Paul

An amazing and incredible helpful book for those in ministry, even if it is a bit dense at times. The writers practitioners, to be sure, but are also very much academics and the depth of both their content and prose can make this a slower read than you're anticipating, but worth every single effort to really internalize what they're saying.

This is a book you would give to your really conservative friend/family member who thinks racism is pretty much non-existent, that “reverse racism” is a real thing, or that if we just believed in Jesus more then we wouldn't have racism. This is a soft-ball intro to these issues. I'd agree with most of the specifics it says, though I'm more comfortable in harder, stronger articulations of these ideas. In fact, in today's climate, I feel that a stronger rhetoric of race and resistance may actually be needed.

This is a really interesting little book. But know that it is more about principles than practices. It's about how the philosophy and sentiment behind Benedictine monasticism can sort of inspire different rhythms of life for us non-monastics. But it does not offer specific activities one can take on that gives us a kind of “Benedict” light. For example, his Chapter entitled, “Singing the Psalms” offers no practical ways of incorporating the Psalter into our every day lives. The whole chapter is about the history of how Benedictines structure their prayer times, and then talks about the wisdom of having SOME structure to our times of prayer, and he encourages us to consider going to bed and waking up much earlier than we normally would. Again–more principles than practices. But that's not bad. We can get obsessed with “practical application”, and I appreciate the attempt to more create an ethos than give us every little act we ought to do in response to this. The book is good. It has gems of pastoral wisdom throughout and some beautiful pieces of writing. It's also a quick read, so if you get the chance to read this–do it; just have the right expectations.

This is truly a fascinating, if unexciting memoir by Thomas Jefferson. It's a little frustrating because it ends right after he resigns as secretary of state, and before all the real excitement of his life starts. Nevertheless, in the sections that cover his diplomatic career during the war, he definitely names names and throws people under the bus, which is always the real fun of a political memoir, isn't it?

Either way, as a historical document this is important and interesting to read. We often know our founders through snippets, or political documents, or letters and journals. But we don't often read at length their own thoughts for the public about the politics of the time. It does help give some perspective, as they often find things to be of the utmost importance that we barely get taught in history classes now. It just goes to show you that we are at a historical disadvantage in the present, without clarity of what is going to be significant and what is not.

So, as history and as a document it's interesting, but as a piece of writing, it isn't riveting or flowing or funny or exciting. It's the writing of an overly serious 30-something who thinks he has had enough excitement for a full lifetime and wants to share that will also shifting blame and explaining things. Little does he know how the narrative of his life was to unfold after this ended. But I would not read this for fun.

The various appendices are interesting in one degree. It's a spattering of letters, private thoughts, and documents he wrote that shed some light on the nuances and weeds involved in creating a country from scratch. So that sort of world building is great. But again, I really wouldn't read this for fun.

For me, I read this in conjunction to some other Thomas Jefferson biographies to see Jefferson's own side of events which I had just read about. I really thought it was going to be way more exciting than it was. It's just really dry. But if you have the fortitude for such historical nerding out, then you'll enjoy it.

Pretty good. I admit, it took a few chapters to get into it. The main character, who's perspective we're dropped into, has a certain way of thinking and narrating that feels like a shtick or a type. But once you get used to his cadence and buy into it more, you really do start to connect with and care for him. I'm

The mystery itself is so-so. The book is a lot less concerned with ramping up narrative tension than it is and using that narrative as a space to discuss philosophical and religious ideas and get to know these characters a bit. I really can't say I cared about the victim or the murder mystery at all through the entirety of the book, but I really did start to care for the characters. Judy, the main character's sister who seems to have some sort of spectrum or developmental disorder, is pretty endearing and engaging, even if she's a little flat as a character.

The prose is clear and straightforward, even in it's philosophical or theological musings. And while most of the book is a pretty casual beach read level, man, there really are some profound and stunningly beautiful lines sprinkled throughout the book—”literary”, even. There's even more than a few lines I laughed out loud at.

I like the way the author's brain seems to work. I don't know if this is his first book or not, but I can imagine future novels becoming more refined and sophisticated. So I'm excited to read more of his work.

But overall, I would say this was more of a fun book than a philosophical novel, though at times I think it was trying to be the latter. Unfortunately, it's not; but a good and interesting read nonetheless.

This really is a manual for new practitioners, as in people who are entirely new to the profession as a whole. In that sense, this book may be helpful for anyone just starting out in the field regardless of therapy specialty. Most of the guidance here is relevant (and helpful!) to all young and new therapists. It is focused around CBT, but as someone who is really trying to learn CBT, this isn't the book for that. Which makes this frustrating. I'm not sure exactly who this book is for. It doesn't have enough CBT education to be the main book for people trying to learn CBT to a decent level of competence, but it also is geared towards people just starting out in their career. It would be a good supplement to a more robust CBT textbook, where would serve to focus on the nitty gritty of practice. In that case, the tone and way of writing is extremely helpful and engaging. I like it. I really wanted this book to be more helpful. And for some, it could be.

I've got to say I'm still pretty torn about the approach represented here. First, I understand the burden it is for oppressed and marginalized peoples to bear the responsibility of educating oppressors in their oppression. But still, there was initial discomfort reading this book written by a white person. Part of the “healthy suspicion” of white people she discusses surely includes a sensitivity to possible performative virtue signaling taken by white people in these discussions.

But I eventually became more comfortable and ultimately appreciated it. Yes, we need inter-racial dialogue and whites listening to and centering the voices of BIPOC individuals, but ultimately white supremacy is a problem for white people to see and change, so in that sense this was a good example of trying to do this well. Whenever she could she brought in voices of color and was truly being led by their wisdom rather than appropriating it. She also seemed to have developed this material under the guidance of black mentors.

In regards to the actual content of the book, I had some strong feelings that have been difficult for me to parse out. On the positive side, I found intriguing the idea of the recovery model as a framework to understand growth in white people, at least if we employ it in broad strokes. I can appreciate the idea that deconstructing one's privilege, racism, and conditioning in a white supremacist culture ought to be a holistic effort and seen as a process and not as a binary “healed vs sick” sort of reality.

I can also understand what the author is doing in applying the 12-Step model of meetings and work in facilitating and sustaining such anti-racist progress. Many of the dimensions she describes have indeed been key markers in my own journey in this area. The embrace of ignorance as a way of knowing was perhaps the first thing that began raising my consciousness in this—the simple admission that my intuitive sense of reality cannot be my most trusted source of understanding in matters of race. In other words, my “gut” isn't the same thing as “truth” or seeing things “more clearly” than others, but is more a result of my own culture, conditioning, and perspective. Therefore, I need to actually defer to the experience, understanding, and perspective of BIPOC individuals. I think this is perhaps the biggest roadblock to my family members and friends who have difficulty with antiracism.

And while I struggled with what I saw as a profound lack of hopefulness in the materials, I did agree with applying the 12-Step ethos that says this is a process from which we never “graduate”. We as white people will always be learning new dimensions in which this white conditioning comes up. I fully agree that a white person's “competence” in this area is more about non-defensively receiving feedback about possible harms and responding in tangible ways to correct the harm. I do think it is unrealistic to expect that white social workers will never be experienced by any BIPOC as having committed a microaggression.

And that's part of the point of these materials: our conditioning runs deep, and competence is about increasing self-awareness, staying in the growth process, and cultivating openness to one's need for growth and receiving feedback, not expectations of perfection or defensiveness, or critiquing or countering BIPOC experiences.

However, I still had some issues with these materials. I am incredibly familiar with 12-Step programming and philosophy, and am a believer in it. I want to say that up front because a lot of my criticisms have to do with how the materials here adapt and use the 12-Steps, and I don't know how much of my negative feelings are unfairly coming from my bias for the 12-Steps as a theoretical model and process. I do not think 12-Step programs are needed or appropriate for everyone, and I do think they can be broadened to apply to dimensions of human life beyond traditional addictions. But still, the framework employed here strips a lot of what makes the 12-Steps what they. This makes me wish she had just come up with her own model rather than trying to build on the 12-Step one.

At its core, my biggest issue here is related to the Higher Power piece, but not because she has removed the concept from the steps as she's re-formulated them. I don't think people have to be religious or believe in the supernatural to work and benefit from the steps. And she's not entirely opposed to it herself. The book speaks to this and fully endorses people engaging a spiritual aspect if it's helpful to them.

But I think she misses the point of a Higher Power in the program and removes a whole dimension that could actually be helpful in the process she's laying out. A Higher Power (as one defines it) is necessary because the program assumes that healing cannot be found just within oneself.

We are the problem. We got ourselves in this situation. We need something outside ourselves that is stronger than us to help bring us back to sanity. In this case, white conditioning has deeply formed our whole society, economy, and culture. We need to form whole counter cultures and greater systems (“Higher Powers”) within which we can be formed and shaped in a different way. Just self-reflection among individuals or small groups of white people is not enough. As it's articulated in this book, it's still very individualistic and intellectual.

To be fair, the writer talks about making authentic relationships with People of Color and finding new influences to counteract our white supremacist conditioning. But these remain at micro levels. In one example, she commends changing your Facebook feed to have more black viewpoints pop up.

It is hard for me to imagine long-term change coming from groups of white people talking about their own racism in isolation from BIPOC people and finding the healing in their own self-reflection. I still think growth in this process needs to be collaborative, synergistic, and embodied between white and black people. No, there should not be an expectation placed on any Person of Color to engage in such a process, but I don't think there can be any expectation of growth in white people without real, difficult, life-giving interactions, discussions, and stories.

Getting beyond the 12-Steps explicitly, I also have issues with how she employs a more general Recovery Model here. The recovery model is ultimately client-centered and client-driven. In this regard, who is the “client” in this Recovery from White Conditioning? If it's the white person, then they are not actually the one who ought to be centered or driving the process. So if that's not there, is the “recovery” framework even helpful at that point?

Lastly, the 12-Steps have a strain of hope and healing within them—the goal and idea of “sobriety”. These 12-Steps for White Conditioning have nothing of the sort. It feels to me there is a deep cynicism underneath it all where there isn't all that much progress beyond going from a lack of racial consciousness to the presence of such consciousness and openness. After that, it's more about just staying there.

In contrast, 12-Step programs aren't ultimately about the substance or issue around which the program is built—it's about becoming a freer, fuller, more generous and loving human in general in all parts of your life. Even after one gets sober, they keep coming back because the sobriety gives more room for people to discover more levels of self-development needed in areas beyond the “thing” itself they are now sober from. These White Conditioning steps don't have that. There's little to no talk of how doing this process will make you a better human overall, not just less racist. That's the real hopefulness and benefit within the traditional 12-Steps and so without them, this program feels too limited in its scope and promise and so the “goal” is still defined in negative terms rather than positive.

Years ago, while in seminary, I did a lot of work and reading around Black Liberation Theology and Feminist Theology, and both of them had the conviction that doing this work and attending to those perspectives is actually the way to bring benefits and redemption to all societies and people, not just women or black people. Paulo Freire says much the same thing (inspired by some of the same sources).

Oppression is not just about harm done to the oppressed but how it holds back the oppressor and the systems that support them. These white conditioning 12-Steps don't have any of that. There is no sense that antiracist work is about a general liberation and healing in all areas of life and the world—even for those who engage in these steps as she lays them out. It is only about white people gathering weekly to talk about ways they think they were racist in the past week and how they might do better. This, by itself, is not “bad”, per se, just incredibly inadequate on its own, I feel.

More to the point, it's such a departure from the philosophical underpinnings of the 12-Steps, it really bothers me that this programming is so explicitly supposedly building on that foundation—especially when many of the aspects she has taken out would actually be helpful in this process of re-conditioning us away from white supremacy and finding new ways of being human in the world.

This is such an amazing Lenten devotional. This is not your surface level, “thought for the day” sort of devotional, where you spend the vast majority of your time thinking “yeah yeah, I get that, but I guess it's a good reminder. I guess”. This is devotional is full of profound and difficult insights and truths into the human heart, the Scriptures, and the connections (and disconnections) between them. I cannot commend this book any more highly as a daily Lenten devotional.

This is a fantastic commentary on James. I almost regret that it's branded as a “youth worker's commentary”, as there's very little that would only be of interest to youth workers. This is a popular level commentary, but Nystrom and Christie have REALLY done their homework in the academic literature and really do share high level academic insights in an accessible way. The application and discussion questions are also really substantive and robust — unlike many books with accompanying discussion questions. In short - if you want one proper, robust commentary that will effectively summarize and synthesize a broad sweep of literature on James without dumbing it down, this really is the best one I've encountered.

I'm finally done with this book! Good lord, this was one of the most tedious, dry, disorganized messes of a book I've ever read. The material is really, really good, and Lesslie Newbigin is a giant of thought and theology (the extra star is for his sake, not the book's), but good luck retaining or internalizing any of it.

This is a great little biography. It's a new edition of a biography written in the early 20th-century. I mention that because this is not your typical modern history or biography. It is very casual, less scholarly, more conversational. He also accepts the worldview of the subject. He speaks of Catherine's ecstasies, miracles, visions, spiritual “eating disorder”, and other aspects of her life in a very matter-of-fact way. He does not offer critiques of these incidents nor does he clearly say he believes they were genuine spiritual manifestations. Catherine (and others) said this happened, and so he writes that they reported it happened. No judgment. No analysis. Just telling the story as neither hagiography nor as suspicious modernist treatise. The annotations from the editor of this new edition are genuinely insightful, offering some of those little nuggets that we as modern readers would likely appreciate. Whenever an unfamiliar name pops up, we see a call-out box from the editor telling us who it is. There are asides about Catherine's unhealthy eating habits, views on the Crusades, gender issues, and theological insights.

Regardless of all these issues, Catherine's is a fascinating life that was cut too short (likely due to her own behaviors). I can't say that I would have bought wholeheartedly into her theology and actions at the time, but in hindsight, if one can look past just how odd her mysticism was, and take from it what they can, they can learn so much about this remarkable woman–one of only two women that the Catholic Church has named a “Doctor of the Church”. She deserves it.

I absolutely love the Brazos Theological Commentary series. Generally, it is pastoral and winsome, pressing the text into our everyday lives by sharing the fruit of technical academic scholarship married to the spiritual meditations and reflections of those very scholars. I have utilized many of the volumes in this series, but Peter Leithart's “1 & 2 Chronicles” was (I believe) the first I have read cover to cover.

Leithart is an interesting choice. He is a theologian more than a scholar of biblical studies, yet is incredibly well-versed in relevant scholarship and displays a great facility with Hebrew. Having contributed the 1 & 2 Kings volume for this same series, I can see the logic in inviting him back to do Chronicles. It helps him highlight the continuities and discontinuities in each text, and maintain a firm grasp on the overall purpose of the writings in the life and identify formation of Israel. His opening discussions introducing the book and walking through the opening genealogy of the book are incredible contributions in and of themselves.

Leithart maintains a tether to his heart as a minister, and his connections to Christianity, his distillation of scholarly and technical findings, and linking of the text to one's own spiritual and sacramental life are beautiful, moving, and helpful. He does not get bogged down with trying to “reconcile” contradictions or “defend” the text. He takes it as it is received, walking chapter-by-chapter, unfolding the narrative for us, putting things in historical and canonical context very helpfully and (at times) beautifully.

However, it is difficult to recommend this book as a commentary to read from front-to-back. Leithart really gets into the weeds of each chapter in a way that is helpful if you have been studying the text or are turning to this commentary among others to study a particular part of the biblical book. I admit, having read this book all the way through, I can't say I remember anything specific from the first half (or more) of the book. There are a few running threads thematically, but they are broad enough that they don't serve as a framing to keep things in order. The book feels less like a whole and more like an essay collection, or at times something worse: a text where all the parts just kind of blend together in one's mind.

There are a couple of other quirks specific to academic biblical studies-types that make this difficult to read at times. Yes, the Hebrew is transliterated into English, but there's a lot of it, as well as a lot citations. I appreciate this in scholarly works, but it clutters up a page you may be trying to read for pleasure. There are also no section headers beyond naming the section of the text being discussed.

Most irritatingly, Peter J. Leithart never seems to have met a text out of which he cannot pull out some sort of chiastic structure. EVERY SINGLE section of biblical text discussed in this book has significant page space devoted to the chiastic breakdown of a text, whether it helps in understanding it or not, and whether the structure seems legitimate or not. He seems to simply assume that this is the shape of the ancient Hebrew mind, and every written creation is fundamentally shaped around chiasms. Biblical scholarship, however, has long shown this not to be the case and, what's more, it has shown that even when there is a chiastic structure, it is not as necessary to meaning as once thought–it may just be how it's organized and has no deeper meaning.

There was one last frustration I had with this text, and I admit some of it may be my fault. Throughout, Leithart writes as if you have the specific chapter in question either right in front of you or mostly internalized. I do not. I read this commentary because of my lack of familiarity with Chronicles. But most all the time he speaks as if you just read the section under discussion or know what he's talking about. I probably should have read the text beside this book, but it just wasn't feasible most times.

But more to the point, that's not been how this commentary series usually has worked. It is a “theological” commentary series, not a “biblical” one, meaning it's not so much about the ins and outs of Hebrew grammar and historical context (though those play a role for sure), but MORE about how these ancient texts shape our theological imagination and spiritual lives. And for that end, I find this lacking. Most other volumes summarize the text being discussed or include longer quotations of a verse or section. They recognize that the book is not supposed to be a verse-by-verse close examination of the text, but an application of the text to the theology and life of the reader. The Christian connections here, when present, are beautiful and profound, but they are not frequent (even when they'd seem obvious!). I wish there were more.

But still, as one among other commentaries you turn to when studying, teaching, or preaching through anything in Chronicles, this book is invaluable and helpful. I think it deviates somewhat from the overall mission of the commentary series, but not at all in a way that makes it bad or unhelpful overall.

What an interesting commentary. It is neither an academic technical or critical commentary, nor is it a devotional commentary for laypersons. Instead, it is more like a monograph making a particular argument about the book of Chronicles, and written in the form of a commentary. He does go section by section through the entire books, But works hard to fit every section into his argument. His argument about the book, namely, that it is identity formation for post-exilic Israel, and painting a picture of God's kingdom after the exile as a “liturgical empire”, and reframing it in a way that the people can truly live it still, is undoubtedly correct. But it does get a little tedious when that same interpretive framework is hammered home section after section after section.

The greatest strength of Hahn's commentary–and The reason to get it despite its lack of technical or devotional examination–is his rigorous canonical and intertextual reading of the work. Treating the text and it's received form and as a whole literary work, he situates this in the life and scripture of Israel in a way I have not seen other commentaries do. The connections between this text and the rest of the Hebrew Bible are astonishing and a lumen the book in shocking ways. The parallels, continuities, contrasts, and discontinuities serve to open this book up in a way that other types of commentaries are unable to do.

The book itself is structured in a way so as to be used by all of those studying chronicles, either Christian or Jewish, so Christian interpretations are split off into a separate small section at the end of each chapter, which can be disappointing. In this way, it feels much more like a technical commentary, We're devotional or spiritual readings are generally excluded, focusing mainly on the text and context in front of it. And yet, the questions that usually consume academic commentaries, including historiography, authorship, textual criticism, and reader response are not really anywhere to be found here. There are broad mentions of the arguments that scholars throughout the book of Chronicles, but they are mainly referenced in passing in favor of a purely textual response.

And it is in this dogged commitment to both not leaving the text while also not getting bogged down in the details that really lets this commentary shine as a unique contribution. If anything, it then feels more like a commentary for the seminary-educated and trained pastor. The sustained thematic unity throughout all sections of the book often feels like a sermon series with a theme tying together the pieces. However, the citations and bibliography show that a lot of technical and academic work is underneath this accessible commentary, which is itself a feat.

In terms of formatting, the book frequently uses transliterated Hebrew in individual words or small phrases, but it does not make reference to Hebrew grammar or texts in ways that a non-academic could not follow. There is not a full author's translation of the entire text offered. One thing lacking from the formatting of the text that can make this difficult for general use is the lack of chapter and verse citations in the section headings themselves. The chapter itself covers a specific set of verses, but within that entire chapter you are on your own to find out where a particular section you want to study may be.

So on one hand, this book does work as a monograph to read from beginning to end (as I did), but it also assumes that you have the text right there in front of you, or are very familiar with the section being discussed. It can get confusing and you can lose the trees in light of the forest if not. On the other hand, if you can find the section you want to study, the themes and arguments of this commentary are repeated so frequently in every single section, that no matter which section you want to study, you can still use this in a more piecemeal fashion as needed and still get the benefits of the author's perspective.

In short, this book is an incredibly valuable contribution especially to those that have some training in biblical and theological work and are wanting to teach the text to others. It could also serve as a beautiful devotional commentary for seminarians who have done too much academic work to enjoy most devotional commentaries, but also find the tedium of technical commentaries a little soul-sucking.

Amazing and profound despite its short length. Took FOREVER for me to get through. Don't know that I've ever read as dense of a book that's still written so plainly. It's all the ideas rather than the prose. Still think the last section on eschatology isn't as fill formed as it could be. I feel Tanner thinks she is saying something more novel and radical than it is, but it sounds like pretty typical patristic theology, albeit with some rhetorical corrections for modern errors. But otherwise, dang, what a deep and profound little systematic (ish) theology.

What a fantastic book. With wit, beauty, wisdom, and depth, Francis Spufford here gives an emotional account of what Christianity feels like from the inside–and in so doing helps it make sense to both those on the outside and those of us that feel stuck in between. It accomplishes these goals and more.

Charles Taylor says that we live in a “cross-pressured” age, where people no longer believe instead of doubting but believe while doubting. Our malleable souls are caught–shaped by cultural liturgies that scream God's absence while something, something, keeps us tethered to this faith. It creates an odd inner experience, where you can grant every fact and argument levied by the most ardent atheist and still shrug and know you're still a Christian.

This is because our belief is not fundamentally an intellectual exercise, but an emotional one. Most of life is lived by intuition and instinct based on how various options “feel” affectively. Even our intellectual assent based on empiricism is followed because it “feels” better to be aligned with facts than not.

It is from this understanding that Spufford writes. Through eight chapters, he moves through broad areas of human belief and concern, exploring how Christianity engages them. Yes, he covers the broad historical and doctrinal understandings of these areas, but only as the background to his real project: articulating how this forms the emotional experience of Christians in the world.

The path it takes is circuitous and human in the most delightful of ways. You spend time in little diversions, wondering where he is going, just for him to come at his conclusion through the side door. He is self-consciously not writing an “apologetics” book and yet levies a devastating frontal assault on the competing ways of being in the world, showing how they make no sense based on how humans actually experience and live life.

When you start reading this book, the first thing that jumps out at you is just how well written it is. Spufford is an acclaimed author of many books, mostly fiction and essays. He does not write religious nonfiction. This is a strength, as he is able to look past the noise and detritus of Christianity's history and cultural baggage, and offer it back to us in a way that is both fully orthodox and a little slant.

There is something about books on Christianity written by artists and writers who are mainly novelists, poets, memoirists, etc. Christianity is not their “job” and so they don't feel the need to treat it preciously nor sentimentally. Such writers have such a grasp of–and habitation within–the human condition that they don't have time for all of that. They have wrestled with the shadows of this world and this helps really prioritize those parts of Christianity that are truly universal and give it to us in a way our humanity can connect to more easily. This book curses, has off-color jokes, and is full of seering honesty about the fraught nature of belief (and unbelief).

It is a book written from the depths and not handed down from the heights. He recounts biblical stories and offers his own exegesis in the form of a poet, using different language and framing what we're accustomed to. This makes Scripture and tradition genuinely fresh and new, even to a seminary-trained, life-long Christian like myself.

Spufford is clearly not a “professional Christian”, and that gives him another huge advantage: his lack of sectarian commitments. He will tease and even express offense at many actions and participants in certain parts of the church (especially the American church), but he is at pains to say that we are all still part of the same family, and our differences, as important as they are, are not the substance and core of our faith. In this book, he is committed to explaining the historic, orthodox Christian faith that unites all Christians at all times and places.

For me, at least, that truly makes Unapologetic the Mere Christianity of our generation. And I mean that literally and without irony.

Other books have been declared as such, but those are usually traditional apologetics books–seeking by means of proofs and evidence to “defend” the faith. But that was not what Lewis was doing in Mere Christianity. Instead, he was trying to explain the depth and logic of the faith to laypeople whose cultural Christianity had dulled their senses to it. It was an act of reminder and refreshing, a family conversation knowingly unfolding before the eyes of the public.

This book feels very much the same way. It deftly moves through classical theism, the problem of suffering, how to understand the Bible, politics and power, and the life and impact of Jesus in ways that are completely new and alive but fully historic and rooted. He is not shy to share his personal (strong) opinions on other matters of theology, life, and faith, and you will no doubt find many quibbles with many of his specifics. But it always gets you thinking and he is never far from what is truly essential.

This is such a fun book to read, and even more fun book to listen to. Spufford himself narrates the audiobook and will sing, stutter, scoff, add asides, and “perform” the book as if he simply talking to you in a pub. It is one of my favorite audiobook narrations I've ever encountered. But this voice will come through even in regular reading.

Unapologetic is a new personal classic for me. It is a book I want every person to read, whether you are a Christian or not (or somewhere in between). It is explicitly not an “apologetics” book, but it ends up being one of the most compelling (and raucous) arguments I've ever encountered for belief.

Even if it doesn't change your mind, it will offer you a vision of the Christian faith that is winsome, beautiful, resonant, compelling, and something everyone should wish were true. It'll also make you listen more deeply to those wishes in the first place, and perhaps even take them far more seriously.

I am genuinely shocked that that is what I just read. If you are going into this book thinking that it will offer any sort of comfort or frameworks to help you understand or explain the phenomenon of the hiddenness of God, let me encourage you to go elsewhere. This here is a book length argument simply for why God's apparent hiddenness does not necessitate God's non-existence.

One of the downsides of listening to an audiobook, especially when each chapter is a separate track, is that you don't really have an ongoing intuitive gauge for how much of the book is left, like you would for a physical book. So I did not know that what I thought was the necessary brush-clearing that these kind of books must do to get some preliminary concerns out of the way, was in fact the entirety of the book.

Fundamentally, I realize how that the book is a polemic–not seeking to advance its own framework or idea, but simply trying to respond to and counter other ideas he disagrees with. On that metric, Rea is largely successful. Not having dived too deeply into the literature around the hiddenness of God, I was not aware that the idea had largely been engaged in terms of God's existence rather than our experience. Now, to be clear, Rea does not offer any sort of argument for the existence of God. He believes it and presumes it. He is simply trying to show the inadequacy of apparently widely known arguments against the existence of God based on his hiddenness.

And while Rea is philosophically successful in showing that there can still be a deity–indeed, even the Christian one–even in light of the phenomenon of God's hiddenness, speak to the emotional or human existential aspects that arise from God's hiddenness. And this was the entire reason I came to this book in the first place.

When it comes to understanding or explaining or offering any sort of positive account of God's hiddenness, Rea's argument is almost literally the following ideas: God is transcendent and we are not, so we are probably defining how “un-hidden” God should be based on wrong human ideas. God probably has other things to think about and do than make himself present to us all the time, because we are not the center of his universe. And either way, there are people out there that experience God pretty regularly, so your mileage may vary and that doesn't speak to God's existence or not. Yet still, God is fine with us lamenting, so that's good.

In short: “God's hiddenness is more your problem, humans. And not god's. And I have no idea why God is so hidden.”

It is so unsatisfactory emotionally, theologically, and existentially. He spends so much time going through the minutiae of points that I feel are oretty insignificant and then kind of shrugs and offers vague statements about more substantive things. At length, he gives an in in-depth treatment of why all humans have the capacity to try and form a relationship with God. Notice that the argument is not that all people can have a relationship with god. Just that they simply can try and have one. He literally says nothing about whether or if those attempts at a relationship would, should, or could be successful. He spends page after page going through this. And yet when it comes to something like his idea of transcendence, or how we should understand the problem of evil and God's invitation to lament, he just says other ideas that other thinkers have had in the past, says he doesn't agree with half of them, and then moves on, not trying to explain or argue for any of them or offer his own.

On one hand, I get what he's doing. The thing I appreciate the most about this book is how ecumenical and measured it is. He is saying that these atheist arguments are wrong and for those that want to believe in God there are a whole range of optional frameworks that can employ to do so. I imagine he feels it is against his intention with the book to argue for specific theological, denominational, or sectarian commitments. And yet he still freely offers what he feels are limitations to those other optional perspectives that he disagrees with.

One maddening example of this is when he outlines several different theological perspectives on how to understand the book of Job. Some of them are astonishingly beautiful when he explains them, only for him to say that he disagrees with them and then sensibly outline why those perspectives are inadequate. Why would he do this? Only offer perspectives you think are valuable options, or just saying what you have found helpful and think is true.

Part of what really frustrates me about this book is that I can almost since what could this book have been. I see that Rea has an incredible pastoral sensitivity, ecumenical sensibility, sharp theological acumen, and a wide breadth of knowledge and sources. I bet he really could give a fuller account of his understanding of why God remains hidden, or at least that we experience God in that way. I understand that's not the purpose of his book here, but I think that it could have been. And it would have been incredibly helpful. He has a deep concern and graciousness to those that have experienced trauma, especially religious trauma, and how that creates a roadblock to people experiencing God. I just wish that heart for other humans and the clear articulation of ideas he can offer would have resulted in a book that spoke more to The human experience rather than just argued with some other academic philosophers.

In the end, I think my biggest frustration is that the book has a midleading title. The hiddenness of God is not, in fact, it's aim, it's topic, nor what it is “about”. It is about one conversation that one smaller group of people have been having about the hidden this of god, and one set of conclusions some people draw from it. That discussion is not really all that interesting or helpful to me. But what I thought the book was, really would have been. And I hope Rea considers offer it to us sometime.

When you imagine a book on Pilgrimage as a Christian practice, I imagine many of us would anticipate a romantic, beautiful, sweeping celebration of the pilgrimage of all things–how we are all pilgrims and how we might our lives as they are with pilgrim eyes. The book would be sweet and inspiring and encourage us to take the stairs instead of drive, be mindful as you walk to the bathroom each morning, or maybe commute with others to form a sort of pilgrim band.

This is not that book.

“The Sacred Journey” by Charles Foster is a provocative, rowdy, and challenging book that is drenched with the sweat, embodiment, and surprise that accompany real, true pilgrimage. It is devoid of sentimentality and sweetness. It refuses to be nice. It revels in smashing your theological assumptions and comforts in your life. This is not your mother's pilgrimage book.

Foster is clear: the whole “metaphorical pilgrimage” thing is BS. He actually wants you to leave your home and job and go “pilgrim” somewhere by foot and he adamantly believes there are depths of human/spiritual/relational life that cannot be reached otherwise.

Unexpectedly this book has a villain: Gnosticism–specifically its dualistic separation of body and spirit, which demeans or neglects our embodied physical lives for the sake of some abstract “spiritual” ideas. The book has no time for this and is on the hunt for every vestige of this in our lives, our churches, and our theology. It proposes that the best medicine for Gnosticism is pilgrimage: going to a place you do not know and walking for enough days that it grinds away all disembodied spiritual ideas. Memorably, Foster writes:

“The physical pilgrim has a number of advantages over the metaphorical pilgrim. He necessarily travels light, unless he is foolish enough to go in a car. He will find that he doesn't need as much as he thought he did. His ties with the tedious fripperies of life will loosen, and he will learn new pleasures—the pleasures of relationship, of rain, of conversation, of silence, of exhaustion. Simple food will have a taste that he could never have dreamed of in his Burger King days. Soon gnosticism will seem ridiculous. It is hard to believe that the only important thing about you is your spirit when you are straining in the bushes with amoebic dysentery, or if you eat the cheese at a farm I know in the antiLebanon range.”

I hope you can see there that Foster's writing is still moving and beautiful, even as he seeks to gut punch you out of your stupor. His approach and tone may alienate a lot of people. He is brash, speaks in absolutes, overstates his case, and (lovingly, but hilariously) mocks people who may disagree with him. But he is also funny, a great storyteller, self-deprecating, and maintains a universal affection for the dignity inherent in every single human person.

I started reading this book as my wife and I were planning our first pilgrimage, walking the Portuguese route of the Camino de Santiago de Compostela. I didn't finish it before we left. So I continued reading it on the road, reading it out loud to my wife as we walked the varied terrain. It was a remarkable reading experience, as its claims (even some I was skeptical of) were being verified in real time as the days wore on.

In the book, Foster first deconstructs the Gnostic tendencies in our faith: our hymns, our theology, our tendency to spiritualize deeply embodied biblical realities into mere metaphor. He surveys the pilgrimage ideas and practices of many faiths pointing out that, on one hand, they are remarkably consistent with Christianity in how they speak of pilgrimage and its effects; however, Christianity is unique in its emphasis on how someone is changed by the journey itself, de-emphasizing the destination. Christianity has no Mecca, where people just have to get to in order to meet God. Rather, God himself is a wanderer and is found along the pilgrim way, not in any particular place. But we still have to go. We cannot have the “pilgrim way” in our minds or at our desks.

Foster continues with a survey of the entire Bible to show how God's people–and indeed, God himself, even in Jesus–have always been at their core pilgrims. He argues that bad things happen when people stop moving and they begin to settle. They begin to ignore the people and things on the margins, they collect more things and cling to them ever more tightly, they grow even more scared of death, and they become violent, angry, anxious, and full of prejudice and bias.

With the theology established, Foster acts as our guide for going on pilgrimage. He gives fairly practical steps and guidelines for each stage of going on a pilgrimage, and offers incredibly realistic depictions of what to expect externally and internally as we go. Along the way, he gives accounts from other pilgrims, ancient and modern, and discusses how church history has seen each aspect of pilgrimage, in both healthy and unhealthy ways.

The last three concluding chapters were the only real disappointment for me. They feel a little rushed and left me desiring more. Foster talks about the experience of returning home after pilgrimage–its disappointment, temptations, and possibility–and encourages us to just sort of figure it out on our own. Fair enough, but a little more guidance could have been helpful.

He then ends with two short chapters that seem more like consolations to his editor who felt like they needed to be there: one acknowledges and “responds” (barely) to people that criticize pilgrimage or feel like it's unnecessary; the other goes ahead and acknowledges there are some ways people can experience this pilgrimage mindset without, you know, actually going on pilgrimage. Again, they are brief and feel a little out of place, but they do no detract from the value of this book overall.

I cannot stress how gritty and realistic this book is. He romanticizes and sanitizes nothing, even as he is absolutely clear on the beauty and effects that pilgrimage offers. He wants to shake us out of our addiction to comfort, attachment to things, avoidance of the margins, and anemic theological sentimentalities. And he doesn't care how brash and loud he has to be to do it.

Phyllis Tickle, the editor for this series, writes in the foreword that she knew it was a risk to choose Foster to write this book. She says, “Let there be no mistake, though. Foster pulls no punches. Every one of you who reads this book will find at least one thing you totally disagree with and whole handful of those you want to question. Please do so.”

But she is also unequivocal in her ultimate judgment: “What you are now holding is, I suspect, as near a masterpiece of pilgrimage writing as we have ever seen. It certainly is, hands down and far away, the best book on pilgrimage I have ever seen.”

I couldn't agree more. It is not in any way the book I expected to read when I pulled it off my shelf in anticipation of my own pilgrimage. Masterfully, it embodies its own thesis. The book is a journey through the entire Bible, church history, and global geography. It is dusty, meandering, and often uphill. Foster is an eccentric companion with a lifetime of crazy experiences and stories. I still remain skeptical of a lot of what he has said.

And yet... I still leave this book challenged and changed, with new eyes and new stirrings to get back on the road once more.