In addition to attending last weekend’s Subverting the Norm conference (StN), I finished reading Adam Johnson’s captivating and improbably epic novel The Orphan Master’s Son (TOMS). I’d picked the book up about a week earlier and totally devoured it over the next seven days in enraptured spells squeezed between work, homework, and conference travel and events.

About halfway through the conference’s activities, with several speakers’ words ricocheting around my head alongside whatever developments I’d recently read in TOMS, I made a fleeting connection between the two, having detected an overlapping theme. This reflection, then, is my attempt to connect some of these disparate dots. Hopefully, what follows will make clear just what, in my experience, “happened”¹ at StN.

Now, if you’re still with me,² in order for any of this to make sense I must first provide some context. There’s simply no way around it. But before that, two things: 1) You should know that TOMS is in the early and distant lead for 2013′s Favorite Fiction Book, which means I have been and will be recommending it frequently, and as such, 2) it is not only benevolent, but is more importantly in my best interest to keep the ensuing context-setting as spoiler-free as possible, at which task I will do my best.

★ ★ ★

The primary setting of The Orphan Master’s Son is the necrocratic state of North Korea, a.k.a. The Democratic People’s Republic of Korea. While TOMS is indeed fictional, Johnson has said in an interview: “If literature is a fiction that tells a deeper truth, I feel my book is a very accurate portrayal of how the tenets of totalitarianism eat away at the things that make us human: freedom, art, choice, identity, expression, love.” One of the ways in which this eating-away of totalitarianism manifests itself in the book is through one of the book’s narrative’s recurrent pieces of propaganda, which propaganda asserts that upon reaching old age, after having performed hard labor (and in most cases slaved — literally) for most of their lives, some of North Korea’s elderly are whisked away to Wonsan, whereupon they “will enter the paradise of retirement” (p.66), and subsequently are never heard from again — in theory because of the (supposedly) ceaselessly absorbing nature of Wonsan’s opulent retirement community.

About two thirds into the novel, a character known as Commander Ga is lying in bed with his wife, and the topic of Wonsan comes up.³ Having internalized a lifetime of propaganda concerning Wonsan, Ga’s wife holds dearly to the belief that her mother is alive, well, and safely savoring retirement on North Korea’s east coast.⁴ Ga, however, is a man who has experienced and seen first-hand many things in his adventure-filled life. We join the two characters as Commander Ga begins his confession:

“I have to tell you the truth,” he said to her.

“I am an actress,” she said. “The truth is all that matters to me.”

He didn’t hear her roll to her side, so he knew they both stared into the same darkness above. He was suddenly scared. His hands gripped the sheets.

“I’ve never been to Wonsan,” he said. “But I’ve sailed past it many times. There are no umbrellas in the sand. There are no lounge chairs or fishing poles. There are no old people. Wherever the grandparents of North Korea go, it’s not Wonsan.”

He tried listening for her breathing, but couldn’t even hear that.

At last, she spoke to him. “You’re a thief,” she said. “You are a thief who came into my life and stole everything that mattered to me.” (p. 301)

It seems to me that despite our (read: my) initial, visceral reaction to this shattering of hope, this thievery of belief, Commander Ga’s trepidatious revealing of the fiction of Wonsan is in fact the only possible “loving” option. “Not so!” we might object. “What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her! Where’s the harm in letting her continue to believe her mother is sitting on the beach beneath the shade of one of Wonsan’s many umbrellas?” But what Ga’s wife doesn’t know — what she now knows — does hurt her.

You see, Ga has freed his wife from her dual unknowing (she desperately wants to believe in Wonsan, and yet she has no proof, no verifiable knowledge of its existence or her mother’s safety) and the shackles of her false hope, and in so doing has gifted her the chance to authentically grieve her mother. By forcing her into a confrontation with the broken reality of North Korea in general and the human condition in particular, Ga has indeed acted as a thief. But what is found in the empty space vacated by his thievery is life at its most authentic: Cavernous, emotional, broken, ambiguous, and often dissatisfying. Or, as Peter Rollins (one of the conference’s keynote presenters) has said:

And it is here that I believe we can see the crux of many StN presenters’ theological projects illuminated. In these presenters’ keynotes and in their various works, there is a manifest and persistent theological thievery at work.⁵ Speaking only for me, I find myself drawn to these and other theologians primarily because they are in the business of thieving away some of my deepest and — frequently — least examined theological convictions. In so doing they leave me, like Commander Ga’s wife, frustrated (to put it lightly), stupefied, and ultimately wondering what to do in the convictions’ absence.

When Kester Brewin says,⁶ “People have got to get out from under the economics of religion,” he’s disembarking his pirate ship and attempting to thieve away the oppressive, internalized, and mostly unscrutinized economic worldview from our cushy ocean liners and leaving in its place one that is (to re-quote Peter Rollins) more dense. When he says, “The most godly life is to live as if God doesn’t exist,” he is not simply being provocative for provocation’s sake, but rather is attempting to burglarise⁷ some of our most basic conceptions of God, and calling us in their absence (the conceptions’) to be open to the “possibility of deep pain” resulting from authentic engagement with our neighbor.⁸

When Peter Rollins says, riffing on 1 Corinthians 13:12, “Seeing in whole is the recognition that seeing in part is seeing fully,” he’s re-articulating one of the main, plundering points from his book The Idolatry of God, in which he says, “There is another, more radical form of freedom hinted at in the Gospels — not the freedom to pursue what we believe will satisfy us, but the freedom from the pursuit of what we believe will satisfy us” (p. 80, emphasis in original). Which is to say he’s sneaking off with the theological crutch of satisfaction and leaving in its place a richer and denser reality, however difficult that reality is to swallow. “Deep down,” he said, “we kind of know that we are haunted houses.”

Speaking of haunted houses, when the eminent and indefatigable philosopher-cum-theologian John Caputo says, “Wouldn’t it be better if theology was a spook? A spectral figure that inspires, haunts, disturbs?” he’s really making the case for this theological thievery at which, it should be said, he totally excels. Wouldn’t we be better off if strength and certainty were stolen away and weakness and uncertainty (PDF link) were left in their stead?

When Barry Taylor, after walking the us through the rich worlds envisaged in Mark Tansey‘s paintings, quoting essayist and science fiction author Philip K. Dick, says, “The symbols of the divine show up in our world initially at the trash stratum,” he’s donning a black ski mask, creeping off into the night with our tendency to find misguided solace in the false belief that blessed are the rich and powerful, and leaving in its vacuum Jesus’ demanding declaration that No! blessed are the poor and the meek.

These and similar assertions, sometimes grouped under an umbrella known as radical theology,⁹ assist in validating the foregoing claim, viz.: Having faith that Wonsan’s retirement community exists is nothing but destructive, and its propagandists are no more than perpetrators of a vicious, death-dealing lie. To accept that Wonsan’s fabled lounge chairs and fishing poles are a fabrication, to simply be exposed to this truth, is to be liberated. It is to be emancipated from the fiction and, newly unencumbered, to set about the task of embracing and making sense of the alternately deplorable and delightful non-fiction that comprises reality. In the coordinated heist that was StN, Brewin, Rollins, Caputo, Taylor et al.¹⁰ stole some things from myself and others, but what they left behind is more inspiring, haunting, and disturbing — and ultimately more satisfactory.

★ ★ ★

Now, this is all an admittedly roundabout take on articulating my particular experience at StN and consequently why a continued participation in these unique theological conversations/gatherings is valuable to me. But if you’re still with me,¹¹ I’d like to make one final observation, with more help from TOMS.

Later on in the novel, Commander Ga is having a conversation with his friend Comrade Buc, and we enter their conversation here shortly after Ga has revealed some deep-seated anti-government sentiments:

Comrade Buc cringed. “No, no, no,” he said. “You don’t tell anyone, ever. Don’t you know that? You never tell. Not your friends, not your family, especially not me. You could get everyone killed. If they interrogate me, they’ll know I knew. And that’s assuming you make it. Do you know the cushy promotion I’d get for turning you in?” Buc threw his hands up. “You don’t ever tell. Nobody tells. Never.”

[...]

Comrade Buc began lining fishing poles up against a tree. His hands were shaky. When he had them all set, a line snagged, and the poles fell over again. He looked at Ga, as if it were his fault. “But you,” he said. “You’re the one who tells.” He shook his head. “That’s why you’re different. Somehow the rules are different for you, and that’s why you maybe have a shot at making it.” (p. 322)

The theologians at StN are clearly perspicacious, but they are hardly popular; thieves rarely are. I say this not to be critical, but to illustrate the fact that, for theologians, telling gets you killed. While playing it safe — that is, perpetuating “the lie” — not only keeps you alive but carries with it the potential for drawing massive crowds, revealing truths that runs counter to established and accepted thought — calling the thing what it actually is — well, nobody’s supposed to tell.

But that’s why these men and women are different. Like Commander Ga, they’re the ones that tell. Somehow the rules are different for them, and that’s why they maybe have a shot at making it. And as long as they keep telling, I’ll keep listening. And maybe eventually I’ll find that I have my own secret to tell, that perhaps I myself am called to commit a bit of theological thievery.

★ ★ ★

Finally, in his book Rising Up and Rising Down,¹² William Vollmann tells the story of a U.N. interpreter who is well acquainted with death, having lost friends and colleagues “almost every week.” Vollmann writes that this woman

“merely did the best thing that can be done for any bereaved person, which was to show me her own sadness, so that my sadness would feel less lonely.” (p. 18-19)

When Micki Pulleyking asked us, “Do you know what it’s like to grieve the death of your childhood God?” there were significantly more head-nodders than abstainers in the crowd. So common is this experience among those who gathered at StN that it approaches the cliché. So it is safe to say that coming together at StN was a way for us, like the U.N. interpreter, to show one another our own sadness concerning this death/theft, and to make the sadness feel less lonely. But more broadly and importantly, it is the call of the church to join together, having been emboldened by the magic of the Eucharist and sent forth as the Body of Christ, to share our sadness and brokenness and in so doing to steel ourselves for the task of making others’ sadness and brokenness a little less lonely.

And so together we gaze into the gap the thieves and Thief has left behind and with all the sincerity that we can muster, we say to each other and to God: “Come.”

1. Forgive the scare quotes, Tony.
2. Just checking.
3. Again, w/r/t avoiding spoilers, I don’t think I’m giving away much here — The book’s table of contents reveals that Part Two is titled “The Confessions of Commander Ga,” after all.
4. As with many of the book’s details, Wonsan is an actual geographical location.
5. Does anybody know how I’d go about trademarking the word “thiefologian”? Asking for a friend.
6. N.B.: Many of the quotations in the main text’s current and following paragraphs have been transcribed from my haphazardly handwritten notes taken during the presenters’ keynotes. Some of the quotes were transcribed pretty much word-for-word, but several of them are more like paraphrases due to my simultaneous and competing desires to take notes and pay attention to the next sentence. In other words, the quotes are close enough, mmk?
7. That Britishism’s for you, K.B.
8. After posting the “The most godly life…” quote as a tweet, I posted a second tweet, attempting to clarify, which reads: “By which [Kester] means that once you remove the grand demands of God, you can get on with tending to the needs of those around you.”
9. Tad DeLay has compiled a pretty comprehensive bibliography of radical theology for StN attendees and other inquisitives, which can be found here.
10. I’m aware that I only referenced white males in the examples above, but don’t go thinking that StN was an All White Boys’ Club (I mean, see for yourself); FWIW, I was particularly moved by presentations from Namsoon Kang and Melinda McGarrah Sharp.
11. I’m willing to venture that the few who have made it this far (a smaller subset of which is probably already annoyed to have been directed away from the blog post’s main text by yet another footnote, especially after having made it through what appears to be the main text’s most meaty section) and who are at the present moment (perhaps exasperatedly) reading this footnote’s text, upon seeing the superscript “11″ abutting the phrase “if you’re still with me” in the main text, suspected that this footnote’s text might be something like “Just checking” (or maybe a subtle variation on the theme, like “Just checking. Again.” e.g.) which isn’t a terribly bad suspicion, given, on the one hand, the author’s inclination toward but arguably lackluster execution of the type of dry humor into which category that type of syntactical brevity would undoubtedly fall, and on the other hand the reader’s presumed encounter with the hilarious footnote #2, and so while you had likely expected to be sidetracked by this footnote for a mere two words – three, at most! – you nevertheless find yourself well into the latter half of this absurdly protracted and indulgently self-referential footnote, the existence of which is by now ambiguous at best and possibly (you suspect) downright manipulative and/or malevolent, but yet here you are, having nearly tackled this seemingly irrelevant monster of a footnote, for which empty feat I, the author, would like to concurrently extend both sincere condolences and hearty congratulations. Honestly? I was just checking.
12. Mike, if you’re reading this, you’ll be happy to hear my confession that I’ve read less than 1% and closer to 0% of this 752 page behemoth (itself an abridgment of the original 3,000-page, seven-volume set). In fact, I only just picked up the book at Half Price Books this very afternoon and, while flipping through the book’s first few pages, serendipitously stumbled on the referenced passage, instantly recognizing its (the passage’s) applicability in this blog post’s concluding section. In sum, don’t feel bad about the whole Weakness of God thing, okay?

Every week, as part of my Overview of Christian Teaching course at Luther Seminary, we students are asked to engage the week’s assigned reading by posting on our class’s online forum a response to a hypothetical case study.

We are working our way through Roger E. Olson’s The Mosaic of Christian Belief: Twenty Centuries of Unity & Diversity, and last week’s chapter covered the theological idea of providence, which seeks to detail the precise nature of God’s intervention in the world. We were also assigned John Polkinghorne’s essay God in Relation to Nature as additional reading. The case study for this chapter was as follows:

The local newspaper every Saturday publishes a special section of the paper devoted to religion, ethics and spirituality entitled Faith & Values. The editor of Faith & Values has called asking you to write a short article to be published this coming Saturday that addresses the following question: Is God responsible for natural disasters like the hurricane that devastated New Orleans a few years ago (by causing them or permitting them to happen)? The editor requires that you are to write from your own convictions and conclusions on this issue, and not simply report possible solutions that have been posed with respect to the problem of evil throughout history or your own denomination’s point of view (although they may be cited in support of, or as a way of explaining, your own view). You have, for better or worse, accepted this assignment. Post the article you intend to submit to the paper as your Leading Statement.

Because I particularly enjoyed both the assigned readings and the nature of this case study, I have decided to post my response here as well, as a means of giving the response some exposure beyond my small group of seminary classmates. Posted below the break, in full, is the text of what I posted to my class’s forum. I have, however, added some footnotes for clarity, additional information, etc. Finally, a quick disclaimer: Because these posts directly engage our readings and come with a length requirement, what follows does not necessarily equal my fully realized and articulated theology of providence.

Editorial: Is God responsible?

by Jake Bouma

The question of whether or not God is to blame for natural disasters and human-wrought tragedies like the Holocaust is one that generally gets a lot of play in the media.¹ While one is rarely exposed to intelligent discussions of rather important theological doctrines such as the Trinity on radio, television or in print, it is however quite common for Christian talking heads to score significant airtime by discussing God’s culpability (or lack thereof) in regards to the latest national tragedy. Recent examples include hurricane Katrina’s devastating destruction of New Orleans in 2005 and even more recently, the tragic deaths of twenty children and six adults in Sandy Hook. Shortly after the Interstate 35W bridge collapsed in Minneapolis in 2007, killing 13 people and injuring 145 more, prominent Christian pastor and leader John Piper uploaded a (now infamous) post to his blog titled Putting My Daughter to Bed Two Hours After the Bridge Collapsed, in which he claimed (among other things) that “God had a purpose for not holding up that bridge, knowing all that would happen, and he is infinitely wise in all that he wills.”

Finding prominent Christians who are both confident in their assertion that God is responsible for every particular thing that happens on earth — a theological position known as meticulous providence — as well as willing to declare this confidence on the national stage is relatively easy; it is a view held by many Christians both today and throughout history. It is the position of this author, however, that there is a better way to interpret such events, a way that is both intellectually defensible and true to Christian scripture.²

Those unfamiliar with the contours of theology and its history may be surprised to discover that while some theological assertions have remained relatively unchanged for hundreds (if not thousands!) of years, many such assertions are still squabbled over to this day, their particularities being revisited, scrutinized, and sometimes even revised. This particular question — “Is God responsible?” — is simply an entry point into the ongoing discussion about God’s providence; that is, how exactly does God interact with and intervene in nature and history, and what does this interaction (or lack thereof) say about this God?

As mentioned earlier, the belief in God’s “meticulous providence” has a lot of clout, both historically and contemporarily. The essence of this belief — defended by such theological heavyweights as St. Augustine and John Calvin, among others — is, as professor of theology Roger Olson writes, “absolute, meticulous planning, willing and controlling by God such that there is in nature no ‘maverick molecule’… and in history no ‘divine risk’” (Olson, 190-191). In other words, everything that happens is willed by God because it is “somehow necessary for the greatest good” (Olson, 191), regardless of how difficult such tragic pills may be for us humans to swallow. Some committed Christians and enterprising theologians have sought to “update” this theology so as to allow more space for human agency or will in a position known as limited providence, which essentially asserts that while God does not will such evils, God unmistakably permits them, in order to “preserve the freedom and moral responsibility of the world” (Olson, 194).

Within the last quarter-century, however, a new school of thought about God’s providence has received some traction, and while its particularities are still being ironed out by theologians of many different stripes, I contend that it provides the best framework for making sense of God and God’s interaction with the world. This theological position, known popularly as open theism, reinterprets the idea of providence as “God’s resourceful and powerful response to humanity within the frameworks of nature and history” (Olson, 195). As one proponent of open theism, John Sanders, has written, “In grace God grants humans a role in collaborating with him on the course that human history takes” (Olson, 195).³ That is, God is not the direct cause of everything that happens on earth, but rather God has chosen to limit or empty himself (in an act known to theologians as kenosis) in order that God might participate with humanity in the great and unfolding cosmic play.

Now, this does not mean that humanity is somehow equal with God and able to bring about God’s ultimate will for the cosmos — that would be heresy, indeed! Rather, Christians claim the truth that God has a perfect and benevolent will for the universe that will ultimately come to fruition. As noted theologian and physicist (yes, both!) John Polkinghorne has said, “the God who is the ground of a true and everlasting hope will work ceaselessly to bring salvation to creation.” And yet I submit that this very same God, contrary to what proponents of meticulous providence would have us believe, “interacts within creaturely history but does not overrule the acts of creatures,” as Polkinghorne claims. Ultimately, the narrative of God and humanity is heading toward the good and perfect realization of what Jesus referred to as the “Kingdom of God” or the “Kingdom of Heaven.” In the meantime, however, we Christians are called to cooperate with God — utilizing our own free will — in the pursuit at the heart of the Lord’s Prayer: “Your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.” So let us not needlessly blame God for the evils and tragedies that befall us. Let us instead recognize God’s desire for ultimate, cosmic restoration and pledge our allegiance to working with this compassionate God in the spreading of light and hope.

1. I use the idea of talking heads to make a point in this essay, but the issue of divine providence is firmly embedded in our cultural zeitgeist, as attested to by this tweet from @TheTweetOfGod, a satirical and often times hilariously profane Twitter account.
2. Only after I had posted my “editorial” did I realize that I had never really defended the “true to Christian scripture” claim. One prominent example that would support my argument can be found in Exodus 32, in which Moses pleads with God to not “bring disaster on your people.” Ultimately, God relents. Exodus 32:14: “And the Lord changed his mind about the disaster that he planned to bring on his people.”
3. Now, meticulous providence, limited providence, and open theism are not the only three possible renderings of divine providence in Christian theology, but they are the three that Olson permits as acceptable. I must admit that although I am still relatively uninformed about it, process theology seems to me to be a reasonable (if not satisfactory) theological framework in which to interpret things such as providence. Alas, Olson is open in his disgust for process theology, claiming it has “infiltrated and corrupted” mainstream Protestantism (188).

It’s been a while since I’ve attended a non-Extravaganza conference. The last one, I believe, was a First Third event presented by Luther Seminary’s Children, Youth and Family Ministry program back in 2010.

So I’m happy to be heading south for the Subverting the Norm conference in a week and a half. Subverting the Norm describes itself as a

two-day event that brings together pastors, theologians, philosophers, church practitioners, researchers in religion and all those interested in exploring the relationship between postmodern theologies and the church.

Suffice it to say that I’m totally excited to attend, and for many reasons. Here are just eight of them:

1. The list of presenters is incredible.
2. One of the presenters, John Caputo, wrote a book entitled On Religion which is not only featured in one of my favorite photographs (which photograph is hanging in my kitchen), but also had an excerpt featured as a reading in my wedding liturgy.
3. While we’re still speaking of presenters, it will be nice to finally meet in person several of the gracious folks who contributed to the Cancer & Theology series, including Kester Brewin and Peter Rollins,¹ and catch up with other contributors like Tony Jones and Mike Stavlund.
4. Speaking of the inimitable Mike Stavlund, I’m thrilled that he will be my roommate at the conference. I met Mike at the Christianity21 conference in 2009, and he’s directly responsible for the genesis of my awesome forearm tattoo. I’m excited to catch up and pick his brain about his excellent new memoir A Force of Will.
5. The weather in Springfield is bound to be nicer than it has been in Des Moines.
6. The pre-event with Peter Rollins, The Hellish Pursuit of Heaven, promises to be both fun and enlightening.
7. Many of the breakout sessions look great, and I’m particularly excited for the session featuring Josh Linton on “What Am I Still Doing Here? My Life as a Progressive Youth Minister and Border-Line Agnostic,” John Vest on “Do(n’t) Tell the Kids: Precritical and Postcritical Naivete in Ministry with Children and Youth,” and Timothy Wotring on “Approaching Youth Ministry from a Poststructuralist Lens.” Full geek-out mode, engage!
8. Finally, my own interactions with postmodernism and theology extend back to my undergraduate senior paper, which was titled Toward a Postmodern Youth Ministry: An Examination of Postmodern Youth Culture in Conversation with the Emerging Church. I’m excited to continue the conversation — both externally and internally — and to use the opportunity to sharpen my own thoughts on theology and ministry.

Are any readers of this blog attending? What else should I be excited about?

Elsewhere: Ten Reasons to Attend Subverting the Norm, 7 Reasons to Subvert the Norm in April

1. While Pete didn’t actually contribute to the series, I’m still holding out hope he’ll pen the preface to a forthcoming edition of the series.

A half-finished thought:¹

I was re-reading this 1993 interview of David Foster Wallace from The Review of Contemporary Fiction, and this particular passage jumped out at me:

I had a teacher I liked who used to say good fiction’s job was to comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable. I guess a big part of serious fiction’s purpose is to give the reader, who like all of us is sort of marooned in her own skull, to give her imaginative access to other selves. Since an ineluctable part of being a human self is suffering, part of what we humans come to art for is an experience of suffering, necessarily a vicarious experience, more like a sort of “generalization” of suffering. Does this make sense? We all suffer alone in the real world; true empathy’s impossible. But if a piece of fiction can allow us imaginatively to identify with a character’s pain, we might then also more easily conceive of others identifying with our own. This is nourishing, redemptive; we become less alone inside. It might just be that simple.

But so what if Wallace wasn’t talking about fiction, but about preaching? Say he was interviewed for Christianity Today instead; might his response look something like this? (changes in bold):

I had a teacher I liked who used to say a good sermon’s job was to comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable. I guess a big part of serious preaching’s purpose is to give the hearer, who like all of us is sort of marooned in her own skull, to give her imaginative access to other selves. Since an ineluctable part of being a human self is suffering, part of what we humans come to church for is an experience of suffering, necessarily a vicarious experience, more like a sort of “generalization” of suffering. Does this make sense? We all suffer alone in the real world; true empathy’s impossible. But if a piece of preaching can allow us imaginatively to identify with another’s pain, we might then also more easily conceive of others identifying with our own. This is nourishing, redemptive; we become less alone inside. It might just be that simple.

Might it just be that simple?

1. Which I am posting here on this weblog mostly because the thought, while half-finished, is too lengthy for other medium particularly fertile for such thoughts, e.g., Twitter.

This thing gets more bananas every year, don’t you agree? If you don’t, just scroll down a ways. See? I’ll let you get to all of the information below, but I do just want to quickly say that while I really enjoyed many of the books I read in 2012, the year of reading felt kind of weird on the whole. It might be because I was sick for a while or that I didn’t finish a bunch of books, but for whatever reason when I look at the image at the top of this post it almost doesn’t feel like it belongs on my blog. But anyway. Enough with the existentialism.

Presented below is a full list of the books I read in 2012, my “favorites” from several categories, a bunch of trivial statistics, and some other equally self-indulgent stuff. Enjoy. Oh, and feel free to leave a comment. Previously: 2011, 2010, 2009.

E-books notated with a bracketed superscript “e,” like so^[e].

Disclaimer: All book links in this post are Amazon affiliate links.

Favorite Fiction Book

Ready Player One by Ernest Cline. Ready Player One is set in the year 2044 in a world that’s pretty much crumbling to pieces, save for a massive virtual reality called OASIS. Within a few pages I was, like OASIS itself, totally jacked into this book; I was completely entertained by the unabashed escapism and nostalgia it provides. The narrative takes the reader on a massive treasure hunt and pits David versus Goliath in a sort of massive homage to 1980s culture. I breezed through this book in a matter of days — much faster than my average of 2+ weeks — and Libby read it immediately after me. She read it just as fast, and was equally captivated by it. Really, the book is just fun, and I recommend it to anyone with A) a fondness of 80s culture, B) a love of video games, C) escapist literature,¹ or D) all of the above.

Favorite Non-Fiction Book

Pulphead: Essays^[e] by John Jeremiah Sullivan. This collection of essays placed John Jeremiah Sullivan securely in the top five of my Favorite Contemporary Writers list,² and certainly in the #1 position of my Favorite Contemporary Journalists list. That’s both good and bad news: The good news is, of course, that it’s always a pleasure to read good writing, while the bad news is that because I’m now reading anything Sullivan publishes, I will have probably already read his entire next essay collection, so here’s to hoping that his next book is something other than an essay collection. The book’s essay’s topics are all over the thematic map (a good thing, in this case); my favorite one was probably “Michael”, a piece about Michael Jackson that originally ran in GQ under the title Back In The Day. Pulphead was also, notably, the first e-book I’ve ever read beginning-to-end, no doubt making last year’s “Physical books read vs. e-books read” pie chart the last of its kind.

Favorite Non-Fiction Book, Runner Up

Every Love Story Is a Ghost Story: A Life of David Foster Wallace by D.T. Max. My wife and I had a book-themed wedding, and as part of the theme we both had several books from our favorite author placed on the table where we sat during our reception. She chose some Steinbeck books, while I went with some David Foster Wallace books. Which is really just a circumlocutory way of saying that Wallace is clearly #1 on my Favorite Writers of All Time list and so of course I would read his biography.³ I have to say that the book left me somehow feeling whole and incomplete simultaneously, like I both gained something and left something behind from having read it, if that makes any sense. Nevertheless, because of the subject matter alone I am pretty much obligated to be favorable toward this book. When it comes down to it, I agree with Matt Bucher, who says that Every Love Story Is a Ghost Story “might inform your mental impression of [David Foster Wallace], but the authentic, more enduring part of him is still there in the stories he left behind.”

Books I Feel the Weirdest About Having Read

Ender’s Game, Speaker for the Dead, Xenocide, and Children of the Mind by Orson Scott Card. I’m not really sure why I started reading these books (known collectively as the Ender quartet), though if I had to guess, I’d say it was probably at the urging of someone on /r/books. The first book, Ender’s Game, is actually pretty good. It’s in the same vein as books like The Hunger Games; while it’s set in the future and there are a lot of science-fictiony things about it, the plot itself is compelling enough that the science-fictiony stuff takes a back seat.⁴ The last three books, however, are pretty much just straight-up science fiction, and the fact is I just don’t think I’m a Science Fiction Guy. I’m not really even sure why I kept reading, honestly. But I did, and now I feel kind of weird about it. It’s probably similar to what someone who’s had a few less-than-enjoyable karaoke experiences feels like after their friends peer-pressured them into singing “Sweet Caroline” (“Oh come on, everyone knows that song! No one will even hear you!”) on stage feels like after they’ve finished. It wasn’t awful, but I’m pretty sure I won’t do it again any time soon. On the bright side, I can now condescendingly say “The book was way better” when the Ender’s Game movie comes out.

The Complete List

1. Predictably Irrational: The Hidden Forces That Shape Our Decisions by Dan Ariely
2. The Mezzanine by Nicholson Baker
3. Ender’s Game by Orson Scott Card
4. Speaker for the Dead by Orson Scott Card
5. Xenocide by Orson Scott Card
6. Children of the Mind by Orson Scott Card
7. Ready Player One: A Novel by Ernest Cline
8. A Hologram for the King by Dave Eggers
9. Another Bullshit Night in Suck City: A Memoir by Nick Flynn
10. The Fault in Our Stars by John Green
11. The Art of Fielding: A Novel by Chad Harbach
12. Wool^[e] by Hugh Howey
13. That’s Not a Feeling by Dan Josefson
14. The Freedom of Self Forgetfulness^[e] by Timothy Keller
15. Into Thin Air: A Personal Account of the Mount Everest Disaster by Jon Krakauer
16. Every Love Story Is a Ghost Story: A Life of David Foster Wallace by D.T. Max
17. Harvest of Joy and Renewal: The Emerging Missional Way in a Rural Church^[e] by Melissa Rudolph
18. Mr. Penumbra’s 24-Hour Bookstore: A Novel by Robin Sloan
19. Pulphead: Essays^[e] by John Jeremiah Sullivan
20. Narcopolis: A Novel by Jeet Thayil
21. Renovation of the Heart: Putting On the Character of Christ by Dallas Willard
22. Every Riven Thing: Poems by Christian Wiman

Unfinished Books

This list is 350% longer than last year’s list, and while I feel like I should maybe be embarrassed and/or ashamed by that fact, I am becoming a subscriber to the You Can’t Possibly Read It All, So Stop Trying school of thought. If a book doesn’t hold my interest for some reason (and there are legitimate reasons other than the book not being quote-unquote good, including said book not jibing with my current fleeting interests) then I may as well move on to something that really straps me down.

Lars Rood makes a convincing point as well:

@jakebouma books aren’t made to be finished. You enter into a “relationship” and then end it when it’s right for you both

— Lars Rood (@LarsRood) December 28, 2012

Stopping points are notated parenthetically,⁵ and ^§ denotes I.T.F.S.⁶

1. The Most Human Human: What Talking with Computers Teaches Us About What It Means to Be Alive^[e] by Brian Christian (p. 102)
2. Lost at Sea: The Jon Ronson Mysteries by Jon Ronson^§ (p. 168)
3. Robopocalypse^[e] by Daniel H. Wilson (p. 205)
4. The Revolution Was Televised: The Cops, Crooks, Slingers and Slayers Who Changed TV Drama Forever^[e] by Alan Sepinwall (188 pages)⁷
5. Three Treatises by Martin Luther (145 pages)⁸
6. Personae by Sergio de la Pava (p. 144)
7. A Naked Singularity by Sergio de la Pava (p. 112)⁹
8. This Is Where I Leave You by Jonathan Tropper (p. 64)
9. Let the Great World Spin by Colum McCann (p. 118)
10. Cowboys Full: The Story of Poker by James McManus (p. 61)
11. Black Swan Green by David Mitchell^§ (p. 47)
12. Both Flesh and Not: Essays by David Foster Wallace^§ (p. 175)
13. Gravity & Grace by Simone Weil (p. 90)
14. The Predicament of Belief: Science, Philosophy, and Faith by Philip Clayton and Steven Knapp^§ (p. 47)

Statistics

(N.B. Page count stats include unfinished books.)

Total pages read (compiled using the page count on Amazon’s product pages, even for e-books): 8459

Total pages read, adjusted for accuracy (i.e., subtracting 15% from the total page count to account for front and back matter that are included in the total page count, but aren’t actually read): 7190.2

Percent difference in total pages read (adjusted for accuracy) from 2011 to 2012: -0.99%

Average number of pages read per day: 19.7

Average number of days per completed book: 16.6

Average stopping point for an unfinished book (excluding the two books from which I intentionally read excerpts): Page 111

Fiction vs. non-fiction completed

Books read per year

My bold prediction: In 2013 I will equal, if not surpass, 2010′s total of twenty-seven books completed.¹⁰

Physical books completed vs. e-books completed

As I mentioned above, 2012 was the tipping point for me with regards to e-books, and it seems I’m not alone. According to Pew Internet, “In the past year, the number of those who read e-books increased from 16% of all Americans ages 16 and older to 23%.” Before 2012, we didn’t own any devices that really made e-reading enjoyable,¹¹ but that changed in March when we purchased a third generation iPad. I like-but-don’t-love the experience of reading an e-book, but my not-quite-love for it may be due to the fact that all of my e-reading has been done exclusively on our iPad. Meaning, maybe the experience is best on a Kindle or Nook? Who knows. I have a suspicion that I would really love reading e-books on an iPad Mini, but I’ll wait until the retina version appears in due time.

One of the things that I really love about e-reading is the ability to download samples of books. I love the freedom of being able to browse an entire bookstore (bigger than a bookstore, really) while I’m laying in bed at 10:00pm, find something that piques my interest, download a sample, and read a decent-sized chunk (around 20-30 pages, in my experience). In fact, that’s how I got into several physical books, including The Art of Fielding — I read the digital sample, and then eventually picked up the physical copy.

Physical pages read vs. e-pages read (includes unfinished books)

The implication of the above chart of course being that let’s not get ahead of ourselves with considering the significance and varied implications of the chart above the above chart, okay?

(And Finally) Most Anticipated Book of 2013

Going Clear: Scientology, Hollywood, and the Prison of Belief by Lawrence Wright. When I started writing this post, I had Present Shock: When Everything Happens Now by Douglas Rushkoff in this slot,¹² but then I came across Going Clear. You may recall that another Scientology exposé, Inside Scientology: The Story of America’s Most Secretive Religion by Janet Reitman was my 2011 “Scariest Book” — before that book, I had “at best a vague understanding of what Scientology is… and reading through it left me nothing but terrified.” Terrified, but still and nevertheless totally intrigued.

From The Millions’ always excellent annual book preview:

“[Going Clear is] shaping up to be as controversial as anything that crosses Scientology’s path: Wright has been receiving numerous legal missives from the church itself and the celebrities he scrutinizes, and his British publisher has just backed out—though they claim they haven’t been directly threatened by anyone.

This book expands on Wright’s (excellent) article from 2011 in the New Yorker, Paul Haggis vs. the Church of Scientology.

1. Although: “Arguably, the vast bulk of popular reading is escapist in nature.”
2. I.e., I’ll read anything these writers put out, regardless of subject matter, length, etc.
3. To further drive home the point that DFW is indeed #1 on my Favorite Writers of All Time list, a true story: For the first seventeen months of our marriage, we had a David Foster Wallace portrait prominently featured in our apartment’s modestly-decorated living room(!). It has since — much to my chagrin — found its way elsewhere, having been replaced by (wait for it…) photos of the two of us reading books.
4. To be fair, the last three books do have plots, but they pale in comparison (the plots do) to Ender’s Game, in my opinion.
5. In the case of the one Kindle e-book, I arbitrarily decided to convert the percent read to a physical page number, which page number was taken from the product’s Amazon page. So, e.g., my Kindle app says I stopped at 32% of The Most Human Human, and 32% of the print version’s stated 320 pages is 102.4 — which is pretty darn close to accurate. Meaning if you “Look Inside” the book on Amazon, the actual page I stopped on was 99. But for the sake of consistency (and, frankly, ease of investigation), I’m (again, arbitrarily) going with the Percent-Converted-To-Physical-Page calculation over attempting to ascertain actual page numbers. This is more for future years’ “Books I Read” posts, really, in case I end up devouring, like, fifteen Kindle books in 2013. Then I’ve already set the precedent and I’m not stuck in some sort of nauseating page-counting dilemma (at this point, only some Kindle e-books have actual page numbers). Apple’s iBooks has actual page numbers, natch.
6. Intent To Finish Someday.
7. While technically “unfinished,” I purchased this book with the sole intention of only reading three chapters — the ones on LOST (ch. 6), Mad Men (ch. 11), and Breaking Bad (ch. 12) — after having read this excerpt from ch. 6 on Grantland.
8. I was only required to read the second of the three treatises (The Babylonian Captivity of the Church) for a seminary course.
9. This book was last year’s Most Anticipated Book of 2012.
10. Unless I get cancer again, in which case, goddamnit.
11. Pre-iPad, I tried reading a bit on the Kindle app for my iPhone, but ew.
12. Rushkoff was the writer of and correspondent for one of my favorite Frontline episodes of all-time, The Persuaders. And his short little book Program or Be Programmed: Ten Commands for a Digital Age should be required reading for ninth grade students.

Since October 2011, my colleague Erik and I have been working to craft a youth- and young adult-friendly biblical purity curriculum out of Dr. Ritva Williams’ grant-funded research on the topic. The result of our collaboration is called Wholeness & Holiness. It’s an eight lesson curriculum that includes comprehensive leader guides, engaging student sheets, images, movie clips, and lots of other supplemental resources that can be utilized right out of the box.¹

Ritva’s research sought to “reclaim” the word purity to encompass all of the oft-ignored aspects of biblical purity. These include temporary contact impurity, ingested impurity, how purity practices have changed throughout time, what you should or should not wear or tattoo on your body, etc. Now, just one of the eight lessons is about sex and sexuality, and this is intentional — the idea of biblical purity includes sex and sexuality but is by no means limited to it, regardless of what you may be lead to believe while browsing the ailes of your local Christian bookstore.

Needless to say, we are really excited about this resource and look forward to getting it into the hands of church leaders. And so (as you no doubt surmised by the graphic leading this post) we’re offering a 12 Days of Wholeness & Holiness sale starting on Christmas Day, which sale allows you to purchase the curriculum for as low as $25, which is over 55% off the full retail price.

I encourage you to poke around the Wholeness & Holiness website to read some reviews, and take a look at what’s included in the curriculum, including a free download of lesson four, “Loving the Skin You’re In: Purity on Display.”

For continued updates on Wholeness & Holiness be sure to follow @BiblicalPurity on Twitter and on Facebook.

1. The phrase “right out of the box” is a bit of a misnomer, however, since the whole curriculum is delivered as a digital download.

About a month ago, a couple of coworkers of mine got together to brainstorm some ideas for our church‘s upcoming Advent worship season. We came up with a few exciting ideas, including themed postcards and magnets (like the image above), a three-part skit, beautiful liturgy settings, etc.

Additionally, I (sheepishly) volunteered to compose a song using our theme, “Coming Home.” So that’s exactly what I did.

The words are essentially straight out of Psalm 121, with a few additions. You’re welcome to listen and/or download it as you please. If you can’t see the embedded song below, click this link to listen.

Enjoy!

Hey everyone. Long time no talk. Let me get you up to speed.

With our oncologists blessing, I had my chemo port removed yesterday. A short video update detailing the experience is below (Don’t worry, you can’t actually “see” anything surgery-related). And if you don’t remember what a port is, feel free read this blog post from March. If you’re unable to see the embedded video, click here to watch it on YouTube.

The occasion of having my port removed is the reason this post is titled “The beginning of the (sort of) end.” While both chemotherapy and radiation treatment behind me, I will continue to have regular check-ins with my oncologist, the next one of which is in November. The worst parts of this whole ordeal are now behind me… all that’s left is the occasional routine examination with some bloodwork, x-rays, etc. As I have mentioned previously, I don’t have cancer any more (it still feels so good to say that), but I’ll always be a cancer patient.

Radiation

All told, I had seventeen individual radiation treatments over the course of 3 1/2 weeks in August. I took very little video during that time, for several reasons. First, each appointment only lasted about 15 minutes from start to finish, with the radiation portion lasting 3 minutes at most, and it was the same every single time. That would make for a pretty boring and repetitive video blog, to say the least. Second, Nate joined me a few times and got lots of great footage of the radiation experience. So while I didn’t post a radiation-centric video here, it will still feature in the documentary.

And finally, the side effects I experienced from radiation were minimal — shockingly minimal when compared to chemo. The skin that was in the radiation field got a little dry and pink, and at times it felt like I had a frog in my throat (totally normal side effect, I was told), but that was it. I received the fewest amount of treatments called for — had I been given 30 treatments, say, the side effects would likely have been worse.

Vacation

During the majority of my chemotherapy treatment, I would often try to mentally escape by imagining myself sitting on a beach with a drink in one hand and a good book in the other. I’m happy to say that this dream is becoming a reality. In October (43 days from now, but who’s counting?), Libby and I are heading to Punta Cana, Dominican Republic for a week of beach-filled rest and relaxation. In addition to having our birthday trip to Las Vegas cancelled this past February, we weren’t able to properly celebrate our one-year wedding anniversary in May. So think of this trip as a Happy Birthday!/Happy Anniversary!/Happy Cancer-Free! mega-celebration. We can’t wait!

Etc.

I’ll continue to post here as we make progress with the documentary, but don’t expect very many more video updates (I’m looking at you, mom). Now that I’m well on the way back to health, I’ll be devoting most of my time and energy into returning to my graduate studies, supporting my wife as she continues hers, and pouring myself into the work that I love.

As always, thanks for your prayer, support, and love. We couldn’t have done this without you!

This post is a part of a series which features an assortment of adroit voices exploring how to think theologically about cancer and those who have it. Read the series introduction or view all posts in the series.

There are two books that are helpful which directly address the question, “Where is God in the face of the suffering and death from cancer?” David Watson’s Fear No Evil and M.R. Thompson’s Cancer and the God of Love. The theses of both these books is that God has already gone before us, experiencing suffering, agony and ultimately death so because of this we need fear no evil. The freeing part of the Christian message is we need not deny sickness and the ultimate questions of why suffering but rather the knowledge that God walks with us and when we can no longer walk God carries us. As C.S. Lewis wrote, the ultimate test of our Christian faith in the face of loss, illness, and death of loved ones is whether we believe God is a Cosmic Sadist or a loving parent. In answering this question, we are reminded that we cannot celebrate the Easter of resurrection and new life until we have passed through the Good Friday of pain and suffering.

Ultimately the theodicy question of why a good God permits suffering and is still all-powerful and -loving is veiled in mystery. Any rush to rational explanations of this paradox reduces God’s mystery to our limited knowledge and explanations which ultimately must fail.

For Christians our theology must be translated into action, deeds, and a life that makes a difference in Christ’s name. It is especially when someone is facing a slow and certain death that deeds of kindness can say more than all the theological truths. Instead of the words, “Can I help?” the more concrete words, “What do you need?” help to empower the ill person to name what would be helpful to them, from bringing food to their family, doing chores around the house, reading poetry, taking their child to school or the doctor. One of the most difficult aspects of being chronically or terminally ill is the loss of control. Where in many cases there is little you can do to wrest the progression of the disease, others can help empower you to still participate in decisions and their implementation about your treatment and life.

For people with terminal cancer the question may often be, “How should I live while I am dying?” One wise friend, whose husband died of cancer, told me her words to her husband were, “Your disease does not change who you are, and you are still the wonderful person you have always been.” On the other hand, Eric Cassell, oncologist at Cornell, wrote that illness is not like a knapsack fastened on to you, but rather it changes everything about you and your world. While it is true that the world of the dying person shrinks and the peripheral matters of life recede, still the essence which makes us who we are is always there. In other words, nothing can alter that we are a child of God, made in God’s image.

These truths should form the heart of the Christian message of hope that we share in the face of the terrible ravages of disease.

Our greatest call, however, is to stand with and by people in their illness. Sometimes in silence, sometimes with comforting words, thereby incarnating the love of Christ for them in all circumstances.

Dr. Abigail Rian Evans has over thirty years of experience in the development of innovative approaches to health and wellness. Currently she is a senior scholar in the Center for Clinical Bioethics and an adjunct Professor in the Department of Family Medicine at Georgetown University Medical Center. Evans is the Charlotte Newcombe Professor of Practical Theology emerita at Princeton Theological Seminary, where she was also Director of the Intern and Clinical Pastoral Education programs. Earlier, Abigail was the Founder and Director of Health Ministries for the National Capital Presbytery and one of the early leaders of the Faith Community Nurses and Health Ministries Association. Her books include Redeeming Marketplace Medicine, The Healing Church, Healing Liturgies for the Seasons of Life, and Is God Still at the Bedside: Medical, Ethical and Pastoral Issues in Death and Dying.

Hey everyone. The latest video update is below. If you’re unable to see the embedded video, click here to watch it on YouTube.

As you can see from the video, I’m all set up to start my radiation treatments. The radiation oncologist said I would have between 15 and 20 treatments, and they will begin shortly after I return from a trip with the youth at my church — so, July 24-ish. I’m still waiting to get word from the folks who do the official scheduling.

A few other updates:

• Libby and I will be interviewed on Iowa Public Radio’s Talk of Iowa with Charity Nebbe this Thursday, July 12 from 10:00 — 11:00am. If you live in Iowa you can listen by tuning in to one of these radio stations (longtime 101.7 FM listener here)¹, and it will be streamed online as well. As with the Des Moines Register article, I’m excited for the opportunity to give Hodgkin lymphoma some more exposure and (hopefully) spread a little bit of hope.
• In case you missed it, Libby and I were interviewed on a show called Right This Minute after the video of us receiving the good news went viral.
• Thanks again to Mike for taking me up in his Cessna 150. In case you couldn’t tell from the video, I had an absolute blast!

That’s it for now… Apologies for the brevity. Lots to do in preparation for the National Youth Gathering next week!

1. Mini geek-out: I’ve probably heard 500+ episodes (or episode fragments) of Talk of Iowa over the last several years, and now I get to actually be inside the show. Pretty dang cool.