"righteousness and peace will kiss"

Psalm 85 has one of those lines that takes your breath away. Yes, I know, the Bible has a lot of triggering and "problematic" passages. But, my goodness, Scripture is so achingly beautiful.

There will come a time when righteousness and peace will kiss. And yet, that reconciliation implies some present tension and conflict. 

The word translated as "righteousness" has a range of meanings, among them fairness, justice, and equity. We can see, then, the frictions with peace. There can be no true peace without fairness, justice, and equity. As Jeremiah laments, people cry out "Peace, peace" where there is no peace.

On the other hand, our pursuit of justice, equity, and fairness can destroy peace. I think of the gulags of Marxism, the guillotines of the French Revolution, and the bombings of the Weather Underground. 

On one side, a false peace. On the other, a bloody justice. Psalm 85 imagines a better world, that moment when righteousness and peace shall kiss. 

In Matthew 12 and Mark 3 Jesus speaks of an "unforgivable sin." Both stories involve an exorcism Jesus has performed. Attempting to account for Jesus' power over demons, the Pharisees say that Jesus is in league with Beelzebul, the prince of demons, and that it's through this power that Jesus casts out demons. Jesus responds by asking and observing, "Can Satan cast out Satan? If a kingdom is divided against itself, that kingdom cannot stand." Jesus then concludes by describing an "unforgivable sin": 

Therefore I tell you, every sin and blasphemy will be forgiven people, but the blasphemy against the Spirit will not be forgiven. And whoever speaks a word against the Son of Man will be forgiven, but whoever speaks against the Holy Spirit will not be forgiven, either in this age or in the age to come.

What is this "unforgivable sin"? It is someone who "speaks against the Holy Spirit." In context this seems to describe a person who ascribes the work of God to the work of the Devil. That is, instead of viewing the exorcism as the work of God Jesus' critics view it as the power of Beelzebul. This misattribution is "speaking against the Holy Spirit" and "will not be forgiven." 

The passage is a puzzle, and there is no consensus among Biblical scholars as to what the passage might mean. A minimalist interpretation is clear enough: You are at serious hazard if you think good is evil, if you think the work of God in the world is the work of Satan. A moral confusion of this magnitude--good is evil and evil is good--is the absolute spiritual nadir. 

That speaking against the Holy Spirit is morally catastrophic seems clear. But what does it mean that such a sin is "unforgivable"? 

Such a notion of an "unforgivable sin" poses special challenges for me in light of my hopeful eschatology. The existence of an "unforgivable sin" seems to imply eternal separation from God for anyone who commits such a sin. 

To start in on an exploration, let me pose a thought experiment. Consider if this had happened in the gospel story. After Jesus offers his rebuke to the Pharisees about how they explained the exorcism, imagine one of them feeling convicted. Jesus' answer stings, and this Pharisee reconsiders: "Perhaps I have been too quick to judge. This man has been set free from demonic power. Jesus is correct. Clearly this is the work of God!" The Pharisee repents in his heart for speaking against the Holy Spirit.

Now, if this had happened, and I think it's possible it could have happened, would this man be forgiven? Just a moment ago he committed the unforgivable sin by speaking against the Holy Spirit. But now he has reconsidered and repented. He's changed his mind. In fact, he might be one of the very Pharisees who, like Paul, would later come to follow Jesus. If so, was his unforgivable sin, committed while under the sway of Pharisaic dogma, forgiven? 

I think, yes, he was (or would have been) forgiven. And if this is the case, then it seems to me that when Jesus says the sin "will not be forgiven" he's speaking less about some act so grievous it is beyond the mercy of God than about human rebellion and moral confusion. That is to say, anyone so morally confused as to describe the work of God as satanic cannot be forgiven. Not because of God couldn't forgive any sin we repent of, but because to forgive someone in such a state would be inappropriate. What is necessary in such a state is repentance, not pardon. Rebellion and moral confusion, especially of this magnitude, cannot be pardoned while actively ongoing. Pardon will be offered, but only after turning around and coming to rightly see and embrace the actions of God. Simply, "forgiveness" isn't about God's capacity (or lack thereof) but describes our present moral posture before God. Current rebellion cannot be forgiven and stands under judgment. Past rebellion will be forgiven, like the prodigal son coming home.

In October I shared a 13-part series I entitled a "Theology of Everything." The series was an attempt to pull together creation theology, soteriology, theodicy, and eschatology. 

One of the big ideas from that series was affirming creation ex Deo ("from God") and ex nihilo ("from nothing"). The ground of all existence, as a positive expression of being, comes continuously from God. But as created, finite, and contingent being, we are called into existence from nothing. Thus, as I argued in my series, created existence is poised between God and nothing, and we move toward either one or the other.

I've been reading Augustine's The City of God, and in Book 14 I came across Augustine making this exact same argument in practically the exact same terms. Here's Augustine:

...But only a nature created out of nothing could have been perverted by a fault. That it is a nature, therefore, is due to the fact that it was created by God, but that it fell away from what it was is due to the fact that it was created out of nothing.

But man did not fall away so completely as to lose all being and cease to exist; rather, in turning to himself, he became less than what he was when he still clung to the one who supremely exists. Thus, to abandon God and to exist in oneself--that is, to be pleased with oneself--does not mean that one immediately loses all being but rather that one veers toward nothingness... (Book 14, Section 13)

That created nature is a nature, that it exists as something, "is due to the fact that it was created by God." Our positive existence comes ex Deo. But that created nature can fall and move away from God is "due to the fact that it was created out of nothing." When we move away from God we "veer toward nothingness."

Existing as we do between God and nothing, another thing I described in the "Theology of Everything" series is how the fall resulted in an "ontological drop" into contingency. Created being begins a drift toward non-being. Upon being separated from God, created being doesn't cease to exist but begins to suffer the effects of its contingency and finitude. Death, disease, decay, and damage come to shadow created being. As Augustine says here, when we abandon God we do not "immediately lose all being." Rather, we "veer toward nothingness." 

That we continue to exist in being can only be due to being continually addressed by God. God does not permit our being to slide into non-existence. In pondering how Augustine describes this, here's a speculative take upon what all this might mean and look like.

According to Augustine, man falls and moves away from God when he "turns to himself." We "abandon God" to "exist in oneself." But what is this "self" we are turning to? Again, we exist ex Deo. That we have a self to turn to, a "nature," is due to the fact that we were "created by God." So in a sense, when we turn toward ourselves we aren't, strictly speaking, moving toward nothing. We are turning toward a positive, albeit contingent, existence--ourselves--which isn't a direct choosing of the void. Something in ourselves is a positive good and points back toward God. In choosing ourselves, therefore, we don't drop off an ontological cliff but create a kind of self-referential ontological knot, created being grasping at itself, which isn't choosing non-being but, being idolatrous, keeps us separated from God. 

Something like this idea seems to be what Augustine is hinting at. We did not "fall away so completely as to lose all being and cease to exist." Rather we became "less than what we were." To "exist in oneself" and to "please oneself" does not mean we "immediately lose all being" but that we begin to "veer toward nothingness." It seems to me, putting these pieces together, that "choosing ourselves" isn't a total catastrophe. And my guess is that it's not a total catastrophe because there is, due to our existence being rooted in God, some positive good our ourselves. And that tether to goodness slows our slide into non-being. Something of God shines through created being, and that trickle of light slows our drift into non-being. But since we mistake created being for God our movement into nothingness continues. 

Let me try to say all this more simply. In moving away from God we had two choices. Ourselves or nothing. Created being or the void. We chose ourselves. This was a choice between two evils, as both choices move us away from God. But in choosing ourselves, because our being comes from God, this choice was the lesser of two evils. Instead of jumping off an ontological cliff we chose a slow death. 

In The Shape of Joy I discuss the science of awe, the mental health and social benefits of radical amazement and wonder. As described by the psychologist Dacher Keltner, we experience awe and wonder in seven locations in life:

1. Nature: Encounters with the vastness, complexity, or beauty of the natural world, like mountains, oceans, or sunsets.
2. Collective Effervescence: The energy and unity felt in group experiences, such as during concerts, sports events, or religious ceremonies.
3. Moral Beauty: Experiencing the goodness or courage of others, such as acts of kindness, altruism, or resilience.
4. Music: The emotional and transformative power of music.
5. Visual Design: Art, architecture, or other creative expressions that showcase human ingenuity and beauty.
6. Life and Death: Moments of profound realization around birth, growth, mortality, and the cycle of life.
7. Epiphany: Sudden insights, breakthroughs, or spiritual experiences that shift perspectives or provide clarity.

In The Shape of Joy I make the argument that transcendence is good for you, psychologically and relationally. The science of awe is a critical piece of that argument. And one of the most interesting findings from the research on awe concerns the main location where we experience wonder. You might think it would be nature. But according to Keltner's research, our main experience with awe comes from encounters with moral beauty. Witnessing goodness is where we most experience wonder. Love is more amazing than a scenic mountaintop.  

As I describe it in The Shape of Joy, this finding about awe and moral beauty suggests that there is something in human consciousness that is sensitive to value itself. Add in music, art, nature, and epiphanies and you have the human soul responding to the three transcendentals. The true, the beautiful, and the good. And in the radical amazement we experience in our relationship with the transcendentals we also find ourselves drawn into peace and love. 

Human life flourishes when it lives in relationship with transcendence, a horizon of the true, the beautiful, and the good. 

Guilt was never my obsessio. This put me in a different theological world from the stream of Protestantism I was raised in. 

When you live in a different theological world from your faith tradition you grow up feeling like a bit of a weirdo. Things that resonate with the community around you don't resonate with you, and it makes you wonder if something's wrong with you. Why am I the only one not getting it?

My obsessio was Suffering. Not my personal suffering, but the suffering of the world. The horrific suffering of the innocent. This has been my deepest spiritual concern. During the early years of this blog, still in my season of deconstruction, theodicy is what I wrote the most about and most passionately. Seeking answers to the question of pain and suffering have defined my faith journey. Here's how Jürgen Moltmann describes it in Trinity and Kingdom:

It is in suffering that the whole human question about God arises; for incomprehensible suffering calls the God of men and women in question. The suffering of a single innocent child is an irrefutable rebuttal of the notion of the almighty and kindly God in heaven. For a God who lets the innocent suffer and who permits senseless death is not worthy to be called God at all...The theism of the almighty and kindly God comes to an end on the rock of suffering...

The question of theodicy is not a speculative question; it is a critical one. It is the all-embracing eschatological question. It is not purely theoretical, for it cannot be answered with any new theory about the existing world. It is a practical question which will only be answered through experience of the new world in which 'God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.' It is not really a question at all, in the sense of something we can ask or not ask, like other questions. It is the open wound of life in this world. It is the real task of faith and theology to make it possible for us to survive, to go on living, with this open wound. The person who believes will not rest content with any slickly explanatory answer to the theodicy question. And he will also resist any attempts to soften the question down. The more a person believes, the more deeply he experiences pain over the suffering in the world, and the more passionately he asks about God and the new creation.

This obsessio is my theological world. I seek the epiphania for this open wound.

The obsessio of Suffering has determined the shape my theological development. For example, in high school I started asking questions about hell. Eventually, I came to adopt a hopeful eschatology. It's not hard to connect the dots here. If the problem of pain haunted me it was difficult to imagine, with hellish visions of the afterlife, God causing and compounding the suffering of the world. You'll have a hard time trying to convince me of any theology where is God hurting people.

But again, this made me feel like a weirdo. My hopeful eschatology was a secret I kept to myself. The few times I shared it when I first arrived at ACU people looked at me like I was a Martian. And I was! I came from another theological world. When I started blogging in 2007 I found some online community. But I've always been a puzzle and an oddity within my faith tradition. I love my tradition, but I just never shared its obsessios. The things that have historically agitated the soul of the Churches of Christ have never agitated me. My concerns have been elsewhere.

Where do I experience epiphania? Well, that's hard. Does theodicy have an epiphania? As Moltmann describes, the best theology can do is help you survive, help you carry on, in the face of the open wound of life. Theology, for me, has always felt like this, as a means of coping. Now, is that a good foundation for theological reflection? Probably not. But I think every theologian, even the defenders of orthodoxy and the Great Tradition, has an obsessio that biases their thinking. My obsessio biases my thinking toward what helps me cope. My hopeful eschatology makes faith easier to carry given my weight of sorrow. 

But I do experience intimations of grace. There's a passage from Dostoevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov from the speech the elder Zosima delivers before his death to his fellow monks. Zosima's speech has become very dear to me, and I share it at the end of Hunting Magic Eels:

Love all of God’s creation, both the whole of it and every grain of sand. Love every leaf, every ray of God’s light. Love animals, love plants, love each thing. If you love each thing, you will perceive the mystery of God in things. Once you have perceived it, you will begin tirelessly to perceive more and more of it every day. And you will come at last to love the whole world with an entire, universal love...

Love is a teacher, but one must know how to acquire it, for it is difficult to acquire, it is dearly bought, by long work over a long time, for one ought to love not for a chance moment but for all time. Anyone, even a wicked man, can love by chance. My young brother once asked forgiveness of the birds: it seems senseless, yet it is right, for all is like an ocean, all flows and connects; touch it in one place and it echoes at the other end of the world. Let it be madness to ask forgiveness of the birds, still it would be easier for the birds, and for a child, and for any animal near you, if you yourself were more gracious than you are now, if only by a drop, still it would be easier.

This is my epiphania, the single drop of grace that makes the world easier. Life is so very hard and so very sad. But we can make it easier. Consequently, I've never resonated with a Christianity that makes the world harder for others. In my theological world, there are two kinds of Christians: those who make life harder for others and those who make life easier. And if that seems to you woefully simplistic or problematic, well, I suspect you and I come from different theological worlds.

This easing of the burden of life is my epiphania. Whenever I see this happen in the world, when I behold that drop of grace extended, the world shines for me. Some mercy flashes out, rescuing me all over again. Everything is transfigured. 

The glimpse is fleeting, but for a moment, I can see.

"Even a sparrow finds a home"

In Psalm 84 the poet shares a deep longing to be in God's temple: "I long and yearn for the courts of the Lord."

As I've shared in this series on the Psalms, attachment theory describes much of its love language with God. Here we find "proximity maintenance," seeking nearness and closeness with God. It's similar to what we see with Eucharistic adoration in the Catholic church, wanting to be in physical proximity with Christ. 

I'm also struck by the strong emotional language. Longing and yearning. People don't typically describe their relationship with God that way. Perhaps because it would be too overwrought to share. But I do think people experience this longing and yearning in what C.S. Lewis described as "Joy." Joy, for Lewis, was an aching, longing, and desiring. During his early life, Lewis didn't know the object of this longing. It was only after his conversion that he came to see that he had been aching for God his whole life. I describe this longing and yearning as "the Ache" in Hunting Magic Eels and trace its path toward God in The Shape of Joy. 

The most charming detail of Psalm 84 happens when the poet sees his longing for the temple mirrored in the birds who are nesting there:

Even a sparrow finds a home,
and a swallow, a nest for herself
where she places her young—
near your altars

I love these lines because we can vividly imagine how they were composed. The poet had to be physically present in the temple as he wrote Psalm 84. He's looking around the space and glances up at the sparrows and swallows making their nests in the temple courts. We've all seen this, birds roosting and nesting on buildings. Even to the point of being a nuisance. But the poet of Psalm 84 sees a mirror of his own longing. 

Parchment on his knee, the poet sits writing in the temple courts. Gazing around, he looks up and spots a bird nesting above. 

Look, he says to himself, even the birds love being here.

Let's now turn to the theological worlds of Catholicism and Eastern Orthodoxy.  

Let me suggest that the obsessio of both Catholicism and Orthodoxy is Union with God. This is most clearly seen the the contemplative and monastic traditions which provide each tradition a vision of the spiritual life. Relatedly, in both traditions sanctification has a greater emphasis than it does in Protestant spaces. Also, visions of salvation describe mystical union, theosis, divinization, and the Beatific Vision. Salvation is more ontological, a union, than a forensic emphasis on forgiveness. 

Both traditions also emphasize mystical encounter in the Eucharist. Where Protestants "go to church" for a sermon, Catholics and the Orthodox go to church to witness a miracle, to come into the "real presence" of Christ and to incorporate, through the meal, Christ's power and life. Eucharistic adoration is an associated practice. Being in physical proximity to God, an experience absent in the Protestant imagination, is crucial to the devotional life. 

There is also the tradition and expectation of divine appearances and apparitions, of both Christ and Mary, along with sites associated with miraculous healings.

In short, due its contemplative tradition, vision of salvation, sacramental life, divine apparitions, and sites of healing, to name only a few things, the epiphania of Catholicism and Orthodoxy is a direct encounter with God and deepening union with God. Given this, it's no surprise that mystically inclined Christians, driven by the obsessio of Union with God, tend to gravitate toward these traditions.

While Union with God is the main obsessio of Catholicism and Orthodoxy, let me add two others.

The obsessio of Death is also found in Orthodoxy. As I describe in The Slavery of Death, for the Orthodox our Fall from Paradise is more associated with Death than Guilt, causing Orthodoxy to emphasis Christus Victor visions of salvation over forensic views, such as penal substitutionary atonement. For the Orthodox, the Incarnation and the Resurrection are the critical aspects of salvation, given how they overcome the ontological predicament of death, in contrast to the Protestant emphasis, given its obsessio of Guilt, upon the cross. 

I would also suggest that Belonging is the obsessio of many who convert from Protestantism to Catholicism or Orthodoxy. To be sure, these conversions are driven by the obsessio of Union with God, people searching for the "real thing," by way of divine encounter when it comes to the sacramental life, in contrast to the hollow, superficial, thin, and even counterfeit, spirituality they find in Protestant spaces. But there is also a longing to join the Mystical Body of Christ, which fuses Union with God with Belonging. Converting to Catholicism or Orthodoxy is experienced as a "coming home." In contrast to the evangelical obsessio of Belonging, which gets linked with the obsessios of Guilt and Self-Alienation, the Catholic experience of Belonging tends to be more mystically ecclesial than individualistic. 

Having described the theological worlds of evangelicalism, let me turn to the theological worlds of progressive Christianity. 

By "progressive Christianity" I am gathering mainline Protestants with progressive evangelicals and ex-evangelicals. The label "progressive" here is pointing to a more liberal political orientation. By progressive Christianity I mean Christians who tend to vote for Democrats out of social justice concerns.

Given those social justice concerns, a primary obsessio of progressive Christianity is Injustice. Two other obsessios are Suffering and Ecological Grief. 

Basically, where the obsessios of evangelicalism are largely focused upon the self--Guilt, Belonging, and Self-Alienation--the obsessios of progressive Christianity tend to be focused upon the pain and suffering of the world. Injustice. Oppression. Social marginalization. Victimization. Dehumanization. Famine. Food scarcity. Poverty. Destitution. Violence. War. Environmental devastation. Climate Change. Animal suffering.  

Related to these concerns, the experience of epiphania involves the pursuit of justice, the alleviation of suffering, inclusion of the marginalized, and creation care. The focus shifts from away from human guilt toward a non-judgmental, unconditional declaration of God's love and care. Social inclusion and welcome are paramount, leading these churches toward more progressive views regarding gender and sexuality. 

Also, visions of penal substitutionary atonement are replaced with moral influence perspectives. Christ doesn't die to satisfy the wrath of God but shows us how to love and live a human life. As an example of this, the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) wanted to add the song "In Christ Alone" to their hymnal Glory to God. They asked the authors of the hymn if they could change the original lyric “Till on that cross as Jesus died / the wrath of God was satisfied” to “Till on that cross as Jesus died / the love of God was magnified.” This change was rejected, but it illustrates the point. The two lyrics, original and proposed change, come from different theological worlds. This is only one example. A perusal of mainline hymnals will reveal many others. 

On the progressive evangelical side, consider the prayerbook created by Shane Claiborne and Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove Common Prayer: A Liturgy for Ordinary Radicals. Common Prayer, as a daily prayer book like the Book of Common Prayer from the Anglican tradition, reflects the outward-facing obsessios of Injustice, Suffering, and Ecological Grief. Here are liturgies and prayers to form you into an "ordinary radical," an activistic Christian seeking political and environmental justice and change.

Stepping back, we can see why evangelical and progressive Christians experience mutual incomprehension when they encounter each other. They come from very different theological worlds.

One of the reasons I think it is important to ponder theological worlds is how streams of Christianity tend to embody or privilege a particular theological world over the others. Pastorally, we need to be alert to this as not everyone sitting in our pews is living in the theological world of the church. This can create a sense of alienation, where a person comes to feel that their church isn't providing answers to the questions they are asking. The epiphania the church is offering isn't the epiphania the person is searching for. Consequently, a person can come to feel "weird" and "strange" that "these are not my people." The dominant obsessio of the church isn't their obsessio. This creates a spiritual restlessness which can lead to an exit from the church. The person leaves in search of an epiphania the church is not providing.

To illustrate this, in this post and the next two I want to describe three prominent theological worlds within the Christian tradition. In this post we'll describe the theological worlds of evangelicalism. 

Let me argue that evangelicalism is characterized by three main theological worlds, Guilt, Belonging and Self-Alienation. 

The obsessio of Guilt should be obvious. Given the dominant views of atonement within evangelicalism, oriented around penal substitutionary atonement, the primary predicament of the human condition is our sin. The epiphania for our guilt is Christ's atoning sacrifice on the cross. Accepting Jesus as our Savior is the primary experience of salvation. From Jonathan Edwards' "Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God" to the sermons of Billy Graham to Tim Keller, Guilt is an obsessio of the evangelical theological world.

Along with Guilt, I would add the obsessios of Belonging and Self-Alienation. You see these obsessios mainly in the lyrics of Christian praise and worship music. It has long been noted that Christian praise and worship music is very focused upon the self. The pronouns of the music are me, me, and me. This focus upon the self, in its search for connection and self-acceptance, highlights the obsessios of Belonging and Self-Alienation. The modern self is lonely and alienated, so we search for home. The modern self is also experiencing a mental health crisis. We are anxious and depressed. So we search for an inner experience of cosmic compassion, love, and acceptance to overcome our self-alienation.  

Together, the obsessios of Belonging and Self-Alienation create the theological world of Moralistic Therapeutic Deism. God sees me, loves me, supports me, and wants to make me happy.

As we step back and look at these theological worlds--Guilt, Belonging, and Self-Alienation--we can discern some tensions. A fire and brimstone presentation of Guilt can undermine the epiphanias of Belonging and Self-Alienation. We can come to feel that God hates and loathes us, which undercuts feelings of connection and love in relation to God. But the very best expressions of the obsessios and epiphanias of the evangelical theological world present a powerful and compelling connection between Guilt, Belonging, and Self-Alienation. We are drawn into the music and sermons by our obsessios of Belonging and Self-Alienation. We are looking for home, seeking connection. We are emotionally lost and unwell. These twin obsessios bring us powerfully to the third: our separation from God. Overcoming this separation from God in the epiphania of grace and the epiphanias of belonging and cosmic mattering follow. As you are likely aware, this is a powerful cocktail of obsessios when expressed with rhetorical skill and power, and it has proven very attractive. Many people live in the theological worlds of Guilt, Belonging, and Self-Alienation and the evangelical message resonates strongly with them.

Of course, the three keys of this piano--Guilt, Belonging, and Self-Alienation--can be played to create very different melodies. Some preachers lean heavily into Guilt, creating a old-school fundamentalist, fire and brimstone melody. Other preachers deemphasize Guilt, leaning more into Belonging and Self-Alienation. These sermons play a more "therapeutic" song, God loves me and wants me to be happy. In prosperity gospel spaces a theology of "blessing" accompanies this therapeutic message. Most evangelical pastors try to maintain a balance among the obsessios.

To conclude, gather the sermons and praise songs of evangelicalism and you will find the obsessios of three theological worlds: Guilt, Belonging, and Self-Alienation.

You'll have noticed in my description of the nine theological worlds that I focused on the obsessio and said little about the epiphania. I think this is true to Jones' work as the obsessio creates the center of gravity for the theological world. Given each particular obsessio we go in search for a particular grace. 

But what is the nature of each particular grace? 

As I've pondered what might be experienced as epiphania for each theological world that I have described I've struggled to name these precisely. Some epiphania seem obvious, but others are more elusive. Some might have a this-worldly experience and realization, while others have to be deferred to the future new creation. In those instances, the epiphania is an experience of hope or longing. We look for intimations of grace today, but won't experience its fulness in this life. Phrased differently, some epiphania are eschatological in nature. The epiphania is delayed. If this is so, going back to Part 2, then some theological worlds, by default, tip into a Winter Christian experience, where the experience of the obsessio predominates over the epiphania. 

And yet, the lines are blurry here. For example, consider the obsessio of Injustice. Injustice has a this-worldly epiphania when justice is experienced and obtained. So we seek that justice. And yet, justice can also be elusive. This pushes the epiphania toward eschatology. "The arc of history is long," we say, "But it bends toward justice." So, there is justice now and justice delayed. This is the same thing we find with the obsessio of Ecological Grief. A lovely urban garden, reclaiming green space from a concrete wasteland, is an epiphania that breaks into our lives here and now. But we don't expect every ecological crisis to be resolved in our lifetimes. This global epiphania is delayed.

Consider, also, the obsessio of Self-Alienation. Coming to accept, love, and embrace oneself can be a this-worldly experience. And yet, some struggle with self-love their entire lives. The epiphania is never fully realized. Coming to see ourselves as God sees us is delayed until the new creation.

Other obsessios might struggle to have any epiphania in this life and are almost wholly eschatological in nature. The obsessios of Death and Suffering are like this. If you are not in these theological worlds, this might be puzzling to you. For example, you might think that the resurrection and heaven are the epiphania for the obsessio of Death. Problem solved, right? Well, from the outside that seems to be the easy "solution." But recall, the obsessio of Death is the pain of loss, the shadow death casts over human existence. The transitoriness of life. Yes, one can point to heaven in the face of death but that doesn't make the ache go away, nor dispel the mystery of why we must suffer death. The same goes for the obsessio of Suffering. Yes, there are theodicies available to those in this theological world, but if you're living in this theological world those explanations never fully satisfy. In fact, they can make things worse. For example, to return to the example of Ivan Karamazov, even the hope of new creation fails to satisfy his obsessio. Heaven may exist, Ivan says, but he'd refuse to go because of the suffering of this life. 

Pondering all this, I am hesitant to give a specific description of the epiphania for each theological world. What I will say is that each theological world varies as to the degree that the epiphania can be realized proleptically, here and now, in anticipation of the new creation versus epiphanias that are expressed as eschatological hope, as a grace delayed.

I want to also suggest that every epiphania, while particular in location, is the same felt experience. And these experiences, as I discuss in Hunting Magic Eels, take the shape of mystical experiences as described by Willam James. That is, experiences of epiphania are often ineffable, transient, passive, and posses a noetic quality. As to the content of these experience, given their ineffable, inexpressible nature, there are words we use to try to capture them, words like mercy, grace, wonder, peace, wholeness, enlightenment, rest, restoration, joy, and eucatastrophe. Julian of Norwich, I think, captures it when she said, "All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well." Again, while I think this experience is shared across theological worlds, what brings it about varies. These "all shall be well" moments are different depending upon your theological world. Grace is grace, but grace comes to us in our particularity.

Given all this, and unlike W. Paul Jones, I will not describe a particular epiphania for each theological world. I will simple say this by way of summary:

• Some epiphania can be strongly experienced in this life, while others are hoped for and are experienced as longings and intimations.
• Our experiences of epiphania, as religious experiences, are largely ineffable and difficult to put into words
• The subjective experience of epiphania is shared across theological worlds, an experience of "all shall be well." Grace is general.
• However, the locations where we experience these "all shall be well" epiphania are unique to each theological world. Grace is also particular.

"Do not be deaf, God; do not be quiet."

The Psalms are startling in how they aggressively nudge God into action. God is described as deaf, blind, sleepy, or lethargic. Unresponsive. The prayer is less a petition than a rousing, shaking God awake, goading the Lord to act. 

With my students I've described the Psalms as marriage counseling between Israel and Yahweh, the spouses bickering back and forth. In one Psalm you hear the husband speaking. In another Psalm, the wife. In Psalm 83 the wife is speaking: "Dear husband, I thought you loved me. Do something!" Elsewhere, the husband expresses his own complaints. The Psalms are a marital squabble.

I point this out to my students to make that point that love is a rocky road, even our love with God. This relational distress needs to be normalized, rather than pathologized, so that faith can be transformed into fidelity. God's chosen people were those who wrestled with the Lord. That's what love feels like sometimes, like a wrestling match. 

Or a marital spat. 

In the last post, I shared the five theological worlds proposed by W. Paul Jones. In general, I like his five worlds, but I think he mixes some obsessios together that should be kept separate. For example, he mixes social justice issues with existential issues. Or relational issues with existential issues. 

So, what would I set forth as a better taxonomy of theological worlds?

Pondering this, here's what I'll suggest. I'll just be focusing upon the obsessios, locations where people experience desolation or brokenness in the world:

1. Guilt: The weight of shame and guilt
2. Union with God: Spiritual restlessness and longing
3. Injustice: Injustice and oppression in the world
4. Suffering: Horrific suffering in the world, especially of the innocent
5. Belonging: Feeling loved and significant, relationally and cosmically
6. Meaning: Searching for purpose and meaning in life
7. Self-Alienation: Feelings of dismay, dissatisfaction, or distance with oneself
8. Ecological Grief: Grief over ecological damage and devastation, animal suffering included
9. Death: The predicament of mortality, finitude, and loss

Some of these nine obsessios overlap with Jones' worlds. My obsessio of Guilt corresponds to Jones' description of "condemnation," the shame and guilt we experience concerning our moral failures. 

Related but different from Guilt is the obsessio of Union with God. This is the obsessio of the monastic traditions, Western and Eastern, and of spiritual seeking generally. There is a thirst and hunger to rest in God and for spiritual enlightenment. People who "go to the desert" are motivated by this obsessio.

My obsessio of Injustice is close to Jones' obsessio of "conflict," but I'm making its social justice emphasis, a concern over injustice and oppression, more obvious and clear. 

My obsessio of Suffering is the same as Jones' but my description of this obsessio is more other-oriented. That is, the obsessio of Suffering isn't about my personal suffering but is, rather, the suffering of the world, especially the horrific suffering of the innocent. In fiction, Ivan Karamazov from Dostoevsky's The Brothers Karamazov is the best articulation of the obsessio of Suffering that I know. 

My obsessio of Belonging is close to Jones' "isolation." The concern is to be loved and valued as significant by another. As I describe in The Shape of Joy, this embrace is twofold. There is a search for interpersonal belonging, what psychologists call "social mattering." And there is also "cosmic mattering," feeling loved and valued in a transcendent sense by God or "the universe." 

My obsessios of Meaning, Death, and Self-Alienation extract from Jones' worlds what I think are three distinct obsessios that bleed across his five worlds. For example, I think our search for meaning is separate from social justice, "the problem of pain," and a desire to belong. Viktor Frankl's Man's Search for Meaning describes the obsessio of Meaning well, along with many of the existential philosophers and artists, from Camus to Kafka. 

I've made Death its own obsessio, separate from Meaning. I can be convinced that these two should be folded into a single theological world, Meaning/Death. Our search for meaning if often triggered by a confrontation with human mortality and finitude. Does anything really matter if we all die in the end? And yet, I've kept Death and Meaning as separate obsessios as I think death is an obsessio in its own right. Specifically, while death is often implicated in the obsessio of Meaning, along with the obsessio of Suffering, I think the obsessio of Death is larger than those obsessios. Loss, for example. The persistent experience and sadness regarding loss, to my mind, is different from searching for meaning in life or horrific suffering. Human life is tinged with melancholia due to the persistent fading of life, and some of us fixate on this melancholic aspect of life. Think, for example, of the poetry of Emily Dickinson. 

The obsessio of Self-Alienation captures our psychological and therapeutic struggles with ourselves, deeply rooted feelings of dismay and dissatisfaction, even disgust, with ourselves. There is also self-distance, feeling alienated and estranged from oneself. 

Finally, there is the obsessio of Ecological Grief. Many of us locate the brokenness of the world in environmental devastation and loss, along with the suffering of animals. People with this obsessio are often judged by others, criticized for caring more about trees and shelter dogs than human beings. But here's the deal: You are who you are. And if you're wired to place your obsessio here, if this is where your heart breaks, well, there's not much you can do about that. Here is where you'll be haunted, this will be your theological world. 

So, this is my proposed list of theological worlds, my clarification and expansion of Jones' five worlds. As I survey the human experience, we find nine obsessios, visiting nine theological worlds.

But, feel free to add a theological world that you think I have missed!

Whenever I have used Paul Jones' notion of theological worlds, I've tended to discuss the content of the first two posts of this series. That is, I describe the obsessio and epiphania, noting that we locate these experiences in different places. But I don't get overly specific about where these locations might be, allowing people the space and freedom to describe their own experiences however they would like.

But in his work, Paul Jones does name and describe specific theological worlds, five worlds in particular. 

Now, let me confess that one of the reasons I've never dug too deeply into these five descriptions is that I haven't found Jones' scheme wholly satisfactory. You might like it, or you might not. Regardless, one of the reasons I'm doing this series is to, perhaps, improve upon Jones' description of the theological worlds. But to do that work we first need to walk through his five worlds. Here they are:

1. Separation and Reunion
2. Conflict and Vindication
3. Emptiness and Fulfillment
4. Condemnation and Forgiveness
5. Suffering and Endurance

Let's unpack these.

Separation and Reunion

The obsessio of the first world is an experience of "separation," a felt sense of alienation and homelessness in the cosmos. As Jones describes:

For inhabitants of this World, there is often a sense of abandonment. Within this huge cosmos, we feel isolated, small, lonely--a speck in a vast and staggering space. At times we seem to be aliens, or orphans. Life tends to be a quest to understand the mystery of this Whole. Our longing is to find our way home, as it were.

The epiphania for this experience of separation is "reunion," coming to feel "at home" and "welcomed" by the cosmos and life. Jones:

Resolution as the promise of homecoming can begin through experiencing the fact of our existence as itself a gift. In sensing this mystery of being, one can be touched with awe. Such sensitivity often comes in sacramental moments in which we are grasped in oneness with the Ground of our being. It is as if a veil is lifted, if only for a moment, and we know that we truly do belong.

Conflict and Vindication

The obsessio of the second world is "conflict." I think Jones muddies the description here by conflating injustice and oppression with death, but the basic idea is that the world is not "right" and is beset by strife. The theme seems to be oriented around social justice concerns. Jones:

In this World, history and its various institutions are tainted with self-interest. Conflict seems to be at the heart of life, even of nature, with many persons deprived of the means needed for living. Wherever one turns, the scene is a drama of winners and losers. Death is the final enemy, symbolizing the hostility which resists the crucial goal of humanizing this world. The foe is widespread, for even the cosmos is beset by entropy, so that such hemorrhaging seems to give to each part a sense of being violated. Thus threatened by the possibility of chaos, persons are tempted to grasp for power...Our reaction to often one of anger, sometimes even of rage. Reform is called for, even rebellion. Yet even though one is determined to change the world, such efforts sometimes feel like a never-ending defeat.

The epiphania for conflict is "vindication," a just, whole, peaceful, and liberated world:

Hope for resolution is rooted in the vision of a new heaven and a new earth, to be realized as liberation within history...In behalf of that goal, God takes sides, being committed to the poor, the captive, the blind, and the oppressed--and so must we. God calls us to be co-creators in this completion of creation. History will be vindicated by its completion, flowing back to give meaning to each part as means to that end. "Thy Kingdom come on earth, as it already is in heaven."

Emptiness and Fulfillment

The obsessio of the third world is "emptiness," a sense of self-estrangement and self-alienation. Again, I think Jones muddies the waters here by mixing existential angst with self-esteem and a desire to belong:

Those who inhabit this World are concerned with the self, for the dilemma that has taken hold of them is self-estrangement. One is uneasy that if people really knew me, they wouldn't like me. It isn't so much that I'm bad; it's as if there may not be much there. If my mask were to slip, it would be all over. But perhaps that wouldn't change things much after all, since often no one seems to care. The problem for many of us in this World is that often we are made to feel invisible, impotent, unheard, or insignificant. We are afterthoughts, like outcasts, as it were. And inside there is this emptiness, a void, an ache that resides in one’s midsection--the fear of being nobody, which in turn hinders action for fear of being rejected.

The experience of epiphania for emptiness is still unclear, in my opinion, due to mixing feeling loved with realizing one's potential. Jones calls this epiphania "fulfillment":

Resolution begins by being awakened to one's possibilities, usually by the support and promise of a caring friend or group. In being accepted, one is lured toward wholeness and fulfillment...In being loved for who I am, I can be and become my true self. Knowing from within that real selfhood means to love and be loved, I am empowered to realize my potential.

Condemnation and Forgiveness

The obsessio of the fourth world is "condemnation," struggles with shame and guilt, a failure to conform to moral ideals. Jones:

This world is characterized by the struggle with temptation and sin...In the quiet hours, it is hard to quiet a sense of guilt, evoked often by fear of judgment. We can feel like fugitives. This condition has to do not simply with what we do, but with an inner disposition. In trying to change, we experience an impotence to be otherwise, as if we are diseased.

The epiphania for this experience of guilt and shame is "forgiveness":

Since I cannot get out of my own way, resolution becomes possible only through God's intervention, centering in the gift of forgiveness. Repentance, leading to conversion, exhibits faith as trust that we have received reprieve, even though in no way do we deserve it. In spite of our unacceptability, God adopts us, not simply as children, but as heirs of life eternal.

Suffering and Endurance

The obsessio of the fifth and final world is "suffering." Again, because of how I think Jones conflates things which should be kept separate, it's unclear to me if Jones is describing the suffering of the world, as a whole, as a theodicy concern, or a personal sense of suffering with our struggles to carry it. For example, my life might be going just fine but my obsessio might concern the suffering of others. Jones describing the obsessio of "suffering":

The dilemma which focuses life for citizens of this World is life itself, the way things are. There is a heaviness to daily living, so that it seems that whatever can go wrong will. And whatever was troublesome yesterday will surely happen again, and again. while the characters and settings change, the plot remains basically the same--as variations on the theme of "victim." Whether the examples are a poor person who knows deprivation from without, or a successful one who is being eaten by cancer from within, there is the same sense of being engulfed, controlled, wronged, as if a refugee. Suffering is the one constant, the sign of living near the edge. Unable to exist without being scarred, life often feels like a predator. So one is tempted not to feel anymore, to trade in. trying for a cynical fatigue. Worn down in one's courageous fortitude, distrust is often the best defense against being done in. This is a hard world, one not readily chosen, for sadness edges even the joys.

The epiphania of suffering is "endurance," the ability to carry on with integrity and perseverance:

Although one cannot really change the way things are, one does have a choice as how to live it. Resolution, ironically, can come through suffering, as a refining fire, as it were. Travail, rightly faced, can bring healing, in which integrity is birthed. Integrity is a determined willingness to outlast, to persevere, no matter what. Spirit is that strange power which strengthens one to press on, even when one can think of no better reason than just keeping on keeping on... What matters is not the quantity of life but the quality of living. Thus life is to be drunk to the dregs, for one only goes around once. This can be done if one takes “one day at a time."

So, those are the five theological worlds as described by W. Paul Jones. My apologies for quibbling as I walked through these five obsessios, but those quibbles speak to why I've never presented these five worlds to audiences. Things are mixed in these descriptions that, I think, should be separated. Plus, I don't like every epiphania. For example, I don't know if "endurance" is the epiphania people with the "suffering" obsessio are looking for, at least not in an ultimate sense. 

That said, Jones' descriptions of these five worlds gets us started. And I do think he names some legitimate obsessios and epiphanias that we can carry forward.

Having described Paul Jones' notions of obsessio and epiphania, which define one's theological world, the other thing I'd like to note concerns Jones' observation about the relative balancing of our experiences of obsessio versus epiphania.

Again, the obsessio concerns our experiences of brokenness. Epiphania our experiences of grace. Theologically, the obsessio concerns "the Fall" and the epiphania concerns "salvation." And according to Jones, we locate these experiences in different places creating a unique and particular spiritual experience, quest, and journey. Our theological world.

We'll turn to those theological worlds shortly, but before we do there's one additional thing that Jones puts on our radar screen regarding the relationship of obsessio to epiphania. He writes:

There is one more factor to be identified in the emergence of a theological World—the role played by what we will call temperament (“proper mixing”). While the dynamic of obsessio and epiphania is universal, for some individuals, the emphasis falls heaviest on obsessio; for others, on epiphania…

Beyond the location of the obsessio, which we'll get to, there is the relative experience of obsessio to epiphania. That is to say, for some people the experience of epiphania--the experience of assurance, grace, goodness, and salvation--predominate. For others, the experience of the epiphania is more fleeting, episodic, and fragile. Salvation seems furtive, like the sun hidden behind storm clouds, only peeking out intermittently. For these people, the experience of the obsessio, the felt sense of brokenness, predominates.

In my research and writing, I've described these two types of believers as "Summer Christians" and "Winter Christians." In the Summer Christian experience the experience of epiphania predominates. The top notes of faith are joy, peace, conviction, and positivity. By contrast, among Winter Christians the obsessio is felt more keenly. Faith is shadowed by doubt and lament. Simply:

Summer Christian Experience = Epiphana > Obsessio

Winter Christian Experience = Obsessio > Epiphania

According to Jones, this balance and mixing creates a theological "temperament," and he suggests it might be as durable as your personality. That is to say, while everyone goes through winter seasons of faith, some of us might be consistently winter in orientation, experience, and outlook due to how we're wired or put together. I'll have more to day about how I relate to this in the posts to come.

For today, however, you can think about yourself. Where do your spiritual experiences seem to settle? On the obsessio side of the equation, or the epiphania? More doubt or more conviction? More lament or more praise? More Summer or more Winter? 

What's your theological temperament?