Everyone’s A Theologian

Years ago, Dr. R.C. Sproul wrote a book entitled, Everyone’s a Theologian. It is a layman’s level systematic theology written so that “the man in the pew” can be exposed to the great doctrines and truths of Scripture without having to have an advanced degree in theology to comprehend it.

There are, of course, professional theologians who make their living by delving deeply into these grand topics. It is a mixed bag, however. Some theologians make the pursuit more of an academic exercise, devoid of any impact upon their own hearts, much less the hearts of those who read them. Even if they are substantially helpful in some degree, great or small, I consider them poor theologians who do not have any sense of passion or reverence in their writing when we consider just about whom it is that they write!

There are other theologians who dig deeply into the area of dogmatic theology who one can easily sense the genuine love they have for their God. I think of names of men such as John Calvin (Institutes of the Christian Religion), Peter van Mastricht (Theoretical-Practical Theology, 5 volumes), and Herman Bavinck (Reformed Dogmatic Theology, 4 volumes). Though their writing can be heady at times (especially Bavinck!), they write with a clear reverence.

But, while there a those professional theologians in the strictest meaning of that term, there is a broader application which applies to anyone who has any inclination toward God. In that sense, everyone is a theologian. The question is not, “Are you a theologian?”, but rather, “What kind of theologian are you?” In that regard, there are good theologians and bad theologians. Those who study sound doctrine and those who are engaged in error. Those who have fear and trembling and those who have a scholastic dispassion for his name.

The Westminster Assembly met over the course of 10 years (1643-1653) in order to debate matters of church government and theology, particularly revising the Thirty-nine Articles of Faith of the church of England. In their time, they created many theological works, one of which is the Westminster Shorter Catechism.

The first question of the WSC is, “What is the chief end of man?” The question wishes to compel a man to answer what his highest, ultimate purpose. A lot can be determined of a man by judging how he answers that question. Henry Scougal in his work, The Life of God in the Soul of Man observed:

The worth and excellency of a soul is to be measured by the object of its love. He who loveth mean and sordid things doth thereby become base and vile, but a noble and well-placed affection doth advance and improve the spirit into a conformity with the perfections which it loves.

That is, contrary to the motto that is repeated with an aggressive persistence, love is not love. Love of evil is not godly or good. And a love of that which is evil and vile does not endear the heart to goodness. The Psalmist asks “How long will you love what is worthless and aim at deception?” (Ps 4:2b) To love evil is to suggest that there is something within it that is lovable, or worthy of love. It is here that our modern culture, and even the church, finds itself confused on how to properly express love. It assumes that in all instances we are to love without discernment. But, this is a topic for another time.

If we take Scougal’s thoughts and weld it to Question One, we can see that the answer given will tell us what a man loves as that becomes his chief end.

The answer that the WSC provides is, “The chief end of man is to glorify God and enjoy him forever.” The greatest purpose of man is to both glorify God and enjoy him forever.

Contemplating God’s incomprehensibility reshapes Christian life in several interconnected ways. At the attitudinal level, humility becomes the appropriate response, appreciating both God’s grandeur and our own contrasting limitations. This isn’t mere intellectual acknowledgment but a posture that orients the entire spiritual life. As one theologian notes, mystery functions not as a question demanding an answer but as “an object inviting contemplation,” requiring “an attitude of humble and wondering contemplation.”

This contemplative stance guards against a particular spiritual danger. The primeval temptation to “be like God” can subtly persist in us, leading to what Luther called a theology of glory rather than a theology of the cross, causing us to forget who we are, where we are, and when we are. Recognizing God’s incomprehensibility anchors Christians in their proper place within creation and redemptive history.

Practically, acknowledging incomprehensibility also disciplines theological expectations and fosters intellectual honesty. While some Christian convictions — such as the Spirit’s personhood — are nonnegotiable, the precise relations within the Trinity and speculative theological claims belong to the realm of Christian opinion and speculation rather than settled doctrine. This distinction prevents overconfidence while maintaining essential convictions.

Finally, contemplating God as receivers of accommodated glory rather than creators of intellectual reality shapes how we speak and think about the divine nature, requiring a posture of necessary theological humility and reverence throughout the theological task. Rather than paralyzing faith, God’s incomprehensibility paradoxically deepens it—we encounter a God genuinely beyond our control, yet graciously making himself known.