Why do some Christians treat theology as dry or irrelevant?
Question 0032
It is one of the great tragedies of the modern church that the study of God—which is what the word “theology” means—has become associated with dusty books, academic jargon, and irrelevant speculation. How did we get to the point where knowing God is considered boring? How did understanding the Creator of the universe become something Christians avoid rather than pursue?
There are several reasons for this, and understanding them can help us recover what has been lost.
The Separation of Head and Heart
Somewhere along the way, Western Christianity developed an unhealthy division between knowing and feeling, between the intellect and the affections. Theology got assigned to the head, while worship and devotion were assigned to the heart. The result was a bifurcated faith in which studying doctrine was seen as cold and academic, while genuine spirituality was associated with emotional experience.
But this division is entirely foreign to Scripture. When Moses commanded Israel to love the Lord, he specified “with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your might” (Deuteronomy 6:5). When Jesus was asked about the greatest commandment, He quoted this passage and added “with all your mind” (Matthew 22:37). Biblical love for God is comprehensive—it engages every faculty we possess.
The Apostle Paul demonstrates this integration throughout his letters. Romans is perhaps the most theologically dense book in the New Testament, yet it is punctuated with outbursts of worship. After eleven chapters of careful theological argumentation about election, justification, and the faithfulness of God, Paul exclaims: “Oh, the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are his judgments and how inscrutable his ways!” (Romans 11:33). For Paul, deep theology did not cool his affections; it inflamed them. The more he understood, the more he worshipped.
When we separate head from heart, we impoverish both. The mind without the heart becomes cold rationalism. The heart without the mind becomes empty emotionalism. Neither is biblical Christianity.
Poor Teaching Methods
Let us be honest—much of the blame lies with how theology has been taught. Too often, doctrine has been presented as a list of propositions to be memorised rather than truths to be lived. Too often, the emphasis has been on correct formulation rather than practical application. Too often, teachers have prioritised precision over passion.
I think of the professor who can parse Greek verbs in his sleep but has never shed a tear over the cross. I think of the Sunday School curriculum that teaches the five points of Calvinism but never explains why any of it matters for Monday morning. I think of the sermons stuffed with quotations from dead theologians but empty of genuine encounter with the living God.
None of this is inherent to theology itself. It is a failure of those who teach it. When doctrine is taught well—when it is connected to life, when its practical implications are drawn out, when the teacher’s own heart is engaged—it is anything but dry. It is living water to thirsty souls.
Jonathan Edwards was perhaps the greatest theologian America ever produced, yet his preaching was so powerful that people clung to pillars during his sermons, fearing they would slide into hell. Charles Spurgeon was thoroughly Reformed in his doctrine, yet he was called the “Prince of Preachers” because of the warmth and passion of his ministry. Sound doctrine and powerful preaching are not opposites. They belong together.
Cultural Hostility to Doctrine
We live in a culture that values experience over truth, feeling over fact, authenticity over authority. “What works for you” has replaced “what is true.” Personal preference has become the measure of all things.
This cultural atmosphere has seeped into the church. When someone says, “I’m spiritual but not religious,” they are expressing a preference for experience over doctrine. When Christians say, “I just want Jesus, not theology,” they do not realise that their very statement about Jesus is a theological claim. You cannot have Jesus without theology. The question is whether your theology is true or false, biblical or unbiblical.
The Emergent Church movement of the early 2000s made this suspicion of doctrine a central feature of its identity. Brian McLaren spoke of holding doctrines “lightly” and embracing “generous orthodoxy.” The implication was that strong doctrinal convictions were somehow unloving, that certainty was arrogance. But this is precisely backwards. If doctrine describes reality—if it tells us who God is and what He has done—then getting it wrong has consequences. Holding poison “lightly” does not make it less deadly.
Paul did not share this modern squeamishness about doctrine. He told Timothy to “keep a close watch on yourself and on the teaching. Persist in this, for by so doing you will save both yourself and your hearers” (1 Timothy 4:16). Notice the connection—right teaching leads to salvation. Doctrine is not a luxury. It is a lifeline.
Reaction Against Dead Orthodoxy
Some Christians have had genuinely negative experiences with doctrinal Christianity. They grew up in churches where the creeds were recited but love was absent. They sat under preachers who could defend the Trinity but could not show compassion to the hurting. They were taught what to believe but never why it mattered.
This kind of dead orthodoxy is real, and it is a terrible distortion of genuine Christianity. Jesus Himself confronted it in the Pharisees, who were meticulously correct in their theology but utterly wrong in their hearts. They tithed their spices while neglecting justice, mercy, and faithfulness (Matthew 23:23).
But the solution to dead orthodoxy is not to abandon orthodoxy. It is to make it live. The problem with the Pharisees was not that they knew too much. It was that they knew too little. They knew the letter of the law but missed its spirit. They had doctrine in their heads but not in their hearts.
The answer is not less theology but better theology. Not less knowledge but knowledge that transforms. As Paul prayed for the Philippians: “that your love may abound more and more, with knowledge and all discernment” (Philippians 1:9). Love is to increase—but not at the expense of knowledge. Love grows through knowledge and discernment, not apart from them.
The Complexity of Theological Language
Theology has developed a specialised vocabulary over two millennia. Words like “propitiation,” “justification,” “sanctification,” “eschatology,” and “pneumatology” are not part of everyday speech. For the uninitiated, reading theology can feel like learning a foreign language.
This is a genuine barrier, and teachers must work to overcome it. But we should also recognise that every field has its technical vocabulary. Doctors speak of “myocardial infarctions” rather than “heart attacks” because precision matters when dealing with matters of life and death. Lawyers have their own language. Scientists have theirs. Is it surprising that the study of God—the most important subject of all—should also have developed precise terminology?
The answer is not to avoid the technical terms but to explain them. Once a person understands what “justification” means—that it is God’s declaration that the guilty sinner is righteous in His sight because of Jesus—the term becomes precious, not burdensome. Once someone grasps “propitiation”—that Jesus has turned away God’s wrath by offering Himself as a sacrifice—they will never find the word dry again.
The Loss of Wonder
Perhaps the deepest reason theology seems dry to some is that they have lost the capacity for wonder. When you truly grasp what doctrine is describing—the infinite God who created the universe, the eternal Son who took on flesh, the Spirit who dwells within believers, the cosmic plan of redemption unfolding through history—how could it possibly be boring?
A. W. Tozer wrote: “What comes into our minds when we think about God is the most important thing about us.” If our thoughts about God are small, our lives will be small. If our theology is shallow, our worship will be shallow. But if we truly see God as He has revealed Himself in Scripture—majestic, holy, loving, just, wise, sovereign, faithful—we will never find the study of Him tedious.
The problem is not that theology is dry. The problem is that our hearts are often cold. We need to pray as the Psalmist did: “Open my eyes, that I may behold wondrous things out of your law” (Psalm 119:18). The wonders are there in Scripture. We need eyes to see them.
Conclusion
Recovering a love for theology requires several things. We must model it ourselves—people will not believe doctrine is life-giving if those who teach it seem lifeless. We must connect doctrine to life—every truth about God has implications for how we live. We must recover the biblical language of taste and delight—the Psalmist did not merely learn the word of God; he delighted in it: “How sweet are your words to my taste, sweeter than honey to my mouth!” (Psalm 119:103).
The great theologian B. B. Warfield once wrote: “A dog is not trained to follow its master by having pleasant feelings about him; it is trained to follow by following.” Similarly, Christians will not develop a love for doctrine merely by being told it is valuable. They must engage with it. They must taste and see. And when they do, they will discover what countless believers through the ages have found—that knowing God is not a burden to be endured but a treasure to be enjoyed, not dry information but living water, not irrelevant speculation but the very stuff of eternal life.
“And this is eternal life, that they know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom you have sent.” John 17:3