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Participating in ecumenical dialogue is often similar to learning a new language. Sometimes ecumenical conversation goes smoothly, just as the process of learning grammar and acquiring vocabulary can be an enjoyable activity: learning a new language can be as entertaining as learning a new game.
At other times, however, language learning is tedious; for example, we can become discouraged by the drudgery of learning vocabulary, just as we can be clumsy in trying to learn a new sport. Similarly, ecumenical conversations are sometimes frustrated by awkward misunderstandings. At still other times, language learning can be quite puzzling, especially, when we sense that a word is being used in a way that we don't quite understand; it’s like playing a game whose rules are unfamiliar. Similarly, some ecumenical conversations get stalled when one group of participants is using terms that their counterparts do not really understand. When learning a foreign language, most people anticipate or at least adjust to such difficulties. However, when an ecumenical conversation is in our own language, we often fail to notice that similar language dynamics can be operative—until at some point, the dialogue comes to a standstill. Then we are puzzled why a conversation that previously was going well has suddenly and unexpectedly become problematic. However, there are three dynamics of language learning that are often operative—and occasionally obstructive—in ecumenical dialogue: (1) resonance; (2) dissonance; (3) nonsonance, nonsense.
Perhaps the most obvious challenge in learning another language is the acquisition of vocabulary. However, much vocabulary learning seems mainly a matter of diligence, if the vocabulary refers to concrete realities. For example, with minimal effort, a student can learn the word for "father" in German (Vater), French (père), or Spanish (padre); the words are different, but the reality designated by the words is the same.
One can have similar experiences in ecumenical conversations. For example, during the "get acquainted reception" at the very first ecumenical dialogue that I ever attended, a Lutheran professor of New Testament and I, a historical systematic theologian, began to talk about "Justification"—in retrospect, such a topic seems almost predestined as a conversation piece for Lutherans and Roman Catholics. In any case, what surprised me—and encouraged future ecumenical conversations—was our mutual discovery that behind his description of justification based on the New Testament and my understanding of justification grounded in the Council of Trent was a great deal of commonality.
Like the beginning language student who learns the word for "father" in another language, we had discovered that while our words were different, the reality behind the words was much the same. In spite of the differences in vocabulary, we were able to detect an echoing or resonance in regard to the reality.
However, a word of caution is necessary here: experiences are never completely identical. There are always nuances—sometimes historical, sometimes cultural, sometimes personal—that can catch us off guard. For example, while I can learn the word for "father" in another language, I still tend to base my understanding of "father" on my personal relationship with my own father. Thus, I tend to speak of my father in another language in the same way that I speak of him in English. However, in some other cultures this may not be appropriate; for example, in some cultures, one is expected to address one's father in formal terms; in other languages, such formality would be considered inappropriate, since one should speak to one's father in the most familiar of terms. Such usage can be perplexing to English speakers, since the distinction between formal and familiar address has practically disappeared from English.[2]
A comparable difference in usage may perplex ecumenical conversations. For example, in speaking of "sacrament," those coming from Catholic traditions will usually mean "an outward sign of interior grace.” In contrast, some (but not all) Protestants find the term "sacrament" uncongenial, even unclear, and prefer to use a term like "ordinance" to describe Baptism as a rite in which a person publicly professes belief in the Trinity and is received into membership in the Church.
While such language usage is also current in Catholic tradi tions, it can become problematic when one begins to discuss the age for the reception of Baptism. For those with a sacramental understanding, Baptism not only marks the baptized's entry into the Church, but also is a conferral of interior grace, and thus should be, indeed must be, conferred on infants; not to baptize infants would be a type of ecclesial child neglect: depriving a child of Baptism is comparable to depriving a child of food.
In contrast, for those who emphasize the need for personal conversion and commitment as necessary predispositions, Baptism witnesses an individual's decision for Christ, and thus should be administered only to adults; to baptize infants would be a form of ecclesial child manipulation: Baptism should not be forced on anyone.
The anomaly in ecumenical discussions about Baptism is that dialogue is aided by the fact that Baptism is a concrete rite at the heart of the Church's life: although the ceremonies vary from one church to the next, Baptism is readily recognized, since it is generally administered with water and the invocation of the Trinity. Nonetheless, this very "concreteness" in the case of the age of Baptism presents an irresolvable dilemma: at what age should a person be baptized?[3] Thus, while the term "Baptism" is a common word in Christian vocabulary, the apparent resonance is deceptive, insofar as there is considerable difference among Christians in explaining its theological meaning.
Another frequent experience in learning a language is what a friend calls "fractured French"—for example, seeing the word "coin" in French and presuming that it refers to money, rather than "corner.” However much such words "look alike," they are basically different in meaning. There are multiple examples of such linguistic dissonance: it is tempting to equate "compromiso" in Spanish with "compromise" instead of its real meaning of "commitment"; this type of misunderstanding can become dangerous if, for example, one supposes that the German "Gift" means "present," when it actually means "poison."
Similar confusion can easily emerge in ecumenical conversation. On one occasion, a participant in a multilateral dialogue kept speaking of "Jesus as verily God.” At first, I presumed that this was his personal way of expressing the ancient Christological confession that Jesus Christ is "true God of true God.” Then another participant raised a question about the relationship of the humanity and divinity of Christ and it became apparent from the speaker's reply that he considered Jesus a human person who had an unusually insightful knowledge of God, in other words, Jesus was a person with extraordinary perceptions about the divine, but not personally divine. My initial presumption of agreement was shattered. From the similarity of words, I had assumed agreement when it did not actually exist.
This type of experience is frequently encountered in discussing "agreed statements.” On the one hand, the writers of such documents usually seek to draft statements to which all participants can subscribe. Thus, an agreed statement represents a convergence of various philosophical and theological viewpoints. In other words, an "agreed statement" is sort of a "condensation" or "reduction" of a variety of views, which in their fuller systematic development might well be incompatible.
Accordingly, "agreed statements" can usually be interpreted in a variety of ways. At their ecumenical best, such statements can resolve longstanding divisions. Yet such statements simultaneously have the potential of unraveling, if a reader attempts—as readers almost inevitably do—to analyze the statement from a specific theological perspective. Thus, for example, it is not surprising that the report of the World Council of Churches on Baptism, Eucharist and Ministry not only has received wide-ranging acceptance, but also has been critiqued from specifically different denominational viewpoints.[4]
This is not to say that such agreed statements should not be drafted. Much less is it to accuse such statements of dishonesty. However, it is necessary to recognize that words that are used in ecumenical documents often have "cognates" in denominational traditions, where the meanings are not necessarily the same, indeed where they are sometimes decidedly different. Apparent ecumenical convergence can conceal theological dissonance.
Even after a person has mastered the basics of another language, it is not uncommon to come across words that are not easily translated into English; one needs more than the standard dictionary in order to understand them. For example, it is hard to find good translations for raison d'être (literally, "reason of being"), or das Gegenüber (literally "the over-againstness"), or mestizaje (literally, "mixture"). As an illustration of the last example, Virgil Elizondo has entitled his autobiographical reflections on crossing cultural and theological frontiers, The Future is Mestizo —an enigmatic title that arouses a reader's curiosity, which would not quite be the case were the title "The Future is Mixed."[5]
Such terms have a certain nonsonance, non sense —it is comparatively easy to learn the word, but more difficult to identify the concept or reality behind the name: such words lack resonance with my personal experience. Thus, such terms are usually not simply idiomatic ways of speaking, they are embedded in the culture of a people. For example, while a student in Europe, I looked forward to the weekly edition of a French newspaper that featured a "British Joke of the Week" —first of all, the British sense of humor was sometimes perplexing, but it was even more humorous to read several lengthy columns in French explaining why the joke was funny. In short, to appreciate the humor of other languages, one must try to understand the culture in which they are used.
The same may be said for ecumenical dialogue, where the words of one's ecumenical partners must be understood from their theological perspective. For example, when Protestants speak of sola Scriptura, it is not always clear to a Roman Catholic whether they are advocating a fundamentally personal interpretation of Scripture given to each individual under the guidance of the Holy Spirit, or whether they are maintaining that any and every doctrine taught by the Church must have some type of warranty in Scripture, or some combination of these positions.
A similar difficulty arises when Roman Catholics speak of magisterium, which can refer to church teaching or to its level of authority connected with a particular teaching, or to church teachers or to their teaching function—in a variety of combinations depending on context.[6] Thus, it is hardly surprising that ecumenical conversations sometimes get entangled in lengthy, intricate, and usually frustrating discussion about the meaning of such expressions as sola Scriptura and magisterium— precisely because such terms are so deeply embedded in their respective theological traditions that their true meaning may not be immediately evident to an outsider.
As in the example of the British Jokes, it is often difficult for an outsider to understand, much less to appreciate, the meaning and the importance that such expressions have within another denominational tradition. Thus, ecumenical dialogue needs to follow the standard advice of language teachers: "when in doubt, ask a native speaker for clarification.” And even then, since languages operate differently, one may simply not understand the explanation: in ecumenical dialogue, it is not always possible to overcome nonsonance, non sense—cases where an idea is so embedded in a particular denominational tradition that outsiders do not find it easy to comprehend.
Most people learn to speak another language by "trial and error": What does this sentence really mean? Do I really understand what is being said? Or have I missed the main point? Admittedly, such a process exposes the novice linguist to a variety of potential embarrassments: Who hasn't managed to say the opposite of what one was trying to say? Who hasn't misunderstood what the other person was trying to say? Who hasn't been dumfounded about the meaning of a sentence? Yet under the guidance of a fluent teacher, and with at least a modicum of humility, the process is usually constructive, if not always congenial.
A similar process can be productive in ecumenical dialogue; for example, the ecclesiology working group of the Faith and Order Commission of the National Council of Churches has found it helpful to ask participants to raise three questions in their discussions: (1) resonance: where do we agree? (2) dissonance: where do we disagree? (3) nonsonance, non sense: where don't we understand each other?
Such simple questions have multiple benefits:
(1) the effort to identify areas of consensus sometimes uncovers previously unsuspected resonance behind quite different theological language; for example, Evangelicals and Catholics have discovered more commonalties than either would have suspected prior to engaging in dialogue.
(2) nonetheless, in searching for consensus, one occasionally finds unexpected disagreement; for example, although Orthodox and Catholic theologians find much in common about sacramental ministry, agreement about the papacy remains a difficult, even neuralgic topic.
(3) in ecumenical dialogue, as in other conversations, sometimes the participants use "words full of sound" but "signifying nothing" as far as their dialogue partners are concerned; for example, Roman Catholic discussions of complex theological topics like transubstantiation are sometimes soporific.
A major benefit from language study is that it requires students to re-examine the vocabulary and grammar of their own language. A similar benefit accrues in ecumenical dialogue, where the questions of one's dialogue partners often prompt a person to rethink personal philosophical presuppositions, to reconsider denominational terminology, and even to restructure an inherited but systematic theology.
Finally, the study of a foreign language provides an entree into a new and different world, a new Weltanschauung or theological worldview, but especially an encuentro between people of different cultures. Similarly in ecumenical conversation, one experiences a broadening of theological horizons, new ways of appreciating the Christian message, and most of all, friendship with other committed Christians.
The real joy in learning another language is that it opens a door to encountering people of another culture; in effect, language learning provides opportunities for personal enrichment unavailable in one's own language. Ecumenical dialogue promises a similar gift: to learn about the beliefs of fellow Christians —not merely through written texts, whose meaning may not always be clear —but through persons who live and witness the Christian tradition represented by those texts. After all, the real test of language proficiency is one's ability to converse with native speakers in their own language.
The real benefit of ecumenical dialogue is its "exchange of gifts"—through ecumenical dialogue, each participant is enriched by new insights into the Gospel, experiences new ways of living the Christian life, and becomes deeply committed to the ecumenical quest that "all may be one” (John 17:20-21).[7]
[1] An earlier version of this essay appeared as "Learning the Language of Ecumenism," Ecumenical Trends 26/9 (October, 1997): 139‑143.
[2] The contrast between formality and familiarity is readily available in German (Sie, du) French (vous, tu) and Spanish (Usted, tú), but has largely been lost in English with the virtual disappearance of "Thou."
[3] A useful work for comparing the teachings of different confessional traditions on Baptism —as well as many other doctrines —is Ted A. Campbell, Christian Confessions: A Historical Introduction (Louisville, Kentucky: Westminster John Knox Press, 1996).
[4] See Baptism, Eucharist & Ministry 1982‑1990: Report on the Process and Responses. Faith and Order Paper 149. (Geneva: World Council of Churches, 1990).
[5] Virgil Elizondo, The Future Is Mestizo: Life Where Cultures Meet (Bloomington, Indiana: Meyer‑Stone Books, 1988) uses mestizaje as a basic concept for constructing a cross-cultural theology.
[6] Helpful explanations of the complex meanings of magisterium are given in two works by Francis A. Sullivan, Magisterium: Teaching Authority in the Catholic Church (New York/Ramsey, New Jersey: Paulist Press, 1983) and Creative Fidelity: Weighing and Interpreting Documents of the Magisterium (New York/Mahwah, New Jersey: Paulist Press, 1996).
[7] See the thought-provoking description of Margaret O'Gara, The Ecumenical Gift Exchange (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1998) vii-xi.