The God Who is Love - Moving Toward a Relational Theology, Part 1

The more and more that I venture into theology, and in particularly systematic theology, the more I am convinced that there is something central to the being of God which might serve as a guide to theological reflection. So, my question is this - "What do I place at the center of my theology?" Understand, I am not trying to claim that there necessarily is some absolute thing which is central t0 theology over all other things, but I do think that when we attempt to say something about God it must be rooted in some characteristic which makes God - well, God. So what is it, then?

While I could spend a lot of time juggling a bunch of different answers to this question around as an exercise in rhetoric, I want to cut to the chase and deal with what I have already been working with as the starting point for my theology - relationality - which frames the essence of God, then, as love.[1] OK, don't laugh - I know that it seems a wee bit sappy to say that it all comes down to love. While I am certainly a romantic in many aspects, I hesitate to bring all of theology down to love, not only because it is mushy and "chick flickish," but primarily because it appears, at first glance, overly-simplistic and, at the same time, incomprehensibly abstract. What in the world does it mean to say that God is love?

Let me take a shot …

Before it began, God was perfect community – as history fuses with our present existence, God is perfect community – and as we journey into the future, God will be perfect community.  Since the beginning the story has been about God’s action in history, and so it is our prerogative to tell the story about the human-divine encounter as we perceive it from the human experience.  Thus, we reflect on our experience of God in history and understand that it is from God that all experience flows.  Theology, thus, is not an objective endeavor but is the reflection from the human experience trying to explain who God is and what God is doing in the encounter with humanity.

In the beginning, the God-head existed in perfect relationship and communion within itself.  The relational trinity existed as the Father (Creator) shares with the Son (Redeemer), and the Son with the Father, the love which is the Holy Spirit (Sustainer).  Prior to the creation of the world and the universe, God existed, as God still exists, as the mysterious paradox of the interpenetration of three persons-in-one being – the Divine dance of love (perichoresis).  God exists transcendently in perfect diversity (relationality) and in perfect unity (Shema – “The Lord our God is one”).  Thus, prior even to the creation of the world the story has its purpose and meaning, the story of God is one of relationality and the formation of community that proceed from the self-giving love of God – whose divine essence is perfect love.

From the self-giving love of the relational trinity creation is born, because God is love it is natural for God to extend the communion within the God-head to that which is created.  Therefore, creation is not necessitated by divine loneliness, or anything else, but it exudes from God as an act of freedom and of perfect love.  Ultimately, it is this love, bringing creation into divine communion of God, which the divine-human encounter throughout history is directed toward.  Because God is love, God creates, and calls that creation into relationship with one another and with himself.  God created the world, therefore, in order that it might participate in the relational trinity which means that the purpose behind the creation of humankind is founded upon life-in-community with one another, with creation, and ultimately with God.

The implications of understanding the essential nature of God to be love are tremendous and life-changing.  Therefore I want to spend some time flushing out these implications and trying to wrap my mind around what it means to (not) know a God who is love.

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[1] To give credit where credit is due, much of my understanding of relational theology comes from Stanley Grenz's systematic theology, Theology for the Community of God (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1994).

 

Doctrine or Dogma?

I am currently reading a book by Patrick Keifert, entitled We are Here Now, in which he begins outlining the structural and cultural dynamics associated with the missional church.  It is really a good book, and Keifert has caused me to start thinking about the role of the missional church within the churches of Christ.  It is not as if I haven't pondered missional church before.  In fact, I have spent a lot of my time following the missional movement from within the C of C.  Anyways, Kiefert talks about progress and conversation as key markers of missional churches, assuming some level of commonality, and the truth is that I am continually taken back by our (again, I speak primarily from within the church of Christ) lack of common doctrine.  I mean, we are always asking the question why do we spend all of our time arguing about doctrinal matters?  It is as if we feel that only the high-church systems with their written dogma should be wasting their time with doctrinal disputes.  Indeed, our doctrine is contained in the Word of God - the Bible - so, shouldn't we agree on the issues?  What is the deal?

I was talking with a good friend of mine today and we got into this conversation.  He is a fellow CofC-er and I was taking him to the Episcopal church here in town so that he could experience a new kind of worship - particular for the liturgy.  Anyways, we started talking and ended up critiquing high- and low-church models.  High-church for their abuse of structure and low-church for their/our lack-there-of.  The point of the conversation which especially was interesting to me was the sentiments toward written doctrine in the autonomous church-form (ie- CofC).  These feelings were readily expressed in my friend's feeling in the matter.  My critique of the autonomous church model is that we do spend our time in doctrinal disputes, primarily, because of our minimal, or complete lack of, written doctrine.  Being (a) Bible-based church(es) we claim that our theology emanates from the inspired Word of God - the Bible.  Thus, we take a very hard and twisted view of sola scriptura - resulting in the claim that scripture is the exclusive word of God.  Here and there, I have argued that a broader understanding of the word of God would be beneficial for the church of Christ.  Unfortunately, our restricted understanding of the word of God has led to an unhealthy approach to church doctrine.  Claiming scripture as our doctrine, falsely assumes that all readings of scripture will yield a common interpretations.  Unfortunately, reading is interpretation and all interpretation is necessarily relative.  Therefore, although we assume that our reading of scripture can suffice as our doctrine, we must come to grips with the reality that church of Christ doctrine is the the unwritten conglomeration of a multiplicity of readings and interpretations of scripture.  Hence, we spend most, if not all, of our time in heated debates over proper CofC doctrine instead of in constructive conversation.  Rather than viewing common written doctrine as dogma, we might begin to see it as the starting point for conversation.

This is the major point of emphasis.  Written doctrine should not be considered to be our ontological treatise on God - such would be dogma.  Instead, a clearly articulated common doctrine provides the church with common ground to begin discussing, rather than circularly debating, the theological framework of our faith.  Written doctrine cannot be considered the ultimate declaration of our faith, or else we risk idolatry, but should be considered as a starting point in our journey toward discovering who God is (not).  I offer this as a suggestion from a young theologian who is frustrated by the lack of theological clarity in his heritage and wishes to build upon the rich tradition of the CofC without drowning in the ambiguity of unwritten doctrine.  To God be the Glory

When God is ...

A Reflection on Barbara Brown Taylor’s When God is Silent

“God rid me of God”[1]   - Meister Eckhart 

Meister Eckhart’s seemingly paradoxical utterance – to be rid of God, by God – is powerful beyond the simplicity of the words he uses.  In this cry, which could be uttered in a single breath, Eckhart speaks words that have the potential to change our perception of who God is (not).   Eckhart desires that we might begin to reconsider the language which we ascribe to God and be reminded that the God we speak of is not God in reality, but our language of God is the linguistic representation of our mere perception of God.  Indeed, the only thing which can be attributed to God, being the one who is both lovingly immanent and mysteriously transcendent, is that which God has chosen to reveal – namely, the word made flesh in the person of Jesus.  Yet, as Barbara Brown Taylor makes clear in When God is Silent, we have over-stepped our perceptive-boundaries and have fashioned an idol, in the place of God, with our language.  Therefore, according to Taylor, God has taken a vow of silence in order to combat the incessant pillaging of language that is being carried out in the name of God.  And yet, it is in the very moment when God’s silence echoes from every corner of the universe that the heart of God becomes known and the silence becomes deafening. Through God’s own silence, the word of God is spoken.

The silence of the spoken word is not exclusive to the Divine-human relationship, but is indicative of the human-human relationship.  Taylor describes our present human experience as being “live[d] after the Word”[2] and uses the metaphor of a famine to illustrate the malnourishment which words are presently able to supply because of the overuse and abuse of the spoken word.  Words are no longer the vessels of (trans)formative power that they once were. Rather, the ever-continual ambiance of noise and words which fills every waking moment of our lives, has served to not only suck the meaning and significance out of the word, but has numbed our senses to the potential life-altering power which might still exist in a well-cared for and timely-presented word.  And yet, we, as Christians, have the audacity to claim that the image of God we present to the world, constructed from the very words which no longer contain substance or nourishment,[3] is God.  It is no more idolatrous to worship the golden calf at the foot of Mt. Sinai than to believe and worship the image we have constructed with empty and meaningless words.  We have become an idolatrous people, mistaking our perception of God for the God who transcends all understanding – the One who is called Holy.

When we attempt to say something about God, usually through metaphor, we are not saying anything ontologically significant about God but are only articulating something about our perception of who God is and, transversely, who God is not.  Unfortunately, in the attempt to describe the perceived-God, we have mistaken the God who is for our metaphors of God, which can do no more than direct our gaze toward the Transcendent One.  Thus, we have semantically created a pseudo-God over whom we have control through the power of the descriptive word.  So much of our theology, then, has taken advantage of the liberty to make the positive move in constructing our image of God through language, but the positive move must be followed by the movement of via negativa, the deconstruction of our propositions concerning God, or else we are left worshipping the human-made image of God, rather than the God who is, and we are guilty of idolatry.  Hence, Meister Eckhart cries out to God, and to us, “God rid me of God.”

God’s answer to our incessant, and at times ignorant, idolatry is silence.[4]  Amidst the noise and business of our lives, the silence of God strikes a chord whose subtle reverberations are deafening to our ears.  It is an odd reality that noise, utterance and ambiance, are normative for our lives.  Taylor comments that “it is more and more difficult for us to choose silence when communication is possible … even now, some Christians have trouble listening to God.  Many of us prefer to speak.”[5]  And so, the silence which God imparts on us, an idolatrous people, is too loud for us to handle.  It is too awkward, too foreign, for us to exist in the utter silence to which God has retreated.  Our lives have been so calibrated to function amongst the noise and constant movement of our world that to hear anything through the silence is nearly impossible.  Our first inclination, when the silence is turned up to a deafening level, is to break the silence with speech, with words – empty, numbing words.  And yet, it is in this silence that God is waiting to impart words, life-giving words, into the people of God. 

We must rid ourselves of the graven image we have constructed with our words and come to the point where the only ontological truth we can assign to God is simply that God is.  It is at this moment of pure silence, where the descriptions and metaphors of God dissolve into eternity, that God begins to speak once again.  For, as Taylor articulates, “Silence [is] the backdrop against which the Word beg[ins] to be heard.”[6]  God will not speak until we have learned to hear in the silence.  In the silence, theology, our endeavor to know something about God, “is no longer thought of as a human discourse that speaks of God but rather as the place where God speaks into human discourse … we must seek, not to speak of God, but rather to be in that place where God speaks”[7] – to be people who can enter into the silence of God.

Barbara Brown Taylor’s admonition for homiletical restraint, then, becomes necessary instruction for the preacher of the word given by God.  It is necessary because of the paradox which all preachers of God’s word find themselves in – where their “speech exists in tension with God’s silence.”[8]  Who is anyone to speak when the most profound utterance of God can only be made in the midst of pure silence?  What can anyone say about the one whose own name cannot be said?  These are the questions that the messenger for the community of God’s people, the preacher, must wrestle with. 

Taylor’s advice, in response to such questions, is to be people who are marked by restraint.  To be messengers who do not think that God’s being is flushed by heaping a multiplicity of names and metaphors upon their listeners but, rather, know that God’s essence is most intimately felt when we fall short of words.  To preach the word clearly and concisely is to practice homiletical restraint.  To allow the word to work and permit the hearer to volunteer their attention rather than stuffing the message down their throats is, again, to practice homiletical restraint.  Finally, to treat the word with reverence, understanding that the absence of words is the closest we can come to hearing what cannot be said or heard, is to practice homiletical restraint.  For every positive affirmation that we ascribe to God, we must be sure to perform the necessary negation of that affirmation, or else disturb the silence which is necessary for the word of God to be heard. 

The practice of restraint is an adventure into the realm of mysticism, a journey in which our goal is to, somehow, come into mystical union with the transcendent God.  This is the telos for the preacher and is that which (s)he must invite the community of listeners into.  The journey of the mystic is foreign to our controlling nature as modern human beings.  It is where the comfortable clarity and predictability of our lives is no longer normative, but we are made subject to the infinitude of possibilities which exist in the silence of God’s immanent presence.  For, as Taylor says, “Our words are too fragile … God’s silence is too deep,”[9] and we are left, simply, with the God who is …

Notes

 [1] Meister Eckhart, (ed. and trans. Raymond B. Blakney; New York: HarperPerennial, 1941), 231.

[2] Barbara Brown Taylor, When God is Silent (Chicago: Cowley, 1998), 18.

[3] Ibid., 23.

[4] Ibid., 38.

[5] Ibid., 44-50.

[6] Ibid., 74.

[7] Peter Rollins, How (not) to Speak of God (Brewster, MA: Paraclete Press, 2006), 21.

[8] Taylor, Silent, 89.

[9] Ibid., 121.

The Convergence of Technology and Faith

The Pharisees and Sadducees came, and to test Jesus they asked him to show them a sign from heaven. He answered them, “When it is evening, you say, ‘It will be fair weather, for the sky is red.’ And in the morning, ‘It will be stormy today, for the sky is red and threatening.’ You know how to interpret the appearance of the sky, but you cannot interpret the signs of the times… ” [Mt 16:1-3 NRSV][1]

The present reality of the church in the Age of Information (also deemed the Technological Age) is sufficient reason to believe the claim that the topic of technology stands as the most pressing theological question of the day. For Christians, who all practice theology to one degree or another, there arises a certain necessity to reflect on and respond to the existential questions of the present day. Pragmatically, contemporary Christians are called upon to answer the question, “What does it mean to live as Christians in the midst of a technological world?” However, it is a categorical mistake to assume that a value judgment concerning the convergence of technology with Christian spirituality is necessitated by such lines of questioning. In other words, as Christians, we must not feel pressured into classifying technology as right or wrong, in so far as it applies to Christian spirituality. To make such a judgment wrongly assumes a human understanding of finality, to which we claim only God is capable of possessing. This is not to say that technology may not be objectively right or wrong, but it is to say that our prerogative is to, first, theologically reflect on the convergence of technology with faith and, then, engage it in some way.

The Christian response to convergence technology is not to simply to reject it as worldly and live apart from it but, rather, to engage technology as part of the world in which we live as agents of God’s redeeming work. The author of the Epistle to Diognetus observes the church living in apparent paradox as people who dwell in the world but do not “belong to the world” (Jn 17:16):
“The Christians cannot be distinguished from other people by country, or language or the customs they observe. For they neither inhabit cities of their own, nor employ a peculiar form of speech, nor lead a life which is marked out by singularity . . . They dwell in their own countries, but only as aliens. As citizens, they share in all things with others, and yet endure all things as foreigners.”[2]

If these words, written to Diognetus, should speak a message to our present situation, it might be that the prima facie response of the church should not be to reject the constructs of society, in this case technology, but to live within and engage those constructs even as we remember that we live as aliens in this world. At the same time that we live within the constructs of a technological world, the Christian reaction must embody the understanding that to love the worldly for itself is dangerous and detrimental to spiritual formation. Augustine of Hippo voices the danger we face in becoming absorbed in technology when he confesses, “I longed to be satisfied with worldly things, and I dared to grow wild in a succession of various and shadowy loves.”[3] Indeed, just as the Christian response cannot simply be to turn and flee from the convergence of technology, a reaction which redirects devotion from God to the form which glorifies God is similarly destructive to spiritual formation. The tension between these two polar ends is reason enough to engage in grounded theological reflection in order to understand the proper Christian response to technological convergence.

The theological task of reflecting on the spiritual implications of convergent technology is one that our tradition (in particular the Church of Christ) is not necessarily fully-equipped to engage. This does not imply, however, that we are incapable of coming to grips with the spiritual and theological consequences of convergent technology. Rather, the unwritten Church of Christ doctrine that assumes the approach of sola scriptura (scripture only) as the source of theological understanding will not suffice as the means for answering the questions concerning technology. Although scripture is a legitimate theological source, perhaps even the primary source of divine revelation, the word of God as the basis for theology is not exhausted in scripture. The Wesleyan quadrilateral,[4] for instance, presents a four-fold paradigm for understanding the sources of theology which would broaden our heritage’s understanding of theological inception. Here, the starting points for theology consist of scripture, tradition, reason, and experience. Although the sources of the Wesleyan quadrilateral may not necessarily carry equal authoritative weight, understanding the different springs of theological insight are beneficial as we are encouraged to expand our vision, beyond scripture alone, in reflecting on the pressing faith questions of the day. The relevance of understanding the different sources of theology to the discussion regarding technology and spirituality is one primarily of historical-cultural contexts. It is important to realize that the narratives and teachings of scripture were lived and written within the context of an agrarian society; whereas, we find ourselves living within a society that is constructed around technology. Although scripture certainly speaks beyond its specific context and is enlightening to our conversation on technology, affirming and engaging other prospective norms of theological understanding will allow us to reflect more holistically on the interplay between technology and Christian spirituality.

Moving from the sources into theological reflection on the implications of technology for the Christian spiritual journey, it is necessary to establish some kind of criterion that embodies the purpose(s) of the spiritual life. In other words, in order to grasp the consequences of the integration of technology into the Christian spiritual journey, we must begin by establishing theological foundations for the directive of Christian spirituality. Very simply, I would offer that the spiritual journey is directed toward mystical union with God. Proceeding from the very essence of the triune God, which is relationality, we begin to understand our movement into communion with God. Therefore, the spiritual experience is none other than the process through which we are transformed into participants in God’s eschatological community. This process of spiritual transformation which we live into on earth, then, is marked by life-in-community. Therefore, the measure which might be used in our conversation concerning the convergence of technology and spirituality is one that is set toward the formation of life-in-community and, ultimately, union with God. While there are certainly other markers of the Christian spiritual experience, the movement of individuals into community with God and others stands at the center of the spiritual process, and it offers a standard by which convergence technology might be measured against.

By theologically grounding the Christian spiritual experience in a pursuit of life-in-community the conversation opens to invite the existential questions that are posed by the emergence of convergent technology. Given the brevity of this essay it would be incredulous to claim that all the nuances of convergent technology’s impact on spirituality could be addressed. Nonetheless, it is crucial to address some of the major points of emphasis which arise out of personal and communal experience. It might be argued that there are four fundamental spiritual disciplines that stand as cornerstones for the Christian spiritual journey that sharpen and transform degenerated beings into the likeness of Christ: the reading of scripture, prayer, silent meditation, and the practice of simplicity. Although convergence technology would certainly have implications in all four of these exercises, it seems that the emergence of convergent technology might pose serious threats to two of these spiritual disciplines in particular, the practices of meditation and intentional simplicity.

From my own experience I can attest to the effects of technology on the spiritual practice of meditation as I have rarely been encouraged to enter into meditation and I have only exercised the discipline on very few occasions. Such unfamiliarity with meditation and intentional silence, I would argue, is reality for the majority of the contemporary Christian body. While this lack of attention to meditation cannot be attributed fully to the dawning of the technological age, the place of convergent technology in our culture has been contributory to our inability to enter into silence. The noise of our daily lives has only been increased by the integration of convergence technology and there is a sense that we are at times almost in bondage to those devices which appear to bring us into greater connectivity with one another (via - i-phones, smart phones, internet, e-mail, blackberries, etc…). Yet, the terminology of connectivity should not be used synonymously with that of community. To do so is to perform one of the most destructive reductions in the church, for it has been acknowledged that the spiritual journey is directed toward life-in-community which necessarily must transcend mere connectivity.

Along the same vein, the impact of convergent technology on the practice of the spiritual discipline of intentional simplicity is astounding. Convergence of technology, by definition, is the attempt to do more and more with fewer devices. The tendency that the emergence of convergent technology creates is the inherent desire to do more, get more, and be identified by more. Such a tendency flies in the face of the spiritual discipline of intentional simplicity. Thus, the engagement of Christians with technology must be balanced by healthy practices which seek to bring us into practicing simplicity, even as it appears absurd to the technological world in which we live.

Jesus’ appeal to his listeners to be people who could “interpret the signs of the times” (Mt 16:3) should encourage the contemporary church to be attentive to the implications of the technology which exists as the framework of the society in which we live. The competing responses of rejection and unquestioned acceptance, both, reside outside of what might be considered the proper and responsible reaction by the Christian community in regards to the convergence of technology. Instead, the Christian response must embody theological reflection that is committed to engaging the constructs of the world in which we live as the community of God. Therefore, spiritual formation within the technological world of the twenty-first century is not going to take place as we try to separate spiritual disciplines from the forms of technology, but we must commit ourselves to creating spiritual disciplines which responsibly incorporate convergent technology.



Notes

[1] It should be noted that a portion of Jesus’ response, in 16:2-3, is plagued by textual uncertainty. However, whether original or secondary, the passage mirrors Mt 12:38-40 and sets the stage for Peter’s Messianic confession (16:16) toward which the Matthean author has been building toward since 4:17. For a good and concise interpretation of this passage see M. Eugene Boring, The Gospel of Matthew (vol. 8 of The New Interpreter’s Bible: ed. Leander E. Keck; Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1995), 340-41.

[2] “Epistle to Diognetus,” in Invitation to Christian Spirituality: An Ecumenical Anthology (ed. John R. Tyson; New York: Oxford University Press, 1999), 59.

[3] Augustine of Hippo, “The Sinful Heart” in Invitation to Christian Spirituality: An Ecumenical Anthology (ed. John R. Tyson; New York: Oxford University Press, 1999), 105.

[4] Stanley J. Grenz, Theology for the Community of God (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1994), 15-16. It is worth noting that Paul Tillich (Ibid.) offers a worthy critique of the claim that experience exists as a source of theology. Whether experience should be considered as a primary source of theology, or not, it cannot be dismissed because there is very little which we can conceive of reality that is not learned through experience. Experiential understanding in the realm of theological reflection is of particular importance for conversations such as the one we are currently engaged in concerning the interface between technology and Christian spirituality.

Getting Out of My Mind

It seems to me that one of the most important things to understand about my spiritual/theological journey is where it began and where it is heading. I do not want to be accused of systematizing and dissecting spirituality, but I think that what I have done can be regarded as an authentic attempt at deep self-reflection. Such, I believe, is the way that we can learn about ourselves and make intentional movements toward embodying the kingdom life more wholly. So, if what I have done means anything - let me know.

Basically, the method that I am using to identify my spiritual/theological tendencies is by locating myself on the Landscape Model of Christian Spirituality (this model was presented to me by Dr. Jeff Childers, professor in the Graduate School of Theology at Abilene Christian University). Within the model there are two basic distinctions which must be deciphered between in order to locate oneself. The first, which can be designated as the X-axis, locates the general theological premises of the subject. It is the distinction between the Kataphatic (the belief that God can be known to humans positively or affirmatively; positive theology) and the Apophatic (the belief that God can be known to humans only in terms of what He is not; negative theology). The second distinction, which can be designated as the Y-axis, works toward identifying the spiritual approach of the subject. The tension points are that of the Heart and Mind. Essentially, those who are Mind-oriented most commonly experience their spirituality through the modes of reason and intellect. In other words, they are propositionally-oriented. Those who are Heart-oriented will often confess that they experience their spirituality through experience and emotion. Some of the labels that are given to the Heart-oriented are mystics and emotives. Thus, we are left with four regions on the landscape model: the Apophatic Mind/Heart (1,2), and the Kataphatic Mind/Heart (3,4). I know that this explanation of Dr. Childers very detailed model is lacking, but I hope that it is sufficient for a basic idea of the method that I am using to identify my spiritual/theological groundings and bearings.

The prospect of committing myself to any one quadrant of the spiritual landscape model is slightly frightening and idealistic. Thus, I will not attempt to do such. I will, however, venture to remove my religious clothing and reveal my spiritual nakedness in order to analyze, with as much objectivity as a postmodern thinker is capable of, the outline of my own spiritual body type. Although the uncovering of my spiritual tendencies will reveal my own spiritual immaturity, a mark to my credit resides in understanding that I am not stuck in the spiritual category which I currently find myself. Rather, such an uncovering marks the beginning of a journey toward the embodiment of a more holistic spiritual life. In essence, I understand that I am inclined to the tendencies of the Kataphatic Mind (KM), but I also realize that such a categorization does not completely encapsulate my spiritual outlook. A primary grounding within the KM should not lead me to solidify my status there but must propel me to experience and embody the marks of the other quadrants in the landscape model of Christian Spirituality.

One would not have to look much further than my academic concentrations to get a grasp on my identity within the KM. Indeed, a major in Biblical Text and a minor in Philosophy would seem sufficient as evidence to conclude that my purpose is to discover the revealed God through scripture and reason. As I reflect on my academic and spiritual pilgrimage, it is obvious that my initial intentions were, indeed, to discover some objective/absolute truth about God as he reveals himself in scripture and reason (Mt 10:26; Lk 12:2). However, as I have grown in understanding I have come to realize that what I can know is nothing more than what I perceive. This would not qualify to write me off as a relativist because I simply seek to escape the objective/subjective paradigm that is born of the Enlightenment. There is an Ultimate Reality who is God, and it is God who we seek to know. Yet, it is a mistake to presume that any person or group may claim that they, exclusively, hold the truth of the Ultimate Reality. There are some who understand God more fully than others, but it is they who realize that God cannot be fully grasped. Indeed, God can be known, but it is beyond the human capacity to grasp God fully. There is a certain unattainable mystery to God of which we seek to know:

Oh, the depth of the riches of the wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable his judgments, and his paths beyond tracing out! Who has known the mind of the Lord? Or who has been his counselor? Who has ever given to God, that God should repay him? (Rom 11:33-35 NIV)

As I consider my own ability to know God, I observe a definite movement in my positioning from the region of the KM toward the Apophatic Mind (AM). However, I am still very deep in the process of working through the negative theology of (not) knowing the mysterious God and would not admit myself to have passed from the KM to the AM, yet. Nonetheless, I cannot ignore my current teetering on the line between the KM and the AM. As I reflect on my own spiritual journey, it is worth noting that the Kataphatic appears to provide the most fertile ground for someone who is beginning their spiritual journey. Whether it be from the KM or the Kataphatic Heart (KH), the proposal to know the revealed God is much more appealing than the journey of the Apophatic who seeks a mysterious God. Perhaps for this reason my spiritual journey, along with those of most other Christians I know, began/remains in the Kataphatic.

Having established my position in the Kataphatic, with movement toward the Apophatic, the landscape model requires a deciphering between the regions of the Head and Heart. While my positioning between the Kataphatic and Apophatic could be described as fluid, my placement between the Head and Heart is more concrete. My tendency to experience God through the intellect, however, does not imply that I do not yearn to experience God in a more emotional and transcendent way. Perhaps my inclination toward the Head is the result of my upbringing in an intellect-directed (Jn 8:32) Church of Christ setting, or it could be contributed to my fascination with the academic and theological pursuit of God. Whichever the cause, it is with a high degree of certainty that I can locate myself within the Head hemisphere of the landscape model.

Location within the KM (with movement toward the AM) brings recognition of, both, strengths and shortcomings. An obvious strength of existing within the Kataphatic is the acknowledgement of God’s self-revelation through the incarnation, scripture, and religious experience. At the same time, however, it is this conception that God’s character and will might be fully grasped with human cognizance which pushes me ever closer to crossing into the Apophatic. I am not arguing from an ontological position where God must exist as that being which no greater can be imagined. Rather, I fear any kind of reductionist thinking regarding God on the grounds that my experience within the human situation necessitates that the Ultimate Reality (Yahweh) be beyond the understanding of degenerated beings. Hence, there must be a certain mystery to the being and character of God in fear of reducing God to the capacities of the human grasp. Such is the basis for my uneasiness of being wholly incorporated into the Kataphatic. At the same time, it seems to me that theological renewal should be the means, rather than the end, of seeking after God. In this way, the KM must lead to an appreciation for the AM which finds relevance and application for the intellectual endeavors that the KM might regard as the pinnacle of spiritual journeying. Again, I see a definite shift in myself toward encompassing more of the AM than I previously embodied.

Despite all analysis of my spiritual positioning, I have to believe that deep within me there resides the being of a mystic. My original location within the KM recognizes the tensions that, seemingly, must exist with the Apophatic Heart (AH). It is, perhaps, with the certainty that I can locate myself within the Head hemisphere that my greatest shortcoming arises. It is not that the AH, or the entire Heart hemisphere for that matter, requires an anti-intellectual approach to spirituality. Rather, those who emphasize the Heart stress the experience of God over the prospect of simply growing in knowledge about God. For the most part, such an emphasis on experience has not been part of my spiritual training. Yet, it should not be my goal to simply move from the KM to the AH to cure my spiritual shortcomings. Instead, my prerogative should be to make movements within the landscape model which result in a spirituality that embodies characteristics from each quadrant. A spirituality marked by wholeness will lead to a re-interpreting of my place in the narrative of God’s relationship with humanity. Such, I believe, is a spiritual journey that is worth embarking on.

"The antidote to an intellectual spirituality is not an anti-intellectual spirituality but a spritiuality rooted in God's story that stands on its own" (Robert E. Webber, The Divine Embrace: Recovering the Passionate Spiritual Life [Grand Rapids: Baker Books, 2006], 92-93.)

Introduction and Greetings

Greetings - It has been for some time now that I have been urging myself to get past my own irrational fear of personal exposure and begin blogging my own thoughts and questions. Understand that I am not beginning this blog because I necessarily believe that I have anything important to say, but I do believe that in pursuing a life of discipleship I will encounter different obstacles with some successes and many failures which might be beneficial to others who are similarly committed to pursing lives of discipleship. Thus the title of the blog, Exposed Discipleship.


Again, I want to make it clear that I do not make any claims for leading a life of exemplary discipleship. In fact, my own understanding of what genuine discipleship entails is rather young and rudimentary. Thus, rather than an exposition on my own personal formation, consider this blog an exploration for the marks of discipleship.

May this be a blessed interaction between citizens of the kingdom who are dedicated to discovering and living out lives of authentic discipleship. Peace