, always reached out beyond ourselves. We were members of communities: schools, work, towns and cities, professional associations, civic organizations, recreation groups. Visitors were welcomed. And always people were going out to live and serve in the world beyond the seminary.
I share these autobiographical reflections because they indicate something of my own situation, of how I am situated in particular communities within the Episcopal Church as part of the larger Anglican Communion. My experience has been shaped by this history so that I experience and understand Christian faith indelibly as an Anglican Christian. This means that I wear bifocal glasses as I come to write this account of the Christian moral life. As with all Christian ethics, this ethic is informed by a larger look at the Christian tradition that has formed me. This longer look begins with scripture and continues with the witness of Christians, from the witness of early Christian communities to that of specific thinkers, especially those who have formed the Catholic and Protestant traditions in the West. The shorter look is Anglican, moving in the other direction from my own experience in the Episcopal Church outward to Anglican thinkers who have developed their own accounts of Christian faith and life.
These two focal points, the one near and the other farther from my experience, provide contrast in my vision. My Anglican perspective informs my seeing what is true in Roman Catholic and Protestant traditions. In turn, the central claims of these two major traditions of Western Christianity inform my understanding of what is the faith I have received from within the Anglican tradition. The hope is that the more particular experiences and understandings of faith and the more universal claims about the nature of faith will be brought together so that they illumine one another.
The
