My main questions involve the nature of God and creation. Is God transcendent? If God is the all-powerful creator does that necessarily imply that God created evil? Did God impose Godself onto humans or call humans into God?

In reading the proponents of Process Theology, I encounter the assumption that to believe God to be an all-powerful transcendent creator is to imply that God imposes God’s will onto the earth and so therefore one must also believe that evil and injustice are part of God’s will. As John Cobb writes in reference to Whitehead,

The understanding of God as Creator has been closely related to the idea that God is in control of the world. Both the way the world is and what happens in it are thought to be directly or indirectly an expression of God’s will and purposes. … The idea of a ‘transcendent creator, at whose fiat the world came into being, and whose imposed will it obeys, is the fallacy which has infused tragedy into the histories of Christianity and of Mahometanism’.” 114

Opponents of the Process view clarify though that this imposition of order is not what is meant by a transcendent God. As Rowan Williams has written,

From human chaos God makes human community. But this act is not a process by which shape is imposed on chaos: it is a summons, a call which establishes the very possibility of an answer… But what creation emphatically isn't is any kind of imposition or manipulation: it is not God imposing on us divinely willed roles rather than the ones we 'naturally' might have, or defining us out of our own systems into God's. (68-69)

Similarly Kathryn Tanner appeals to Irenaeus to assert that a true understanding of transcendence has nothing to do with coercive dominance, but instead holds liberating potential.

From what I can gather both sides are accusing the other of worshiping a God that imposes his (and the masculine is important here) will upon creation. In demonizing the other view as such they fault each other for not properly dealing with the problem of evil. Imposed will seems to always imply God’s sanctioning of evil. The Process Theologians just place that imposition in the idea of transcendence because something apart and above can only impose on what is below. More classical theologians place the imposition in the shaping of a pre-existent primordial chaos that is in competition with God and therefore must have form imposed upon it. Despite accusing each other’s basic conception of God as implying that God wills evil, the way both advocates for and opponents of the Process view seem to reconcile the problem of evil seem surprisingly similar (in parts at least).

Process theologian Marjorie Suchocki suggests that "perhaps God creates not as a power over an inert matter molded into form, with a single purpose, but as a power with all matter, present to it, pervading it with presence, with multiple purposes" (4). This is a God that is with and amidst creation giving it purpose while not having to be held responsible for the evil in creation. Bruce Epperly expands on this witness of God and creation stating that God "never abandons our imperfect world, but seeks to transform the suffering of the world, persuasively and persistently over the long haul, into beauty of experience" (55). God is at work with the world, not imposing God’s will upon it, but (as I read it) as one in solidarity with the world, suffering along with it because of that solidarity.

Interestingly, Rowan Williams, who would uphold God’s transcendence but not a suffering God, also argues for God being-with humans as explanation of how God calls humans to God’s will and yet does not impose evil. He argues that that unlike Process theologians we should not assume a "undialectical affirmation of God's identity with the cosmic continuum" for that simply replaces an imposing masculine idea of God with a preexisting feminine one (78) (see Catherine Keller’s description of the tehom, “No One rules or precedes this ineffable All-Mother” (15)). Williams instead speaks of the importance of the difference – not of hierarchical difference but of the difference of a yet transcendent God that exists for the sake of humans (by nature yet not necessity). Williams writes,

Authentic difference, a being-with, not simply a being-in, difference that is grounded in the eternal being-with of God as trinity, is something which sets us free to be human – distinctively human, yet human in co-operation with others and with an entire world of differences. To know that our humanness is not functional to any purpose imposed from beyond is to know also the folly and blasphemy of treating portions of the human race as functional for the lives of other human beings (which is why this perspective ultimately reinforces a serious feminist critique, as well as having implications about economics and race); and to know the equal folly and blasphemy of interpreting all creation in terms of its usefulness to transient human needs." (78)

It is a dependence on a wholly other but loving God that therefore informs our creaturely solidarity with others leading us to love others instead of imposing our own will upon them.

So God with us seems to be the answer to how we are to live and resist evil. But the difference remains as to whether this God exist in process with us or is transcendent but in relationship with us. My struggle is between the assumptions that those stances imply about God.

So here are my questions that I would appreciate some perspective on –

1. Why does Process Theology assume that a transcendent God must by nature will evil?
2. And how is a preexisting chaos in process not itself just another term for God (leading back to the first question about a transcendent God)?
3. And if the hope for our suffering is that God is with us, what difference does transcendence or solidarity truly make?

Ten years ago I had never heard of the emerging church. Oh, I was reading postmodern philosophy and asking all sorts of questions that were getting me in trouble, but I had no idea that there were other Christians discussing these sorts of ideas. I had just finished my first round of grad-school having studied Intercultural Studies and Missions at Wheaton College. I often had made my classmates (and a few of my professors) uncomfortable by asking why missions concepts like contextualization of the Gospel, socio-linguistic relativity, and intercultural difference could not also be applied to our own American culture. If it was okay to have the Gospel make sense culturally in some third world country, why couldn’t it make sense to all people in the United States?

But this was the era when “purpose driven” churches were cutting edge and where in a post-9/11 flag-draped America, homogeneity trumped authenticity. Facebook and Twitter were still years away, so it was a lot harder to discover that you weren’t the only one asking the crazy questions. Even so, it was early in 2002 when someone recommended to my husband and me that we might enjoy reading a book by this guy Brian McLaren. As others have often mentioned, what I discovered in A New Kind of Christian wasn’t completely new, but more of an affirmation that there were others exploring the same sorts of questions about faith as I was. And knowing that one is not alone holds a special power. Knowing that I didn’t have to ignore those nagging questions or divorce my intellect from my faith saved my faith. Instead of a hollow and confining static system, it had been transformed into a living reality.

Knowing that there were others out there meant I had to find them – which is where The Ooze enters in. I found that community online, and more specifically its message boards. I created a profile with a fake name (MaraJade) and a false avatar and jumped in with both feet. Over the next few years the evolution of my faith played out on those boards. I eventually added my real name as virtual friendships morphed into physical ones, but it was there that I began to re-imagine theology, and church, and what it even meant to be a Christian. While it was not always the safest place to explore such questions in a public forum, it was the only place where such dialogue could even occur. It is amusing now to think as The Ooze shuts down that all these old conversations, these snapshots of a faith in transition, will now be archived at Fuller Seminary. I pity the sociologist of religion who will sift through them someday for her dissertation.

But as the conversation grew, territories were claimed and lines began to be drawn. Certain groups declared that there was a range of acceptable questions (generally permitting the re-imagining of worship practices but not theological stances) and they (loudly) denounced the rest of us. Others set up camp as either for the Ooze or for Emergent Village – competing for publishing contracts, conference speaking spots, and (of course) advertising dollars. Those of us involved in both observed that tension and felt like we were being made to choose sides. Looking back, it seems so silly that in a conversation about deconstructing the systems of modernism in favor of re-imaging a wholistic and healthy way to be the church such petty fights would ever be waged, but I guess that is the way of man (and I intentionally used the masculine there). For me the conversation was holy in whatever guise it took.

I never made it to a Soularize until this year and I regret that. But there was still something intriguing to enter into that space ten years on and discover where the past decade has taken the conversation. In a struggling economy the trappings of financial success have long since lost the power to sway the conversation. Petty differences have given way to collaboration as those who believe that re-imagining church for a postmodern world is more than just the latest trend to follow. The angst of needing to constantly deconstruct where we all have been has mellowed into a loosely held space where dreams and critique coexist. The urgency to fix the world has passed while the passion to hope for a better world remains.

In short, the emerging conversation I encountered at Soularize this year was one of hope. While it might not burn as brightly as it once did, a bonfire requires too much empty energy to sustain itself. What we have left is a smoldering movement – not in the negative sense of having been reduced to ashes, but of the sort of long-burning coals that warm homes and bake bread. And there are still new people joining the conversation – asking their own questions and desperately attempting to cling to their faith in meaningful ways. But how they enter in looks different now that there are those of us who have matured in this conversation for the past ten years or more there to welcome them in.

Groups like Soularize and The Ooze may be winding down, but that is because the conversation has shifted. We no longer just need space for questions; we need space to build as well. Learning parties are no longer just about questions, they are also about formulating responses with our lives. I am grateful for this last Soularize for serving as a transition in that shift. And I am looking forward to what lies ahead.

For instance it is hard to advance a truthful theology of suffering when we are the ones forcing others to suffer. In our country where some Christians say they are being persecuted if a salesperson says “happy holidays” instead of “Merry Christmas,” we often lack even the most basic point of reference for understanding how people from different cultural settings who’ve lived through oppression and grief approach their faith.

For example theologian Chung Hyun Kyung comments on the influence on Asian women’s theology of Western colonizers telling them God is love while beating, staving, and raping them. This experience and twisted message affects how they view God and what questions they ask of God. She writes that their challenging of God on his silence during their oppression cannot help but shape their theology. They ask of God, “Where were you when we were hungry? Where were you when we called your name as our bodies were raped, mutilated, and disfigured by our husbands, policemen, and the soldiers of colonizing countries? Have you heard our cries? Have you seen our bodies dragged like dead dogs and abandoned in the trash dumb?” (Struggle to be the Sun Again, p22).

Questions must be asked as theology is done in such postcolonial contexts in attempts to differentiate the message of the colonizers and the message of Jesus. For instance, when oppressed people are told that a good Christian is quiet, subservient, and accepts suffering and poverty by the very colonizers who live in luxury and benefit from the service and poverty of the people, some serious theological reconsideration is in order. A theology that is only ever applied to women or oppressed peoples in order to keep them subservient is highly suspect. Truth and worship are far more important than such self-serving twistings of God’s word. But it takes hearing from these voices from the margins and wrestling with the same questions they wrestle with in order for the church as a whole to move towards a healthy and truthful theology.

But to do so requires humility. It not only requires some of us to give up our positions of power and privilege while admitting that we do not have the corner on Christianity, it may also require repentance and reconciliation. It requires admitting that our privilege came at the expense of others – that the poverty in the world today has its roots in forceful conquest of land, the outright theft of natural resources, and the enslavement of peoples around the world. It requires admitting that the life we now enjoy has its historical roots and present reality in the blood, sweat, and tears of others. It is only after we repent of these sins that we can be open to embracing a fuller theology which we can only learn by listening to the voices of others – often the very others we must ask forgiveness of.

Being open to hearing and believing these truths is difficult. It is far easier to mock the theologies of others and call them heretical than to humble ourselves and repent in the name of truth. But it is vital for the health of the community that is the universal body of Christ. The eye cannot say to the hand that I have no need of you – or that I am more important or more connected to God than you. We must embrace our whole body, even the parts we have abused or neglected. To truly be the body of Christ we must listen to the voices of the oppressed and the colonized – for we can never be whole without them.

That said (and I know I'm a few days behind here), Danielle Shroyer's post What Do You Do When A Revolution Isn't Sexy Anymore is a must read. She really captures the day to day work most of us are doing to help make following Jesus not just relevant and meaningful, but possible in today's culture. Thank you Danielle.

Even as debate erupts across the blogosphere about whether Emergent is fizzling as a movement, those of us still committed to the friendships and ideas we've found here are going ahead with ideas for how to keep the ball rolling and continue to get more and more people connected with the conversation. A few days ago I posted a question here at my blog and at the Emergent Village Cohort Leaders Google Group about what Emergent Village could do to help emergent-leaning folks in rural areas get connected with one another and with the broader emerging conversation, whether through cohorts or other means. The ensuing discussion was very productive, and has resulted in a project to create a comprehensive google map of what's going on in the Emergent Village world.

In keeping with Emergent Village's desire to be a network of emerging people and communities, the goal with this map will be to create a resource to help network folks with what is going on in their own local area, or help them start something new if there isn't anything already. This will include existing cohorts, as well as any "emerging churches" who don't mind being listed on the Emergent Village website.* The map will also include individuals who are interested in being a part of a cohort, but don't currently have one near them. Our hope is that as more people add themselves to this map, it will become a lot easier for them to find one another and start new cohorts.

We've decided to start by open-sourcing this map, basically letting anyone and everyone who wants to add themselves or their faith community – no gatekeepers or approval system, though those of us in the cohort network will help make sure it stays free of trolls. We'll start passing the link to the map around through blogs/Twitter/Facebook, etc. (that's where you come in and inviting folks to add their churches and cohorts (or themselves if they're not yet part of one and want to be). Hopefully it will snowball, and in a few weeks or months we'll have a thorough and exciting map of what is going on and where. How cool will it be to be able to see just how much this conversation has grown in the past decade!

So here's the link again. I hope you'll help us create this thing!

*Of course we realize that there may be emerging ministries out there who do not wish to be "affiliated" with Emergent Village in any official way, for any variety of reasons, even if just on a google map. Nonetheless, those of us in the Emergent Village are happy to partner with any faith community that doesn't mind calling itself a "friend of Emergent Village," and hope that many communities will choose to add themselves to our map.

My friends and I believed that there was a massive tide of change coming. We believed that everything was going to change. We found more and more people reading books by McLaren or others and we thought the interactions with these books would change the world. We knew that there would be this new kind of Christian. We believed that Christianity was on the cusp of evolution.
…
We didn’t want Emergent to become the new club, but we wanted it to organize so that through gatherings, cohorts, and online social networks it could create it’s own grouping and lovingly force some voices out into the open. That happened a little. But it seems that recently we have lost hope in the Emergent movement. It took it’s hits from the conservatives and instead of coming out stronger for it, it sort of fizzled.

There's a lot I want to say in response to the post, but it's hard to know what's best to say. Others have responded in the comments as well as on blogs (Mike, Jonathan, Makeesha 1 and 2, Drew, Carol, Jonny). And some say that as one of the 24 who met to re-envision Emergent, I shouldn't be allowed a voice in this conversation anyway. Whatever.

Upfront, I have to admit that I agree with Nick. At least in the disappointed with Emergent thing. Emergent seems like this thing that could be so much more – it holds so much potential – but it just has yet to be realized. Sure it's done great things, and has helped save the faith of numerous people. It's started conversations and brought a new language to Christianity in America. It has helped a significant portion of American Christians start to wonder if following Jesus just maybe be about more than getting their butts into heaven when they die. That said, it could have been so much more. It could have been the support and the connection that people were desperate for. It could have provided resources (ideas, advice, friendship) for those struggling to piece together a more honest sort of faith. And I hope that it still will someday be that, but it has a ways to go. So yes, I can agree, there is disappointment.

But Nick for all your talk about not wanting to be the new club, that's just what you seem to be promoting. It is actually a bit offensive to hear the "no newbies wanted" sort of attitude. Since when did Emergent become a members only club? Sure some of us were still piddling around on The Ooze and reading John Eldredge back when the tech geeks were being the "great bloggers." When they stopped blogging because it became "too cool and trendy" that doesn't symbolize the end of the movement. There are a lot of great new bloggers out there, who alas may only have been out there for a few years, but are nevertheless sharing some amazing thoughts. Sure, the Emergent that was is no more. The boys club smoking cigars in Glorietta wasn't sustainable. Publishing deals, structure, and branding didn't kill that vibe – this conversation becoming the revolution you guys wanted it to be did. Other people had the same awakening experience as you and joined in. It sure didn't help that at that point the perceived leaders (the early adapters) jumped ship because this thing was now popular/trendy/helpful to others. I'm sorry, but if you guys wanted this to be a members only club then perhaps you shouldn't have gone public with it to begin with.

So those of us who are part of this thing called emergent – who are passionate about this call to live in the kingdom of God and thrive on this conversation are wondering what do do. We already experienced the droves of deserters who left because emergent doesn't 1. hate women like they hate women, 2. hate gays like they hate gays, or 3. believe in a certain type of hatred of God towards Jesus on the cross (or all of the above). Then there are all you guys who paved the way for this conversation to even exist saying that you are disappointed that new people joined and spoiled your fun. We are looking for guidance and then read comments like Josh's on your blog "maybe it’s selfish on my part, but i just don’t feel like helping anybody else along." It hurts to be rejected like that. To those of us who still appreciate the conversation and who see the good it is still doing to those who are just now joining in, it's a slap in the face to be told that we are dead or fizzled out. I am the first to admit that emergent needs a lot of help right now, but different isn't dead, just different.

Sigh. So this post became a bit harsh and defensive. I thought I was going to write on the need for leadership and structure to help transition the revolution from words to action, but then this other stuff emerged. But I guess speaking from actual experience might be more helpful here than giving my two cents on what the future should hold. So I just want to say – Nick, I understand your disappointment, but please understand how it comes across to others.

Even amidst the group gathered this past weekend we had to confront the feeling of being an outsider. On one hand we had to admit that from a certain perspective the 23 of us gathered in a room to discuss the future of Emergent Village screamed "insider." Just the act of gathering like that might imply to some that we were on the inside of some secret society that held all the power. But in fact as we confessed to each other that first evening, we all felt like outsiders, wondering why we were there. This feeling is not something I am unfamiliar with at all. For a long while my interactions with emergent came through reading the books and occasionally going to hear some big-name author speak. Sure I participated in online discussions and a local cohort, but I didn't feel like I had a voice within Emergent as a whole. My experience attending the 2005 Emergent Convention in Nashville only confirmed that outsider status. For reference, I attended with my three-month-old daughter and was under the impression that I would never again be a fully-functioning human being (much less get a full night of sleep). I recall attending the Emerging Women lunch and feeling very overwhelmed and worthless as all the other women at my table talked about their seminary experience and recent conversations on their blogs. So while I resonated and came alive with everything I heard there, I felt like I could never truly belong. Same thing at the 2006 Emergent Glorietta Gathering. I felt like I was crashing a party of really good friends. But after that event as I started connecting online with the people I had met at the Gathering, relationships were built. I slowly realized that being part of the Emergent conversation simply meant making the effort to be a part of it. So for better or worse, I jumped in – hosting blogs and events to help facilitate the conversation. Did that turn me into an insider? Maybe. To me it just felt like joining the conversation.

But at the same time I completely understand the barriers that are still perceived to exist. And those barriers were talked about this weekend. No matter how often we in emergent say we are open source or about shared power, if people can't easily perceive and access that then our words have no value. So there need to be deliberate steps taken to listen to the voices of the many, to link to the diversity of voices within the conversation, and to make invitations to join the conversation (both publicly and privately) upfront and apparent. Unless leadership is transparent and invitations for involvement continually offered, the perception of a closed group of insiders will persist. Granted, there will always be some that will be angry about being on the outside unless they (or at least their special-interest group) is handed power, and that can't be helped. But the truth is being part of Emergent often means being willing to put in the work of stepping up, using their voice, and working for the good of the whole. It's about choosing to serve and share power – always extending invitations to the Other.

So of course we have a long way to go to reach a point of true openness, there is no denying that. And while we can say that all are welcome if they will just step up to the conversation, I think the burden on inclusion should be on us who are already comfortable as part of the conversation. We need to be the ones extending invitations, welcoming others in, and making it easy for them to be a part of the conversation. So while we may not see ourselves as insiders, we are at the very least in a place where we can at least blur the perceived line between insiders and outsiders. Because in the end those desiring to be a part of this conversation are all in the same place. We all struggle, we all question, and we all desire a community to do all that together with. I think Amy Moffitt described it best in her reflection on this past weekend -
"The truth, of course, is that there really isn't an inside. There are folks who know a little more than other folks, but it became apparent –to me at least– that every single person there is an exile in some sense. We came together, believing in the real worth of Emergent Village, because it has served as a meeting place for us… a place where, for once, we could feel that we were accepted in our fullness without being expelled for failure to conform, where our desires to not only love Jesus but live with integrity to our particular experiences in and perceptions of the world is valued despite the theology that logically follows from this integrity… theology that upsets the apple cart in most denominations. I think I can say with confidence that this was a room full of People Who Can't Lie Worth Shit… a bunch of people who have to call it as they truly see it, even if that gets them in trouble. And it has. And it will. And we can all pretty much live with that."

To be blunt, this gathering was nothing like what I expected. First, I spent the entire weekend utterly frustrated because I had lost my voice – as in literally physically.  I couldn't even talk the first evening, and for most of the weekend I had the whispering dying cow in puberty voice.  So I couldn't be as open or as social as I wanted to be simply for the fact that I couldn't physically talk.  I got to meet people there who I had been wanting to meet in person for years as well as reconnted with old friends, and I could barely have a conversation with them.  But even beyond my own personal going crazy issues, the weekend wasn't what I expected.  Granted, I wasn't entirely sure what to expect, but I had some vague idea of strategic planning sessions – just not the boring kind since this was, after all, emergent. My biggest fear going into it was that there would be just a lot of talk and that nothing would get accomplished. But in truth, the weekend was spent in a group spiritual discernment process. When the facilitators, Pam Wilhelms and Dwight Friesen, told us that the first evening my initial response was "oh crap." I'm not exactly the sort of person who generally gets much out of that sort of spirituality. My experiences with such guided processes in the past were rather hollow – words that never translated in anything meaningful. But since I was there anyway, I felt like I needed to give what I could to help make the discerning process work. So with with a bit of fear, I submitted to the process and the guidance of the facilitators.

And it was hard. It has been a very long time since I've so completely submitted to anything that I care about. And to be honest, there were times when the process really pissed me off. I just had to keep reminding myself that what we were doing was theoretically for the good of the whole and just bite my tongue about my frustrations. I realized sometime during the second day, that far from this gathering feeling like a group of mature adults making important decisions, I felt like I was at youth group camp being led into a spiritual experience by trusted leaders. Not that the leaders treated us like children, but that that was my age reference for the last time I experienced something similar. We worshiped, sat in silence listening, had break-out groups on the floor, used markers and butcher paper, took nature walks, meditated on the sky – all for the purpose of forming the collective whole that can trust and speak into each other in love. It was like camp. And the crazy thing was that it worked. We were all open enough and trusting enough to submit to the process that we were able to enter into the collective space where our agendas and egos let go enough to listen to and discern the wisdom of the whole. It was sacred, it was raw, and it was mind-numbingly exhausting. But it was good.

So we shared ideas and spoke of what emergent has meant in the past – the good and the bad. And we spoke of what values of emergent we truly do hold dear. We shared with each other what our wildest dreams were for what is emerging and how best to achieve those dreams. And there was debate, there was push-back, but there was also a lot of harmony as the group understood the language of the whole. I admit there were times during the process when I was scared. There were voices there suggesting that perhaps to achieve our dreams and avoid commoditizing the message we need to let emergent die. For those of us non-denominational mutts for whom emergent is our only tribe, the possibility of losing our home (even for good reasons) was frightening, but it had to be addressed. Others thought that helping emergent become the better version of what it already hints at was the route to follow. My favorite image from the time was provided by Michael Toy who described a vision for emergent as a "floating organic seminary for missional living." I was also grateful to Eliacin Rosario-Cruz for the encouragement to instead of dwelling on the emergent aspect of Emergent Village to focus instead on how we are a village – helping each other live towards the same Kingdom goals.

And so our suggestions for the future of Emergent Village generally point towards those ends. We are about being a village of friends – learning from and supporting each other in the way of Christ. We share and give away power and the voices of the many are heard. How that will look and which structures will be created or retained is yet to be determined. But I am hopeful for the future. This group submitted ourselves to being stripped raw and made vulnerable with each other to discern these directions. Our dreams of seeing a world that celebrates justice and the kingdom guided the recommendations we gave for structures and leadership. And we are committed to doing what we can to build this community called Emergent Village to help fulfill those dreams. There is still much to be decided and a lot of work to be done, but we all left this space hope-filled that we all have a great story to live out.