I Can Still Be A Christian: From Deconstruction to Rediscovery

I Can Still Be A Christian: From Deconstruction to Rediscovery

https://calebposton.com/i-can-still-be-a-christian-from-deconstruction-to-rediscovery-caf4c352d3a3

by Caleb Poston

April 8, 2022

If you’ve kept up with trends in Christianity for the past few years, you’ve seen one word pop up pretty often: deconstruction. Both the religious-political fallout of the Trump presidency and the Covid-19 pandemic led many evangelicals to re-evaluate their faith — for better or for worse. What it means: The tenets of the Christian faith you grew up believing are being challenged, either by science, philosophy, politics, or other external realities, and you are in the process of examining those tenets to see how they hold up to the evidence. Many of them fall apart — hence the “deconstruction” of your faith.

For many, this boils down to a simple change of opinion on a few topics, primarily political or social — rarely biblical in nature — and the central tenets of historic Christianity are left intact. That’s not deconstruction to me; it’s simply changing your mind.

For some, deconstruction is more of a transition of beliefs, either doctrinal or practical — think, a Baptist becomes an Anglican, a Catholic goes non-denominational, or any other scenario. It has changed, sometimes pretty significantly, but orthodoxy is untouched.

Still, for others, the comfort of orthodox Christianity is abandoned in favor of beliefs that many would regard as heretical — though the “h-word” is more often than not thrown around too liberally and usually baselessly.

After going through deconstruction, some formerly devout Christians even opt for various forms of atheism and agnosticism; some have even adopted beliefs that are more in line with Buddhism or other eastern religions.

Regardless, it’s rare that a Christian goes through deconstruction and ends up back at the starting point.

My Deconstruction: The First Stone

I didn’t know it until I heard the term a couple of years ago, but I’ve been deconstructing my faith for a while — more like demolishing, really.

It all started on a Monday evening at Huntsville Bible College back in 2010. We had to attend an eschatology conference as part of the requirements for a course on the Book of Daniel. The course was taught by an Assembly of God professor, so the content was from a dispensationalist perspective.

Being a Southern Baptist kid who was theologically weaned on Left Behind, you can imagine my shock when the speaker, the late Rev. Dr. Wayne P. Snodgrass (an amillennial Baptist), uttered these words: “I don’t deal with the rapture because the Bible doesn’t deal with the rapture.” I didn’t realize it then, but …

that’s when the first rock fell.

A Stonemason

I’m a stonemason. I have been for my entire life. My dad was one (the best in the South), and I’ve worked with him since I was 14 — and professionally for 10 years before becoming a teacher (and on the side now even though he is technically retired). I am very familiar with this idea of “deconstructing.”

A structure is not what it used to be; perhaps it was damaged by an external factor or had settled over the years — meaning it was outdated and could no longer function as it once did — so it needed to be taken down.

My dad, brothers, and I would handle stuff like this all the time: An old fence built by slaves or Irishmen in the 18th or 19th century was falling apart, so we were called in to repair it or repurpose the stones; an old chimney stood tall with the shell of the burned house collapsing around it, so we were asked to come in and take down the chimney to preserve the stones.

I can’t even guess how many days of my life have been spent reconstructing old fences like this. In fact, when I saw this image on Shutterstock, I genuinely thought for a moment that it was a job I had worked on.

When we take apart these old stone structures, a few things happen:

• First, we assess the structure to see how we should approach it so the process (1) is safe and (2) will preserve the most stones.

• Second, we examine each individual stone as we remove it to see if it goes in the “keep” pile or “discard” pile — all structures have at least some keepers, and some keepers are so good that they get their own pile.

• Third, we move the pile of keepers to a new spot and prepare for the reconstruction phase — or storage phase, depending on the owner’s needs.

Sometimes, stones in the middle fall out, and the structure is wobbling like a Jenga tower. Just a little pressure will cause it to collapse, so it is often best to safely push the whole thing down and sift through the pile of rocks on the ground.

Back to the Conference

That’s what happened to me at the eschatology conference back in 2010. My rapture stone was knocked out of the structure of my faith, which I thought was a strong tower; alas, it was a brittle post.

The problem: That stone was smack-dab in the middle, and my structure was now rocked (pun unintended), swaying back and forth and waiting for the next rock to fall out before, eventually, collapsing.

I pulled a Dante; I got on my ship and set sail on a journey for truth — though my goal was to find “truth” that fit my beliefs and proved Dr. Snodgrass wrong, so it was really more of a journey for vengeance. I searched far and wide for proof he was wrong. I examined the stone to see if it really was what I thought it was.

Well, as my stone structure was a brittle post, my ship was a plywood raft with a torn table cloth as the sail. I set sail into territories my childhood faith had me ill-prepared to encounter.

What did I learn?

• First, the rapture isn’t accepted by all or even the majority of Christians (that surprised me — I really thought it was the only option).

• Furthermore, the rapture was invented by a dude (John Nelson Darby) in the mid-late 1800s; I was never told that in church growing up, and Tim LaHaye never brought it up.

• Finally, I learned that the rapture isn’t even in the Bible. Talk about rocked! (pun intended that time)

Discovering on my journey that there are dozens of passages in the New Testament in which Jesus, Paul, Peter, James, and John believed the so-called “second coming” would occur within the lifetimes of many living in the first century AD really rattled my orthodoxy.

My church leaders conveniently skipped over those passages — while skipping over Josephus and the destruction of Jerusalem in AD 70, which was a pretty significant event — or reinterpreted them to fit their belief system.

Then studying the symbolism and imagery of apocalyptic literature in the Bible, as well as the symbolism of the Temple, the New Heaven and New Earth, and my reinterpretation of the early chapters of Genesis, forced me to re-examine what would really transpire at “the end.”

I grew up believing that something like this was going
to happen to Earth — and probably in my lifetime.

My conclusions now are completely different from what I was raised to believe. In a nutshell, I believe the New Testament teaches — and history reflects — a completion of the prophetic clock in the Bible: We are in the Kingdom of Christ; the Savior has come and has indwelled his people. This is it, and that’s fine — we are still a Kingdom that should strive to make the world a better place that is more aligned with the core truth of the Gospel. Even if God does have a plan for the future (I don’t really think he does, but I digress), we don’t need to worry about it and would probably be better off if we acted like there is nothing on the prophetic horizon — it gives us more ownership and responsibility for the world’s problems.

As I said, I don’t believe how I was raised to believe, but even if I had come to the same conclusions, on my own, I still would have been pissed. Why would they hide such a treasure trove of theology from me? Were they scared?

I then thought, “What else did my church leaders hide from me? What else about my faith is wrong, or at least incomplete?”

Starting Over

That’s where René Descartes comes in. He said in A Discourse on the Method, and I paraphrase, to never accept anything that was not introduced there by reason. I realized that I didn’t really believe anything I thought I believed; I simply accepted what I had been taught and didn’t question it. I never gave any of the ideas and doctrines time to say I believed them. I simply signed the dotted line on the statement of faith and moved on with my faith.

Descartes also said to erase everything you have been taught so you can examine everything, individually, without the distraction of assumptions. That’s hard to do. But as Isaac Asimov said,

“Your assumptions are your windows on the world. Scrub them off every once in a while, or the light won’t come in.”

I started scrubbing and declared to myself, “You know what? I got a little time — I got my whole life to figure this out. I’m gonna push the whole thing down and see what survives.”

It was a mess at the beginning — rocks everywhere! But I had a hammer and chisel and a little experience, so I started chipping away one at a time. It’s hard to describe just how many stones are in a structure, and they all play an important role, but some are more important than others …

Filler Stones

Growing up in the buckle of the Bible belt meant that everyone around me was a Christian. In Lynchburg, where I grew up and still live, people typically are either Baptist or church of Christ. We even have some who are called Baptist Church of Christ since they can’t make up their minds (actually, they are unrelated to the restoration movement and are their own thing, but that’s irrelevant to this specific post).

Beyond Baptist and church of Christ folk, there ain’t much. We have some Methodists, of course, but I didn’t know a Presbyterian church was in Lynchburg until I was in my late 20s, and the only Pentecostal church nearby is about a quarter mile into Lincoln County (instead of Moore, where Lynchburg is). I’m assuming they set up shop there so people wouldn’t think they were just drunk on the local product (Jack Daniel’s). Not really. They are great people — just hyper.

Anyway, living here meant that Christian faith was a part of every day life, not just a Sunday gathering. In high school, my friends were either lukewarm Baptists or church of Christ zealots. I remember riding on the school bus to and from baseball games; we would pass the time by having theological debates. I, a Baptist at the time, would argue with my church of Christ teammates about issues like whether music should be used in church, if communion should be weekly, or if one must be baptized to be saved.

One thing I concede now (but wouldn’t even consider admitting then) is that they were far more prepared to defend their beliefs than I was. I held my own because I always find a way, even if I’m knowingly BS’ing. But it’s like their “elders,” as they called them (we even argued the terminology of pastor vs. elder), would hold a weekly class dedicated to debating Baptists — or at least knowing church of Christ doctrine inside and out. It made sense because most of them believed they were the only ones who had the truth and a one-way ticket to Heaven. I don’t think (I hope not) many believe that way anymore.

Those issues are now trivial to me. So when I knocked down my structure, those stones were placed in the “deal with later” pile. Sure, they are important (all doctrine is), but they didn’t seem as important to me when I decided to grab a hammer and chisel and really get my hands dirty with this deconstruction thing. They almost seemed irrelevant altogether, like the filler stones we use when we are building something — little stones used to fill in gaps. They have to be there, but they don’t seem as important as the ones out front for all to see, or those on the foundation.

I have ideas and thoughts about these doctrines now, but I wouldn’t have these ideas without spending more time with the other, more important stones. Other stones in this pile include things like women in ministry (I’m all for it, for the record), drinking alcohol (yes, that’s an issue even in whiskey country), Calvinism vs. Arminianism (I think both are annoying), and other issues commonly debated in the church today — to no avail.

The Second Stone

The second stone that really challenged me — on the same level, if not higher, than the eschatology stone — was the origins stone. It seemed natural and appropriate: I examined the end; now I must examine the beginning.

Just as Left Behind shaped my eschatology, Henry Morris and creation “science” shaped my view of origins. The idea that God created the world in six literal days was not something I thought was even debated in Christianity — in the academy, the Church, or anywhere else.

The only ones who disputed that truth were the atheistic evolutionists. Evolution was simply a tool of Satan and a conspiracy by atheist scientists to discredit God. That isn’t what I believed; that was reality — there wasn’t a chance to disbelieve it. The same goes for Noah’s Ark, Adam and Eve, etc. I was taught that to deny these ideas was to deny God.

I didn’t question these ideas until I really read into them.

Promises

There used to be a Christian bookstore in Lynchburg that was owned by some friends of mine (and people I went to church with for several years). It was called Promises. I would go in often as I was a single guy then; I was probably 18 or 19 and was starting to accept the “calling” to ministry.

I would check out all the study Bibles (and buy some). I would check out some of the theology books. Mostly, I would take a “Moses” staff they were selling and pretend to be Gandalf. “You shall not pass! … unless you accept Jesus Christ as your lord and savior” is probably something I would have said at that point in my life.

Like most bookstores, especially Christian ones, Promises went out of business. I left that store for the last time with some goodies: the Gandalf staff (I figured it was fate, and it still sits in my classroom, ready to be used to tell students that “they shall not pass”) and three study Bibles — the NKJV Chronological Study Bible, the NIV Archaeological Study Bible, and, most notably, the New Defender’s Study Bible by Henry Morris. I started digging …

After thoroughly studying Henry Morris’ study Bible, especially its essays, I thought, “What the heck is this crap? Why does my church believe this?” I discovered that young earth creationism (the viewpoint I thought was known as simply “biblical”) is very weak. Here is Henry Morris, the Father of Young Earth Creationism, and he is forcing everything he needs to support his belief.

I can’t remember the details, and I’ve since given the Bible away (on accident — I wish I still had it), but I remember sitting on my bed late at night, reading his essays, and thinking that Morris had a very desperate tone. He didn’t come to conclusions, either biblical or scientific, because the evidence took him there; he came to conclusions because he had to.

This part of the Bible causes a lot of problems for Christians, especially
if they get involved, in any way, with the science vs. religion debate

I decided to ignore origins for a while as I was about to begin Bible college. So this stone, although loosened a bit, was still in some way intact for a while — I hadn’t thoroughly examined it yet.

Fast forward a few years … after my rapture stone was knocked out of place and I decided to examine everything …

I eventually came back to origins. I first dipped my toes in science. I had never given evolution the time of day. We were told to ignore our science teacher, and some of us even rebelled by answering incorrectly (on purpose) any question that had anything to do with the Big Bang or evolution. But when I was older and had no pressure to ignore it, I was able to examine it without fear of it conflicting with my faith.

What I found shocked me: The “science” I was taught in church did not match the science taught by … well, actual scientists. And these scientists weren’t only atheists and anti-Christians as I had been taught; many were Christians who believed in a creator God. And they followed evidence instead of fabricating it. I knew that, once again, my childhood leaders led me astray in an important doctrine, and I had to go back to the biblical text to see what went wrong.

At this point, I was aided by scholars like Leland Ryken and John H. Walton, among others. Ryken opened up the world of biblical literature to me. I was a literature guy: I studied Tolkien, Middle English literature, poetry, and science fiction. Literature was (and is) basically “my thing.”

However, I approached the Bible with the assumption that it was written in a vacuum — that it was written by God himself and unlike anything else ever written. These guys helped me see that it was not; it is literature — ancient literature, even if it is inspired by God. And this ancient literature contains literary devices and styles that are not used anymore.

Therefore, I (and apparently my church leaders) missed them. We interpreted Genesis 1 (and 1–11) literally because (1) we, like I said, assumed that the Bible was written in a vacuum, and (2) we didn’t know what type of literature was actually present in the opening chapters of Genesis.

Following rabbit trails helped me discover the literature of Genesis. One of the first literary topics I discovered (from Walton’s Lost World series especially) is also something completely avoided by most evangelical churches: ancient near eastern literature.

You’ll never hear those words in a Southern Baptist church.

Why?

It scares them

There are too many similarities between ancient near eastern literature and biblical literature, and the dates and geographic locations also make them too connected for comfort. They wrote about their gods in similar ways, and they used many of the same literary styles.

I started to realize that the Bible is not a book of science. The Bible’s science does not match reality. But with the assumption that God wrote the Bible still deeply embedded in my emotions (albeit not in my intellect), that was a problem.

I knew that young earth creationism was bogus; I knew that I really couldn’t even fit modern science into the Bible without some extreme gymnastics, as performed by men like Hugh Ross. There had to be another way, a way that took both the Bible and modern science seriously.

Publishing

At this point (late 2019-early 2020), I started McGahan Publishing House, and I was looking to publish a book on Christian faith and science. I emailed Loren Haarsma, husband to Deborah Haarsma (president of BioLogos), and he referred me to someone who seemed too qualified for my new publishing company, but it worked out for us.

Denis Lamoureux has PhDs in theology and biology — as well as dentistry. As a trained theologian and biologist, he seemed like the perfect prospect for a book on religion and science. With his academic credentials and publishing history — several books by notable publishers, such as Zondervan, and dozens of academic articles — I assumed he was out of our league as we still had not published a book at that point.

But Denis and I hit it off, published two books, including this excellent one, and have plans for more. He liked our independence, both professionally and intellectually — we are free to explore ideas that frighten other publishers, such as the Adam and Eve story not being literal history. Publishing his work and having conversations with him have enabled me to spend even more time examining the origins issue, form connections with others in the field, and discover other thinkers and ideas in science and religion.

This led me to solidify the stances toward which I was already leaning:

• Evolution is true - like it or not.

• The global flood of Noah never happened.

• The earth is billions of years old.

• Adam and Eve were most likely not the first humans on the earth — if they even existed.

• The Bible is not a book of science.

But that’s okay, for the Bible still reveals a God who wants to commune with his greatest creation and image bearers.

And that’s what matters — having a spiritual life in which a personal relationship with God is the most important goal of a Christian.

The Third Stone — God

I thought I had it all figured out. I had the end figured out; I had the beginning figured out — the rest would fall into place. Then, at the bottom of the pile of stones sat the most important stone of all …

the cornerstone.

I thought this one was safe, but it wasn’t. It was a major stumbling block for me.

When I encountered the cornerstone during my deconstruction, it was during the height of the Covid-19 pandemic, and …

the pandemic changed me.

I started thinking a lot more about pain, suffering, and death. I wasn’t scared of dying from Covid. I was relatively low-risk, and I had it — twice. I had the OG Covid before being vaccinated and then the omicron variant after being fully vaccinated. They were both very mild for me.

However, I noticed the people who had different experiences. I saw people I care about die from it. I saw friends and acquaintances lose their spouses, parents, cousins, and grandparents. I heard about children dying from it.

That made me think about death and suffering regarding more than just Covid.

I started thinking about the 6-year old boy who drowned while on a family vacation in Florida.

I started thinking about the poor kids (in America and around the globe) suffering from hunger and extreme poverty.

I started thinking about the innocent children at St. Jude’s suffering from cancer.

I started thinking about the child victims of mass shootings.

I thought about the 12-year old boy who committed suicide because he was being bullied in school.

I started doubting God’s involvement in the world.

There is no doubt that the little 6-year old’s family was praying for a miracle, yet his lifeless body is what they found.

There is little doubt that impoverished families across the globe pray for God’s hand to intervene and feed them, yet he never comes.

Parents spend hours at the chapel altar praying for their child who has cancer, only to plan a funeral a few weeks or months later.

Every time I see a tragic story of a child or innocent person dying or suffering for no reason, I get angry. I get sad, and I sometimes cry when I’m alone, partly because it goes against everything I’m supposed to believe about an all-loving God, and partly because I project all of that suffering onto my own family and children.

I project my wife onto the young, vibrant woman who dies from Covid.

I project my children onto the little boy and girl who just lost their mommy or daddy because the ventilator malfunctioned.

I project my son onto the little baby at St. Jude’s who has no hope of survival and is suffering for no reason.

I can’t help but to think about my 6-year old daughter when I hear about the 6-year old boy who drowns — all alone and scared.

I ask, “Where are you, God?”

He never answers.

Where is God? Why can he not do more? And if he can, why doesn’t he?

The young parent of two little girls who dies from Covid because the ventilator malfunctioned — why couldn’t God prevent that from happening? No one would have known because no one thought it was broken. It was SUPPOSED TO WORK.

Why does the innocent boy at St. Jude’s, who just loves Batman and Iron Man or trucks and tractors, have to get cancer in the first place?

Why can’t God, with barely a movement, rescue the 6-year old? No one would know he did it — he wouldn’t be exposed.

Why can’t he drop some manna from Heaven to the impoverished families? Did he not do it for the Hebrews in the wilderness?

Why can’t God make a gun jam before a deranged person kills innocent children? Gun jams happen without God’s intervention!

It makes no sense. Lex Luthor seemed to be on to something:

If God is all-powerful, he cannot be all-good.

If God is all-good, he cannot be all-powerful.

Sometimes, I think I understand it, or am at peace with it, but then I just hear about someone else, someone innocent and beautiful, who dies or suffers for no reason — and with no “god” to help them. And many of these are Christian people who are suffering, people who are called “his children.” No father would let his children suffer if he had the power to step in.

I felt myself drifting toward atheism.

I didn’t like that feeling. I had devoted so much of my life to preparation for ministry. I have lived my entire life with my Christian faith as the most important thing. Giving it all up would have huge ramifications. At one point, some felt that I had a bright future in Baptist ministry. And what would it do to my family? I couldn’t even consider that. Maybe I’ll just lie about it, I thought.

I didn’t know of another way. I didn’t think there was a type of theism, especially Christian theism, that would accommodate my doubts.

Then I realized …

What if it’s not God I’m angry with, but the version of God I was raised to believe in?

I noticed that the cornerstone was the toughest of all. My chisel and hammer made some markings on it, but I couldn’t break it. It was chosen as the cornerstone for a reason — it’s tough; it’s strong enough to withstand the mightiest of strokes, and I was swinging my hammer as hard as I ever have. However, my strikes were unable to break the cornerstone because …

The stone I was striking didn’t really exist.

God is not confined to the worldview within which I framed him. My assumptions about God were assumptions I didn’t erase before going on my journey. The fog was still there.

What if we are misinterpreting God altogether?

What if God is something much different than what is defined in typical statements of faith?

What if God is something, someone much more personal?

What if our interpretation of God depends on our view of origins, or our eschatology?

What if Christian theology is a huge mess, and our idea of God is just as messy as anything else?

The idea that a transcendent, omnipresent God is out there intervening in the world, answering prayers, and unfolding a plan just simply does not match reality. There is no evidence to suggest otherwise.

But people, myself included, still experience God! What do we make of that? Human experience should matter. And in my experience, God is there; God is real. He might not intervene in ways I used to believe, but …

• he changes lives

• he inspires people to do great things

• he brings people together.

God is not without; he is within. God is not an outside force that acts for people; God is a force that acts through people — the people in whom the Spirit of God has dwelt.

The New Structure

None of the options worked for me. I was at the stone supply shop, and none of the samples fit what I had going on. And with my OCD, I had to have something — a theological system that works.

So, I decided to take my stones and build my own.

A new system that makes sense to me …

With my faith structure, I would hold myself accountable: If the world around me isn’t improving, I can blame only myself.

Instead of choosing to see God in the disaster, I choose to see God in the relief — through his people working in God’s name to help those in dire need.

Instead of praying for God to act from the outside, I pray for God to activate me from the inside.

If I can’t change the world, God can motivate me to change someone’s perception of the world. That is often as simple as saying, “Hello! How are you?” It is often as simple as giving someone a sandwich.

That should be what Christian faith is all about.

And then, I discovered some Christian thinkers I had heard about but not really given the time of day: open and relational theologians — men like Thomas Jay Oord, John Cobb, and others.

They believe and teach basically what I believe and teach, especially the parts about how God interacts in the world.

They believe in God and experience God in their lives, but they understand that life sometimes sucks, and although God doesn’t intervene as an outside force to make the world better, he does indwell us and encourage responses from us that will make the world better.

They believe and teach that though prayer does not change the circumstances around us, it does change us.

And I can work from that.

That’s where I’m working from now — using what I have learned biblically, experientially, and theologically to develop this system into something that works for me.

And I think it’s gonna work.

For the first time in a few years, I can honestly say something I wasn’t confident I would ever again be able to say …

I can still be a Christian.

Catherine Keller - Parenting & the Uncontrolling God

Catherine Keller on the Uncontrolling God

http://thomasjayoord.com/index.php/blog/archives/catherine-keller-uncontrolling-god

Guest Post by Catherine Keller

November 15th, 2016

A friend describes a process she learned as a mother: “I never did try to control my kids, there were too many of them to do that. I had three children in two years, and it became very clear early on (such as day one), that control was not possible. Instead of getting in their way and trying to run their play, I had to arrive at some other mode of being with them as they are.”

So she invited friends over for them to play with, and chaos mounted. But this is what she observed: “If I were willing and able to let the four or five very young children jostle, master round, explore for about 45 minutes-with the ground rules of not hurting each other or the home-if I just let them go through whatever procedures they needed to go through, they would come up with something that they loved to do together. They would arrive at some game, project, make-believe… That would keep them positively, joyfully engaged for up to three hours. All of them.”

This is a humble parable of creation from chaos. It illustrates uncontrolling love.

Parents and all who relate in love have to “let be.” So do good teachers, pastors, and leaders. As Elohim italicized “Let be” the light? John McQuarrie defines “letting be” as something much more positive than just leaving alone: “as enabling to be, empowering to be, or bringing into being.” Thus our experience of “letting be” may serve as an analogy of “the ultimate letting-be.”

Love does not control. It opens up the space of becoming. The space is not without protective boundaries, not without rules.

The healthy parent is not merely permissive, but constantly teaching ideals of fairness, cooperation, and creative development. This space comprises neither rampant disorder nor imposed order. It opens at the edge of chaos, without plunging into the abyss. It supports the free play of relations — and satisfies desires of both parent and children. This uncontrolling care empowers the children to construct their own “complex self-organizing system.” At least temporarily!

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If I may push our parable a bit further, the desired into play is not about a private “me and my God” relation but I love open and out into a fuller sociality. “Two or more gathered in my name.” In the communality of genesis things are risky, noisy, messy. But fresh order continues to emerge from the chaos. And while its equilibria do not last forever — “love never ends” (1 Cor. 13:8).

Does God just choose not to interfere with our freedom? The so-called free-will defense of God’s goodness and omnipotence tries that middle road: God permits, but does not cause evil, and so leaves us our freedom. This is close to the chilly deism Calvin railed against.

But usually those who hold this reasonable view also hold out for occasional special or miraculous interventions on God’s part. But then: Why didn’t God manipulate the vote just a bit so that Hitler would lose the election? Or, for that matter, heal my friend’s little sister’s leukemia? Or excise that bad gene in the first place? Or all bad genes?

The free-will defense only works if held consistently. But that is hard to do. To say God “permits” evil for the sake of our freedom implies that God could step in at any time, and as far as history demonstrates, just chooses not to.

The alternative to omnipotence lies in the risky interactivity of relationship. It does not toss the creatures into a deistic void, chilled but autonomous. It continues to call them forth, to invite… The power of God, if it is response-able power, empowers the others – to respond. In their freedom.

In what sense then is the divine powerful? It can perhaps even be called all-powerful, if that language for the biblical God seems indispensable to some, in this sense: God has “all the power” that a good God, a God who fosters and delights in the goodness of the creation, could have or want to have.

But the point is that this is not the unilateral power to command things to happen out of nothing and then to control them under threat of nothingness. It is another kind of power all together, a qualitatively different power — a power that seems weak when dominance is the ideal.

The metaphor of “power perfected in weakness” tried to make comprehensible the difficult alternative to coercive force: the contagious influence that flows from a radically vulnerable strength. Two thousand years later, we have made limited collective progress in its realization. Perhaps experiments in social democracy, in which persuasion is favored over coercion, and care valued as a supreme public strength, hint at the alternative. Perhaps experiments in gender equality and nonviolent parenting are also advancing, here and there, our metaphoric reservoir.

The One who calls forth good even from the ashes of evil, a good that requires—indeed commands—but cannot coerce our cooperation. A power that makes possible our response.

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From On the Mystery: Discerning God in Process pp. 88-90 copyright © 2007 Fortress Press. Reproduced by permission. For a more complete treatment of the subject consider purchase of the book, which may be found at the following link: http://fortresspress.com/product/mystery-discerning-divinity-process

Catherine Keller is Professor of Constructive Theology at The Theological School of Drew University. She’s the author or editor of more than a dozen books, her latest being Cloud of the Impossible: Negative Theology and Planetary Entanglement. New York: Columbia University Press, 2015.

Thinking About a New Kind of Christianity. One that is Postmodern. Part 1/3

In the months ahead I hope to rewrite Christendom's Evangelical heritage in terms of Postmodern Christianity whose faith must let go of its many past foundational elements of its narrative constructs and begin updating those older narratives into a more flexible, less mechanised, more dynamically constructed theology that better engages our understanding of who God is, what He is doing, and how He is effecting our world.

To begin with I wish to use Andrew Perriman's theological starting point of God calling a remnant people to Himself in terms of purpose and calling, commitments and labor, expectancies and potentialities. From there I wish to dis-engage from our European heritage of dogmas and traditions, and then re-engage the bible with a fuller language of postmodern and relational theology.

By way of example, this process would be similar to dis-engaging from classical Newtonian physics as an ultimate descriptor of our cosmogony to the alternative, and no less real, re-engagement of physics from a quantum mechanics scientific viewpoint. One mathematical model works with the world of the large, while the other mathematical model works with the world of the small. Lately, through string theory, the discovery of the Higgs-Boson particle, and other similar theories, the gap between the worlds of classical and quantum physics begin to seem more bridgeable. More intertwined. Similarly, the Christian faith stands in a correspondent state of engagement.

However, the 21st century church still is using an older language, concepts and constructs of the past while impossibly trying to relate to the newer discoveries of postmodern Christian theorists, theologians, philosophers, and pragmatists. This newer language of discovery is different. It's foreign. It feels alien. Strange. And at times absurd. It leaves us puzzled, confused, frighten, threaten, defeated, broken and perhaps even willing to throw out all our belief systems as untrue, too biased, too localized, too subjective, or frivolous. But these very human elements and personal knee-jerk reactions are actually the very starting point to positively re-framing, and re-arrangement of, our faith if it is to expand and grow lest it die upon the antiquities of past traditions and dogmas. Antiquities that once were founded upon the hotbeds of a living, dynamic faith, but now are beginning to feel more like dying, irrelevant idols we needlessly cling to, fight for, and refuse to give up.

But just like the older concepts of classical physics which have become "updated" to be more useful in the modern era of engineering projects, so too are the newer concepts of quantum physics giving to us the ability to better engineer God's complex creation that we have more recently discovered through the newer quantumized tools of interaction. Similarly, for some Christians it will be difficult to update their faith so that it can continue to exist in postmodern times of religious plurality and inter-faith dialogue. For others, they will be driven to radically re-express every aspect of Christianity in fundamentally altering terms that may leave little, or no, resemblance to the church's past dogmas. And yet for others like myself that fall in the range of constructive theologians (by nature, if not by trade), we will want to engage both systems and try to build a bridge between both worldviews of the old and the new. While at the same time chiding faith-camps on both sides of the bridge for either not giving up enough, or for giving up too much. For being too rigid and in danger of losing their faith. Or so flexible, as to lose the centrality of what they were initially seeking to recharge, uplift and re-energize. We're looking for balance while retaining substance. Reasonableness while remaining true to the biblical word.

So if you're a Calvinist, expect to speak of God in less deterministic terms - as One who is not in control of all things at all times - and rather think of God as One who partners with His freewill creation (which includes mankind). Who influences rather than coerces. Who suffers with us and despairs of sin and evil (and thus, to some, seems weak and unable to help. Or to others, prohibited to act... something I defer to think of as God self-limiting Himself.) Who may not (or cannot) stop evil and harm because of either self-limitations incurred when creating a freewilled creation or, because by His very act of creation sin entered into what was holy and good. Which thus prohibits His coercive interaction upon a free-willed creation. Who encourages obedience to His will and purposes but does not demand it or force it. Who uses our failures and refusals to His ultimate goals of recreation and renewal. These are only some, of many, many ideas being discussed within postmodern Christianity that we should think through ourselves - sometimes in admonstrative critique (did I just make up a new word? or simply misuse admonish... poets ask that question at times), but mostly, to help enliven our faith, and our faith-walk in this world.

Further, expect to think of God as not the unchanging One, but One who is changeable, just as we (and the world of creation) change from day-to-day. This is part of what it means to be in the Image of God. To think in terms of process and relatedness. That is, to consider all things are in flux and in dynamic adaptability. So too is God in process because He wishes to relate to us and will change Himself with the changes we go through (or will be changed in Himself by the experiences He experiences by/from His creation)... like the example of a parent who changes with their kids as they grow up into maturity through life's experiences, brokenness, harms and delights. Or like the child itself growing up within the world with all of its rich experiences good and bad, fulfilling and desettling, impossibly being able to hold a past stage of life from immortal change and timeless eternity. These aspects describe our humanness - we are relational beings just as God is a relational being in His essence. Moreover, we have no self-identity without having social interaction with each other (or with other things) gained through event and process. Just as the physical concepts of Einstenian time-and-space bear no meaning without interaction with one another through event, so too we bear no meaning within ourselves without interaction with each other that are formed as a series of events. The same can be said of God. Creation gives God meaning just as God gives creation meaning through mutual interactions formed as a series of shaping events. God changes from day-to-day in his immortal, timeless essence. It is a mystery we cannot understand but a seemingly true mystery that we must allow without compartmentalizing His essence, His authority, His deity or the divinity of His fellowship.

But by saying these things doesn't necessarily mean that we, as postmodern Christians, shouldn't remember the church's past creeds and confessions as its gatekeepers of past historical legacies hard won and perilously wrestled away from past withholding auspices of the reigning catholic church and/or powers of the religious state through inquisitions, torture, brutality, death and destruction. However, we are updating those past ideologies into a postmodernistic language of expression. When we do this we're going to say things differently. And, if necessary, even create a new language to speak of God and of His relationship to the world. For without a new language we cannot break the bonds to the antiquated past that has held our present-day language in similar bondage. We need new concepts, new symbols, new words to infill a Christianity that must grow and change and adapt from its older version of itself to this day's more postmodern culture. A culture holding hostage the modern day church in its present day language, paradigms and expressions. And why not?! Does not the bible teach that man's view of the world is finite and that God's is infinite? When God questioned Job did He not tell Job the same thing? It would be the height of human audacity to presume that our knowledge of God is limited to the past and that God is consequently limited  by our past systematic statements (or symbolic representations) of Himself. Or by our simplistic/naive belief systems that have attempted to grasp Him eons ago through the ancient mind when we are just discovering the dynamicy of the bible based upon its fluidity of communication (which is what I think the original writers of the bible would ultimately want us to do even as we we were gauging their words through our own static, inflexible, belief systems). This is the mystery of the Holy Spirit charged with communicating God's eternal word to humanity's future days and ages seeking to behold God's wisdom of revelation which is bound within theology's perception of what a good hermeneutic should, and shouldn't, be.

Inflexible belief systems can ultimately be destructive or harmful to willing, and evolving, postmodern societal interactions should the church chose not to evolve at an organic level. Whether naturally, or by man's intercessory provisioning, or even by the prophetic activity of its inherent counsel resident within its Spirit indwelt visionaries). But to foolishly expect that, (i) mankind (and creation) will no longer evolve with one another, but must ever -and-always remain statically bound to one another through past enriching or conforming paradigms, expressions, practices, and worldviews alone, is unreasonable. Or that, (ii) our relationship with the divine Otherness of the Eternal One has been fully proscribed by the genius of older theologians, bishops, priests, and rabbis, would be beyond the bounds of our practical experience and expectant imaginations. It would place an unrealistic burden upon the church by ascribing to the church of yesteryear  an impolitic expectation of knowing, being, grasping, even managing, timeless truths unbent to modern, or postmodern, or post-postmodern (and beyond), needs, insights, proscriptions, charters, knowledge, worldly experience,  and spiritual provisioning based upon a yet-to-be-realized evolving society of mankind that would prophetically re-envision all aspects of mankind's future orders, sciences, technologies, constitutions and praxis - both theoretical and pragmatic. This would be foolishness. The height of audacity to which today's present orthodox church arranged around its present theologies would pretend admission to while at the same time creating for itself a time-bound community of believers unwilling, and unable, to struggle with society's polypluralisms for effective missional witness. 

However, if this is not the case, than we should both allow - and expect! - more enlightened thoughts, attitudes, beliefs, worship and faith practices to proceed forth from this very reasonable and natural essay between the God of the cosmos and His creation. An essay that may rewrite its experiences of God with a sharpened pen more attune to the needs of today's societies. One that would speak to mankind's search for morality, truth and error, like the relationship between old friends beheld in intimate conversation seeking fuller expression with one another - speaking from the depths of one's heart telling each other what is true, but had become lost in the conventions of words and experiences impossible to envisage, conceive, paint, or portray. That, like friendships, as they grow old and perhaps more intimate (or more apart) with one another, so too will man's corporate relationship with God expand or contract as each discovers, or refuses discovery, or even infuses discovery, with the language of the other. Between God and man. And man to God. This is the language of experience. The language of timeful relationship as it moves and breathes around the life of the other. A language which cannot be held static to the reforms and experiences of past saints and scholars. But a language which must be continually expressed in some manner or way as only time and experience will allow. The Christianity of one's youth must and will change. If it does not it will die becoming traditionalized and solidified by an inanimate, dead faith centered around past memories, ideas, and experiences. The language of faith and life cannot admit this. And never will.

So then, with that said, let us turn our attention to "A new kind of Evangelicalism" - one that is neither conservative nor modern - but one that might better attune towards all things God and man, church and faith, life and breath... mostly because I'm an optimist who believes God is always alive, always present with us, always speaking His word to us, through all things and in every indescribable way to our imaginings and unimaginable hopes and dreams, as befitting His divine council and wisdom, Spirit and grace. Eh verily, O Lord, Amen!

R.E. Slater

April 4, 2012
partial edits: February 28, 2014

The Full Series:

Thinking About a New Kind of Christianity.

One that is Postmodern.
Part 1/3

http://relevancy22.blogspot.com/2012/04/thinking-about-new-kind-of-christianity.html


Thinking About a New Kind of Christianity.

One that is Postmodern.

Part 2/3

http://relevancy22.blogspot.com/2012/04/thinking-about-new-kind-of-christianity_05.html


Thinking About a New Kind of Christianity.

One that is Postmodern.
Part 3/3
http://relevancy22.blogspot.com/2012/04/thinking-about-new-kind-of-christianity_07.html



Related Articles:

What Wikipedia Has to Say About the Emerging/Emergent Church.

An Introduction.
Part 1/2

http://relevancy22.blogspot.com/2012/03/what-wikipedia-has-to-say-about.html


What Wikipedia Has to Say About the Emerging/Emergent Church.

My Personal Observations.
Part 2/2

http://relevancy22.blogspot.com/2012/03/what-wikipedia-has-to-say-about_26.html



* * * * * * * * * * * *


Evangelicalism, A new kind of

http://www.postost.net/lexicon/evangelicalism-new-kind

by Andrew Perriman

29 March 2012

As I would redefine the term from a narrative-historical perspective, an “evangelical” in the broadest sense is someone who finds “good news” in the long and complex story of the historic family of Abraham, descended through Jesus. Or better, the church is “evangelical” insofar as it finds good news in that story.

The evangelical vocation

What Abraham stood for was the remaking of God’s good creation in microcosm, as a world within a world, after humanity had chosen, in defiance of the creator:

1. self-determination (Adam and Eve),
2. a course of violence and injustice (the generation destroyed in the flood) and,
3. the idolatry of empire (the builders of Babel). 

That still encapsulates the broad purpose of the people of God: the church is not an aggregation of redeemed individuals; it is an alternative society, set in opposition to the idolatry, self-interest, injustice, violence, tyranny, oppression, and systemic arrogance of what we glibly call “fallen” humanity. To be evangelical is to embrace the full scope of that opposition.

But this has always been a troubled, painful, and controversial vocation. We still find it extremely difficult and unnatural to live up to the ideal of a just people, reconciled to the creator, as a blessing to the nations. To be evangelical, therefore, is to be unreasonably, absurdly, stubbornly optimistic about the concrete and symbolic potential of this people’s narrated existence; and we are sustained in that optimism by what is now for us, since Jesus, the unfailing grace of God.

The evangelical narrative

As I understand it, the bible tells the story of the people of God from the call of Abraham to the climactic moment when his descendants inherited the pagan world. It is authoritative for the church precisely because it tells this story. This, I think, is the proper starting point for an evangelical hermeneutic: the Bible sets the narrative trajectory for the people of God throughout the coming ages.

The story is told partly “historically” and partly prophetically or apocalyptically. The New Testament deals with a critical period when it appeared that the family of Abraham, in the form of national Israel, was about to lose the right, under devastating circumstances, to represent the creator God amongst the nations. Israel was hell bent on a course that would lead to the destruction of its national and religious existence, but in the fulness of time a young wonder-working prophet from Nazareth entered the charged political arena proclaiming a narrow and difficult path that would lead to life, though he was not confident that many find it.

The good news of Jesus (in historical context)

His death for the sins of his people defined the way forward for faithful Israel. His resurrection from the dead convinced his followers that the creator God, the God of Israel, had not only made him the way, the truth, and the life for his people, but also had given him the authority to judge and rule over the nations. This was the “good news” that was proclaimed first in Jerusalem and then across the Greek-Roman world. The inclusion of Gentiles in the commonwealth of Israel at this juncture was itself a sign to the empire of the transformation to come. This is the evangelical heart of the narrative: the “gospel” is public and political, not private and personal.

The exaltation of Jesus to the right hand of the Father set in train a long historical process. Through the faithful witness of communities of eschatological transformation the pagan world, which had for so many centuries opposed the God of Israel and oppressed his people, would be overthrown, and every tongue would confess that Jesus Christ—and not any other god—was Lord, to the glory of Israel’s God.

Apocalyptic Trinitarianism

So from this point onwards the family of Abraham has had to relate to the one creator God on new terms—as the Father who determines the fate of his people, as the Son who has been given authority to reign, and as the Spirit who is the inspiring, empowering presence of the creator in the midst of his people. A statement of Trinitarian belief that is genuinely biblical—and so genuinely evangelical—has to take account of the apocalyptic narrative of Jesus’ “sonship”: unlike the pagan kings he did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but humbled himself to the point of death on a Roman cross; because of this obedience he was exalted, and given authority to rule as Lord and king, to the glory of Israel’s God.

To Christendom and beyond

This is how the family of Abraham, for so long confined to the small beleaguered state of Israel, came to inherit the world. But the story does not stop there, and evangelicals must learn how to make sense of the continuing narrative. European Christendom, as both a political and a theological construct, lasted in one form or other for perhaps 1700 years, to be defeated in the end by the combined forces of secular rationalism and post-imperial pluralism.

The heirs of European Christendom have been mostly exiled from the territory that they once dominated, and in order to survive are having to disengage themselves from many of the habits of thought and practice that characterize a world that no longer exists.

But an evangelical, being an incorrigible optimist, believes that the story is by no means over; that the family of Abraham, descended through Jesus, has a viable future; that there is still “new creation” ahead of us. Moreover, an evangelical has the confidence to invite people into this difficult historical journey of corporate witness.

The whole story (plus actions)

So to be an evangelical community now is to find and proclaim the good news that arises from this whole story. It is good news that God is; that he still calls into existence a servant people for his own possession, to be priests and prophets in the world; that he remains faithful towards those who trust him; that he can still hold his own against the powerful cultural forces that oppose him and oppress his people; that he is still able to effect the renewal of his creation in ways that convince us that he will not finally be defeated but will make all things new.

It is good news that Jesus died for the historical family of Abraham; it is good news that there is no longer the possibility of terminal failure; it is good news that the doors of that community are open; it is good news that in and around this community lives are transformed, the sick are healed, sight is restored to the blind, the poor are comforted, captives are set free, relationships are renewed, divisions are healed, prejudices and fears are overcome.

It is good news that sometimes this is not all just words….

Trusting God Amidst Loss of Beliefs and Self-Identities

I Have Met the Stranger and He is Me...
http://peterrollins.net/?p=3611

by Peter Rollins

posted 27/3/12

To believe is easy. You can fill stadiums with people wanting to believe, either to solidify what they already think or to grasp hold of something because they feel cast adrift and lost at sea.

To doubt, to interrogate your fear, to really question what you believe, that’s difficult. It’s difficult because we want to protect ourselves from doubt and unknowing. Indeed when we encounter somebody who is different from us, our first experience is often to see them as monstrous, as having beliefs and practices which are alien and stranger and historical and contingent. When we encounter them we either want to consume them, make them part of our social body, or we want to vomit them and get rid of them. Or perhaps we want to have some sort of interfaith dialogue where we can talk about where we agree.

In each of these experiences we seek to minimize our encounter with the other. We seek to domesticate them. In the first, I’m right and they’re wrong, and I want to make them into a version of me. In the second, I’m right and they’re wrong, and I want to get rid of them. In the third, we’re both right.

But in the genuine encounter with the other, we start to see ourselves through their eyes, and instead of seeing their beliefs as monstrous, we start to see our beliefs as monstrous. We see our beliefs as contingent, and historical, and alien, not just to them but to ourselves.

It is in this experience, when our beliefs begin to fracture and fall apart and our political, religious, and cultural narratives begin to fracture that we know what it is to experience a type of crucifixion. For the cross was a symbol of curse. The person was killed outside the city. They weren’t part of the political structure. They were no longer part of the cultural system. They were no longer protected by the religious leaders. They were the complete outsider. They were crucified naked and alone.

When we experience the loss of our beliefs, when we experience the breakdown of our narratives, it’s not there where we lose God, it’s there where we stand side by side with Christ.

Jesus Was Not a “Biblical Christian”

http://www.patheos.com/blogs/tonyjones/2011/07/19/jesus-was-not-a-biblical-christian/

by Tony Jones

on July 19, 2011

Today on Twitter, Chris Blackstone went out on a limb and said that persons who practice polyamory (participation in multiple and simultaneous loving or sexual relationships) are not Christians. When I pressed him about what he meant, he said that they may be “self-identified Xians (Christians), but def not Biblical Xians.”

Well, that got me thinking. Of course, the phrase “biblical Christian” does not occur in the Bible. Indeed, the word “biblical” does not occur therein.

Then I searched the database at the Christian Classics Ethereal Library, which is the largest treasury of Christian documents that I know. I searched the phrase “biblical Christian,” and guess when the first use of that phrase took place:

Augustine?

No!

Aquinas?

No!

Luther?

No!

Adolf Wuttke?

Ding, ding, ding, ding!

That’s right, in Adolf Wuttke’s 1874 volume, Christian Ethics, he writes,

Although the scientific treatment of the subject-matter of ethics in the earlier and (in the main) Biblical moralists of the nineteenth century, may be regarded as relatively feeble, yet they have this not to be despised significancy, that in an age almost entirely estranged from Biblical Christianity they kept alive the consciousness of this estrangement, and faithfully held fast to the indestructible bases of Christian Ethics.

A couple decades later, Adolf von Harnack’s 1896 book, The History of Dogma, Volume III is the second CCEL use of the phrase “biblical Christianity,” in this sentence:

Not to speak of its uncultured adherents, the earliest literary defenders of Modalism were markedly monotheistic, and had a real interest in Biblical Christianity.

A Google Books search shows that there are other, earlier uses, like in the the Baptist Record and Biblical Respository, which exhorts, “A true Biblical Christian must be a true Biblical student.” “Biblical Christians,” the Record goes on to despair, “are scarce.” Indeed.

But, as the CCEL search attests, using the word “biblical” as a qualifier of “Christian” or “Christianity” was unknown prior to the 19th century. As I’ve argued elsewhere, it was only in the modern era, after the Enlightenment, that words like “truth” began taking qualifiers. Same goes for “Christian.”

And, of course, it’s well known that Jesus was not a Christian, and certainly not a biblical one. In fact, I’m pretty sure that if we were to ask Jesus’ opponents, one of their main criticisms of him would have been, “He’s not a biblical Jew!” For Jesus, as we know, fulfilled the Law — and in a way that was most unexpected to his peers. They didn’t read the Torah and the Prophets the same way that he did — or Paul did, for that matter. Questions of interpretation divided Jesus and the Jews, and they sadly divide us today.

But I submit to Chris Blackstone, there’s no difference between a Christian and a biblical Christian. Saying that someone is a “biblical Christian” is tantamount to saying that they believe in “true truth.”

Deconstructing Language

resurrection (I)(S) anarchy….

http://theloverevolution.org.uk/2011/05/resurrection-is-anarchy/

by George Elerick (theloverevolution)

posted May 19, 2011

Symbolic violence, finally, is inherent in the deployment and sustenance of language and its forms. There are two instantiations of this sort of violence, one of them “deeper” than the other. The first is the symbolic violence inherent in specific language; terms we use which may include hidden instantiations of domination. An obvious example of this sort of symbolic violence could be using the word “Man” when one is referring to the whole of mankind. But there, the violence inherent in that speech act has become quite visible and obvious over time (and thus it would be, realistically in many circles, subjective violence), and the point of making a delineation like symbolic violence is that it, like all objective violence, is invisible and sustains various structures of domination, subjugation or limitation unbeknownst to the user within the structure.

language is the thing that introduces us to the world in front of us. the word we experience. but it is this experience of the world that is mediated through language. this mediation is a violence of sorts. once we name something, we remove its autonomy; in that moment, the object enters into the world as something other than itself.

this same act of vioence occurs when we expend ourselves in attempting to label another. ‘Gay, straight, man, woman’, and even the word love is done violence to. put simply, language is a system to overcome. this does not mean we must never speak again, it means we must enter into language (the symbolic order; lacan) with the recognition of its inherent weakness. that language cannot ultimately meet our desires, but merely project the desires we think we need/want.

the other reality of language is that it creates untruths about reality and other people. it separates us and exiles us from the desires that inhabit us. linguistic/cultural anarchy seems to be the only option left for us to take seriously. this is the moment that we realize that once language inhibits us from meeting with the object of our desire then we must allow language to die.

isn’t the christian message about death and resurrection?

so why not apply this reality to how we interpret reality? this is not an easy stance to take, because to create new language means we have to follow after the words of jesus who once said: “you have heard it was said”(the established world; modernism; capitalism; religion and etc.) which represents the systematic expression of the world as we know it. it alludes to any idea that has been crystallized through habitual fetish and historical allegiance. and then jesus ends his introduction with: “but i say” – he revolutionizes the concept that systems are not what we need because truth inhabits us. truth enters reality when we realize that things don’t have to be the way they were. death is important here.

but resurrection (rebirth) is a sort of anarchy that defiantly proclaims that what has been established doesn’t have to be the prevailing object we all follow. in fact resurrection is an eradication of the notion of reality as being mediated by the historical. resurrection remains the hopeful kernel implanted within death itself, this is why death cannot be merely surpassed (ex: cryogenics) to sustain anything of the former is to leave traces of what was before in the wake of an ideological death. but resurrection proclaims an end to the idea that death has to have the last word.

resurrection is about new life. new perspective and paradigm.

each idea we encounter is embedded with a nuance of resurrection. ultimately if we sustain the life of an idea beyond its cultural space/time we are then at fault for supporting an already flawed system. we are then very much like the guards at the tomb who sat and watched for anything suspicious that came to steal away the body of jesus.

it is in the suspicious/unexpected act of resurrection that we find truth hibernating behind the symbolic order.

we must be willing to welcome the unexpected acts to arrive and usher in the rupture of resurrection. it is in the embodiment of resurrection that language and the future of it can find salvation….