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Relational Integration of Psychology and Christian Theology Theory Research and Practice 1st Edition Steven J Sandage Jeannine K Brown
Relational Integration of Psychology and Christian Theology Theory Research and Practice 1st Edition Steven J Sandage Jeannine K Brown
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Relational Integration of Psychology
and Christian Theology
Acknowledgments
1 Introduction
We are dedicating this book to Carla Dahl, who has been a key mentor and
friend to both of us, but also an exemplar of relational integration. We were
each formed by team teaching integrative courses with Carla at Bethel
Seminary, along with many informal conversations and moments. It’s cliché
but true to say that relational integration is “more caught than taught.”
Carla’s profound integrative wisdom is closely matched by her huge heart
and Olympic-level sense of humor. Carla’s leadership, which moved her over
many years from faculty secretary to a dean position at Bethel Seminary,
put in place the integrative ecology that led to our collaboration on this
project.
Leland Eliason was Provost at Bethel Seminary during some of our shared
time there, and Leland fostered an integrative vision of theological
education which also shaped the ethos that contributed to our development
as integrative scholars and educators. Leland’s personal commitment to
integration was catalyzing and inspiring to our efforts.
We both also enjoyed integrative collaborations with many faculty, staff,
and student colleagues at Bethel, including interdisciplinary scholarly
projects, team teaching integration seminars, and working on administrative
or committee efforts aimed at different aspects of integration. Special shared
gratitude goes to Kyle Roberts, Mary Jensen, Peter Vogt, Mark Harden, Mark
McCloskey, and Thorsten Moritz for so many highly textured relationally
integrative influences. Too many students to name have engaged in
integrative dialogues, assignments, and projects that have stimulated our
learning about relational integration. We appreciate all these collective
influences.
In this book, we describe some parts of our personal journeys of
integration. But we each want to briefly acknowledge some key influences
here, especially since this is a book about relational influences on
integration.
Jeannine’s Acknowledgments
I am grateful for the great number of colleagues and friends who have
shaped my integrative journey. An early influence was Dr. Al Wolters, who
gave a lecture at a conference on “Scripture and the Disciplines” in 2004, for
which I was a respondent. His gracious hospitality toward my questions and
insights before and during that conference set a wonderful tone for other
integrative interactions to come. A more recent influence is my daughter
Katherine Agre, a genetic counselor at the Mayo Clinic. It is my greatest joy
to “do integration” with such an amazing clinician whose expertise in areas
far different from mine has such interesting implications for theological
reflection.
Carla Dahl, whom we have already mentioned, has provided for me the
most formative influence for integration. As a colleague and friend, she was
the person I trusted to look at my first attempts at integration from the
Gospel of Matthew. Our team teaching on the topic of the Gospels and
formation remains a highlight over a decade later. I am grateful for the grant
that Carla and I received, along with Wyndy Corbin Reuschling, from the
Lilly Theological Research Grants program of the Association of Theological
Schools in 2009–10, that helped the three of us write Becoming Whole and
Holy: An Integrative Conversation about Christian Formation. It was a
delight to have Wyndy join our work, as an expert in ethics and a true
exemplar of relational integration.
Two other influential colleagues and conversation partners across
disciplines have been Peter Vogt (Old Testament) and Kyle Roberts
(Theology). Both have demonstrated the humility and curiosity that have
made for fruitful and fascinating dialogue. Kyle has been a co-author on a
forthcoming theological commentary on Matthew (Two Horizons series),
and I am grateful for his partnership and friendship in that process. So many
other colleagues have graciously joined my classes to offer their cross-
disciplinary perspectives and/or invited me into theirs, including Denise
Muir Kjesbo (Ministry Leadership), Mark McCloskey (Ministry Leadership),
Mary Jensen (Formation), Ben Lim (Marital and Family Therapy), and Norah
Caudill (Old Testament). I have recently enjoyed team-teaching Bethel’s
Senior Integration Seminar (first taught with Steve) with Jim Smith, who has
enriched the conversations in that course with his wide-ranging interests
from church history to baseball history to pastoral leadership. I would also
thank all the students who were a part of integrative courses I have taught;
they have contributed profoundly to my growth as an integrator.
I want to express my particular thanks to Ken Reynhout for giving
feedback on ideas for and drafts of Chapter 2 (on the history of theology’s
interaction with psychology). His willingness to engage in long
conversations, his insights into interdisciplinarity, as well as his own work
on the dialogue between theology and science have been important for my
learning (and any shortcomings of that particular section remain my own).
Finally, I am grateful to my teaching assistant, Chao Ma, for his tireless and
cheerful work on this project, from providing valuable input to formatting
bibliographies.
Steve’s Acknowledgments
I benefitted in life-changing ways from working with Gary Collins and
Everett L. Worthington, Jr., two of the most important figures in shaping the
integration of psychology and theology. Their scholarship was deeply
impactful, but close exposure to their personal lives of integration was even
more helpful. Randy Sorenson was perhaps the most important influence for
me on the specific conceptual understanding of relational integration
advanced in this book, and I dedicated my lectureship on relational
integration at the 2017 Fuller Integration Symposium to Randy. I also owe a
great deal to some other key intellectual mentors in the integration of
psychology and theology who have been gracious and encouraging to me
personally—Alvin Dueck, Peter Hill, Eric Johnson, Micah McCreary, Ken
Pargament, Scott Richards, Mark McMinn, Charles Ridley, and Jack and
Judith Balswick.
My first substantive collaboration and exploration of relational
integration was with LeRon Shults. Our two books and other projects,
including team teaching and joint speaking opportunities, had a huge impact
on my understanding of real interdisciplinary engagement, both the joys
and the formative challenges. I am also grateful to my current theological
research collaborators at Boston University School of Theology (BUSTH)—
Claire Wolfteich, Hee An Choi, Shelly Rambo, and Wesley Wildman—who
each guide me into new vistas of integration. BUSTH Area colleagues Nancy
Ammerman, Chris Schlauch, Barbod Salimi, and Jonathan Calvillo
contribute fresh integrative questions and contours to my work. Dean Mary
Elizabeth Moore has also empowered my integrative thinking at BUSTH and
modeled her own interdisciplinary work and commitment.
Several other former Bethel colleagues continue to have a significant
impact on my understanding to integration. Peter Jankowski is one of the
most talented “relational integrators” I know and certainly one of the most
generative influences on my scholarship. I want to also thank Jason Li, Judy
Tiesel, Catherine Lally, Andy Johnson, Tina Watson Wiens, Ruben Rivera,
Becky Eller, Jane McCampbell, Bernard Walker, Judy Johnson, Ken
Reynhout, Andrea Hollingsworth, and Cher Moua for their integrative
influences and, more importantly, their support during my own periods of
dis-integration. They are joined by other key colleagues in the wider field of
integration who have influenced and motivated my work, including Brad
Strawn, Todd Hall, Liz Hall, Keith Edwards, Kaye Cook, Nathaniel Wade,
Julie Exline, Mike McCullough, Doug Hardy, Charlotte Witvliet, Nils
Friberg, Donnie Davis, Josh Hook, and Jennifer Ripley. Funding from the
John Templeton Foundation, the Lilly Endowment, and the Fetzer Institute
has supported many of these efforts mentioned above.
Jim Maddock and Noel Larson have been my most significant mentors in
the existential, systemic, and clinical dimensions of integration. Quite
simply, they transformed my approach to integration in clinical practice.
They also introduced me to a network of differentiation-based “integrative”
therapists, and I am particularly grateful to my long-time consultation group
colleagues—Sheryl Cohen, Michael Radkowsky, and Winifred Reilly—the
people who keep me clinically honest and model soulful therapeutic work.
My current clinical and training setting at the Danielsen Institute includes a
surplus of relationally integrative influences, but special thanks to our
management team of George Stavros, Miriam Bronstein, Lauren Kehoe,
David Rupert, and Michael Tschiderer. Much of my clinical integration work
also evolved during years at Arden Woods Psychological Services, where
Tom Hainlen and Carol Morgan carefully stewarded a clinical setting and
Friday Forum tradition where I could learn about practical dimensions of
relational integration.
Given the developmental orientation of this book, I want to also
acknowledge my undergraduate influences at Iowa State University of Norm
Scott, Doug Epperson, and Judith Bunyi, whose integrative generosity was
tremendously influential. I have also profited from so many hours of
dialogue with students and clients who have trusted me with their
integrative and dis-integrative questions and discoveries. All of the cases
described in this book are either constructed or masked composites with
identifying information altered. I also appreciate grant funding (#60622)
from the John Templeton foundation for humility research which has
contributed many ideas to this book.
Figures and Table
Figures
5.1 Hermeneutical Process Model
5.2 Relational Spaces in Integration
Table
2.1 Interdisciplinary Typologies
1
Introduction
There is something that feels very solid about them. They know who
they are and don’t need to brag or build themselves up in any way.
They are often very modest about what they do. You feel like you can
critique them if necessary. They are the kind of people who actually
open themselves up for evaluation. They ask for feedback in such a
way that it feels safe to give it. There is a sense of collaboration with
them. You sense that you’re in “this” (whatever it may be) together.
You’re on the same team. On the one hand they feel very open and
yet on the other, they feel somewhat immovable. Perhaps it’s the
sense of strength that comes from being firmly rooted in knowing
themselves that makes them feel strong enough to take feedback
from others. They feel strong. You get the sense that you can’t hurt
them or damage them, that you won’t intrude on them—or perhaps
that you will but you’re invited to intrude to some extent. You get the
sense of knowing them.
(pp. 543–544)
Sorenson (1996) does not use the term “relational integration,” but his work
has framed integration as deeply personal and relational and in ways that fit
the above description from the student:
Steve
Jeannine
I (Jeannine) understand my own journey toward relational integration as
woven together with and emerging from my gender coupled with my
ecclesial location in conservative evangelical circles. I have early memories
marked by traces of my calling and gifting for an eventual career in biblical
studies, including a love of Bible study and a sense of Christian vocation in
the few areas of service available to women in my tradition (these were
missionary, Sunday School teacher, or choir director). Yet much of God’s
calling was muted by these restrictive options. So given my musical interest,
I headed to college to study music therapy, with its focus on social service
fulfilling some measure of ministry calling. Music therapy was and is a
highly integrated degree program, so I took a good number of courses across
a spectrum of biology, psychology, and sociology, in addition to music,
before moving into music therapy courses that worked to bridge these
disciplines. I appreciated this integrative impulse and thrived in the
academic environment.
My college years were also a time of developing ministry and leadership
gifts in a para-church college ministry, coupled with theological crisis
around the question of ministry as a woman. After college, I went on staff
with InterVarsity Christian Fellowship, and it was this experience of
ministry that led me to seminary. Since I had (like Steve) been warned about
taking religious studies courses at college, I lacked and now felt the need for
formal theological training. It was at seminary that my calling to academic
work and teaching became clear, through the mentorship of New Testament
professor Robert Stein. This brings me to reflect upon a theme of my own
movement toward vocation and integration—namely, that in my academic
journey virtually all of my professional mentors have been men. In seminary
and doctoral work, my advisors and closest mentors were men. Not until my
PhD work did I encounter a female mentor. Given this reality (and while I
am thankful for these male mentors), I had significant integrative work to do
around gender, vocation, and identity. A consistent and pressing question
during these years of study was, What does a female biblical scholar look
like?
This question slowly morphed into the question of How will I look as a
biblical scholar? I suspect that one reason I have been so drawn to
integration and to what I have come to understand as relational integration
is my ever-present awareness that my gender (especially in my ecclesial
location) has complicated any “traditional” or prescribed career path. For
example, beginning a PhD program with two preschoolers in tow pressed
me to new levels of integrative reflection. This social location also drew me
toward questions of hermeneutics, which itself involves an exploration of
interpretative locations.
My first teaching post was at Bethel Seminary, where I continue to teach
today. I arrived on the faculty during the tenure of Provost Leland Eliason,
whose vision for the seminary focused on integration of three “centers” of
learning: Bible, theology, history; personal and spiritual formation; and
transformational leadership. Given my earlier experiences with integration, I
was drawn to this model of theological education and the work of
interdisciplinary integration and conversation that were being promoted
among our faculty to foster it. The relational development that occurred
around and in these conversations became influential for my ongoing
integrative pursuits. One particular emerging motif suggested a fruitful
direction for integrative conversation: colleagues offering from their areas of
expertise provided opportunities for others to hear resonance in their own
fields. This inverted a paradigm that I had previously intuited about
interdisciplinary collaboration—that of an individual scholar attempting to
draw on insights from a second discipline for their work in their primary
discipline.
A key movement in my development toward integration was the
opportunity and choice to team-teach with colleagues across disciplines.
Teaching a class on “Gospels and Formation” with Carla Dahl (social
scientist) was stimulating and often surprising; it also seemed to promote a
deeper kind of learning for students than single-discipline courses usually
did. Another significant outcome was a co-writing project, Becoming Whole
and Holy: An Integrative Conversation about Christian Formation (Brown,
Dahl, & Corbin-Reuschling, 2011)—patterned as a reflective conversation
among a social scientist, a biblical scholar, and an ethicist.
More recently, with the introduction of a capstone integrative course into
our seminary curriculum, I have had the opportunity to co-teach regularly
and focus attention on interdisciplinary methodologies, providing
opportunities to hone my hermeneutical thinking around interdisciplinarity.
The chance to consistently teach with colleagues from other disciplines, such
as psychology, systematic theology, and church history, has sharpened my
understanding of integration and the kinds of conversations that are
helpfully illuminated by it. Even more, these in-class conversations have
been places of risk and reward, as the framework for conversation is
sketched ahead of time but the direction and details freely conform to the
conversation as it happens. This kind of unanticipated, and sometimes
anxiety-producing, conversation comes with integrative teaching, and it has
fostered various relational capacities for integration like humility, a non-
anxious presence, clarity of thinking, and curiosity (Sandage & Brown,
2015).
Note
1 Green (2003) speaks of the “erroneous assumption that science and religion have lives
separate from one another” (p. 184).
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THE EAVESDROPPERS
It was a clear, warm night, but with no moon. From the Casino the
lights shone out over the dark water, illuminating here and seeming
to deepen the already dark shadows there.
A flight of steps ran down to the dock from the dance pavilion, but,
instead of taking this natural way, Kennedy plunged into the deeper
shadow of a path that wound around the slight bluff and came out on
the beach level, below the dock. From the path we could still hear
the sounds of gaiety in the Casino.
We were about to emerge on the beach, not far from the spiling
on which the dock platform rested, when I felt Kennedy’s hand on my
elbow. I drew back into the hidden pathway with him and looked in
the direction he indicated.
There, in a little summer-house above us, at the shore end of the
dock, I could just distinguish the figures of two women, sitting in the
shadow and looking out intently over the strip of beach and the
waves of the rising tide that were lapping up on it. It was apparent
that they were waiting for some one.
I turned and strained my eyes to catch a glimpse down the beach,
but in the blackness could make out nothing. A look of inquiry toward
Kennedy elicited nothing but a further caution to be silent. Apparently
he was determined to play the eavesdropper on the two above us.
They had been talking in a low tone when we approached and we
must have missed the first remark. The answer was clear enough,
however.
“I tell you, Winifred, I saw them together,” we heard one voice in
the summer-house say.
Instantly I recognized it as that of Irene Maddox. It needed no
clairvoyancy to tell precisely of whom she was talking. I wondered
whether she was trying to vent her grudge against Paquita at the
expense of Shelby and Winifred. At least I could fancy how Shelby
would bless his sister-in-law as a trouble-maker, if he knew.
“I can’t believe that you are right,” returned the other voice, and it
was plainly that of Winifred.
There was a quiver of emotion in it, as though Winifred were
striving hard to convince herself that something she had heard was
not true.
“I can’t help it,” replied Mrs. Maddox. “That is what I used to think
—once—that it couldn’t be so. But you do not know that woman—
nor men, either.”
She made the last remark with unconcealed bitterness. I could not
help feeling sorry for her in the misfortune in which her own life with
Maddox had ended. Yet it did not seem right that she should poison
all romance. Still, I reflected, what, after all, did I really know, and
why should I rise to the defense of Shelby? Better, far, that Winifred
should learn now than to learn when it was too late.
“I have been watching her,” pursued Irene. “I found that I could
not trust any man where that woman was concerned. I wish I had
never trusted any.”
“I cannot believe that Shelby would deliberately deceive me,”
persisted Winifred.
Irene Maddox laughed, hollowly. “Yet you know what we
discovered this afternoon,” she pressed. “Why, I cannot even be sure
that that detective, Kennedy, may not be working against me. And as
for that lawyer of my husband’s, Hastings, I don’t know whether I
detest him more than I fear him. Let me warn you to be careful of
him, too. Remember, I have been observing for a long time. I don’t
trust him, or any other lawyer. You never can tell how far they may
be concerned in anything.”
There was a peculiar piquancy to the innuendo. Evidently Irene
Maddox suspected Hastings of much. And again I was forced to ask
myself, what did I really so far know?
I fancied I could detect that the poor woman had reached a point
where she was suspicious of everybody and everything, not an
unnatural situation, I knew, with a woman in her marital predicament.
“What has Mr. Hastings done?” inquired Winifred.
“Done?” repeated Mrs. Maddox. “What has he left undone? Why,
he shielded Marshall in everything, whenever I mentioned to him this
Paquita woman—said it was not his business what his client’s
private life was unless he was directed to interest himself in it by his
client himself. He was merely an attorney, retained for certain
specific purposes. Beyond that he was supposed to know nothing.
Oh, my dear, you have much to learn about the wonderful
freemasonry that exists among men in matters such as this.”
I caught Kennedy’s quizzical smile. We were having a most telling
example of freemasonry among women, into which Irene was
initiating a neophyte. I felt sure that Winifred would be much happier
if she had been left alone, and events might have a chance to
explain themselves without being misinterpreted—a situation from
which most of the troubles both in fact and in fiction arise. In her
watching of her errant husband, Irene had expected every one
immediately to fall in line and aid her—forgetting the very human
failing that most people possess of objecting to play the rôle of
informer.
“What fools men are!” soliloquized Irene Maddox a moment later,
as though coming to the point of her previous random remarks. “Just
take that little dancer. What do they see in her? Not brains, surely.
As for me, I don’t think she has even beauty. And yet, look at them!
She has only to appear up there in the Casino at this very moment to
be the most popular person on the floor, while other girls go begging
for partners.”
I could feel Winifred bridling at the challenge in the remark. She
had tasted popularity herself. Was she to admit defeat at the hands
of the little adventuress? Criticize as one might, there was still a
fascination about the mystery of Paquita.
One could feel the coolness that had suddenly risen in the
summer-house—as if a mist from the water had thrown it about. Nor
did the implication of the silence escape Irene Maddox.
“You will pardon me, my dear,” she said, rising. “I know how
thankless such a job is. Perhaps I had better not be seen with you.
Yes, I am sure of it. I think I had better return to the hotel.”
For a moment Winifred hesitated, as if in doubt whether to go,
too, or to stay.
Finally it seemed as if she decided to stay. I do not know which
course would have been better for Winifred—to accompany the elder
woman and imbibe more of the enforced cynicism, or to remain,
brooding over the suspicions which had been injected into her mind.
At any rate, Winifred decided to stay, and made no move either to
detain or accompany the other.
Irene Maddox arose and left Winifred alone. If she had been
watching Paquita there was no further need. Winifred would watch
now quite as closely.
As her footsteps died away, instead of remaining near the dock
Kennedy turned and, keeping back in the shadows where we could
not be seen by the silent watcher in the summer-house, we went
down along the shore.
In the shelter of a long line of bath-houses that belonged to the
hotel we paused. There was no one in bathing at this hour, and we
sat down and waited.
“What did you make of that conversation?” I whispered,
cautiously, lowering my voice so that we might not be eavesdropped
upon in turn.
“Not strange that Mrs. Maddox hates the little dancer,” replied
Craig, sententiously. “It’s quite evident Riley was right and that
Shelby must be with her. I wonder whether they will return this way
or on the land? It’s worth taking a chance. Let’s stay awhile,
anyway.”
He lapsed into silence, as though trying to motivate the actors in
the little drama which was unfolding.
It was not long before, down the beach, we saw a man and a
woman coming toward us rapidly. Kennedy and I drew back farther,
and as we did so I saw that the figure above us in the summer-house
had moved away from the edge so as to be less conspicuous.
The crackle of some dry sea-grass back of the bath-house
startled us, but we did not move. It was one of the Secret Service
men. There was no reason why we should conceal from him that we
were on a similar quest. Yet Kennedy evidently considered it better
that nothing should happen to put any one on guard. We scarcely
breathed. He passed, however, without seeing us, and we flattered
ourselves that we were well hidden.
A few minutes later the couple approached. It was unmistakably
Shelby Maddox and Paquita.
“It’s no use,” we heard Shelby say, as they passed directly beside
the bath-houses. “Even down here on the beach they are watching.
Still, I have had a chance to say some of the things I wanted to say.
From now on—we are strangers—you understand?”
It was not said as brutally as it sounds on paper. Rather it gave
the impression, from Shelby’s tone, that they had never been much
more.
For a moment Paquita said nothing. Then suddenly she burst
forth with a little bitter laugh.
“It takes two to be strangers. We shall see!”
Without another word she turned, as though in a fit of pique and
anger, and ran up the flight of steps from the bath-houses to the
Casino, passing within five feet of us, without seeing us.
“We shall see,” she muttered under her breath; “we shall see!”
In surprise Shelby took a step or two after her, then paused.
“The deuce take her,” he swore under his breath, then strode on
in the direction of the steps to the dock and the summer-house.
He had scarcely gained the level when the figure in the summer-
house emerged from the gloom.
“Well, Shelby—a tryst with the other charmer, was it?”
“Winifred!”
Miss Walcott laughed sarcastically. “Is that all that your fine
speeches mean, Shelby?” she said, reproachfully. “At the Lodge you
scarcely bow to her; then you meet her secretly on the beach.”
“Winifred—let me explain,” he hastened. “You do not understand.
She is nothing to me—never has been. I am not like Marshall was.
When she came down here the other night she may have thought
she could play with me as she had with him. I met her—as I have
scores of others. They have always been all the same to me—until
that night when I met you. Since then—have I even looked at her—at
any one else?”
“Another pretty speech,” cut in Winifred, icily. “But would you have
met her now, if you had known that you would be watched?”
“I should have met her in the lobby of the hotel, if that had been
the only way,” he returned, boldly. “But it was not. I do not
understand the woman. Sometimes I fear that she has fallen in love
with me—as much as her kind can fall in love. I sent for her, yes,
myself. I wanted to tell her bluntly that there could never be anything
between us, that we could not—now—continue even the
acquaintance.”
“But you knew her before—in the city, Shelby,” persisted Winifred.
“Besides, was it necessary to take her arm, to talk so earnestly with
her? I saw you when you started.”
“I had to be courteous to her,” defended Shelby, then stopped, as
though realizing too late that it was not defense he should attempt,
but rather confession of something that did not exist and a prayer of
forgiveness for nothing.
“I did not believe what I heard,” said Winifred, coldly. “I was foolish
enough to listen to you, not to others. It is what I see.”
“To others?” he asked, quickly. “Who—what have they told you
about me? Tell me.”
“No—it was in confidence. I cannot tell you who or what. No, not
another word of that. You have opened my eyes yourself. You have
only yourself to thank. Take your little Mexican dancer—let us see
what she does to you!”
Winifred Walcott had moved away toward the steps up to the
Casino.
“Please!” implored Shelby. “Why, I sent for her only to tell her that
she must keep away. Winifred!”
Winifred had turned and was running up the steps. Instead of
waiting, as he had done with Paquita, Shelby took the steps two at a
time. A moment later he was by her side.
We could not hear what he said as he reached her, but she took
no pains to modulate her own voice.
“No—no!” she exclaimed, angrily, choking back a sob. “No—leave
me. Don’t speak to me. Take your little dancer, I say!”
A moment later she had come into the circle of light from the
Casino. Pursuit meant only a scene.
At the float at the other end of the pier bobbed one of the tenders
of the Sybarite. Shelby turned deliberately and called, and a moment
later his man ran up the dock.
“I’m not going to go out to the yacht to-night,” he ordered. “I shall
sleep at the Lodge. Tell Mito, and come ashore with my things.”
Then he turned, avoiding the Casino, and walked slowly up to the
Harbor House, as we followed at a distance.
I wondered if he might be planning something.
XIII