The New Life of Easter

"So if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new!" (2 Corinthians 5:17)

There's an old story, found in different versions, about a monastery that had fallen upon hard times. It was once a great order, but because of persecutions and general disinterest it had dwindled to the extent that there were only five monks left in the decaying main house: the abbot and four others, all over seventy in age. It seemed to be a dying order.

In the deep woods surrounding the monastery there was a little hut that was often used as a hermitage by a rabbi from a nearby town. Through their years of prayer and contemplation the old monks had become intuitive enough to be able to sense when the rabbi was in his hermitage. "The rabbi is in the woods. He's in the hut again," they would whisper to each other. 

In his distress at the thought of his dying order, it dawned on the abbot that he might visit the hermitage and ask the rabbi if he could offer any advice that might save the monastery. The rabbi welcomed the abbot into his hut, but when the abbot explained the purpose of his visit, the rabbi could only commiserate with him. "I know what you're going through," he said. "The people have no more spirit. It is the same in my town. Almost no one comes to the synagogue anymore." So the old abbot and the old rabbi wept together, read some of the Torah, and bonded in conversation. When the time came for the abbot had to leave he said, "It has been a wonderful thing that we should meet after all these years, but I have still not asked what I came here to ask you. Is there anything at all you can tell me, any advice you can give me that would help save my order?"

"No, I am sorry," the rabbi replied. "I have no advice to give. The only thing I can tell you is that the Messiah is one of you."

When the abbot returned to the monastery his fellow monks gathered around him to ask about what the rabbi said. The abbot answered, "Well, he couldn't help. We just cried and read the Torah together. He did say one thing just as I was leaving -- something very strange and cryptic. He told me that the Messiah is one of us. But I have no idea what he meant by that."

In the days and weeks that followed, the old monks pondered this and wondered whether there was any significance to the rabbi's words. "The Messiah is one of us? Could he possibly have meant one of us monks here? If so, who? Do you suppose he meant the abbot? Yeah, if he meant anyone, it was probably Father Abbot. He has been our leader for more than 30 years. Yet, he might have meant Brother Thomas. Brother Thomas is a holy man, and everyone knows he's a man of light. Well, he couldn't have meant Brother Stephen! Stephen gets cantankerous and crotchety at times. But come to think of it, even though he's a pain sometimes, when you look at it, he's pretty much always right. Often very right. Maybe the rabbi did mean Brother Stephen. But surely not Phillip. Brother Phillip is so quiet, a real nobody. Yet, almost mysteriously, he has a gift for somehow always being there when you need him. He just magically appears by your side. Maybe Phillip is the Messiah. Of course, the rabbi couldn't have meant me. No way, I'm just an ordinary person. Yet supposing he did?... Suppose I am the Messiah? O God, not me. I couldn't be that much for You, could I?"

As they reflected on it like this, the old monks began to actually live differently. They started to treat each other with great respect and kindness on the off chance that one among them might be the Messiah. And on the off off chance that each monk himself might be the Messiah, they began to treat themselves with great respect and kindness, as well.

Because of the beautiful forest surrounding the place, people still occasionally came to visit the monastery to picnic, to walk the paths, and even sometimes to go into the dilapidated chapel to meditate. Without really being aware, they sensed the aura of great respect and kindness that now began to surround the five old monks and radiated out from them to permeate the whole place. People began to come back to the monastery more frequently to picnic, play, and pray. They began to bring their friends to show them this special place. And their friends brought their friends. And so on...

Some of the younger men who came to visit started talking more frequently with the old monks. Eventually, one asked if he could join them. Then another. And another... Within a few years the monastery had once again become a thriving order and a vibrant center of light, life, and love -- all thanks to the rabbi's gift. 

*****

This Holy Week, as we approach Easter, the crux of the church calendar and Christian faith, let us consider the many ways by which the resurrection into new life comes. Let us reflect on the plurality of forms by which new life in Christ shows up in our own lives. Sometimes Easter appears in the most unlikely of places and through the most improbable of means. 

There’s a post-resurrection account of Jesus in the Gospel of Luke that really speaks to me. It’s often called the Road to Emmaus. These two guys, Jesus’ followers, are walking to Emmaus, just outside of Jerusalem on the third day after the crucifixion. Jesus appears and begins walking and talking with them. But these guys don't recognize him as Jesus. Along the way Jesus kind of chides them about not understanding that the Messiah is supposed to suffer before entering into glory.  

The men urge Jesus to stay with them for the evening because it's getting late. So he goes in to stay with them. Now, here’s the climax, and the part that really touches me: 

“When he was at he table with them, he took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them. Then, their eyes were opened, and they recognized him; and he vanished from their sight.” (Lk. 24:30-31)

These men didn’t see the risen Jesus, right away. They didn’t see him until -- table fellowship, the breaking of bread with one another. Isn’t this true also in our lives today?


In times of building community, in giving-and-receiving, in finding ways to embrace each other with respect and kindness -- even when it's difficult -- we experience the perfect pattern of God’s Love, just as Jesus Christ demonstrated. When we break bread with each other and support one another in fellowship (warts and all), when we are really present with each other in joys and sorrows, we rise into a new awareness of Christ's presence within and among us. This is resurrection. 

All of this is possible because we are, at the core, blessed and beloved children of God, created with inherent dignity and worth as imago dei, encoded in our spiritual DNA. We are living presences embodying Jesus Christ in the world, writing new possibilities for humanity, individually and communally as the Body of Christ. 


As we remember and celebrate the risen Christ this Easter, may we also envision the many avenues -- great and small -- by which this Easter experience brings the gift of new life.

Limits to Our Love? (Lent 2016)

"And the king will answer them, ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these you did it to me.’" (Matthew 25:40)

Here is a parable adapted from The Orthodox Heretic (Paraclete, 2009) by philosopher and theologian Peter Rollins. which invites us into deeper reflection on our Lenten journey:

In the center of a great city there was a spectacular cathedral cared for by a gentle old priest who spent all his time praying and caring for the poor. Because of the priest's tireless work, the cathedral became known throughout the land as a real sanctuary -- a place where all who come find a true welcome. To the priest, every stranger who visited was a neighbor in need and therefore the presence of Christ. His hospitality was notorious and everyone experienced the purity of his heart.

Early one winter evening, during a great snow storm, while the priest was in prayer, there was a loud and ominous knock on the cathedral door. "Boom, boom, boom..." it echoed throughout the corridors. The priest got to his feet and quickly walked to the entrance, since he knew it was a blizzard out there and thought this visitor would be in need of shelter. 

When the priest opened the door he witnessed before him a terrifying demon, towering over him with huge, black dead eyes and stinking, rotting flesh. "Old man," hissed the demon, "I have traveled a thousand miles to seek your shelter. Will you welcome me in?" 

Promptly, the priest intently welcomed the demon into the church. The hideous demon stooped down and stepped across the threshold, spitting venom onto to floor as he walked. Right in front of the priest, the demon began tearing down the various icons and fine linens adorning the sanctuary, all the while shouting blasphemies and curses. The priest simply prayed silently on the floor continuing his devotions until it was time to retire for the night.

"Old man, where are you going?," growled the demon.

"I'm going home to rest," said the priest.

"May I come with you? I too am tired and need a place to lay my head for the night," spat the demon.

"Of course," replied the priest. "Come over and I'll fix us some dinner."

The priest cooked them a simple meal while the demon mocked him and trashed all the religious artifacts in his humble abode. After dinner the demon turned to the priest, "Old man, you welcomed me first into your church and then into your home. Now, will you welcome me into your own heart?" 

Of course," said the priest, "what I have is yours and what I am is yours." 

The honesty and warmth of these words stopped the demon cold, since by giving everything the priest had kept the very thing the demon wanted to take: his compassion and hospitality. So the demon fled with defeat, never to return.

No one knows what actually happened to the demon after this encounter. But, the priest? Well, he just got into bed, drifted off to sleep, pondering what form his Christ would take next.

At first glance, this seems to be a simple story about the moral importance of kindness. Yet, the more I dig deeper and continue reflecting on this parable the more it transforms into a call pushing me to the very edges of my Christian faith. It beckons my gaze to the limits and conditions of love and hospitality.

Many speak about the "unconditional love of God," which surely seems to be demonstrated allegorically here in this parable, the kindly priest embodying the limitless, unconditional compassion and welcome of God's Kin-dom, even in the face of the worst in this world. Yet, this story brings to our attention the many ways in which we simply don't (or simply aren't able yet) live out the radical love of God as imaged in the life of Jesus Christ. What or who are the "demons" in our lives, those things, events, people, etc. that are so hard to love and welcome into our lives as Jesus did?

At the same time we know that the Kin-dom love of Jesus isn't about agreeing with everything and everyone we encounter. This love isn't even really about being nice all the time. Jesus recognized times when he needed to wake people up to God and the way of the Kin-dom by being rather biting in his critique of people and the systems of oppression in which they were complicit (e.g., overturning tables of money-changers and those buying and selling doves -  Mk. 11:15–19, Mt. 21:12–17, Lk. 19:45–48; Jn. 2:13–16). There were times he even came to the point of calling them names to roust them out of their complacent slumber -- "fools" (Mt. 23:17), "hypocrites" (Lk. 11:44), "vipers" (Mt. 23:33), "whitewashed tombs" (Mt. 23:27). It is possible to love people without always agreeing with them or condoning morally reprehensible behavior and activity. 

Even so, this parable stetches us beyond our comfort zones and beyond the fuzzy warm feelings of what it means to live inclusively. None of this is easy. Love is not always easy. 

The question remains for me: To what extent am I personally and are we as the church (the Body of Christ) collectively able to welcome those who are different from and maybe even have views that are hateful or contemptible to us? What are the limits and conditions of our inclusivity and welcome?

The apostle Paul tells us, "For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord." (Romans 8:38-39)

Jesus Christ shows us that God's Spirit calls and empowers us to continually find new ways of loving others, enacting God's love, even when we dislike their views or conduct. Indeed, we are not called to ignore inequality and injustice, but rather advocate for equality and justice in the name of Jesus. And, the love of God in Christ refocuses our vision to see through these realities into the core truth of imago dei -- that each and every one of us as a human being is a beloved child of God with integrity and self-worth.

May we more fully live into this spiritual insight during our Lenten walk.

Attuning to Our Treasure (Lent 2016)

There was once a thief who used to hang around the precious stones district in the marketplace to see who was purchasing gems so that he could pickpocket them. One day, a well-known diamond merchant bought the largest, most beautiful stone, and the thief followed him onto a train. During their 3-day journey, the thief tried to pick the merchant’s pocket to obtain the diamond; yet, at the end of their journey, he hadn’t been able to find this rare, precious jewel.

Frustrated, he finally confronted the merchant and confessed, “I’ve used all the skills of my art. How did you hide it from me?”

“Well,” said the merchant, “I saw you watching and suspected your intention, so I hid the diamond in a place you’d be least likely to look … your own pocket!”

Now in our second week after Ash Wednesday this Lent, I've been ruminating on this little parable. The treasure we seek is closer than we might imagine. It’s not out there somewhere; it’s not based on outer circumstances; it’s not about looking for validation in someone else’s treasure:  It’s in the heart, in the core of our being, in the awareness of God’s presence, always there and available to us as God’s precious beloved.

“See, I am making all things new.” (Revelation 21:5) 

As we continue further into the Lenten journey, we might ask ourselves: What am I ready to bring into fruition? How is my inner treasure going to come forth? How am I becoming more alive, awake, and attuned in my faith and spirituality?

Lent doesn't have to be all about dwelling on the weaknesses of our mortal condition, even though we do often fall short of our potential as God's beloved creatures. Rather, Lent can be an opportunity to open up more fully to the treasure of God's love in Jesus Christ, a love that is within and among us. May we find ways to explore new avenues of embodying this Divine treasure on our unfolding Lenten journey.

Grace and peace in Christ.

Re-launching the Blog with Brother Andrew

This blog has been dormant for a couple years now, and for no other reason than laziness and busy-ness. In an effort to revitalize my creativity and provide an avenue to share ideas, I'm starting again. 

To kick off this venture, I've decided to share a rather well-known story I often tell in my Bible classes at Unity Institute and Seminary, especially when we discuss textual criticism. Textual criticism is the important and rigorous work of critically comparing and analyzing all ancient manuscripts of a particular text in order to reconstruct the most probable wording of the original document. A very significant task!

So, without further adieu, here's the story about the good Brother Andrew:

Brother Andrew lived in Ireland in the 8th Century and he had studied at what was the equivalent of a seminary back then. And when he got done studying, the president of the seminary sent him on to a monastery where he was to spend the rest of his days as a monk.

Now, Brother Andrew was the sort of guy who was very detail-minded, and he wasn’t given to teamwork or socializing. In other words, he was really anal.

Andrew met the abbot of the monastery who knew of his education, and said, "I have just the job for you, young man. You’re going to be copying out the bylaws of our monastery. We’ll put you in the scriptorium. We’ve got a couple copies. Nobody’s done this work in decades. So you just kind of compare the manuscripts and copy them accurately as you can."

Andrew was excited to go and do this work. He goes to the scriptorium, starts copying out these manuscripts, and then about 45 minutes later… [knocking] The abbot hears a knock on his door.

Brother Andrew opens the door and says, "Holy Father, I think there’s a discrepancy between these documents. Have you got some older ones that I can look at?" The abbot said, "Yes, we do. We haven’t seen these in a long, long time. But we have some that are a couple hundred years older than the ones you’re working with."

The abbot showed him where those manuscripts were, Brother Andrew started copying those out. Again, 45 minutes later… [knocking] Another knock at the door.

"Holy Father, there’s still some discrepancies. Have you got anything older that I could look at?" And the Holy Father sized him up and said, "Man, this guy really is meticulous." And so he said, "I’m going to let you do something that I’ve never let a new monk ever do in the history of this monastery. I’m going to take you into the bowels of the library, down a winding path, to the subterranean archives room where we have the original documents. Nobody has seen these in centuries."

So he took him down there and said, "Go ahead and start copying out the original bylaws of the monastery." And the abbot went back to his office.

About 30 minutes later, all of the sudden, his door was pounded on by many fists. All the rest of the monks were at his door and they said, "Holy Father, this new monk has gone berserk. You’ve got to come see what’s going on."

They all run down into the bowels of the library, and they see Andrew in there shaking his fist, weeping and wailing.

The abbot asked, “What’s the matter young man?”

"They left out the letter ‘r.’"

The abbot thought, "Man, this guy really is particular."

Brother Andrew cried, "The word is supposed to be ‘celebrate.’"

The Freedom and Decision for Gratitude

According to an Arabic legend, a young man was roaming the desert and came across a spring of crystal-clear water. The water was so delicious that he filled his leather canteen to the brim so he could bring some back to a tribal elder who had been his teacher. After a four-day journey, he offered the water to the elder who took a deep drink, smiled amiably, and thanked his former student for the excellent water. The young man returned to his home with a happy heart.

Later, the elder let another student taste the water. He spit it out, saying it was terrible. Apparently, over the four days in the old leather container it had become stale. The student challenged his teacher: “Master, the water was awful. Why did you pretend to like it?” The teacher replied: “You only tasted the water, whereas I tasted the gift. The water was simply the container for an act of loving-kindness.”

This compelling story speaks to a profound truth about our lives. It tells us about the monumental importance of cultivating gratefulness in our lives and relationships.  We often think of gratefulness especially during holidays or special events when we get an opportunity to remember and celebrate what we are thankful for. However, gratefulness does not have to be relegated only to these occasions. We are able to tune in to our innate capacity for gratefulness each moment of every day.

Despite appearances, circumstances, or the outer forms, the tribal elder in the story was able to clearly perceive the spirit of the gift, the love from which it came. In other words, he was able to be grateful when he could’ve not been. He was able to experience gratitude even when circumstances were “distasteful.”  Likewise, we can develop gratefulness just like any other spiritual capacity. We do not have to go out and get a gratitude injection, take some thankfulness pill, or await the “gratefulness fairy” to come and shower us with thanksgiving dust. Not at all! We become grateful by our own intention.

Each one of us has that innate spiritual power of free will. This means that we always have the ability to choose. While we may not always have a choice about what we experience in life, we definitely have a choice about how we experience events. Even when we find ourselves in the midst of hardships or things not going like we want, we can decide to behold the good in the situation. This is possible because Spirit is always present. God the Good is abiding within every circumstance, but we have to attune our attention to the blessing that is there. Just like the biblical story of Jacob wrestling all night with God in human form, we can say to each condition, “I will not let go until you bless me.” (Gen. 32:23-34) We too can find the gem, but we must look for it and claim it.

Gratitude comes when we continually opt to see the blessings in our lives – persons, relationships, events, places, memories, and ideas. Gratefulness is all about being FULL of GREAT-ness in our hearts, using our perceiving power of faith and free will to witness and embrace the good in every situation.

One of those deep and momentous precepts of Jesus is: “Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” (Mt. 6:21) Now, there is effectively a vast array of ways to interpret this, as with any text. However, given the context of gratitude, Jesus may be alluding to the potent insight that whenever and wherever we resolve to find good and blessing (our treasure), then and there we will experience gratefulness (our heart). Gratitude arises in consciousness through the positive quality of our attention and intention.

There is a story about a grandmother walking with her six-year-old grandson on the beach. Suddenly, a rogue wave comes and grabs the child, carrying him out to sea. She looks up to the sky, shakes her fist, and says, “God, this is unconscionable and unbearable. You cannot take an innocent child!” Just as those words come out of her mouth, another wave deposits the child at her feet, smiling. She scoops up the child in her arms, looks up to the sky, and says, “God, this child had a hat!” This reminds us to be grateful for what we have, rather than clamoring for what we do not.

Oftentimes, we can fall into those ruts of taking things for granted, not recognizing the value of what we do already have. How wonderful would it be if we were to live each moment of our lives not taking things for granted? What would it be like if we were to appreciate, or lift up and increase in awareness, the sacredness present in every experience, occasion, relationship, and person?

Sure, we can continue to focus on what we do not have or like. Yet, running through that line of thinking is an unspoken assumption that we do not already have within us the key to gratitude. As we come back to that truth of our being – that we have within us the freedom of choice and the power of faith – we can recognize and appreciate the blessings that we do have and support each other in spiritual fellowship to see it too.

Gratefulness does not have to stop at seeing and feeling. It starts within, but does not have to stay there. The fullness of gratitude comes when we live it out, expressing it through our daily activities and relationships. The more we show appreciation for the good in our lives, the more we simply and genuinely tell others and ourselves, “Thank you,” the greater we will feel gratitude and peace within.

In this light, let us join together in a spiritual practice of inner reflection. Whenever we encounter a difficulty or frustration, we may ask ourselves, “What is it I can be grateful for here?” “What do I already have that I appreciate?” “Where and how do I demonstrate my gratitude to others and to myself?” Indeed, friends, we can do great things when we cultivate grateful hearts.

Progressive Christianity?

In our current U.S. American cultural situation of religious plurality and diversity, and its increasing impact on our consciousness and action, there is a recurrent question that continues to rear its head for many Christians seeking to both recognize these circumstances and yet remain committed in faith: What does it mean to be a progressive Christian?

Now, many Christians who decidedly take a stance against what they call “liberalism” will undoubtedly assert their perspective of what progressive Christianity is and is not. And, it will likely have pejorative tones. Yet, those of us who claim and embrace our self-identity as progressive will have a different, more amenable interpretation of who we are.

As one trained in the academic study of history and philosophy of religions, when attempting to understand a religious group I find it most instructive and socio-culturally appropriate to ask what is that particular group’s self-definition – how they describe and identify themselves. In anthropology this is called the “emic” approach. From there we can launch into further discussion with those outside the religious group to take their views into consideration, which is what’s termed the “etic” approach. Thus, it’s so important for those of us within “progressive Christianity” to participate in the ongoing conversation of just who we are and what we’re all about.

This dialogue has been going on for some time, but I offer my views as a contribution to help further the understanding. Therefore, I’m not forwarding these points as an absolute definition of progressive Christianity. Rather, these are what I think progressive Christians believe, value, and do from my informed but limited perspective at this time. (I have drawn on different articles and essays at ProgressiveChristianity.org for inspiration.)

First of all, as Christians, Jesus is paramount and central. There’s no Christianity without Jesus. Progressive Christians embrace the path and teachings of Jesus, which inspires a greater awareness of God, as well as the oneness and sacredness of all life.

On this view, Jesus’ way and wisdom is but one of many diverse means to experience and express the unity and blessedness of life. Progressive Christianity affirms that it is possible to grow spiritually through learning from the beliefs and practices of other religions.

Progressive Christians cultivate community that is inclusive and open to all people regardless of their life-situations. This is a value that has been articulated as “big tent” Christianity that encourages a “generous orthodoxy” (Brian McLaren, Phillip Clayton) or even “polydoxy” (Catherine Keller and Laurel Schneider), where many teachings (“poly” + “doxai”) in dynamic dialogue with one another about God, Jesus, humanity, and the world are accepted as legitimate. This openness of community would include, but not be limited to traditional Christians and questioning skeptics, believers and non-believers, women and men, those of all gender identities and sexual orientations, and those of all socio-economic classes and abilities.

Unlike other systems that prioritize belief and assent to propositions over actions, progressive Christians tend to see that the way we behave toward one another is a direct reflection or expression of what we believe. If we truly value something we will live that out through our practices and actions toward others and ourselves.

Progressive Christianity also embraces postmodernity through finding more worth in questioning than in ultimatizing, more value in the process of understanding than in absolutes. There is a recognition that every teaching, belief, and doctrine is conditioned, relative, and from a particular historical and cultural location. No one can know everything about anything. This is why continual questioning and dialogue with others is so vital to the spiritual and religious life.

Within progressive Christian circles, the pursuit of equality and justice in society is of principal importance. This includes a great concern for the Earth and the impact of human activity on the wellbeing of the planet as a whole.

These points are not meant to compose an exhaustive list, but are general tenets with which many, if not most, progressive Christians would agree.

My hope is that suggesting these points may offer some opportunities for re-claiming and re-embodying our Christian identity as positive, practical, pluralistic, and progressive.

God-Talk and Process New Thought

In this series of blog posts about re-claiming Unity's Christian heritage, one area that I'm interested in addressing is our God-talk -- i.e. the ways in which we go about formulating language about God.

Not Limiting Our God-Language

Perhaps many people of faith are like me and find it rather difficult and sometimes intimidating to talk about God. It’s not that we can’t or shouldn’t engage in God-talk. But, for many of us, there can be some ambiguity and lack of clarity about how we choose to speak of God, what kind of language to employ. It can be overwhelming sometimes when we start to try and put words to our experiences of the Divine. I think this is primarily because language doesn’t really do justice to our experiences, feelings, and thoughts about… well, anything, really. And this is even more true when we’re talking about God, the Absolute, the Ultimate Reality, the Ground of Being.

Have you ever had a situation where you couldn’t find words to describe an experience you went through? Even something as seemingly menial like, say, a strawberry. How would we tell someone what a strawberry tastes like to someone who has never tasted a strawberry? It would be hard, no doubt. We might take recourse to analogies, symbols, and metaphors, but ultimately the explanations would break down. Indeed, language fails to completely convey our experiences. However, we nonetheless still need to speak, to talk, to communicate our experiences to others and create meaning for ourselves, which fundamentally requires the use of linguistic structures and formulation.

So, how do we talk about God in Unity? A lot of different ways, no doubt. Contrary to a lot of classical understandings of God as totally outside and distant to us, the Second of the Five Basic Unity Principles (first formulated by Connie Fillmore Bazzy) claims that we are created and exist in the image of God - that we are of God - and that God is within us, and that thus our true nature is fundamentally good - the Christ. Therefore, we are endowed with inherent dignity and worth as human beings. We in Unity tend to speak of God as the Life, Love, and Wisdom within all creation, being inside us.

But is God only within? Is this the only legitimate way to talk about God’s relation to us in the Unity movement? Perhaps, friends, we could take a both/and rather than an either/or view, a more generous, inclusive understanding, and not limit our God-language to one exclusive spatial metaphor – God within.

If we hold to the Truth that God is everywhere present, that God pervades all that is, and that it is God in whom we live, move, and have our being, then we may also claim that God is both within us and outside of us, all around us – in every person, place, and being we meet and also outside of them, too. In our times of prayer, meditation, contemplation we certainly experience God within ourselves, and yet we can also encounter God through our experience in relationship with other persons, places, and things that are outside of ourselves. When we think and speak of God we can do so confidently, recognizing that God is immanent as well as transcendent, within and beyond.

This awareness of God as both within and beyond not only breaks down all tendencies to put God in a box of limitation, but it also frees us to the possibility of experiencing God’s presence whenever and wherever we are – if we have eyes to see and ears to hear. When we recognize God’s unbounded, ubiquitous presence, we find the liberation of continual transformation and growth into ever greater depths and heights of experience of the ever-abiding yet always-more Life of God the Good.

Process-Relational Theological Paradigm

In a context of growing religious-cultural plurality and ambiguity, the impact of postmodernism (de-centralizing, de-absolutizing; affirming subjectivity, relationality, and contextuality), and the influence of new discoveries in the sciences (such as like Quantum Mechanics and Chaos Theory, the language of how we talk about God, humanity, and the world must change or become increasingly irrelevant. Though we often in Unity speak of God, humanity, and the world in terms that are distinct from what is often known as "traditional" Christianity, nonetheless the predominant theological language employed by our founders and presently is largely still based in what I call "substance metaphysics" (seeing reality as being composed of fundamental unchanging, impenetrable substances, e.g. "mind" vs. "matter"). And this paradigm is still very similar to classical/traditional Christian theology.

What I'll do with what follows is briefly state the difficulties with traditional Christian and Unity substance metaphysics and then outline the basics of process theology and its helpfulness for creating a new theological language or interpretive paradigm in our present context of plurality, postmodernity, and new sciences.

For those who aren't aware, process theology is based on the work of the philosopher Alfred North Whitehead. It is a coherent and complex philosophical system that asserts the constantly changing nature of all reality - everything is in process and fluctuation. Grounded in everyday human experience, process thought views existence as fundamentally and thoroughly dynamic and relational. Process thought accepts the scientific position (in both natural/physical and social sciences) that the universe is made up of dynamic relations at all levels, but at the most basic level, pulses of energy. Process thinkers see these bursts of energy as feeling or experiencing ("prehending" according to Whitehead) one another at various levels and intensities, and are thereby inextricably interrelated. Earlier occasions of experience influence later ones, and developing ones have at least a measure of freedom to choose (unconsciously for most of them) how they will incorporate and unite the past and the possible into the present moment. In other words, all of reality is a web of living experiences. This whole cosmology/metaphysics rejects the understanding of reality as composed as unchanging, underlying substances, and instead views reality as made of inherently, internally interrelated events of experience/feeling at various degrees of complexity and intensity. This is basically a pluralistic idealism: all that exists is experience - feeling, deciding, remembering, thinking, cognizing, etc. - but there are innumerable individual minds doing the experiencing.

It's common (perhaps especially in most of New Thought, but also in classical Christianity) to view mind as an enduring, immutable thing (i.e., substance), but, on a process outlook, mind is really a process of momentary, developing, yet enduring, experiences. Some who claim mystical experience speak of there being only one mind (God). However, that conclusion leads to unsolvable problems of the actual reality (rather than mere illusion or appearance) of our own and others' individuality and of the free will to make real choices required for all genuine morality, value-systems, relationships, transformation, time and space, and thus all existence as we experience and know it.

The God that process theology speaks of is the perfectly loving God, who guides and inspires us (as well as all other existing experiences) by offering/presenting to us the best possibilities for our specific circumstances, and then perfectly preserving the completed experiences after they have come to pass through uniting the past and the God-given potentials. God is the ultimate person. This does not mean that God is a human being, anthropomorphically, but rather that God is the reality most supremely self-conscious, rational, relational, and value-oriented (presents the best for each moment of experience and willfully acts toward realizing this). Contrary to how personhood is often conceived in Unity and New Thought, a person is a unified and enduring experience or a series of experiences (feeling, thinking, desiring, deciding, etc.). While experiences range in their quality, the most perfect Reality, who supports and coordinates of all of it, cannot be less than the supreme, self-conscious, rational, relational, value-oriented enduring experience, exercising most fully what philosophers and cognitive scientists term "personality" or simply "person" (not to be confused with a human persona). As C. Alan Anderson aptly says, "God could not be fully impartial if God were not fully personal. God’s complete reliability is a personal moral quality, not a mechanical one" (C. Alan Anderson, "Our Great Companion in Co-Creation"). In other words, the truth that God is impartial and reliable is best understood as a moral-value characteristic of perfect personhood, not that of an unfeeling, unmoving, static principle.

On a process view, the universe is contained within God, which means that God experiences the plurality of individual experiences that make up the world. Moreover, each experience in the universe also experiences God, and thus contains God (i.e., God within). God is within and beyond the world. There is no such thing as unchanging substances, only momentarily developing experience. What we call space is the interpenetration and interdependency of experiences, and time is the movement of transition from one experience to the next, to the next, etc. This is the true meaning of co-creation.

Process New Thought

New Thought could be characterized as an American movement of practical spirituality that centers on practices and teachings geared towards transforming unconsciously held assumptions and conscious beliefs, attitudes, and expectations so that one experiences greater contentment, well-being, and prosperity. The metaphysical or philosophical system employed to underpin and ground these pragmatic teachings and help them to make reasonable in critical analysis.

Rather than re-formulating the important points of integrating process theology and New Thought, I'll simply quote Alan Anderson's excellent outline:

"[Process New Thought] is down-to-earth, applied in readily understandable ways. It is exceedingly simple, although it requires constant practice. It uses familiar New Thought techniques, such as affirmative prayer, visualization, spiritual mind treatment, and meditation. In its theory, it is superbly, elegantly

1. Rational, yet thoroughly respectful of mystical experience.

2. Personalistic: God is not anthropomorphic, but is impartially personal (self-conscious, rational, value-oriented) without the limitations of human personality.

3. PanENtheistic, not pantheistic. God is not all, but is in all; and all is in God (by means of prehension, the feeling of the feelings of others).

4. Panexperientialistic: there is nothing actual except experience, meaning any sort of awareness, from subatomic to divine.

5. Relational: everything is related to everything else and is nothing apart from relationships.

6. Idealistic, in both popular and philosophical senses, yet maintaining a realistic idealism of a vast number of minds/experiences, none of which is dependent for its existence on being perceived by any other unit of experience" (C. Alan Anderson, "A Practical Spirituality: Process New Thought").

While this post is rather lengthy, it nonetheless is a yet another point in furthering the conversation with in Unity, New Thought, and wider theological discourse.