Why I study theology & how I see myself as “a theologian”

(ft. pictures from salvation mountain)

I remember when I started touring universities. I toured the University of California Santa Barbara in eight grade and immediately knew it was exactly where I wanted to be in five years (mostly because I had a beach cruiser and everyone at UCSB apparently had one, too). While that dream did not last very long, I always thought about college.

While my friends were going on vacation for spring break our sophomore year, I went on a Southern California college tour road trip with my mom. Having gone to public schools my whole life, I had never really had any real exposure to what a private school would be like. However—I had one major concern that seemingly popped up at most schools I toured.

A theological studies course requirement (and on some occasions, more than one course requirement).

Having been an anti-religion atheist for the entirety of my pre-teen and teenage years up until that point, the thought of studying theology offended me. I saw no worth in it and did not want anything to do with it. Chapman and Pepperdine seemed like great options, but the thought of being forced to take theology classes was alarming and incredibly unappealing despite all the other wonders that were drawing me to these schools.

I committed to Loyola Marymount University before I was Christian. On February 4, 2016, I was sitting on my bed in my childhood bedroom (on the same comforter that is currently on my bed four years later as a senior about to graduate at that university) when I got an email with the subject “Elizabeth, Welcome to Loyola Marymount University”. I yelled for my mom, walked into my kitchen, and said to my little brother, “Matthew, I think I just got into the university I am going to commit to”. 

My relationship with theology grew as my relationship with God grew. I realized while writing this, but they have been more intertwined than I could have ever anticipated. I committed to LMU around the same time I started going to bible study in high school, I signed up for my first theological inquiry course around the same time I committed my life to Christ and added theology as a second major around the same time I signed up for RCIA. I have taken theology courses during six of my eight semesters at LMU, but do not tell that to 16-year-old Elizabeth, she would be appalled (she did not know she would even be called Lizzie yet).

I was not called to simply be a theologian, God wanted to transform my entire life. From my academics to my life decisions, from my verbiage to my tattoos, and from my Instagram captions and all the way down to my internal dialogue, God is everything. My life and my faith life are not separated—my faith life is my entire life. I do not often think about the ways in which being a theologian is different than being a Christian. When Elizabeth Johnson said, “This vocation within a vocation was simply not on my radar” (1), she captured my feelings perfectly. They have never been separate vocations. I see how they can be for some people—I have friends I feel extremely connected to in terms of our shared “faith lives” (lives) who do not study theology. But for me, being a theologian is simply another way I try to glorify God. 

I understand the vocation of theology/the vocation of a theologian as a person who engages in studying theology. It feels inappropriate in my position to dictate who is and is not a theologian since I barely feel like one myself despite external forces telling me otherwise, but I do believe those who are drawn to theology are typically not afraid of the depths in which our lives can explore. I agree with Elizabeth Johnson, “I find doing theology an interesting, tough, and wondrous ministry in the church”. Theologians are not afraid to ask unanswerable questions and are not afraid of a challenge. As Saint Anselm once said, theology is “faith seeking understanding” and there are endless ideas and concepts to be understood. 

A theologian’s task or work is to ask questions to further dialogue. In a way, I think of theologians’ work as something in addition to the voice of God. One of the biggest questions I ask myself on a regular basis is whether or not God is still speaking. Yes, God communicates with us, but is God still speaking? Does God change God’s mind? Does God grow with us? I believe there is always more to learn when it comes to faith—even when my faith feels at an all-time high, I know there is always more to be uncovered and more to learn. There is no room for complacency and no room to be stagnant in faith. I think it is important we always try to go deeper and that is what theologians do. 

I am drawn to crisis theology, particularly theodicy. Theodicy is the vindication of divine goodness and providence in view of the existence of evil. How can a perfect God exist if nothing but God is perfect? Why do we suffer? Why didn’t God stop this from happening if I’m faithful (better known as the pity party: why me?)?

I asked myself those questions a lot before I knew God. After I was diagnosed with depression and struggled through various mental health issues and hurdles, it was easy for me to blame God (despite disbelief). What is God’s role in our trauma: is it His responsibility, His allot, or is His role in the aftermath? When we suffer or experience trauma, it is because our free will is allowing us to make choices that are contrary to His desires for us?

My understanding of all of this is God will not fully prevent our trauma and suffering because we are separated from Him through our sins and free will. As individuals, we cannot fully avoid trauma in our lives. We are also subject to the actions of others. Since God is unable or unwilling to intervene with free will, He is unable to interfere with other people’s actions, so we can be subjected to the sins and wrongdoings of others. The upside to this is even when we experience trauma, God will help to remedy it if we seek it from Him. However, that does not always sit right with me. Where does God’s will start and end?

God is love. Even if someone does not believe that they have most likely heard it before. How can we illustrate to others God is love when they might feel hated by God? It is always the hardest for me to communicate with people who are suffering. How can I use what I have learned in theology to better spread the gospel message to those who do not feel open to it?

My current theological criteria are as follows: I judge theologians by their humanity/relatability, their faith, and their writing style. 

Relatability. Relatability is big for me in general, but I often find myself judging other academics based on how much compassion they show others, how understanding they are, and how willing they are to share the highs and lows of their faith. I do not want to read about theologians who claim to be perfect or speak about linear paths to God. I want to hear about all the times James Martin considers leaving the Jesuits (especially the time he fell in love), how Elizabeth Johnson beefs with the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops, and how John Becker loves corgis and Mahayana Buddhism. I want to read Love Does by Bob Goff and remember how much room there is for gratitude in our churches and liturgy. I want to hear about Gaby’s conversion story, Ashlyn’s love of liturgy, and how a love of the natural world informs Dr. Cecilia’s courses. I want JP to tell me how he finds God through De Colores, why Jake dropped everything he knew in New York and New Jersey to move to LA to become a Campus Minister, and all the ways Josh felt God after he had to cancel all the 2020 Ignacio Companions trips the week they were supposed to happen. 

And while I want to tell you about all the times I felt affirmed by God, I want to tell you about the years I suffered as an atheist, why I question the Catholic Church, and about the time I screamed at the sky because I felt like God had abandoned me in Guyana, South America. One of my favorite parts about theology is that no one claims to be perfect and no one comes in knowing they have all the answers. That is why I feel so comfortable weaving my own narratives into my theology assignments—humanness is something we cannot fail to remind ourselves of.

Faith. You do not have to have faith in the Christian God in order to be a good theologian (Buddha), but I do feel like you have to have some faith since faith informs theology. If a theologian claims to have no faith, they need to do some more soul searching. Do you have faith in goodness, others, or yourself?

Writing style. This is very simple for me. If I can read your work without mentally correcting it, all feels well in the world (based on my own criteria, I am not a good theologian).

I am unsure if anything is at stake for me personally when I do theology. I do not feel like I am losing anything other than smallmindedness or previous ideas that turn out to be uninformed, mislead, etc. On the other hand, there is a lot at stake for others. Without good theology, our churches would not be the vibrant places we know them to be. They would not be as thoughtful, intentional, nor would they be anywhere near the level of inclusiveness we see today (we are still growing in that way, of course). 

We need theology so faith can grow with humanity. As we progress, the questions get deeper, bigger, and harder. 200 years ago, I’m sure feminist theology was not on anyone’s mind. Yet where would we be without feminist theology and where would we be without Elizabeth Johnson? I am so sure there are thousands of people out there who felt incredibly victimized by the Catholic Church’s stance on LGBTQ+ rights and would have never thought about entering a church again if it was not for the work of James Martin, SJ. Good theology matters because people matter. Spreading the truth and actually understanding our faith is important.

Ultimately, I might be studying theology because I want to know God really well. I want to be asked all the hard questions and never waver in faith.

One of my biggest “aha moments” when it came to my theological studies was when I was in Cambodia, leading the Ignacio Companions trip with Campus Ministry. We were lucky enough to be in Cambodia on the Day of Remembrance, the day that commemorates the Cambodian genocide of the Khmer Rouge regime that ruled the country between 1975 and 1979. Formerly known as the National Day of Hatred, this annual “holiday” falls on May 20, which was a Monday last year. We honored the day by going to the Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum (also known as S-21) and the Choeung Ek Genocidal Center, also known as the killing fields.

I do not have to describe my experience in order for you to understand how devastating those two places are. The Cambodian Genocide was an explosion of mass violence that took the lives between 1.5 and 3 million people (25% of their population). Innocent people were violently tortured, attacked, and killed by a communist group seeking to create labor brigades, assigning groups depending on age and gender. Their policies resulted in hundreds of thousands of Cambodians starving to death and their devastating effects will undoubtedly have lasting impacts that will expand through generations.

During our reflection that night, my co-leader had a breakdown because he did not understand how God could let this happen. He, to my surprise, started questioning God’s existence and whether or not he could continue living out his faith or whether or not he knew God at all.

This shocked me. It really did. Watching him wrestle with God was difficult for me because I found myself questioning him for having been Catholic his entire life, yet never asking himself the hard-hitting questions. Never engaging in dialogue with an atheist whose only goal is to challenge you. Never thinking about God’s role in more commonly known tragedies like the Holocaust. I kept turning back to a course I took at LMU during my sophomore year, Theology After Crisis. I thought back to Isaiah 63:9, “In all their distress he too was distressed, and the angel of his presence saved them. In his love and mercy, he redeemed them; he lifted them up and carried them all the days of old” and Job 34:12, “For a certainty, God does not act wickedly and the Almighty will not pervert justice”. Theology served me then and theology continues to serve me.

Long story short, I want to meet God in heaven someday and say, “thank you” and “we did it”. But more importantly, I want God to gaze back at me and feel affirmed in the fact I tried to get to know God as well as I could and spent a lot of time with God before I even got there.

“So come and see, think, raise questions, make connections, learn the tradition, see for yourselves how beautiful the faith is, as a step toward encountering and living out the love of the holy mystery of God.” - Elizabeth Johnson