Atheist thinker Sam Harris said, “One of the most significant challenges facing civilization in the twenty-first century is for human beings to learn to express their deepest personal concerns—about ethics, spiritual experience, and the inevitability of human suffering—in ways that are not flagrantly irrational.”

He’s right. And Christians would be wise to reread the above paragraph.

The Enlightenment brought science and naturalism, and the church pretended not to notice and, when it did, it retreated to literal readings of scripture and declared itself infallible.

Along with this came a triumphalistic stance that asserted theology’s status and insights as above those of all other disciplines, science included. 

All of this cemented various forms of fundamentalism into place.

Needless to say, these responses were the wrong move. 

Triumphalistic, fundamentalist theology quickly loses touch with reality, repels (most) listeners, and engages in category errors.

Many of these errors arise when Christians assume that ancient theological claims are propositional truths, crafted within an Enlightenment mindset of empirical rationality. 

This misstep distorts the nature of Christianity’s foundational claims, many of which were not intended as simplistic, factual assertions but as expressions of communal meaning using ancient reasoning that relied on metaphor, mythopoesis, and symbolism. 

If the past two or three centuries of Christian decline have shown anything, it’s that theology must abandon triumphalism and return to its true nature, that of meaning-making. 

For example, the proper function of theology is not to pronounce on the mechanics of virgin births and resurrected bodies or elaborate on the process of transforming wine and bread into Jesus. 

Rather, the purpose of theology is to elaborate the meaning of such claims. What is the significance of saying Jesus was virgin-born, resurrected from the dead, and is present in the Eucharist?

Theology’s strength lies in addressing issues of existential import: human dignity, moral purpose, and the pursuit of goodness.

A mature theology acknowledges its limits, cedes explanatory claims to science, and focuses on its actual task: illuminating meaning and guiding ethical life in a world science describes but cannot normatively judge.

Sadly, as a result of this methodological confusion, much of contemporary Christian theology fosters a spirituality that amounts to magical thinking, wish fulfillment, and ego projection.

To restore credibility, we must turn away from any ideological theology that lacks humility, makes unwarranted claims, and arrogantly demands that reality conform to its narrow views. 

Any theology that militantly imposes itself on reality without regard for reason, science, and the truth that emerges from lived experience is false.

What is needed is a return to a theology of meaning that humbly proposes its wisdom for the post-Christian, post-Enlightenment world to consider.

A theology of meaning organizes religious beliefs into frameworks that illuminate existential purpose and normative wisdom. It identifies core themes and concepts, articulating their interconnections to reveal the significance of theological claims for human life.

Returning theology to this focus allows for a rapprochement with naturalism and Enlightenment thinking by affirming the world’s inherent meaning without competing with their domains. 

This methodology fosters interdisciplinary dialogue, drawing on psychology, sociology, literature, science, and the arts. Such engagement enriches theological inquiry, offering fresh perspectives on questions of purpose and value.

Above all, it focuses on the normative dimensions of reality, elaborating insights through metaphor, mythopoesis, and illative reasoning, which weave diverse experiences into a unified understanding.

Additionally, it incorporates historical-critical analysis of texts and traditions to uncover their original meaning (if possible) and relevance to lived experience now.

We must return to theology as a form of wisdom. Wisdom is not primarily about factual knowledge of the world. Instead, wisdom focuses on praxis, how to live a good and meaningful life. 

In essence, theology doesn’t explain the world; it offers a way to live in it.

In Christian spirituality, the sources of authority are both cohesive and fluid, woven from Scripture, tradition, community, and personal experience.

While scripture remains the central narrative and guiding story, it is not authoritative in a simplistic or literalist sense. The Bible’s texts are rich and complex, demanding interpretation through reason, context, and collective wisdom. They invite pluralistic readings to a certain extent, reminding us that the idea of the Bible as the sole or ultimate grounding authority is inadequate: scripture always requires interpretive engagement within a living culture and tradition.

The Christian tradition itself is another vital authority, functioning as a living narrative that spans centuries, cultures, and practices. But tradition is broad, diverse, and far from monolithic. We must be careful not to let our own subtraditions or theological backgrounds narrow our vision or cause us to misinterpret the whole richness of Christian inheritance.

Community—the gathered church—is a further source of authority. Theology and spiritual life are never practiced in isolation, but always shaped in conversation and relationship with others. Yet Christian history demonstrates that there are no infallible communities: all assemblies are fallible, limited, and in constant need of renewal and humility.

Ultimately, experience is a primary source of authority in Christian spirituality. Reality itself is the strongest test of any theological claims: when spirituality resists integration with lived experience, it ceases to be vital and risks becoming mere fantasy.

These sources—scripture, tradition, community, and experience—interweave and correct each other, offering the dynamic tension that produces what is commonly referred to as orthodoxy.

Ultimately, it is the individual, situated within a community, immersed in scripture and tradition, and attentive to lived experience, who becomes the final, reliable interpreter of Christian authority. This balanced, multifaceted approach guards both the wisdom of the past and the integrity of present engagement, ensuring that faith remains grounded, reasonable, and ever open to the Spirit’s new work.

Let’s start by addressing our juvenile notions of divinity.

God is not a divine Santa-Claus whimsically giving gifts and doing favors for good boys and girls. Nietzsche and the New Atheists deservedly killed this god.

The real God is a metaphor for an ultimate, transcendent reality that is the source of all existence and the ground of being. God is the power that sustains and animates the universe, imbuing it with meaning, order, and purpose (logos).

“To apply the term ‘God’ (in the Christian sense) is to say that we perceive a connection between the marvels of the natural world, the moral law, the life of Jesus, the depths of the human personality, our intimations about time, death, and eternity, our experience of human forgiveness and love, and the finest insights of the Christian tradition intuitively. To deny the existence of ‘God’ is to say that we cannot (yet) see such connections.”

– British Society of Friends, Faith & Practice, 5th Edition

This necessitates a rejection of artificial dichotomies between the natural and supernatural. (De Lubac) The spiritual and mundane become indistinguishable, and the two collapse into one sacred whole. Attuning our perception to see this is the goal of any spiritual path.

In this sense, all creation is an emanation of the Divine. All exists in God, and God is in all. Therefore, reality possesses an inherent sacredness. And since all is in God, all that seeks to bracket out God is ultimately nihilistic.

In this light, forms of panentheism recommend themselves and need to be explored.

We must renew our understanding of Divinity, aligning it with the best of human learning, science, spiritual imagination, myth, and poetry.

If our God is a whimsical, irascible, capricious old man above the sky, then our theology is going to be incoherent at best, and bat-shit crazy at worst.

The Bible is a set of interconnected stories that weave an overarching web of logos – of meaning.

To call oneself a Christian is to claim these stories as one’s own – to locate one’s life in some manner in the ongoing narrative(s). To be Western means to have some reference to this set of narratives as well.

A theology of meaning proceeds from the conviction that the Bible is not inerrant or infallible – it is a collection of stories that mix fact with fiction, poetry and prose, metaphor and symbols.

The writings are a collection of our spiritual ancestors' understandings of the divine, notions of goodness, human nature, and the meaning and purpose of life. To claim these stories as meaningful and culturally significant, we must not claim them as magical.

The texts were not written to serve as historical, scientific, or even moral documents (as we understand these disciplines today). Instead, Scripture combines history remembered with history metaphorized, expressing sacred myths primarily as sweeping spiritual statements.

The writings are stories told from another world whose forms of reasoning and argumentation sharply differed from our own.

Literal readings, uncritical approaches, and a lack of contextual understanding distort the Bible's message, leading to misuse and misunderstanding. Interpretation is always personal within a communal context. Just as there are no infallible texts, there are no infallible interpreters.

The scriptures are not a set of magical books. We reject all forms of literalism, proof-texting, fundamentalism, legalism, and Bibliolatry. Such attitudes must be fully purged from our theology.

Jesus is the architectonic revelation of Divinity and humanity. In Him and through him, we find meaning and life.

The core of Christian living is aligning our lives with Jesus's teachings and example.

Therefore, we must diligently refine our understanding of the historical Jesus to achieve this. This necessitates careful engagement with scholarship in historical Jesus studies, hermeneutics, and textual criticism.

Further, we must move beyond simplistic interpretations of Jesus as merely a sacrificial victim. Concepts like original sin and substitutionary atonement require critical examination and are problematic and unjustified in most current forms.

In many ways, we have become overfamiliar with the Galilean and therefore don’t really know him.

A deeper understanding of Jesus within his historical and cultural context and a rereading of the Gospels with fresh eyes will ultimately enrich our knowledge and practice of the Christian life.

To achieve this, we must engage with the various forms and trends of Historical Jesus scholarship.

The early church’s claim of Jesus’ Resurrection takes various forms. Central to all of them is the conviction that Jesus remained meaningfully present in the community after his death.

What this means is that the resurrection of Jesus is not merely a historical event to be believed; it is an ongoing reality that invites us to participate in a transformed way of life.

The first Christians interpreted the resurrection according to Jewish theology: a new way of living and being had entered the world. If the Christian communities had been challenged to show the body or bring out Jesus, they would likely have responded, “Come see how we live.”

It affirms a life rooted in kenotic love—a love that empties itself, pours itself out, and finds its fulfillment in the well-being of others.

The resurrection claim was a defiant assertion that imperial power could not extinguish the values Jesus embodied—love, compassion, forgiveness, and justice.

To claim and participate in the resurrection was to say that Rome could kill us, but they could not ultimately win. To participate in the resurrection was to join the community that was his living body.

Above all, the Eucharist became a central locus for experiencing Jesus' resurrected presence. These ritualistic meals served as a tangible connection to Jesus, reinforcing his real presence within the community and continuing his ministry of the Open Table.

The resurrection isn’t so much to be believed as it is to be practiced.

The Kingdom of God is not a distant, heavenly ideal but a present reality open to all who embrace love and mercy. It is accessible to spiritually discerning and compassionate people with open hearts and hands.

The Kingdom is now in the sense that it is an already present alternative reality that we choose to participate in if we adopt its values of love and mercy.

The 25th chapter of Matthew’s gospel provides a powerful framework for understanding the importance of the works of mercy as central to the fullness of Christian living and as a means of making the Kingdom real.

Jesus explicitly links entry into the Kingdom with our service to the lowly and needy: the hungry, the thirsty, the imprisoned, and the stranger. This group includes the marginalized, the oppressed, the lonely, and the unwanted. It also consists of the difficult, the annoying, and those with whom we disagree politically, morally, and theologically. 

Therefore, the works of mercy are not optional or occasional good deeds; they are the required way of life in the Kingdom.

“If concerned about sexist implications, use any modern translation of 'Kingdom of God,’ but remember it should always have overtones of high treason. Similarly, to say Jesus was Lord meant Caesar was not. Translate “Lord’ with any contemporary expression you deem appropriate, as long as it can get you killed.”

– John Dominic Crossan

Humans, as limited and imperfect beings, inhabit a dynamic, limited world where moral perfection remains an unattainable ideal, though a measure of wholeness is possible, if elusive.

Christian communities, in all their forms, must vigorously proclaim and defend human dignity and oppose the dehumanizing forces of today’s versions of empire, secularism, and nihilism.

Salvation is not the promise of some other worldly reward. Rather, it should be understood as wholeness and holistic human flourishing now. As Irenaeus reminds us, the Glory of God is the human person fully alive.

Salvation, then, reimagines human actualization as individual and collective thriving and wholeness—a dynamic process of self-improvement, learning, and love, becoming fully human.

Reason and justice reject bloodshed as a means to achieve wholeness; violence does not rectify the world. Thus, much of the traditional theology of original sin and atonement is flawed, demanding a rethink of Jesus’ death as a self-sacrificial act of love.

We must foster a Christianity that helps people flourish and thrive. Above all, we must foster a theology that focuses on meaning, because meaning and salvation are inherently linked.

To do so, we must insist on making Jesus’ rejection of moralism, legalism, and literalism – all of which distract us from the meaning of our lives and tempt us to build walls and control others.

Given our intrinsic social nature, salvation is as personal as communal. It is not a goal to be achieved or a magical moment in time. It is not gained by answering an altar call; instead, it is an ongoing way of being in the world aligned with God and God’s values.

Our earthly journey ends, and death’s mystery prevails. Yet, wisdom affirms that kenotic love fosters wholeness now, not deferred to some post-mortem salvation.

What transcends death is our love, generosity, and the lasting effects of our service to others; such endures, though what else persists remains unknown.

Humans emerge from nature, and our lives are supported and enmeshed in the ecosystem. At the end of our lives, we (or, at least our physical aspects) return to nature. 

This natural state does not diminish the truth that each person possesses an ontological value—an inherent dignity and worth grounded in being, unmerited and unearned. We embody profound dignity rooted in our nature.

The assertion of human dignity is at the heart of the Christian tradition. Following the Jewish lead, Christianity also sees the human person as reflecting divine realities.

Human dignity constitutes an ontological status, not a moral one. Philosophical and practical reflection reveals humans as highly self-aware animals, endowed with rational intelligence, affectivity, reasoned self-determination, social nature, love, and the capacity to discern meaning and purpose.

As subjects, not objects, humans embody awareness, action, and unrepeatable identity, resisting instrumentalization and affirming their status as ends in themselves.

Reflecting on human dignity is a gateway to moral understanding and asserting human rights and responsibilities that form our social order. Our dignity demands certain things from us—how we live, eat, dress, work, have sex, entertain ourselves, and relate to others, both humans and nonhumans, in the world around us.

Humans experience the capacity to be called by something beyond ourselves, something that both speaks to our nature and is yet embedded there. In moments of quiet honesty, we find ourselves with a given orientation – and that orientation offers itself as an approach to our better selves – it is the voice of our nature calling us toward fulfillment.

Therefore, morality is not imposed on humanity or revealed by a deity or religious authority. Instead, it is an integral part of our natural identity. Our moral responsibilities and rights arise from our nature (a reasoned, loosely teleological reflection on such) and our relationship to others.

This vision offers a formal framework for moral reasoning. Our motivation for virtue is a matter of integrity, following the logic of our very being. Our dignity and ontological status provide something of a given orientation.

Claiming that understanding moral truth is a function of reason doesn’t mean the Christian tradition doesn’t significantly contribute to that task.

The Christian moral vision serves as a source of metaethics, offering wisdom, not rules, for how to live a good and meaningful life.

Jesus’ ministry used eating together at the table as a powerful tool for change.

The scandal he caused was due to who was invited to the table. He ate with the unwanted, the lowly, and the marginalized, and it freaked out those around him.

The early Christian communities’ continuation of this practice was expressed in Eucharistic meals of love and acceptance.

According to the Didache, the earliest Christians attested that Jesus was present during the celebration of the Eucharistic meal.

In a real way, the Eucharist is a continuation of Jesus’ open table ministry. We must remember that it was an inclusive table of healing, not a dining experience for the self-righteous.

The Eucharist ties together the church as the body of Jesus, the community of the resurrection, and the presence of the Kingdom in the world.

Therefore, our Eucharistic celebrations should be frequent and beautiful.

The sacrament of the Eucharist must be expanded beyond formal church settings. Our dining room tables must be seen as altars, too.

We should find creative and simple ways to incorporate Eucharistic rituals into our gatherings. And we must move beyond the idea that clergy are necessary to do so.

Above all, we must be mindful of who we welcome at our table.

Christianity spread slowly but unstoppably for one primary reason: Christians created authentic communities of mutual support and inclusion. Please reread the previous sentence.

The Church didn’t succeed due to theological arguments, and the movement didn’t spread because of miracles. It prevailed because it fed the poor, cared for the sick, welcomed the lonely, and drew in the marginalized.

We need to prepare for the Post-Church. By this, I mean that we must look beyond institutional structures, denominational affiliations, clerical authority, and traditional church ways.

Instead, the focus should be on fostering organic communities, embracing sacramental living, and promoting transformative action within local contexts and the broader institutional structures.

Christianity calls for an outward focus on others.

It requires us to grapple with the sanctity of all life, the dignity of work, economic justice, human rights, the need to alleviate poverty, ease suffering, and prevent it.

Any Christian community is obligated to be a prophetic voice challenging injustice and working toward the common good, offering a vision of human flourishing rooted in the values of the Gospels.

If our spiritual communities aren’t resisting human denigration, if they aren’t standing with the needy and powerless, if they aren’t counter-cultural, then they are failing in their purpose.

For further practical insights on new ways of being Church and structuring communal life, see Blue Ocean Faith’s 9 Communal Principles and Theological Distinctives, or The Iona Community in Scotland, to see these principles applied.

If you think the Good News of Jesus, presented in the gospels, is about getting to heaven, you’re not only missing the point, you’re misreading the texts.

  – N.T. Wright

The term "Good News " (Evangelium) is so common that it has lost its specific meaning. Christians have heard the term so often that they no longer ask what it means.

Not surprisingly, there are multiple interpretations, many of them shallow.

For many, the Good News centers on an atonement theology focused on substitutionary and Jesus as a blood sacrifice, and some form of the Four Spiritual Laws of Evangelical theology.

However, if you carefully read the New Testament, it’s hard not to notice the practical, social, economic, and relational concerns. The Good News seems to be about a more just, fair, loving world – this world, not some ethereal afterlife. 

The rapid spread of early Christianity seems unlikely if its core message centered on individual salvation, a concept foreign to Jewish or pagan frameworks and of little concern to them.

What is the Good News for us today? Jesus taught personal transformation through love, justice, and compassion, centered on kenotic love.

Transformation occurs when we dedicate ourselves to pursuits worthy of our dignity and worth. Part of the wisdom of the cross is that we become what we give ourselves to.

Jesus focused little on heaven or moral perfectionism, avoiding tribalism, control, or claims of infallibility. He introduced no new religion, rituals, or structures beyond the open table, emphasizing a faith beyond legalism and ritualism.

Christianity must question its legalism, literalism, and ceremonialism. Jesus taught that holiness is wholeness, not moralism or theological precision, but a life of love, mercy, and self-generosity.

The Good News remains controversial, clashing with imperial elites, social orders, and legalistic Pharisees—whom we must love but not emulate. Today’s materialism, conformity, consumerism, militarism, greed, and selfishness mirror those powers, demanding resistance even at personal cost.

The question “Is Christianity true?” invites reflection on what truth means and how it applies to a religion that has shaped lives for centuries. 

Truth, in its simplest form, is correspondence—when a claim aligns with reality. A statement like “the sky is blue” is true if the sky is indeed blue. 

However, applying this to Christianity—a complex tradition of beliefs, practices, and communities—requires more than just checking facts. Christianity’s truth cannot be reduced to a checklist of doctrines or a historical audit of the Church’s actions. 

Its truth lies in its capacity to reveal the meaning of life and foster human dignity through a way of living rooted in kenotic love—self-giving love that seeks the flourishing of others.

Christianity is not merely a philosophy to be debated or a theory to be proven. Reducing it to propositions misses its essence. A creed recited without action is hollow; assent without love is empty. While doctrines guide, they are not the fullness of Christianity’s truth. They point to something more profound—a lived reality that transcends intellectual assent.

The Church’s history complicates the question. Its mistakes, excesses, and abuses—crusades, corruption, or exclusion—show it is not perfect or wholly good. These failures do not negate Christianity’s truth but remind us that flawed humans live it. 

Truth is not synonymous with perfection. Instead, Christianity’s truth emerges despite these shortcomings, in moments when its teachings inspire acts of compassion, justice, and reconciliation. The Church’s errors call for humility, not dismissal, as we seek what makes Christianity resonate as true.

Christianity’s truth lies in its way of life and relationships, which align with human dignity and fulfillment. To say Christianity is true is to say it offers a path to thrive as humans were meant to, through love that empties itself for others. 

To ask if Christianity is true is to ask if this way of life resonates with reality. Does kenotic love lead to flourishing? Does living for others bring meaning? 

The answer lies in the countless lives—quietly heroic or boldly transformative—that embody this truth. Christianity is true not because it is perfect but because it shows us how to live fully, loving fiercely, while helping others do the same.