Fluent Essays

Read Jones, CHP 3 & Bipolar Faith Please watch the Moltmann talk with Volf listen to the lecture (https://voicethread.com/myvoice/thread/7447621/40090366/41159015) on God & here is the Prezi https://prezi.com/0nivtrzebr5z/doctrine-of-god/?present=1 Define perichoresis and the way this term relates to God's dynamic relational nature. Give examples of utilizing all 4 sides of the Wesleyan Quadrilateral for learning about God. Finally, use Monica Coleman's biography as theology as a way to discuss the WQ. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z_XG7NywtjM&t=6s&ab_channel=YaleDivinitySchool © 2014 by Beth Felker Jones Published by Baker Academic a division of Baker Publishing Group P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287 www.bakeracademic.com Ebook edition created 2014 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews. ISBN 978-1-4412-4559-5 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC. Unless otherwise indicated, Scripture quotations are from the New Revised Standard Version of the Bible, copyright © 1989, by the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved. Scripture quotations labeled ESV are from The Holy Bible, English Standard Version® (ESV®), copyright © 2001 by Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved. Text Edition: 2011. http://www.bakeracademic.com For my students— “May the mind of Christ our Savior live in us from day to day” Contents Cover Title Page Copyright Page Dedication Acknowledgments Introduction: To Practice Doctrine 1. Speaking of God: Theology and the Christian Life 2. Knowing God: Doctrines of Revelation and Scripture 3. The God We Worship: Doctrine of the Trinity 4. A Delightful World: Doctrines of Creation and Providence 5. Reflecting God’s Image: Theological Anthropology 6. The Personal Jesus Christ: Christology 7. The Work of Jesus Christ: Soteriology 8. The Holy Spirit and the Christian Life: Pneumatology 9. Church in a Diverse World: Ecclesiology 10. Resurrection Hope: Eschatology Benediction: A Prayer for the Practice of Christian Doctrine Subject Index Scripture Index Notes Back Cover Acknowledgments This project was born of teaching, and I am grateful to my students at Huntington University and Wheaton College, to whom this book is dedicated. It is my privilege to be in conversation with you. Thanks for the good questions, the thoughtful conversations, and the desire to put faith into practice. You have helped make doctrine come alive for me. I am grateful to many friends and colleagues who helped make this book possible: for the wonderful team at Baker and Brazos; for the support of my dean, Jill Baumgaertner, and associate dean, Jeff Greenman; for the remarkable work of my research assistant, Ella Myer; for my colleague Keith Johnson, with whom I developed some of the early ideas for this text. Thanks to those who gifted me with time and talent, reading and commenting on portions of the text: Aimee Barbeau, Jeff Barbeau, Gary Burge, Lynn Cohick, Holly Taylor Coolman, Michael Graves, Gene Green, George Kalantzis, Tiffany Kriner, Christina Bieber Lake, Tim Larsen, David Lauber, Steve Long, Miho Nonaka, Amy Peeler, Nick Perrin, Noah Toly, and Dan Treier. The book is better because of you all. Thanks piled on thanks to my husband, Brian, whose support of my work is one of the most tender gifts in my life, and to our children, Gwen, Sam, Tess, and Zeke, for hanging in there with me and enduring my speeches about things like the Trinity. Chapter 8 and a small portion of chapter 2 appear in slightly different form in my God the Spirit: Introducing Pneumatology in Wesleyan and Ecumenical Perspective. Copyright Cascade Books, 2014. Used by permission of Wipf and Stock Publishers. Beth Felker Jones Lent 2013 Introduction To Practice Doctrine Times were troubled when Josiah assumed the throne. A brutal invasion and the faithless leadership of several apostate kings had left Israel in chaos. The people of Israel were living desperate and uncertain lives. In the midst of their struggles, they still worshiped the Lord, the God of their ancestors, but they turned to other gods as well, hoping those other gods could help them meet the challenges they faced. God, however, had not forgotten his people or his promises to them. He worked in the heart of the young king, and Josiah began to “seek the God of his ancestor David” (2 Chron. 34:3). The temple in Jerusalem, the center of worship, had suffered years of neglect and misuse, and Josiah funded carpenters, builders, and masons to begin to restore it. In the midst of the dust flying, the high priest made a discovery, a “book of the covenant”—Scripture. When Josiah heard the ancient words read aloud, he recognized the depth of Israel’s unfaithfulness. Tearing his robes in grief, he repented, and he took action. After consulting with the prophetess Huldah, Josiah gathered together “all the people both great and small” and read the book aloud to them. Then, in front of his people, Josiah “made a covenant before the LORD, to follow the LORD, keeping his commandments, his decrees, and his statutes, with all his heart and all his soul, to perform the words of the covenant that were written in this book” (2 Chron. 34:30–31). He led his people to join in the same commitment. The entire nation promised to perform the book, to return to faithful relationship with God. Josiah spent the following months purifying Israel. He purged the temple of idols, destroyed altars to idols, and scattered their remains over the graves of false priests. Josiah’s reforms culminated in a celebration of Passover, where the people remembered what God had done for them. The discovery of the lost book and the acceptance of its teaching changed the lives of God’s people. This story may seem like an odd beginning to a book meant to introduce theology, but Josiah’s story provides a wonderful window into the relationship between Scripture, doctrine, and practice. Christian theology is a conversation about Scripture, about how to read and interpret it better, how to understand the Bible as a whole and imagine a way of life that is faithful to the God whose Word this is. This conversation about Scripture produces distinct Christian teachings, called doctrine, but the work of theology does not stop there. Notice the key to Josiah’s story. He moved directly from the teaching he found in the rediscovered book to action. He immediately connected belief with practice, the Word of God with reform, and he led the people to follow in his footsteps, bringing his community along with him as he sought faithfulness to the true God. I open with the story of Josiah’s reforms in Israel because it displays the core premise of this book: our beliefs must be put into practice, and faithful practice matters for what we believe. When we, like Josiah and his people, perform the book of Scripture, when we connect truth with action and doctrine with discipleship, God does marvelous things. This book’s title reflects my confidence that Christian doctrine is intimately interconnected with faithful practice in the Christian life. This book will introduce the basics of Christian doctrine, but without our practicing that doctrine, that introduction will be meaningless. Christian doctrine informs Christian identity and action. Certainly, the idea of doctrine implies belief, but doctrine is about so much more than just believing certain things. The word doctrine has taken on cold, hard connotations. Many assume that it is about rigidity and control or that it points to an inaccessible arena of knowledge outside the realm of ordinary Christians. I hope that this book does some work to rehabilitate the word doctrine, to show ways that good Christian teaching can help us to grow in faith, reach out in love, and look to the future in hope. The study of doctrine belongs right in the middle of the Christian life. It is part of our worship of God and service to God’s people. Jesus commanded us to love God with our mind as well as our heart, soul, and strength (Luke 10:27). All four are connected: the heart’s passion, the soul’s yearning, the strength God grants us, and the intellectual task of seeking the truth of God. This means that the study of doctrine is an act of love for God: in studying the things of God, we are formed as worshipers and as God’s servants in the world. To practice doctrine is to yearn for a deeper understanding of the Christian faith, to seek the logic and the beauty of that faith, and to live out what we have learned in the everyday realities of the Christian life. All of that becomes richer as we gain familiarity with Christian teaching. Practicing doctrine is not unlike practicing the piano or going to basketball practice. New pianists begin by becoming familiar with the instrument. Before they can play sonatas, they must spend a lot of time on basic exercises like running scales. New basketball players do not start with shooting three-pointers; first they have to learn how to dribble and how to run a play. Before playing a game, they must master rules and repeat basic drills until these things become second nature. Only after much practice are they ready to play. Newcomers to the study of doctrine are in a similar position and need to spend time becoming familiar with the discipline of theology. It takes time and patience to learn how to practice doctrine well. Learning Christian doctrine is something like learning a new language: it takes time to learn the vocabulary and concepts used in Christian thought in order to understand what other people are saying. Along with this basic study, students of doctrine have to immerse themselves in the teachings of Scripture, listen to the wisdom of other practitioners of doctrine throughout history, and pray for the insight and guidance of the Holy Spirit. But there is an important difference between a beginning student of doctrine and a new pianist or basketball player. Many students new to the formal or academic study of doctrine will not be new to the Christian faith, and many basic habits and skills may be familiar. There is continuity between the faith embraced by the littlest child or the newest believer and the faith embraced by the most competent Bible scholar or articulate theologian. Readers should expect continuity between the living faith they bring to the practice of doctrine and the knowledge and challenges that practice will bring to them. Some doctrines will be easy to learn, and application will be immediately apparent. Some concepts may lead to “aha!” moments when studying doctrine brings clarity to some familiar belief or practice. At other times, the study of doctrine challenges our assumptions and preconceptions. Some of God’s greatest gifts can come when we face disconnect between our assumptions and what we learn through study. None of us has our doctrine exactly right, and as we search eagerly for the truth that comes from God, we must also search for the humility to see where we may be wrong. The best practitioners of doctrine are open to correction, and like Josiah we must be willing to change. The practice of doctrine will be more fruitful if we are open to change and reform. Humility and repentance are keys to the faithful practice of doctrine. Key Scripture I appeal to you therefore, brothers and sisters, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship. Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds, so that you may discern what is the will of God—what is good and acceptable and perfect. For by the grace given to me I say to everyone among you not to think of yourself more highly than you ought to think, but to think with sober judgment, each according to the measure of faith that God has assigned. For as in one body we have many members, and not all the members have the same function, so we, who are many, are one body in Christ, and individually we are members one of another. (Rom. 12:1–5) John Calvin claimed, “All right knowledge of God is born of obedience.”[1] Doctrine and discipleship always go together. Our job as we study doctrine is not to get all our answers right. The point of our study is to grow in our knowledge of and faithfulness to God. God can use our study of doctrine to form us. As you read, I encourage you to think of yourself as a doctrinal theologian, a disciple of Jesus Christ who practices doctrine by seeking knowledge of God and of the things of God, reading Scripture faithfully and regularly, rejoicing in the continuity between saving faith as you have already known it and doctrine as you are coming to know it, welcoming the disruption that God may bring into your life in challenging you to more faithful and truthful practice of the Christian faith, and embracing the practice of doctrine as part of Christian identity. Evangelical and Ecumenical While no two theologians will ever introduce doctrine in precisely the same way, Christians share a great deal in common, and this introduction is focused on that common ground as surveyed in evangelical and ecumenical perspective. The word evangelical comes from the Greek euangelion, meaning “the gospel,” the good news of Jesus Christ. All Christians belong to that good news. The term is also used to indicate a particular context, one in which evangelical Christianity—especially in Great Britain, North America, and global churches with roots in the movement—takes more specific historical form. Still, this evangelicalism is diverse. It includes Christians from several centuries and many cultures, and so it cannot simply be identified with one confession of faith, denomination, institution, or cultural form. Historians have offered different ways of understanding evangelical Christianity. David Bebbington identifies evangelicalism by pointing to four characteristics shared across denominational or cultural lines: biblicism, conversionism, activism, and crucicentrism.[2] Biblicism is a focus on Scripture as the ultimate authority for faith and practice; conversionism is an emphasis on life- altering religious experience; activism is a concern for sharing the faith and doing good works; and crucicentrism names a focus on Jesus’s saving work on the cross. This description provides an account of evangelicalism that is not limited by culture or denomination. Evangelicals are a varied lot, and you can find them in many groups, including Baptists in the United States, Anglicans in Africa, Presbyterians in Scotland, and Pentecostals in Latin America. Bebbington shows how these diverse Christians have certain beliefs and characteristics in common. His definition also balances doctrinal affirmations (biblicism and crucicentrism) with experiential aspects of evangelicalism (conversionism and activism), indicating a broad spectrum of emphases within evangelical life. The breadth of Bebbington’s description is also a potential drawback, a lack of specificity. Historian Timothy Larsen points out that St. Francis of Assisi, a medieval monk, could fit within Bebbington’s definition. This is a problem, Larsen reasons, because the term “evangelical” then loses “its utility for identifying a specific Christian community.”[3] Larsen adds a particular historical context to the doctrinal and experiential aspects of Bebbington’s definition: “An evangelical is an orthodox Protestant who stands in the tradition of global Christian networks arising from the eighteenth-century revival movements associated with John Wesley and George Whitefield.”[4] This definition locates evangelical Christianity within the larger story of the church. Evangelical Christianity is orthodox because it shares the doctrinal commitments of the early church’s creedal tradition, such as a belief in a Triune God. This orthodoxy is a point of connection between evangelicals and the bigger Christian story, beginning with the early church. The evangelical movement is Protestant, which identifies it as belonging to a theological tradition in continuity with the Reformation of the sixteenth century. Larsen’s definition accounts for the distinctive claims of Protestant theology. The definition grows yet more specific: not all Protestants are evangelicals, not least because Protestant Christianity existed for nearly two centuries before evangelicalism became a distinct movement. Larsen recognizes that eighteenth-century revival movements brought about a distinct community within Christian history, and that most evangelical Christians today can trace their spiritual roots back to those movements. Even though evangelicalism shares much in common with other Christian groups, it also has a particular history within the Christian tradition. A third historian, George Marsden, helps us understand evangelicalism in light of twentieth-century conversations about the relationship between the church and the wider culture.[5] In the 1920s, liberal theology emerged as a powerful voice in Protestant churches, privileging human experience and feelings as the best authorities for Christian faith and maintaining that Christianity was about ethics and not doctrine. The term “liberal” here does not refer to American politics. Instead, it names a theological tradition that reinterprets much of orthodox doctrine in light of modern life. In opposition to liberalism, a broad coalition of doctrinally conservative Protestants identified themselves as “fundamentalist,” seeing liberal interpretations of doctrine as a rejection of fundamental scriptural teaching. Between the 1950s and the 1970s, a split occurred in this coalition. Billy Graham’s “new evangelicalism” remained doctrinally conservative while cooperating with other Christian traditions and insisting on active engagement in and with the culture. Separatist Christians, rejecting any association with a world seen as sinful or with other Christians seen as accommodating that sinful world, kept the “fundamentalist” label. For Marsden, evangelical Christianity takes a self-consciously mediating position between liberalism on the one side and separatist fundamentalism on the other. The evangelical perspective in this book lives within the complexities of these historical definitions. As the author, I identify with the practical and doctrinal tendencies that Bebbington sees among evangelicals, and as the title of the book makes clear, I do not see those tendencies as opposed to one another. I am part of the particular history that Larsen and Marsden identify with evangelicalism: I am “evangelical” because the evangelical story that began with those eighteenth-century revivals is my story. I came to Christ in, and remain committed to, a church descended from the Wesleyan revivals, and I teach in the same evangelical Christian college that sent Billy Graham into the world. My faith is lived in the North American context in which evangelical Christians felt the need to distinguish themselves first from liberal modernism and later from separatist fundamentalism, and I continue to see good reason for both distinctions. I, with all three historians, resonate with the idea that orthodox Protestant doctrine and activism in the world are strengths of evangelical Christianity. All of this gives you, the reader, a better sense of the context and commitments from which I, the author, practice doctrine. Doctrine is indispensable to evangelical Christianity, but most evangelical doctrine is not unique to evangelicalism. Evangelical Theology Seeks faithfulness to the euangelion, the gospel of salvation in Jesus Christ. Connects to a historical Christian community that emerged from eighteenth-century revivalism. Holds practices in the evangelical tradition—emphasizing conversion and activism—together with key doctrinal claims about the authority of Scripture and the centrality of Christ’s work on the cross. Is committed to active cultural engagement “in” the world while maintaining the distinctive commitments that identify Christians as not “of” the world “so that the world may know” the good news (John 17:23). This is where the ecumenical perspective of the book is important. The word comes from the Greek oikoumene, which means “the entire inhabited earth.” This term reminds Christians that God’s salvific love applies to the whole world— every nation, every tribe, and every person. Ecumenical Christian teaching is the teaching of the whole church, the faith of the whole body of Christ spread across the centuries and around the globe, and Christian efforts at ecumenism are efforts to converse across lines that divide us, to find common ground, to recognize that diverse groups of Christians have a great deal in common, and to work toward unity in the body of Christ. Timothy Tennent notes the importance of ecumenical theology in his acknowledgment that “it would be arrogant to believe that one or more of the theologies our culture has produced have somehow managed to raise and systematically answer all questions, for all Christians, for all time. Every culture in every age has blind spots and biases that we are often oblivious to, but which are evident to those outside of our culture or time.”[6] Ecumenical Theology Recognizes that no one part of the church is the whole body of Christ. Rejoices in the shared doctrine and practice that belong to the whole of that body. Allows difference to flourish, without seeing it as a threat to unity. Humbly listens to other parts of the body. Looks for God’s active work in the whole world. My perspective in this book is ecumenical in several senses. First, in introducing the various Christian doctrines, my main focus is not on questions that divide the church. Christians hold much doctrine in common, an ecumenical consensus about important truths of the faith. This agreement is often underplayed, and I try to highlight areas of Christian unity. Second, I want to introduce you to an ecumenical gathering of Christian voices—men and women, North American and European and African and Latin American and Asian, contemporary, medieval, ancient, old, young, black, white, and brown. Space is limited, and this attempt is woefully inadequate, but I try to give you a glimpse of the beautiful diversity of the church as a global reality. Finally, I do all my work as a theologian with a strong sense that the gospel is truly for the whole world. Jesus told his disciples to be “witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth” (Acts 1:8). The gospel is global because it is for everyone, in all times and all places. Athanasius (c. 296– 373), an early church leader, appreciates the ecumenical nature of the gospel when he reminds us that God “is working mightily among humans, every day invisibly persuading numbers of people all over the world.”[7] This takes us back to the word evangelical. Most simply, evangelical Christians are people of the gospel, called to be witnesses to Jesus in the world. The gospel has not been entrusted to any single group of Christians in history, as if it were their sole possession. The gospel is God’s good news to the world, and God has raised witnesses for the gospel across generations and cultures. Evangelical theology has to be ecumenical theology. We simply cannot tell the story of theology—nor can we practice discipleship faithfully—without accounting for the wide variety of ways that God has used Christians throughout history to spread the gospel to the world. So, while I stand as part of the tradition of evangelicalism—and while I think that this tradition has much to offer the wider Christian tradition—I also believe in the need for conversation between Christians from across centuries and backgrounds whose lives have been shaped by the gospel of salvation in Jesus Christ. These conversations can be difficult and challenging. New perspectives can expose our assumptions and reveal areas where we have wrongly identified contextual elements of our time and place as essential to the gospel. In engaging with others, we are held accountable for mistakes we might make because of our limited perspectives, and we gain insights about God that we would be unable to see on our own. As we talk with one another, we are forced to do the hard work of articulating what we believe and why we believe it. This hard work becomes a gift to us, because, through it, we are strengthened to be the people God has called us to be and to fulfill the task that God has set out for us in our own time and place. As we live in this way, we stand in a long line of Christians who together make up the great “cloud of witnesses” (Heb. 12:1) called by God to put doctrine into practice as we share the good news of salvation. 1 Speaking of God Theology and the Christian Life The word theology can be a conversation stopper. When people ask what I teach, and I answer “theology,” the most common response is a short “Oh,” followed by uncertain silence. That “Oh” seems to cover several reactions, both from Christians and from those who are not of the faith. First, many people do not know what theology is. The word implies something obscure, even pretentious. Other people, again both Christian and not, have strong negative ideas about theology. Perhaps they have heard stories about the study of theology causing people to lose their faith. Perhaps they associate theology with self-righteousness or, worse, with violence against people who disagree with a certain theology. Still other people simply cannot imagine why anyone would care about such a thing. It sounds far removed from what really matters in life. While I understand these reactions, the ideas about theology they represent could not be further from my own experience in the discipline. It goes against the nature of theology for it to suffer elitism, sanctimoniousness, or uselessness. Theology, as the study of the things of God, a God who loves the world, is a discipline for all Christians. It is to be practiced with love, and, by God’s grace, it can make the practitioner more loving. What Is Theology? The word theology brings the Greek term logos—translated “word,” “speech,” or “reason”—together with the term theos, the word for “God.” In the Gospel of John, logos is identified with Jesus, who was “in the beginning . . . with God” and then “became flesh” (John 1:1, 14). Paul encourages Christians to “let the word [logos] of Christ dwell in you” when teaching one another (Col. 3:16). He uses the same root word when he talks about worship of God being “rational” (logike), an idea he connects to presenting our “bodies as a living sacrifice” and being “transformed by the renewing of your minds” (Rom. 12:1–2). Knowledge of the logos (Jesus) is reflected in true worship of him, which is manifested in the ways we act and think. It is also reflected in the ways we speak about God to others. When we, as Christians, bear witness to the gospel, we are doing theology. Early Christians called preaching about Jesus the “word [logos] of God” (Acts 8:14), and we are called to be ready to make a “defense to anyone who demands from you a reason [logos] for the hope that is in you” (1 Pet. 3:15 ESV). All of these moments in Scripture point to the fact that words about God matter. Those words are right at the heart of Christian faith and life. Theology begins with God’s revelatory word to us. It continues as we respond with words: words to God and to each other. So prayer, praise, testimony, preaching, and teaching are all parts of the daily theological work of the people of God. We also respond in the academic practice of theology, when theology is taught and written in the context of formal education and publication. Such academic theology can never proceed rightly if it is separated from the Christian life. The early church articulated this connection with the phrase lex orandi, lex credendi, “the law of prayer is the law of belief.” Theologian Geoffrey Wainwright points out that this expression contains a double suggestion; it “makes the rule of prayer a norm for belief,” but it also implies that “what must be believed governs what may and should be prayed.”[1] The “law of prayer” suggests the whole of an active life of discipleship, a life in which individuals and churches are in personal relationship with God. That living relationship informs orthodox or correct belief even while belief informs the life of faith. So, the connection between academic theology and theology that happens in the life of the church runs both ways. While shaping our words, theology also shapes our reason, … 1517 Media Fortress Press Chapter Title: FREE Atlanta, Georgia: Three Years after the Illness Book Title: Bipolar Faith Book Subtitle: A Black Woman's Journey with Depressioni and Faith Book Author(s): Monica A. Coleman Published by: 1517 Media, Fortress Press. (2016) Stable URL: https://www.jstor.org/stable/j.ctt1b3t71z.25 JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact [email protected] Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of the Terms & Conditions of Use, available at https://about.jstor.org/terms 1517 Media, Fortress Press are collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to Bipolar Faith This content downloaded from 132.174.255.194 on Sun, 30 Aug 2020 13:17:43 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms 22 FREE AtAtlalantnta, Ga, Geoeorrgia: Tgia: Thhrree Yee Yeaearrs afts after ter the Ihe Illllnneessss I needed to create. I needed to start something, work on it, finish it within a reasonable period of time, and call it beautiful. Most things in my life had no end in sight. The academic life did not offer immediate rewards. I followed the outline for my dissertation; I strove to make deadlines for a May graduation. But I knew that the work never ended. I could read more books and articles; I could edit and reedit the chapters; I could explore yet another direction I found from the last footnote I read. Physical fitness was the same. If I looked in the mirror or stepped on the scale after every workout, I would feel futile. It took weeks or month to get to my bench-pressing goal or to gain the strength to do pull- ups. When I made one milestone, there was another one ahead. Do fifty more crunches per day; lift half my body weight; add ten more minutes to my daily cardio. I needed something simple and artful. I wanted to see the fruits of my labor. I cooked new recipes. I took a ten-dollar jewelry- 329 This content downloaded from 132.174.255.194 on Sun, 30 Aug 2020 13:17:43 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms making class at a local bead store. I went to church where I learned to knit. The Circle of Grace knitting circle met in a coffee shop in downtown Decatur. We pushed past the tables of freelancers with their laptops and artists dressed in black clothing, rubbing sleep out of their eyes at one in the afternoon. We crowded our cups of coffee and tea to the middle of the table while straddling the bags of yarn skeins between our knees. Circle of Grace numbered no greater than fifty—and that was if you included children and animals. The outreach efforts were scaled to capacity. One Saturday, we filled shoeboxes with coloring books, toothbrushes, and socks to give to foster children, who make hasty transitions from home to shelter. What would you need if you were seven years old and had no time to pack? We knitted hats and scarves for homeless men at a local shelter. Two members knew how to knit; the rest of us brought needles, yarn, and a willingness to learn. We began in August. It might take months to be ready in time for the turn of weather. I chose a yarn of mixed browns and greens. I purchased needles that felt comfortable in my hands. While at the craft store, I bought a book on knitting 101 that was absolutely useless. I couldn’t figure out how the drawings of loops were supposed to look on my needles. I needed a person in front of me to show me how to begin, how to cast the beginning stitches onto one needle. Before long, I was able to chat with others while knitting and purling from one needle to another. The scarf looked more like a day-camp potholder Monica A. Coleman 330 This content downloaded from 132.174.255.194 on Sun, 30 Aug 2020 13:17:43 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms project. That, the group leader assured me, was how it was supposed to look when you are just beginning. Knitting was slow and unsteady work. Sometimes I felt like I had the hang of it. I engaged in conversation without looking at the movement of the needles. I felt the bumps of the yarn and knew all was well. I knit and purled with ease. Other times, I looked down and realized that the last two rows looked funny. I unraveled them from the heap in my lap and began again. Countless rows later, I asked for help again. How do I bind off the scarf ? How do I put this together into a hat? Can I borrow your circular needles for my first go at it? I dropped a stitch and noticed a tiny hole. Too late to pull out four inches of knitting. The lapses and tiny gaps, my elder knitting colleague said, is how you know something is made by hand, not machine. Once a week, every week, for months, we gathered to knit. Pastor Connie, Linda, Margaret, Felicity, Jane, Trudy, Kate, and me. We ordered drinks, took over a corner of the coffee shop, pulled out bags of yarn, chatted about ordinary things I can’t remember, and called it sacrament. With open hearts and basic skills, we were helping the homeless. We were wrapping them in concern and care. Laugh by laugh, stitch after stitch, we were doing something holy. Sure, we could buy hats and scarves from the Burlington Coat Factory located between my apartment and the coffee shop. But knitting them said that we took time to make something by hand. We put forth the effort. Knitting was my new spiritual practice. I was waiting for another cataclysmic spiritual BIPOLAR FAITH 331 This content downloaded from 132.174.255.194 on Sun, 30 Aug 2020 13:17:43 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms experience. One stark moment of realization. A speaking in tongues. A holy dance. The sky breaking open with a booming voice from God. A vision. A burning bush. I needed it. I needed to know I was on the right track, doing the right thing, sacrificing for a purpose. I wanted God to tell me that I was still a good minister, a good activist, and a good theologian even though it didn’t feel that way. I wanted to know that being sad wouldn’t destroy me. I wanted to know that living with bipolar was not the only story of my life. I wanted God to tell me that I was going to be okay. Revelation did not come to me in thunderbolts. God was just there. In the hot cup of tea. In the women who gathered. In our laughter. In the knitting. God was in my uniform rows of stitches. God was also in the dropped stitch that created an imperfection. This was what Lanh discovered in the hospital and in her fuzzy ski sweaters for Malcolm. There is something holy in the movement of yarn through fingers and needles. It grounds you. It keeps you from falling through the chasms around you. This is the radical incarnation of process theology. I was taking exams and writing and rewriting and digging through stacks of books, all to forget what knitting reminded me. That God is in every cell, every person, and every activity. Whether I know it or not. Whether it feels like it or not. God is creating. With yarn and needles, hiccups, unraveling, do-overs, a rhythm, and individual stitches, God is making something new. Something beautiful. I thought that my prayers and good intentions in knitting for homeless men were divine Monica A. Coleman 332 This content downloaded from 132.174.255.194 on Sun, 30 Aug 2020 13:17:43 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms activity. I was knitting God into the hat and scarf. No. God was knitting me. With therapists, medication, meaningful studies, a small church community, a pastor who cared, friends who understood, and a name for my condition, God was knitting me. God was knitting me back together. It was a new way of thinking about God. Knitting gave me a new way of being faithful. I haven’t gotten used to losing my faith and finding it again. I always want the faith of my childhood. I crave the old deacons singing spirituals. I yearn for a return to Grandma’s theology of wafers and juice. But I know that it changes. I know that as I grow and change, my faith will also morph. My spiritual practices will change; my beliefs will shift; what feeds me will evolve. What once worked will no longer satisfy. I will find new ways of knowing God. This is the lesson of my healing from the rape, right? This is what drew me to process theology and those tomes on philosophy. Still, I fight it. Even when I know that there is something new and positive around the corner of my spiritual journey, I want what I have lost. I want to go backward. I reached back for the dance. Dance once saved me. I wanted it to save me again. I wanted to do something I knew how to do. I wasn’t up for the work of finding an African dance class and fitting it into my schedule. I wanted to hit the clubs. And I wanted to dance with someone I knew. I called Herb. “Nadir is coming to town.” After a year and a half in Atlanta, we were on the happy side of our rebuilt friendship. BIPOLAR FAITH 333 This content downloaded from 132.174.255.194 on Sun, 30 Aug 2020 13:17:43 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms In the years between graduating from Vanderbilt and moving to Claremont, I grounded my social life in Nashville’s black arts community. In the evenings between long days of work, the young twenty-somethings of Nashville came together in local clubs, with open mics and aspiring musicians who cut their own CDs in bedrooms- turned-studios, on sale that night for five dollars. One woman organized the monthly sets, sharing the venues by word of mouth, e-mail, and handbills. Obafemi did a poem about a Jehovah’s Witness visitor over the background of DeBarge’s “A Dream.” Shellie belted out spoken words about women who defined themselves outside of sex with men. Rahz freestyled hip- hop rhymes about hard work and freedom. Utopia State took over the stage as a hip-hop group with trombones and drums instead of turntables and vinyl. The GRITS breakdanced on the stage to the best Christian hip-hop I’d ever heard, while I stood in the front row, hair picked out into a large Afro-puff, wearing retro bell-bottoms and platforms heels, raising my arm up and down, chanting “All Fall Down.” Nadir was a funk performer, whom I remembered best for his rendition of Bill Withers’s “Ain’t No Sunshine.” His wife stood in front of the stage, quietly blushing, while he looked at her, mic in hand, and intoned, “I know, I know, I know, I know, I know, I know, I know, I know. . . .” When the movie Love Jones came out, we knew they were talking about our life at the Spot, late-night dinners at TGI Fridays, love affairs and all. Monica A. Coleman 334 This content downloaded from 132.174.255.194 on Sun, 30 Aug 2020 13:17:43 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms Nadir had a new album and was coming to Atlanta. “Nadir’s my friend,” I told Herb. Which is true in the way that everyone who went to the Spot considered themselves friends, even if three or four years had passed since our last contact. I replied to the e-mail announcing the Atlanta tour, “See you there! Can’t wait.” I zipped on my chocolate brown suede boots with the two-and-a-half-inch heels. They were a perfect match to my brown-and-white V-neck top with alternating sheer and opaque panels. I pulled on my favorite dark blue boot-cut jeans. I applied a layer of magenta lipstick before Herb came to the door of my apartment. Herb told me that I looked nice. When we got to the club, Herb and I positioned ourselves on two stools on the edge of the bar close to the stage. It was a small venue. Nadir had an entire band of background singers and musicians I’d never seen before. No longer one of many newbies trying out their sounds on old standards in small Nashville clubs, Nadir sang original songs from his album, some cowritten by members of our old crew. He grabbed the mic on an angle and threw his head back and forth so that there were moments when the audience could see only his longer-than-shoulder-length dreadlocks flying through the air. Rock star. Herb ordered his favorite drink and pulled my stool close to his so that my back rested on his chest, my body between his splayed legs. We moved back and forth to the beat of “Daddy’s Cane” and “Fortune and Fantasy.” It BIPOLAR FAITH 335 This content downloaded from 132.174.255.194 on Sun, 30 Aug 2020 13:17:43 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms reminded me of the early days of our wordless years of informal courting—reading books in his Nashville apartment, dancing until our feet hurt. Before we expected more from each other than several hours of companionship and a good time. Before I needed him to remind me that I was alive and human. Before he needed me to give whatever it was that I never offered. Before we forced ourselves to sit in the small booth of a local restaurant with a menu that one of us didn’t really like, making ourselves become friends again because neither of us was willing to throw away the love we made. Nadir sang a funky soul song about a woman with a great body. I moved toward the stage, dancing alone with a couple other people from the club. I quickly learned the words and dance, mouthing along with Nadir, “If the funk ain’t good enough . . . you just gotta leave it alone . . . if the funk ain’t good enough.” Raising my hand in both solidarity with Nadir and sexy movement, I grooved like I was the hottest thing on the floor. When the song ended, I returned to my chair still in the mood to dance. Herb smiled at the return of a Monica he hadn’t seen in years. Nadir transitioned to a sultry song, and I danced with Herb while he sat on the stool. Gyrating my hips from side to side, nestling my nose in his neck and then backing up to look him in the eyes. “My love is so good, so good, sanctified,” I sang with the band. “Sanctified?” Herb mouthed. Yeah, I nodded with a confidence I hadn’t felt about myself in a long time. Monica A. Coleman 336 This content downloaded from 132.174.255.194 on Sun, 30 Aug 2020 13:17:43 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms Running my hands over his torso, I continued to dance in the suede heels, closing my eyes and lifting my head up, moving side to side. We heard a ten-second riff in the song that reminded us of Prince in the 1980s. We cheered—“Aww watch it now”—and I continued my seduction, adapting the words: “It feels so sanctified. My love is so good it’s sanctified. I’m so good that it’s sanctified.” I closed my eyes and tilted my head back, teasing Herb with the memories of our better times together. “You ready to go?” Herb smiled at me. We had the same thoughts of “sanctifying” one another. Just as I nodded and Herb went to get our coats, Nadir began to sing a new anthem: I don’t wanna feel the pain anymore. I don’t wanna feel the whip across my spine. Don’t wanna be tied up. Captive. Chained to the hurt inside. Don’t you know I wanna live again, like a man is supposed to? I don’t wanna be a slave anymore. I don’t wanna be a slave for you. I forgot about Herb for a moment and moved right up to the stage. With a beat too slow for the sway I was doing, I stood as if the song was putting me under a spell. Nadir continued to sing the words of my life: BIPOLAR FAITH 337 This content downloaded from 132.174.255.194 on Sun, 30 Aug 2020 13:17:43 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms And I can still recall the day you turned the key. And locked me in this cold and lonely wretched misery. I don’t wanna feel the pain anymore. . . . In the meeting of the low lights and strobe light rhythms on stage, it became clear. In my silence, attempted secrecies, and solitary crying, I let depression own me. I bowed to it daily as I chose one of a list of self-destructive approaches for getting twenty minutes of pleasure. I organized my life around it—fitting in my dissertation and teaching around the harried schedules of sleeplessness or sleepiness it creates. With a name, it was the fated cause for everything bad in my life—whatever relationships I couldn’t sustain, whatever work I could not get done. But like a whip across my back, it was kicking my ass and had been doing so for years, decades, generations. I had been so focused on surviving day to day that I had not thought about how I would live. I began small revolts after moving to Atlanta—with my little note card, in my sessions with Jesse, in meetings with Pastor Connie, with my new friends over coffee, while knitting scarves. Without any intention, I slowly, painstakingly carved out a life where I wasn’t dominated by denial of or torture by depression. African American historians tell the story of Harriet Tubman, the Moses of our people, who led hundreds to slaves from bondage into the Northern states where they could be free. The journey north was difficult, full of unknowns, dangers, and the constant threat of being Monica A. Coleman 338 This content downloaded from 132.174.255.194 on Sun, 30 Aug 2020 13:17:43 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms caught—which meant sure death. Sometimes slaves begged Tubman to let them return back to what they knew. The same is said of the Israelites that Moses helped to free from Egypt. But Harriet Tubman cocked a rifle on her shoulder and turned to those slaves with a new threat—we’re moving forward no matter what. Like a running slave, I know that with freedom there is no going back. I must keep moving. I cannot get back what I lost. The relationships, how I understood the world, how I related to God—things that seemed clear when I went to college and into the ministry. I understood this when I processed the rape; now it has new meaning. The most I can do is mourn, remember, and turn the corner to new life. Bipolar is no more my fault or responsibility than the rape. I do not have to wonder what I’m doing wrong or what I can do differently. I do not have to pretend nothing is happening to me. I cannot crawl back into the sheath of shame and secrecy. I can no longer pretend there is no name, no pattern, no real threat from within me. It is not my imagination. It is real. And like the rape, something dies. I lose some of me in every depressive bout. It may be something I need to lose—like pride. It may be something I don’t want to lose—like pride. But everything in my faith and experience tells me that if I can hold on through the night, there will be an empty tomb; there will be new life. I will see the mountain again. My rebirths are not as dramatic as in human biology. No labor pains, placenta, or celebratory cigars. I feel it BIPOLAR FAITH 339 This content downloaded from 132.174.255.194 on Sun, 30 Aug 2020 13:17:43 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms internally, like snapping a twig underfoot on a nature hike or the sunrise turning from orange to pink. I know when there is upward movement. Sometimes it is small—like the memory that I really did tell responsible adults when I was a teenager—that relieves me of the idea that I suffered alone by choice because I never told anyone. Sometimes it is large—like the realization that I don’t have to define myself by my condition. Rebirth is the surety that I am more than this. I am more than this. I am more than this. Nadir continued singing: Don’t want to be tied up. Captive. Chained to the hurt inside. I don’t want to be reduced to my symptoms and diagnosis. Tied down. I am learning the difference between captivity and rest, between an illness and a condition. There’s nothing wrong with me. After all, this is the only me I’ve ever known. But sometimes I need to slow down, check to see if I’m okay; look at the emotional heap of yarn in my lap, undo a few rows, and try again. I need to know that the things I drop, the things I can’t do the way I want, the hard parts of my life are not failure. They are evidence that I’m human. Not made by machine. The Christian liturgical calendar denotes months of the year as “ordinary time.” When there is no celebration of birth, death, resurrection, or powerful movement of Spirit, there is just “ordinary time.” Biblical lessons during those Monica A. Coleman 340 This content downloaded from 132.174.255.194 on Sun, 30 Aug 2020 13:17:43 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms months are about Jesus teaching, healing, telling stories, hanging out with his friends. Ordinary relation-ships. I learned, monthly dinner after monthly dinner, how to rebuild a relationship that was ground into dust. I came to see that my relationship with God was being rebuilt as well. Sometimes, it feels nostalgic; other times, it feels obligatory. Staying in any intimate relationship has a component of loyalty—to what I know to be there, even when I don’t feel it. I rebuild with God in the same way: meal by meal, prayer by prayer, stich by stitch, dance by dance, song by song. The leaders of the civil rights movement always talked about how helpful it is to sing when you are scared. Singing also helps unite people, pass long hours, encourage yourself. Sing, they said, when you are in line to vote. Sing, they said, when the power structure tells you that things will never get better. I sang along with Nadir: “Don’t you know I wanna live again?!” My life and my faith are intertwined. My faith demands that I fight for justice. It calls me to give myself over to God and to church and to fighting inequities. Depression tells me to cling to whatever part of myself that I can find. I can no longer rely on faith to motivate me to act in the world. I cannot always maintain a faith that is about making my corner of the world a better place. That is still important, and it may still be what ultimately saves the world, what will save me. But that has to be an extension of faith—not its definition. Rather, my act of faith is much smaller. If I can believe—in the midst of my most wordless, BIPOLAR FAITH 341 This content downloaded from 132.174.255.194 on Sun, 30 Aug 2020 13:17:43 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms painful, razor-shiny moments—that God isn’t doing this to me, then that is an act of faith. If I can believe that God hears me, knows me, loves me, and rocks me, then that is a leap of faith. I don’t need more than that. I don’t need the degrees, the title, the philosophy, the long robes, the approval of my denomination, or special prayers for sharing the bread and wine. The leap to believe that God does not abandon me is all I need. I think about Grandma and her father. They had no name but grief to describe something far worse than losing life and love. They had no access to medicine or therapists. They passed on what they had—a faith in family, generosity, and ritual. It’s strong and fragile at the same time. It got Grandma through. It wasn’t enough for her father. I danced for West African ancestors and for the orisha. Now I dance for my own ancestors. I dance for Grandma and Great-granddaddy. I dance for my great-aunts and great-uncles who lived with the noose. I will dance warrior, growth, and the changes of life. I will dance their tears and their ability to live through them. I will dance sultry and sexy. I will dance the legacy they left me, and the freedom I eke out. They are with me in the dance, drum, and bass line. Nadir was giving me a spiritual, and I continued to sing it as Herb offered me my jacket. I noticed that it was raining as we left the club. Herb asked if I wanted him to pull the car around. Monica A. Coleman 342 This content downloaded from 132.174.255.194 on Sun, 30 Aug 2020 13:17:43 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms “No. I’m fine.” Shaking my dreadlocked hair, I quipped, “I don’t melt in the rain.” He dashed down the street toward the block where he parked. I lingered, grooving to the beat I still heard as Nadir’s band continued to play. I don’t wanna be a slave anymore. I walked at a natural pace, ignoring the water soaking into my suede boots. The rain dripped onto my hair, my eyelashes, my nose and chin. The rain fell on my shoulders and legs. I didn’t have to rush. I didn’t have to run. This rain was not death. BIPOLAR FAITH 343 This content downloaded from 132.174.255.194 on Sun, 30 Aug 2020 13:17:43 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms