天美视频

When I heard that October is , I was thrilled. As Content Curator for 天美视频, I鈥檓 in charge of gathering content for this blog, and a topic like 鈥渢heological libraries鈥� felt like a goldmine. With so many thoughtful, creative, spiritually minded people (like and ) in one place, we could spend years talking about all of the books and films that contribute to our theological imaginations.

Except when I say our theological imaginations, I don鈥檛 always mean it. I mean yours. Even though, , my stance toward God is more open and active than it鈥檚 been in years, I still bristle at the word theology. In fact, when I was first moving to Seattle and people asked where I was going to school, I鈥檇 sometimes say 鈥溙烀朗悠� of Psychology,鈥� choosing to omit such a loaded little word. (I recently shared that with when I was in her office鈥攏ot something you anticipate confessing to your theology professor.)

But, as with so many other things in my first two years at this school, all of that is beginning to shift. As I hear that , that it鈥檚 not just about old men with beards arguing over archaic terminology, and as I hear friends share about how their theology deepens their love for people and their care for the world, that word is beginning to feel more relevant鈥攊nviting, even.

So I wonder: what are the texts that have shaped my theological imagination?

As a teenager, I Kissed Dating Goodbye along with all the other church kids. Wild at Heart made me feel like a man, and thanks to Lee Strobel鈥檚 The Case for _______ books, I never had any reason to ask questions.

A couple years later, Blue Like Jazz and Velvet Elvis made questions cool, and Shane Claiborne suggested that maybe not all Christians have to vote Republican鈥攁 novel idea for me. I read C.S. Lewis and N.T. Wright in college, and I told everybody I was going to seminary to become a pastor. Meanwhile, I鈥檇 go home after leading a Bible study and read Christopher Hitchens and Bertrand Russell, secretly wondering if I was an atheist.

Eventually Richard Rohr and Henri Nouwen (among others) began to give me hope again, and I decided that, no, I鈥檓 probably not an atheist.

But after all that, none of those are the texts I think of when I consider my theological imagination.

I think of poetry: Wendell Berry鈥檚 , Robert Frost鈥檚 question about , and how T.S. Eliot鈥檚 helps me feel a little less lonely. I first read David Berman鈥檚 in college, and I still can鈥檛 figure out why it makes me cry so much. In fact, there鈥檚 a book called that I like to keep handy in case I鈥檓 feeling emotionally deprived, and what is theology about if not the desire to feel love and hope more fully, to feel truth in a way that sinks into our bones?

And then I think of nature essays and the way that John Muir leads me to silence, Annie Dillard leads me to curiosity, and Chet Raymo leads me to wonder. Because what is theology about if not deepening our capacity to see and feel and know the glory and tragedy of the world around us?

I think of fiction, too. As a teenager, Hemingway and Vonnegut showed me a world that was bigger, stranger, and more beautiful than I鈥檇 ever imagined, made me wonder if peace requires more courage than war, and William Faulkner and Flannery O鈥機onnor introduced me to the haunted holiness of place. These days, a good short story鈥攆rom David James Duncan or George Saunders, say鈥攐r a sprawling novel鈥攖hink Cormac McCarthy or Neil Gaiman鈥攚ill spark my imagination more than anything else. And what is theology without imagination?

Perhaps even more than poetry, essays, and fiction, I think of the true and semi-true stories we tell about our lives. writing about his father鈥檚 suicide, David Carr鈥檚 brutal stories of , Scott Russell Sanders and . Joan Didion, Tobias Wolff, Maya Angelou, David Sedaris, Anne Lamott, Philip Connors, and鈥攎ore recently for me鈥擬ary Karr and Ta-Nehisi Coates. This list, of course, could go on for pages, because when we look at our world with courage and curiosity, we never run out of stories.

Recently in 天美视频鈥檚 class, Dyana Herron said that storytelling allows us to ask new questions in new ways, by seeing the world and bearing witness to what we see鈥攊n all of its horror and absurdity. And really, I wonder, what is theology if not asking questions and bearing witness?

Seeing a month-long theme like 鈥淭heological Libraries,鈥� some of you might be surprised to not find more explicitly religious texts in these blogs. It鈥檚 a fair question, and I assure you there is no shortage of scholarly theological material in our library and lining the walls of our professors鈥� offices. But for me, as both a recovering fundamentalist and a recovering cynic, ideas ring hollow without the messy embodiment of stories.

Or, as Flannery O鈥機onnor said, storytellers 鈥渄escend far enough to reach those underground springs that give life . . . a descent through the darkness of the familiar. This is the beginning of vision.鈥�

By the way鈥攖hese days, when folks ask where I go to school, I say it鈥攁ll of it鈥攚ith honor.