A Theology of the Suburbs - Restatement

I feel as though I need to pause for breath here, to summarize what I'm proposing as descriptive of the suburban ethos. I want to do this so as to frame my coming thoughts succinctly and to provide some structure for this. The reality is that, from this point, there are many directions that I desire to take. A part of me wants to continue this particular thread - there are elements that I haven't touched that desperately need addressing. A few that I would dearly love to tackle:

• Pace - The tempo of suburban life is one of continual acceleration. This deserves a response. I'm going to forgo this for the moment, because one of the books on my stack right now is Carl Honore's In Praise of Slowness, which I suspect will provide a better framework for approaching this question than I currently have.
• Networks - Although I believe isolation to be a significant force in suburbia, it is tempered by the transition from neighborhood to social network. What was once geographic and local is now something else - relationships are increasingly structured more like networks, with hubs around common interests or life situations. They also seem to be more ad-hoc and mobile. This has significant impact on how we approach any sort of incarnational ministry.
• Technology - much of the suburban ethos is predicated on a particular approach to technology. I have a lot to say on this one too, but I'm again going to punt until I get an opportunity to discuss The Hidden Power of Electronic Culture by Shane Hipps, which I'm currently finishing.

And I could go on - but I want more to begin to tackle the constructive work of building a response. So, with the caveats that this is incomplete, provisional, and certainly a generalization, here is the framework in which I'm approaching the question of the gospel in suburban culture. First, I'm suggesting that the suburban lifestyle is predicated on the pursuit of happiness, primarily defined in a sort of neo-Epicurean desire for comfort, ease, and personal fulfillment. I'm also suggesting that the dominant sphere in suburban contexts is economic. People in suburban contexts look to the economic realm for the stories, metaphors, values, and symbols through which meaning is assembled. This economic lens means that the pursuit of happiness is accomplished through the exercise of control-through-choice, resulting in a power dynamic in which the ability to choose and to shape the choices of others is the chief form of power. The power of choice exercised in pursuit of happiness has resulted in an increasing isolation, as happiness becomes defined in terms of economics, namely the ability to pursue safety and comfort through the acquisition of goods and choice of environment / neighborhood.

More could - and should - be said, but this should be sufficient to begin. I realize that much of what I've stated thus far has slanted towards the negative, even when I've tried to present things from as neutral a perspective as possible. This may make it seem as though I don't find much of redeeming value in the suburban lifestyle. I hope that, as we walk through the next few posts and begin to construct an approach, the redemptive possibilities will begin to become evident.

Lastly, a word about method. I'm interested in a model that is functional as well as theoretical, that is holistic and imaginative, and that provides its own opportunities for revision. As a result, each of the following posts will contain two proposals: the narrative approach, and the resulting spiritual practice. The idea is to suggest a true suburban praxis in the technical sense, which is a dialectical engagement of reflection and action - in other words, acting reflectively and reflecting on one's actions, to borrow from Bevans. First up: imago dei as critique of the Market.

Technorati Tags: contextual theology, suburbs

A Theology of the Suburbs (p. 4)

I believe that, when I think of suburban life, what I think of more than anything else is rootlessness. If control-through-choice is at the core of the ethos of the suburbs, rootlessness is its fruit. Disconnection, isolation, transience, impermanence - all of these characterize suburban life; all are symptomatic of a culture that has no connection to place, no connection to history, and no connection to the other.

I do want to pause here and mention that, as James rightly noted earlier, some of these things aren't going to hold true in a particular context. I think of a neighborhood near my home that is an honest neighborhood, with local businesses and front porches - the whole package. And it's not just surface, or at least not all of it - I have friends that actually know their neighbors and the folks who own the businesses they frequent. On the other hand, a group from my cohort at Biblical sat around a few weeks ago and talked about all of the ways that we, and the folks in our faith communities, experience isolation on a daily basis. Just noting that the average commute (one-way) for American workers in 2003 was 24 minutes (just over 30 in Philadelphia) should tell us something about this (source).

I don't want to oversimplify this. I think it's complicated and multilayered. But I think that, for many in suburban contexts, isolation is a reality. More and more, the thought of "settling down" sounds hopelessly quaint - there seems to be an increasing expectation that a family will live in several different homes over the course of their lives, "trading up" as the family grows in both size and wealth. Speaking personally, my family has lived in our current home for almost eight years. In that time, we've had at least four different neighbors in the home on our left, and three on our right. But, truth be told, I can only remember some of them - by and large, we simply never connected with the people who lived literally next door. And, this summer, we're also preparing to move. At least in my area, this is not unusual - it is, rather, the norm. But at the end of the day, it's a phenomenon that results in a disconnection from our neighborhood - there simply is nothing tying us to this particular area, other than preference and convenience. And I don't think I'm alone in my experiences here - I know too many folks who simply assume this to be the way things are, a sure sign to me that there are particular values in play here.

By and large, the suburbs seem to me to be places without a sense of place. It's a context in which the question, "Who is my neighbor?" isn't really all that rhetorical. Practically speaking, this is a challenge for those of us who want to embody the gospel in our communities. For one thing, it completely rearranges our metaphors - for example, we simply can't speak of "home" in a theological sense in the same way that we could in the past. But there's a bigger challenge - how do I demonstrate the love of God in a context where I'm challenged to even know the name of the person next door, especially when the turnover rate for residents in my community seems to be a scant few years? To put it more succinctly, how does one embody the gospel as a part of a community in a context where the very idea of community seems more a quaint anachronism?

I think it's about time to start synthesizing some of this - more to come...

Technorati Tags: contextual theology, suburbs

MereMission

I've joined a bunch of other folks over at the group blog at MereMission.org. Todd has done a great job of putting everything together, and there's still an opportunity for more contributors to jump in, so if you're interested or if you just want to read some good thoughts about missional theology, head over and check it out. Should be fun!

Technorati Tags: contextual theology, missional theology, MereMission.org

A Theology of the Suburbs (p. 3)

Chris brought up an excellent thought in the comments on my last post. Chris has this to say:

I think that too, like the early Christians, choice is mediated by economy. I know that you alluded to it, but I don't think that you can emphasize enough the power of economy in the control structure.

This brings up another concern that I've hinted at but haven't discussed explicitly here. Robert Schreiter, in his excellent book Constructing Local Theologies, defines culture in terms of semiotic domains, which he describes as systems of signs, symbols, metaphors, and meanings that operate in a particular sphere. In his words:

When this complex sign, code, message, and metaphoric process spreads itself over an area of culture and brings it together as a constellation of meaning, we have a semiotic domain. A semiotic domain could be considered an assemblage of culture texts relating to one set of activities in culture (economic, political, familiar), which are organized together by a single set of messages and metaphoric signs...A culture can be seen as a series of linking (sometimes hierarchically organized) semiotic domains: religious, economic, political, social, sexual, and so on. Often one or other of the domains will be given priority over another.

Schreiter suggests that, in Western urban cultures, the economic domain dominates. I think that's true - and I think it reaches its pinnacle of domination in the suburban context, where economics often trumps entirely the systems of meaning found in other domains.

Let's think about this practically and experientially for a moment. One of the things that defines suburban existence is the need to commute. It's part of what it means to be suburban - home is in this place, and work is in this other place, and my children go to school in another place, and shopping is in another place, and entertainment is over there, and then once in a while I get to travel great distances to another place entirely to spend my leisure time doing much of the same things I'd do at home - shopping, eating, and being entertained - but with new scenery. And I'd suggest that the relationship between all of these places is primarily grounded in economics. I live where I can afford the mortgage and taxes for a home of reasonable size surrounded by reputable neighbors. I work where I can get the most money and best benefits for my efforts expended. My children attend school where they will be positioned most advantageously for future opportunities, with the ultimate goal of finding employment that will grant self-sufficiency.

It's all economic - everywhere I look, I'm confounded and confronted by the all-pervasive influence of the market. I can't even type these words without being assaulted by dozens of logos and other subtle imagination-shaping devices that sit silently and effortlessly fulfilling their purposes in my own living room. And the degree to which the economic sphere is spilling over its bounds is frightening; even religious imagery is being co-opted by the business world in ways that leave me dumbfounded. In a context where product advocates and salespeople are increasingly becoming known as "evangelists" - bearers of Good News - we sit by, oblivious, complacent, and complicit.

A Christian theology of the suburbs that fails to challenge the all-pervasive influence of the Market is no theology at all - it is a weak and anemic thing with no voice and no power.

Technorati Tags: contextual theology, suburbs, economics, Schreiter

A Theology of the Suburbs (p. 2)

I want to think a bit more on the idea of choice as power. I mentioned yesterday that the suburban ethos reflects the centrality of control-through-choice. In the comments, we were discussing the relationship between choice and structure; my thoughts are that the true power of the suburbanite is in the ability to choose one's structures. In other words, neighborhood isn't a given for a suburbanite - it's a choice. Education is a choice between structures. Employment is a choice between structures. Everywhere one turns in suburbia, one is confronted with an opportunity to exercise choice. This is a power dynamic in the sense of power as the ability to act. There is a lot of power in being able to choose one's structures - power that, in some ways, is localized in suburbia in a way that it simply is not in urban or rural contexts.

What I mean is this - in suburbia, I choose my neighborhood by virtue of my power to purchase a home. This choice is also rescindable - if I find that I don't care for the neighborhood, I can choose again by exercising my power of purchasing a second time. In the same way, if I don't want my children to attend a particular school, I exercise my ability to choose by sending them to a private school, by homeschooling, or by moving to a different school district. Power is choice in middle- and upper-class America. Even our system for distributing political power is premised on the fundamental ability to choose those who will govern us - to choose our authorities, in some sense.

Choice is powerful. But - and this is significant - choice is limited to one's perceived options. And perceived is the operative word in that sentence - power in suburbia is bounded by imagination, by the ability to recognize one's options. And typically those options are limited to what will produce comfort and security, as I proposed earlier.

Here's where things get complicated. Everything in suburban existence is oriented around these values of comfort and security. Everything. These values are inculcated in children from before they can speak. Our education system is oriented to create good producers and consumers for the marketplace - children are trained to want good paying jobs and to find satisfaction in goods and services. Mass media is driven by advertising from companies whose entire purpose is to meet the needs of comfort and security. Of the thousands upon thousands of messages with which we are confronted daily, how many are centered on specifically orienting us towards these values? How many promise their fulfillment? How many reinforce their centrality? Walter Brueggemann calls this mindset the "royal consciousness" - The Way Things Are™ as an unassailable mindset in service to the powers that be that is often in opposition to the purposes of the Kingdom.

The end result is a stunted imagination. Choice is bounded by the marketplace, and imagination is taken captive. Try challenging these assumptions and see what happens. As a youth pastor, I had a conversation with a graduating senior trying to decide between serving for a time with a missions agency or going directly to college. She felt as though she should pursue the missions opportunity; I concurred. One of our adult leaders was present for the conversation and expressed shock that I'd advise someone to forego college - she'd never even considered that there would be another possibility and clearly didn't think that my advice was wise.

The most powerful forces in a context are often those that are assumed, that are implicit and unconscious. The questions that need to be asked as part of shaping a theology of the suburbs are these: who is shaping the imaginations of the people? What are the dominant values, and who benefits from their reinforcement? Who is telling the stories that give shape to the suburban ethos?

Technorati Tags: contextual theology, suburbs, imagination, power, choice

Tales from the Road

Jeff - who blogs over at So I Go - has a book on the way. It's a compilation of his first batch of blog entries, which are a fantastic read. I'm extraordinarily excited for him - Jeff has a great way with words, and these are stories that more folks should have a chance to read. Congrats Jeff!

A Theology of the Suburbs (p. 1)

A few weeks ago I mentioned that I wanted to start delving into a theology of the suburbs. American suburbia is, in my opinion, a sometimes hostile environment for ministry - for Kingdom-centered ministry, at any rate - at least moreso than is usually assumed. There are some reasons for this that I'd like to throw around before beginning to think about how a community of faith might begin to respond missionally to the challenge of incarnational ministry in the suburbs.

My caveat - I'm not a sociologist, and I don't pretend to understand the complex evolution of what has become the American suburbs. Wikipedia has an article that summarizes the high points and generally coincides with what I know. My interests are less in what they were or how they began and more with what they've become - not that there aren't insights to be gained by discussion of origins, but my suspicions are that suburbia as a phenomenon in twenty-first century America is significantly different from that of its post-WW II explosion.

Where do we begin to approach this question of suburban existence? What are the patterns of meaning in American suburbia, and where do we find either intersection or conflict with the Kingdom? That's the question we'll be attempting to answer over the coming posts.

If I had to define suburban existence within a succinct framework, I'd do so in terms of the pursuit of happiness. That's purposefully a distinctly American phrasing - having secured life and liberty, two of the inalienable rights upon which our country was purported to be founded, what remains for suburbanites is to secure happiness. Describe it in terms of Maslovian self-actualization, the American dream, or any of a dozen other ways of speaking about middle- and upper-class concerns, the focus is personal fulfillment, contentment, and comfort. More and more, this is accomplished through an ever-increasing emphasis on control through choice - the ability to control one's economics (wages, spending, etc.) and environment (proximity to employment and shopping, a desirable neighborhood with reputable neighbors, a good school district so as to ensure the future option of choice for one's children, etc.).

I suggest that this pattern of control-through-choice is central to the suburban ethos. This should immediately raise some connections with Kingdom concerns, but I want to hold on doing analysis until a few more pieces are in place. Thoughts so far?

Technorati Tags: contextual theology, suburbs

Church and Power

Scott L asked in the comments on my post on The Boy's Club, "Is the Church, and any authority within the Church, about power? Should it be a discussion of power? Should our discussions of male and female roles and any differentiation that should or should not be therein center around the issue of power?" It's an excellent question, one that deserves a full post of its own. First, though, we should no doubt define our terms. When we talk of "power", what do we mean?

Power, at its most basic level of meaning, is simply the ability to act or to produce a desired effect (Webster). On the surface, this tells us very little. But juxtaposed with the idea of community, the idea becomes much more robust. Power in a group setting is the ability to act within the group. Sometimes, of course, this is defined as influence or authority, but that's nuancing the definition a bit more than our present purposes require. Suffice to say that at its most basic level every social structure is in some way about power, about the ability to act in the context of the group, about defining what uses of power are permitted or not permitted and then enforcing those boundaries.

The gospel, by its very nature, is about power, in the sense that it is a call to a new social reality. What I mean by that is that the gospel is the message of the coming of the Kingdom and about the call to enter that Kingdom and become a part of the people of God. It's less about personal, eternal salvation (although it includes that) and more about the formation of a new people, a holy nation, a people belonging to God, to borrow from 1 Peter. And what is significant about this new people is less ideological (although it includes that) and more a new social dynamic that is rooted in the love of God poured out in Christ.

As the burden of proof is on me to demonstrate that I'm not just making this stuff up, let's think through Jesus' interactions with his followers in the gospels. Over and over again we see the normal social patterns turned upside-down in the Kingdom. Jesus' followers are to love their enemies and are not to seek vengeance. In the Kingdom, the first are last, and the last first. Those who are in need, who are oppressed, who are powerless, are the ones who are honored in the Kingdom. The rich and the powerful, on the other hand, are the ones who find it hard to enter the Kingdom. And, in the Kingdom, the greatest are those who are the servants of all, as exemplified by the God of all Creation who stooped to honor children and washed the feet of his disciples. In short, Jesus' life was full of the use of power in the way of the Kingdom - giving it away, empowering others, offering dignity and grace and hope where there is none.

This is, I'd argue, the framework that we must first enter before we can discuss questions such as gender roles. If we can't approach the question with the humility of Christ and the stance of a servant, then I think we have no business taking part in the discussion. Too much of this discussion revolves around the question of who gets to call the shots - and, frankly, I mostly see men focusing on those questions. But the way of the Kingdom is the way of empowerment and of service. To be sure, that's not to say that anything goes - I'm not an advocate of some sort of spiritual anarchy! But what I am saying is that power - the ability to act - is used, in the Kingdom, in the service of others and not in the interests of oneself.

Technorati Tags: emerging church, power, Kingdom, gospel

The Heart of the Story

We had an interesting discussion in class on Saturday about the primary narrative. Our prof listed two statements, both of which Christian theology would consider to be true, pretty much across the board. The question that was asked, though, was this: which of these is the primary statement or, put another way, which more truly describes our present existence?

• Human beings are created in the image of God. Since the fall, the image has been defaced - but not erased.
• Human beings are fallen creatures. Now, depraved in nature and rebellious in action, the human reflection of the Divine image has been seriously tarnished.

I have to be honest, I don't like the question. The point that he was making was that various traditions tend to emphasize one of these over the other. My thought is that both must be held in tension. It seems to me that failing to do so, that emphasizing one of these over the other, leads to serious distortions in the way that we approach our faith.

Take, for example, an emphasis on the image of God over against a recognition of our sinfulness. This approach can do much to explain great beauty in the world. It can help to explain why we are moved at stories of selflessness, or why we enjoy good art as opposed to bad, or why we tend towards a little virtue called hope. But, I wonder, can it explain the retched atrocities that we are capable of? Can it explain Darfur, or globalization, or slavery, or why children on playgrounds everywhere need no lessons in cruelty?

On the other hand, an emphasis on our depravity has no difficulty explaining these things. But it, I think, struggles in the other direction. It doesn't explain any of a thousand acts of selflessness in which people of all stripes participate every day. It doesn't explain loyalty, or deep friendship, or any other thing that we would prize that comes with deep costs and at times only tangible benefits.

The Story in which we participate, I'd argue, is one in which both of these premises are true. Human beings are created in the image of God; human beings are completely sinful. That is the essence of the primary narrative, I think. But one thing I would say: pushed to choose, I would have to say that, of the two, I hold the first to be of greater priority. Why? Because Christian hope is, I think, at its core the desire for a restoration to the-way-things-ought-to-be. In the end, we believe that sin, that evil, that depravity and rebellion do not have the final word - hope and a new creation do.

What does this have to do with contextual theology? I'd suggest that, at its core, contextual theology is an attempt to align our stories with the Story. The challenge that we face is that we, generally speaking, have difficulty in holding things in tension. We tend to want things to resolve, to come to completion, to be nice and neat and tidy. But our Story isn't like that. It's messy and challenging and full of tension, particularly between the now and the yet-to-come. But if we miss or ignore one of these pieces, then we're telling a story that's incomplete - and that's not the gospel, I'd suggest.

Technorati Tags: contextual theology, story

On the Horizon

I received a wonderful present in the mail today... ;)

Review forthcoming. I've finished the first chapter, and I'm hooked already. Here's a teaser:

"When the early Christians told the story of Jesus - which they did in a number of ways to make a number of different points - they never actually said that he laughed, and mentioned only once that he burst into tears. But all the same, the stories they told of him constantly hinted at laughter and tears in fair measure...It isn't so much that Jesus laughed at the world, or wept at the world. He was celebrating with the new world that was beginning to be born, the world in which all that was good and lovely would triumph over evil and misery. He was sorrowing with the world the way it was, the world of violence and injustice and tragedy which he and the people he met knew so well."

The Boy's Club

Rachelle has a challenging, troubling post here about her experiences as a woman attempting to minister in Seattle in the shadow of Mark Driscoll and Mars Hill. I'm not going to attempt to summarize it - go and read it. It's deeply moving and deeply troubling.

I'm a day late on this, but I hope I can still chip in. There are many things I want to say about this. I could talk about bringing the resources of contextual theology to bear on this question. I think it needs to happen; I think it is happening. I think that it's naive, incredibly naive, to say that the complementarian position is just a straightforward reading of the text, as I mentioned in the comments over at Bob's blog. The bottom line is that all theology is as much a product of its context as it is a product of its content. I think that the challenging thing is to be able to hear what the Spirit is saying to the churches, to do the hard work to determine what scripture meant and what it means. Culture is so much a part of meaning that simply extracting any of the texts about women and men and who can do what, where and when, and assuming that those texts say the same thing now as they did back then is, frankly, more than naive - it's dangerous. And besides, we don't do that anyway, except when it's convenient. I mean, when was the last time that you heard a sermon on circumcision? But for Paul in Galatians, it was the very antithesis of the gospel. For some reason, we don't really wrestle with that issue so much anymore. If I were a cynical man, I'd ask why that is. And I'm cynical, so I'm asking.

But I don't really want to talk about contextual theology.

I also could talk about a biblical view of gender, about what it means to be created female and male, about why it's significant that we're created in the image of God. I could recommend Middleton's excellent book The Liberating Image and suggest that we absolutely need to begin with image when we talk about this - but I'm going to save that one for when I get around to Middleton. I could talk about how hierarchy and patriarchy are a pattern rooted in the fall, as I've done here. I could also talk about how the gospel is at its core a call to a new social reality, to be a new people practicing new ways of being people together, and that as a result Paul isn't just talking about getting into heaven when he says that in Christ there is neither male nor female. Which is, I hasten to add, not to diminish the fact that we are gendered persons - rather, it's to recognize that we contribute to the Kingdom precisely as gendered persons, and that those of us who are of one gender should not hinder those who are of the other from being full persons in Christ. That is, after all, the gospel, and part of what it means to be "in Christ" in the first place.

But I don't really want to talk about biblical theology.

What I want to say is this: first, as a male, I want to offer my apologies to my sisters on behalf of my brothers. We have not treated you like sisters. We have not done what is necessary. For this, I am sorry. There are a few of us who have things together, but most of us live oblivious to our own privilege. And theologies of privilege must be torn down, like all idols. The fact is that, while a lot of us express sympathy and support for you, it's not tangible. It isn't a matter of constant prayer. It isn't something that we actively struggle against by your sides. We've casually participated in the systems that exclude you, and offer our condolences from inside the circle. It's something that I think we rarely consider, and even more rarely act to change.

Second, I want to say this to my brothers in Christ: if we have been complicit in this, it must end. We need to renounce our membership in the Boy's Club. We need to walk away, and to not do so quietly. A friend of mine who is intelligent, articulate, and deeply spiritual once told me that, as a woman, there were things that she could say that would never be heard. She can struggle against this system from the outside and be quietly ignored. Things will only change when we stop lending our tacit support and speak out as men on behalf of our sisters in Christ. Not because they are unable to do so for themselves - far from it! The women I know are overwhelmingly more than capable of speaking out eloquently, intelligently, and coherently. But, unfortunately, their voices will never be heard by some, simply because they are women. That is, frankly, appalling. It's a denial of the gospel, and we need to recognize it as such.

I can't do much. But I can do small things. I can, for one, begin asking seminaries that I consider if they support ordination of women, and refusing to attend if they do not. It's a small thing; it feels minuscule. But it's what I can offer.

I can lend my small voice.

Grid blog for International Women's Day: Find the posts here

Technorati Tags: Grid blog for International Women's Day, egalitarianism

Ever Have That Feeling...

...like you've been punched in the gut? The one after a conversation you never thought you'd have, for example?

Today I had a chance to meet with some folks from Westminster Theological Seminary (yes,that Westminster) to talk about their PhD program, in particular the apologetics concentration. Now, some of you who have been dropping by for a while now are probably scratching your head. For one, I'm not Reformed. Not by a long shot - I'm about a 1.75 point Calvinist, last I checked, which makes me about as Reformed as Dick Cheney is a good shot. For another, apologetics might seem like an odd sort of pursuit for me, given my approach to all things rational and provable. But Westminster has a few things going for it - for one, it's one of the most academically rigorous seminaries around; for another, they have a cultural apologetics track that seems, from what I gathered, to take issues of contextualization seriously.

So I had a very nice lunch with the head of the apologetics program, thanks to one of my professors at Biblical (a Westminster grad and a capital fellow by all accounts). We talked for a while about their program, and, while I'm not sure it's a good fit yet, I at least was interested in learning more. But then we dropped by the admissions office to chat with the director of admissions about the language requirements. And that's the less happy conversation that's left me feeling like a complete loser - the guy basically said that my degree isn't considered an appropriate MDiv for their program, and he wouldn't even consider me for admissions. What's the issue? For one, I don't have biblical languages in my program. No problem there; I knew that was an issue going into the thing and planned to supplement with additional coursework. But the second hangup I never saw coming. He said I lacked the systematic theology requirements for admission.

Ok, step back for a second - I've read their catalogue, and nowhere in there does it talk about systematic theology. Now, I'm learning that they want 12 credits of graduate work in systematics. See, at Biblical they scrapped the systematic theology in the program in which I'm enrolled because the theology is all integrated with biblical studies. So we don't talk about the doctrine of the church in the abstract - we read Galatians and develop a theology of the church from the biblical text. We read Genesis and talk about sin; we read the Gospels and talk about social justice. That's the approach that my program takes - it's not perfect, to be sure, but I can tell you that I'm walking away from this program with a far greater perspective on how scripture informs my theology, instead of just memorizing some proof texts in a systematic book. It's been a great program, and I've learned a ton - but not, apparently, in the way that they'd like.

So here I am, after thousands of dollars and countless hours of study, being told that I, in essence, didn't get a real degree. "Terminal degree" was the term that he used - meaning it's the end of the line, basically.

But you know what? I'd take my second-class degree any day over one that leaves me ill-prepared to do theology in a rapidly changing context. I just want a chance to prove that I can do it.

They're going to review their requirements and Biblical's curriculum and get back to me, so it's not a closed door yet. But, crap, I thought I had no idea in what direction I was heading before...

An Exercise in Contextual Theology

I hit a place this week where I needed to let all this stuff sit for a bit - too many thoughts to come together into something coherent. I think this class has had the best texts so far of any that I've taken at Biblical; the Sedmak book was excellent. The problem with talking about these sorts of things is that it's really hard to be concrete. That's the point, I suppose - local theology is by nature, well, local. Start talking about it outside of a local context - especially at the conceptual level - and it starts to become rather vague. Personally, it's something of a challenge to wrap my brain around; I'm an inductive learner by nature, so I need to get into the guts of something to really understand it.

Today, though, a few of us sat around after class to talk about our upcoming group project on contextual theology. We'd settled on tackling suburban culture in our group, and as we threw ideas around I realized again that those of us in suburban contexts in America are faced with an unbelievably challenging task. How do you live missionally in a geographically decentered world, where there simply is no space to inhabit? How do you love your neighbor when the question, "Who is my neighbor," is no longer rhetorical? How do you speak prophetically in a context where challenge is entertainment and choice is the trump card of the consumer? At some point, I began thinking that what's really needed is a local theology for the suburbs.

I think it's past time that we begin to think of living missionally in the suburbs. Suburban culture needs challenged, true - but more importantly, it needs redemption. (Right, Jared? ;) David Fitch wrote a fantastic post about this a while back that's well worth a read. Todd has written about it as well. I'd like to throw my small contribution into the mix and see if I can connect some dots with my recent string of thoughts on contextual theology.

What does Jesus say to the American suburbs?

Technorati Tags: contextual theology, suburbs, missional