One of the urgent needs of the church these days is to understand the ecclesial significance of controversy. To put it more plainly, we need to remember that conflict in the church is not necessarily a matter of revolt against and defence of a settled solution, but a God-given means of discovering what it is we actually believe. This is how the formulations of the classical creeds occurred: as questions arose, often far more bitterly and violently than in our own day, theological argument gradually found out its own rhythms and norms, and the figure hidden in the mass of as yet undifferentiated or half-articulated belief began to be made visible. So where controversy arises over matters not very fully dealt with so far in the history of our traditions, we should expect to learn something about both our methods and the substance of belief as the debate unfolds – whatever middle-term resolutions it comes to, and whatever long-term expression of ‘orthodoxy’ is agreed upon.

Recent scholarly attention to Calvin's commentaries on scripture still limits our attention to the works Calvin produced for future pastors, and neglects his efforts to teach and train ordinary Christians. The commentaries have as their audience future pastors, with the goal of revealing the mind of the author with lucid brevity. The sermons have as their audience ordinary Christians, with the goal of expounding the intention of the author, and of applying it to their use, so that they might retain it in their minds and hearts, and put it into practice in their lives. There are three steps Calvin consistently followed in each of his sermons on Ephesians. First, he sought to show the meaning and intention of Paul contained in the words of the epistle. Next, he pointed out that the meaning revealed in his exposition should be kept in mind, retained in memory, and imprinted on the hearts of the congregation. Third, Calvin sought to apply the doctrine of Paul to the use, edification, and instruction of the congregation, so that they might profit from the doctrine by putting it in practice in their lives.

Though renowned for restoring the dogma of the trinity to a place of honor in Protestant dogmatics, Karl Barth has faced widespread criticism for allegedly introducing an ancient heresy into that very doctrine: the heresy of modalism. In this paper, we analyze: (a) Barth's doctrine of the trinity as presented in his Church Dogmatics I/1; (b) the arguments Barth himself employs against modalism; and (c) those aspects of Barth's doctrine of the trinity which, is his critics' view, commit him to some form of modalism. On this basis, we argue that Barth, in spite of infelicities and even errors in his doctrine of the trinity, does not in any way endorse the heresy of modalism.

Von Balthasar's study The Theology of Karl Barth has long been regarded as a seminal work for the interpretation and reception of Barth. Recently its influence has been challenged by Bruce McCormack, who argues that the von Balthasar thesis of a conversion from dialectic to analogy occasioned by Barth's study of Anselm is inadequate. This paper seeks to show not just that there is more to von Balthasar's interpretation than McCormack allows, but also that von Balthasar's study of Barth had a profound influence on his own theological development. In particular, it argues that through his critical engagement with Barth's argument for the analogy of faith against the analogy of being, von Balthasar reassessed the importance of analogy for all theology. In turn, this had a formative impact on his own great trilogy, The Glory of the Lord, Theodrama and Theologic, all of which was based on a christological reading of the analogy of being. Thus, while McCormack may be right on Barth, he is wrong on von Balthasar on Barth.

Two recent accounts of the relationship between theology and philosophy differ pointedly: Fides et Ratio describes an ‘intimate bond between theological and philosophical wisdom', while John Milbank charges theology to ‘evacuate philosophy, which is metaphysics', entirely. An early (1929) debate between Paul Tillich and Karl Barth on this subject is both clarifying and instructive for our present theological situation. Tillich and Barth would differ in their assessments of the relationship between theology and philosophy described by Fides et Ratio, but, against Milbank, both Tillich and Barth would agree that theology attempts to isolate itself from philosophy at its peril.

For Paul, ‘nature’ works differently for free Jewish men (torah-observers) and others (slaves, Gentiles, women), so that in Paul ‘nature’ is a differentiated rather than universal philosophical concept. Paul so differentiates natures according to theological considerations we might call narrative. Stories about God's relations with Israel set the context in which Paul's use of ‘nature’ makes sense. ‘Nature’ is a character in a story of captivity observed in the light of release (Rom 1:17–18).

The eucharist mobilizes the related concept of ‘body’ to enact a parallel story of captivity and release – the binding of Isaac and the crucifixion of Jesus – in which God exposes the worst that human beings can do (child sacrifice, execution of innocents) so that it can be healed.

Nature is a character in a story liturgically enacted in baptism, eucharist, marriage. The character's changing circumstances are plotted by the Spirit in traditions Syriac, Latin, Greek, German, and Russian. (Nature is perfected by grace.) No mere scenery, nature is dynamic. A creature of the Spirit, it is to grow. Ontologies of nature depend on the narrative for which they seek conditions. This narrative requires a dynamic and differentiated account so that nature can serve the promise of blessing.

I. The origins of Deuteronomy: what are the clues?

II. Theological interpretation of an OT book: a response to Gordon McConville's Deuteronomy

III. A response from Gordon McConville

Any suggestion that in his new book, With the Grain of the Universe: The Church's Witness and Natural Theology, Stanley Hauerwas might at last be presenting a precis of a systematic theological project would likely be met with skepticism. The seemingly ad hoc manner in which his books have emerged over the years indicates that he is not working on anything that resembles a project. And as Hauerwas himself would be the first to declare, he is definitely not engaging in what might even remotely be deemed to be systematic theology. In fact, in his opening Gifford Lecture he admits that he is not even ‘a proper theologian’, but instead is ‘a member of an even more disreputable field called Christian ethics’ (p. 9). Yet, if the accolades that adorn the back cover of the book are not merely promotional hype, this volume is indeed the definitive statement of the Hauerwas program. For example, Robert Louis Wilken asserts that With the Grain of theUniverse is ‘a book we have long awaited’. And Peter Ochs announces that it ‘offers the comprehensive theological argument we have long requested’.