Christianity Today August 24, 2026 7 min signal 2026-08-24

You Don’t Have to Be an Intellectual to Be a Theologian

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Christianity Today

August 24, 2026

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“I’m not an intellectual—theology isn’t for me,” replied my friend from church when I invited her to join a theology reading group.

I get why she turned me down. Our church community has plenty of theology “professionals,” folks with advanced degrees who work in the academy or serve in ministry. It’s easy to assume that only those sorts of people would give significant time to studying theology.

But I told my friend she was wrong to count herself out. Theology isn’t just for professionals—it’s for everyone.

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Theology can sound intimidating to some, but at its core, theology is just words about who God is and what God has done. And think about how God made us: Out of all his creatures, God delighted to give us minds that can know him and voices that can speak of him. He gave us the gift of language that we might “speak good of his Name” (Psalm 100:4, Coverdale Psalter). We were made to be theologians.

What’s more, theological study isn’t primarily a means to some other end but an intrinsic good. This is why Paul Griffiths says that every theologian should be first and foremost an amateur—a lover—rather than a professional. When we love someone, we closely attend to them. We want to know more about the one we love. In this way, theology is a key way we fulfill part of Jesus’ greatest commandment: “Love the Lord your God with … all your mind” (Matt. 22:37, emphasis added).

Over the past decade, I’ve had the privilege of studying theology with many amateurs. And I’ve become convinced that deep theological thinking can be part of normative Christian life.

Anyone who so desires can become an amateur theologian. I’ve seen this happen primarily through spiritual disciplines that cultivate studiousness and form us into people who love the Lord with our minds. Four practices in particular help make an amateur theologian:

The first practice is saying no to distraction. Theology is done for love, and love means giving our attention. But sustaining attention is a heroic feat in today’s world. Overpacked schedules, endless background noise, and various technological devices keep us constantly distracted. (Case in point: As I typed that sentence, my buzzing phone pulled me away!)

If we want to think deeply about the things of God, we need to make time that is free from these external distractions. It starts with being honest: It’s not possible to multitask and be studious. It’s not possible to consistently resist the siren song of our screens.

Let’s get practical. You need to find an hour in your week away from your television, computer, and phone. Maybe at first that will look like 20 minutes three times a week. What’s most important is that the time set aside for study is screen-free. You’ll only be able to say yes to the difficult work of paying attention after saying no to the technologies designed to distract you.

The second practice is learning to listen. We know and speak of God because he already knows and has spoken to us. We didn’t start this conversation. Thus, our work as amateur theologians starts with hearing what God has already said. Amateur theology begins with listening.

For much of church history, Christians encountered Holy Scripture by listening. One of the primary ways believers studied the Bible was lectio divina, or sacred reading: a slow, repeated, and prayerful meditation on a biblical text.

If you want to try lectio, select a psalm and read it aloud, slowly, three times. In the first reading, ask: What word or phrase stands out? During the second, ask: Where is Christ in this psalm? In the third: How is the Lord inviting me to respond? Don’t rush. Sit in stillness and silence between readings. The goal is not to master but rather to be transformed by the text—to encounter what lies in and behind and underneath the words: the reality of God’s love. Lectio trains your ear, and your heart, to hear what the prophet Elijah heard: the “gentle whisper” of God (1 Kings 19:12).

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The third practice is thinking with the church. I used to think that reading old theology wasn’t for most—and then I encountered C. S. Lewis’s preface to Athanasius’ On the Incarnation. It’s rightfully famous for Lewis’s argument for the merits of reading old books. But his main point is often missed: Classic works of theology should be read not only by academics but by every Christian who wants to better understand the gospel.

I think most ordinary churchgoers wouldn’t agree. Most think that reading a fourth-century bishop would be a waste of time, because they won’t “get it right.” But what if the point isn’t mastering the text? What if it’s beneficial to wrestle with what you don’t fully understand? I’m convinced that “getting it” is the wrong goal. You don’t have to perfectly comprehend a text for reading to be fruitful.

If you want to try thinking with the church, take Lewis’s suggestion and pick up a copy of On the Incarnation. It’s an astonishing account of God taking on our human nature that reads like a sermon. If you’re like me, there’s plenty you won’t get on your first read—but that’s okay, especially if you observe this last practice.

This fourth practice is studying with a community. Don’t do it alone. I’m happy to report that my “not an intellectual” church friend reluctantly joined our theology reading group. What she found was that sitting around a table and discussing old theologians—Athanasius, Augustine, Julian of Norwich, Teresa of Avila—was deeply worthwhile. She found herself capable of fruitful study, and she found this because she studied with others.

In his excellent book How to Think, Alan Jacobs dispels the myth that good thinking happens when you “think for yourself.” Instead, thinking is wonderfully and inescapably social. When we read and discuss and think with others, we see more than any of us could see on our own. Together, we wonder aloud, we voice our questions, and we are honest about what we don’t yet understand. And when we come together, Christ, the goal of our study, promises to show up: “Where two or three gather in my name, there am I with them” (Matt. 18:20).

Aspiring amateur theologians shouldn’t go it alone. Pick people who are trustworthy to think with—people who care more about the truth than about appearing smart. Set a duration of time, perhaps a semester, and meet every week or two. Pray lectio together, read a book of the Bible alongside old commentaries, or discuss Athanasius. Light a candle to frame your time together as prayer, offering up your study as loving attention to the God who made you to know him.

Most of us won’t earn advanced degrees in theology. And that’s okay—theology isn’t just for the professionals. As much as we’re able to read, think, and speak, we’re capable of being amateur theologians. As we learn to attend, to listen to God, and to seek truth alongside each other, we may become who we were made to be: a people who know God and “speak good of his Name.”

Paul Gutacker serves as the executive director of Brazos Fellows. He is the author of Practicing Life Together: A Common Rule for Christian Growth.

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