In this post I am interviewing Dr. Sarah Irving-Stonebraker. She is Associate Professor of History and Western Civilization at Australian Catholic University. Her PhD is from the University of Cambridge and she was subsequently a Junior Research Fellow at Wolfson College, Oxford University. Her most recent book is Priests of History: Stewarding the Past in an Ahistoric Age (Zondervan: 2024) which won The Gospel Coalition’s 2024 Book Award (Culture Category). She had an adult conversion to Christianity and is a member of an evangelical Anglican church in Sydney, Australia.
[TK] You explain that western culture is currently living through an “Ahistoric Age.” What does that mean, and what implications does it have for the church?
[SIS] What I mean by the “Ahistoric Age” is that contemporary westerners have almost completely lost the ability to engage meaningfully with the past. We live in a culture underpinned by the idea that life is at heart a matter of self-invention and fulfilment, so there is a sense that the past has little to teach us. History has become so politicized that it is often reduced to ideology; we struggle to engage in civil disagreement about history’s ethical complexities. People in the West also know less about history than they did in previous generations. Data sets reveal that younger generations have very poor historical knowledge, and there has been a significant decline in history enrollments at universities in the past decade.
This has significant implications for the church. First, there’s a deterioration of discipleship. When we view our history as irrelevant, we dispense with the way Christians have been discipled for centuries.
Second, ahistoricism makes it dangerously easy for church doctrine to drift away from orthodoxy. When history is viewed as irrelevant, we are far more likely to redefine historic orthodox doctrine, ignoring how centuries of theologians have interpreted essential issues like marriage, sin, and the Trinity.
Third, ahistoricism fosters a watering down of worship to make it more therapeutic and (supposedly) appealing to culture. For example, some churches today rarely celebrate the Lord’s Supper because they think it might make people feel uncomfortable.
Fourth, ahistoricism also provides fertile ground for the rise of the celebrity pastor who replaces the historic practice of pastoring the flock in person with corporate models imported from the secular business world.
You argue that all Christians, not just scholars, are called to be “priests of history.” What does it mean to be a priest of history as a Christian? Does this concept relate to the priesthood of all believers?
Yes indeed! Peter wrote to the church reminding us that all Christians are “a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for his own possession.” (1 Peter 2:9). This is why Luther referred to the “priesthood of all believers.” History – the passing down of stories and collective memories – is not merely an academic pursuit; it is something that all Christians are called to practice. We should approach history in terms of that priestly work of “tending and keeping”—watching over and cultivating—the past.
The priestly historical vocation involves, first, the conservative work of guarding, protecting, and passing down historical knowledge, practices, habits, and traditions. Second, it involves uncovering overlooked histories, bringing historical injustices to light, and recognizing the sins of the past, including our own. If we steward history like this, we can draw upon the historic practices of discipleship.
In Priests of History, I show how keeping the past can help us redeem our time, engage with sacredness and beauty, and enrich our intellectual and spiritual formation. If we steward history well, we can not only strengthen and revive our spiritual and intellectual formation, but we can equip ourselves to communicate the truth, goodness, and beauty of Jesus Christ to a rootless world.
What does a robust understanding of history have to do with the preservation of orthodox Christian belief and practice?
If we do not understand how the church has established doctrine and engaged in the various practices of worship, discipleship and life together over the centuries, then we run the risk of unthinkingly embracing secular culture and departing from orthodoxy, sometimes without even realising it. For example, when John Shelby Spong argued that Christians develop “a faith deeply connected to human experience instead of outdated dogma,” he used this to justify heresy. Namely, he dispensed with the doctrine of the Trinity and argued instead that Jesus was merely human but not God.
We ought to be suspicious of those who dismiss two millennia of theological teaching on doctrinal matters like Christ’s divinity. Historical grounding can provide a handbrake on rapid doctrinal changes that undermine orthodoxy.
When it comes to orthodox Christian practices, if we cease passing down the practices and habits of formation, we create an ahistorical vacuum that the idols of individualism and comfort are happy to fill. Western culture today is preoccupied with individual wellbeing. Ahistoricism in our practices turns following Jesus from a costly call into a self-help program designed to make us feel better. My former pastor used to say to his congregation “the church is a rescue boat, not a cruise ship!”
You especially emphasize the value of ‘overlooked stories’ in the Christian past. Why are those stories so valuable? Can you give us a favorite example?
One of my favorite overlooked stories is that Anne and Elizabeth Hart, who were born into a slaveholding free black family in late eighteenth-century Antigua. They were mixed-race descendants of English men and African women, designated “coloured” or “mulatto” in the terminology of that age. When a Methodist missionary visited the island when the girls were teenagers, Anne and Elizabeth both became Christians.
At that time, there were no schools in Antigua whatsoever; this was a period in which it was scandalous to educate slaves. But Anne and Elizabeth, firm in their faith, prayed that God would use them. They had very little in the way of material possessions but decided to set up the first school to educate enslaved and mixed-race children. There was serious opposition in parts of Antigua.
Despite the resistance, pupils started trickling in. But Anne and Elizabeth didn’t just give the children literacy and education, and they did not just invite them into their home – their school. They invited them into a story about God’s people. The story of these children’s lives was a story of enslavement, in the past, present, and likely in the future. There was little hope. But the story of God’s people offered these slaves- just like it had Anne and Elizabeth- a present and future hope.
Decades later, Elizabeth wrote that some of the children grew up and then became teachers at their school. Ann and Elizabeth also established the Female Refuge Society in 1816 to care for women fleeing sex slavery and prostitution. Theirs is a little-known story but such a wonderful illustration of the riches of Christian history.
Your book is not fundamentally about you becoming a Christian, but at the same time, your story of coming to faith is always in the background. How does your relatively dramatic conversion – after you had earned a doctorate and become a professor – shape your perspective on the value of history for the church?
I knew since I was nine years old that I wanted to be a professor of history, so I always had a strong conviction that history mattered, and that we cannot begin to understand our present world unless we understand how we got here. The interesting thing about all this, though, was that I never had a sufficient response to the question of why history mattered in any ultimate sense.
Is understanding ourselves as part of a historical story intrinsic to what it is to be human? Are we heading anywhere, and where have we come from? Isn’t it fascinating that God’s question to Hagar “Where have you come from and where are you going?” (Gen. 16:7) is the same question we find, centuries later, that Socrates asks to open Plato’s dialogue The Phaedrus? There are universal human longings here!
One of the most profound intellectual journeys I am on as a Christian is to wrestle with the fact that God gives time and history purpose. How does God show himself to His treasured people, Israel? He shows himself through his mighty historical acts. And then Jesus – God himself – enters history as a real human being – in a real time and place in first century Palestine, so He can dwell (tabernacle!) with his people. So time and history come to center on the historical events of Christ’s life, death, and resurrection.
This makes me acutely aware that history matters for all of us, and especially for Christians, because we are part of a covenant people whom God has redeemed in and through history. And we are still in this story, inviting others in, and awaiting its consummation. This is why history is a rich storehouse for us today—a “vast treasury,” to quote Isaac Watts—if we are wise enough to steward it well.
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