Reviving Theology

Recovering the Lost Language of the Church

Not long ago, if you found yourself wandering near one of the UK’s cathedrals, you might have stumbled into an SPCK bookshop. They were havens for the theologically curious—quiet, musty spaces packed with volumes that had shaped generations of clergy and lay thinkers alike. I still remember visiting places like Lincoln, Lichfield, and Salisbury in the 1990s and discovering dusty treasures by the likes of Charles Gore, William Temple, Michael Ramsey, and C.B. Moss. The smell of those books lingers in my memory like incense—sweet and grounding.

Today, those bookshops are gone. Their closure marked more than the loss of affordable theology or quirky finds. They were symptoms of a broader cultural shift. They belonged to an age when theology mattered—when ordinary Christians pursued thoughtful engagement with doctrine, Scripture, church history, and the spiritual life. And they were signs that theological formation, once rooted in everyday ecclesial life, had a home. Now, it’s increasingly homeless.

Recent news confirms what many have feared: theology is in full retreat from the academy. Cardiff University recently announced the full closure of its Department of Religion and Theology—no restructuring, no streamlining, just an end. At Lampeter, theological study has effectively ceased after centuries of contribution. Even Bangor is undergoing sweeping cuts. In practical terms, theology has almost vanished from Welsh academia—and it’s not faring much better elsewhere in the UK.

As Professor D. Densil Morgan recently lamented, “It seems that there won’t be a single theological department in a university in Wales at all – it’s a tragedy. Where you had Cardiff, Lampeter and Bangor offering the whole range of theology, Biblical studies, doctrinal studies, Church history, philosophy of religion – the departments have effectively closed.”

This isn’t simply a Welsh problem. Across the country, particularly in post-1992 universities, theology and religious studies are being quietly dismantled. Where departments remain, they’re often diluted—absorbed into cultural studies or buried within broader humanities umbrellas. The reasons are familiar: political priorities, economic pressures, and institutional restructuring. But the effect is profound. Theology is being steadily exiled from the university.

And yet, the Church seems oddly quiet about the death of its own first language.

For centuries, universities and the Church shared a mutual vocation: clergy were trained in theology faculties, and theologians were often both scholars and priests. The relationship wasn’t always easy, but it could be tremendously fruitful. That era is now passing. And the Church is left with a pressing crisis: how to sustain and foster theology without the support of universities?

The Uncomfortable Silence

Rather than confronting this question directly, many in the Church have grown sceptical of theology altogether. It’s not uncommon to hear theology dismissed as “too academic,” detached from the gritty realities of ministry. “What use,” the critique goes, “is an understanding of the hypostatic union to ministering to a mother grieving her child’s overdose?”

It’s a false dichotomy, one that betrays a diminished vision of theology itself. Rather than being an ivory-tower exercise, good theology allows the the Church to speak truthfully about God by the light of Scripture, in conversation with tradition, and activated by reason. From the earliest days of the Church, it has also been pastoral, seeking to safeguard and articulate the redemption of all through the death and resurrection of Christ Jesus, truly God and truly man. And when theology is done well, it sustains and enlivens the life of the Church.

As the academy steps back, therefore, the Church must step forward—not to preserve some antiquated intellectual legacy, but to reimagine where theology lives, how it’s formed, and who it’s for.

A Legacy Worth Reclaiming

The idea of theology as primarily an academic subject is, in fact, a relatively recent phenomenon. For most of Christian history, theology wasn’t a specialised discipline but the lifeblood of the Church. It was preached in homilies, taught in catechism, wrestled with in monasteries, and lived out in daily discipleship. Think of Gregory of Nazianzus, Augustine, Anselm, Julian of Norwich—none were “academic theologians” in the modern sense. They were lovers of God who sought to help others to think, pray, and live faithfully. Some of the may have drawn on “academic” education, but each found their true formation within the prayerful community of the Church.

The medieval university itself was born from the Church’s desire to form faithful minds. Canon 11 of the Fourth Lateran Council in 1215 mandated that every cathedral appoint teachers to instruct the clergy and promote learning. Theology, the queen of the sciences, served the Church’s vocation to foster a “love of learning and the desire of God” (to steal Jean Leclercq’s title) elevating both hearts and minds to God. In this sense, the goal of theology was sanctification, aimed at helping believers to find unity with God.

Modern academic theology, for all its rigour, introduced a fracture. Universities brought critical tools, raised scholarly standards, and preserved invaluable texts. But they also often distanced theology from the Church, situating it in university departments and making its audience less the Body of Christ than other academics. Scholars wrote for each other. Ministers struggled to connect academic training with pastoral work. And over time, theological literacy among both clergy and laity began to erode.

At the same time, theological colleges, squeezed by expectations of rapid training, were pressured to offer less depth and more breadth. Meanwhile, in many congregations, catechesis withered and biblical literacy plummeted as weekly Sunday schools grew rarer. A generation or more of Christians have subsequently grown up unable to use even the basic lexicon of the Church: Scripture, basic doctrine, and the broad outline of the Christian tradition.

A Moment to Reclaim Theological Responsibility

The loss of theology in the university is undoubtedly a crisis. But it may prove to be providential if it forces the Church to reclaim and relearn its own primary language: theology.

What might it look like for theology to return to the Church as a renewed act of faithfulness?

First, it would mean reimagining where and how theology happens. We needn’t recreate the university system within the Church. Instead, we need something both older and newer: localised theological centres, rooted in worshipping communities. These might be housed in cathedrals, retreat centres, large parish churches, or religious communities. Some would train those preparing for ordained ministry. Others would open their doors to lay Christians seeking depth and clarity in their faith.

These centres would not merely disseminate information and skills training. They would be spaces of formation—places where theology is done in community, through prayer, study, conversation, and action. They would uphold intellectual rigour, drawing on the best of academic tools and methods, but always in service to the Church’s mission. These centres of theological formation would help theology again to become a discipline of love and truth, seeking understanding in the presence of God.

The Shape of Theological Formation

To build such a vision, we need new kinds of teachers. Not necessarily professors, but theologians in the classic sense: people formed in Scripture, grounded in the tradition, shaped by prayer, and skilled in helping others grow in wisdom. They may be clergy or lay, male or female, formally trained or spiritually seasoned. Their authority would come not just from credentials, but from their holiness of life.

We also need bishops and senior clergy to see themselves as stewards of theological formation. Not merely as administrators or managers, but as guardians of the Church’s intellectual and spiritual integrity.

Curriculum would need to shift. Rather than focusing on qualifications and assessments, these centres would prioritise conversation, reflection, and spiritual maturity. Some of the work could be online, but much of it should be embodied—rooted in local contexts, shaped by liturgical life, and oriented toward Christian living. In every case, growth in wisdom and understanding—of scripture, theology, spirituality—would be oriented towards the love of God, neighbour, and creation.

Theological formation could be layered: basic study for all believers, deeper programmes for those in ministry, and advanced seminars for those called to teach or lead. The key is coherence, not uniformity, a shared commitment to doing theology well, for the sake of the whole Church.

Theology for the Whole Church

This is the heart of the vision: theology must be returned to the people of God. Not dumbed down or diluted, but made accessible, meaningful, and vital. When done well, theology enables us make sense of suffering and joy, politics and prayer, life and death within the grand narrative of God’s redemption of the world. It equips us to live faithfully and bear witness to Christ in a complex world.

It also reunites theology with spirituality. For too long, the two have been divorced—one relegated to lecture halls, the other to churches. But in truth, they belong together. While theology without spirituality becomes dry abstraction, spirituality without theology risks becoming shallow or sentimental. We need both: rigorous thought and deep prayer, informed conviction and heartfelt devotion.

The Future Is Ours to Build

There is probably no going back anytime soon to the age of cathedral bookshops or bustling theology departments. The university is changing, and theology is no longer anywhere near its centre.

But the Church is still here. If theology is going not just to survive but thrive, then the Church will need to rise to the challenge of nurturing it anew. If we do, we may yet recover something more precious than institutional prestige: a Church formed by wisdom, sustained by truth, and alive to the mystery of God. That task belongs to us. And we must reclaim it soon before theology joins the ranks of the other dead languages of the world.