My Career Under a Cloud

 

       My father, Rev. William Suk, died forty years ago. He was only 54. I’ve kept a few of his sermons as keepsakes. I read them over this week. English wasn’t his native language, and he was always a bit insecure about that. On the whole, though, the sermons are cogent and well-written. He worked hard to make them so. People appreciated his preaching.

 

        What struck me, though, was that I didn’t find anything in those sermons that interested me. They were all based on the Heidelberg Catechism—a mid-sixteenth century statement of the Calvinist faith. As a result, his sermons were doctrinaire and abstract—at least to my taste. I guess he wrote them in a different time and a different audience. In the end, I read through them as much for the bits of my dad’s self-disclosure as I did for any religious content or insight. On the whole, his sermons just didn’t speak to me.

 

       Which is interesting, because there is another, much larger group of sermons that rarely speak to me. These are the six hundred sermons I wrote and preached as an Evangelical minister in the Christian Reformed Church. What is more, the same goes for three hundred or so editorials and articles that I wrote over the ten years I was editor of my denominational magazine, The Banner. 

Me Doing My Thing

       Like my father, I spent a lot of time on each sermon or article. I always booked twenty hours for research, pacing the office, false starts, rewrites, practicing. I always tried (to mixed effect) to write in a way that would leave the audience wondering how I’d land the plane, in the end. Along the way many were published in journals or won awards in various forums. 

 

       Still, most of it—the vast majority of it—doesn’t speak to me anymore. I now think that the vast majority of what I wrote is either misinformed or just plain wrong. I pounded the pulpit for stuff I don’t believe in anymore. And so it was with much of the rest of my career—endless committee meetings, administration, catechism teaching, hand wringing over budgets and liturgies, and even much of the congregational visiting. All of this was in service of an institution whose core raison d’etre I no longer share, whose core story I admire, but no longer believe to be God’s word.

 

       So, now I look at all my sermons and think . . . what a waste. The vast majority of my professional life lies under a cloud of regret. I think about this a lot, and it saddens me. I might have been a paleontologist or archeologist—though as much as those careers appeal to me now, I suppose I’d more likely have become a mid-level white collar worker, given my naivete and immaturity as a twenty-some year old.

 

       Mind you, there are a few caveats, a few things that I think about as I try to justify my life as a preacher and editor.

 

• As I look at those sermons now, I see that I put a lot of energy into preaching love—of neighbors, social justice; love of immigrants, the marginalized, love of neighbors near and far; love of partners and children and art and more. And perhaps some of that preaching had an impact. If people love more, I don’t suppose their motivation for loving matters much. Love is love. 

 

• On many occasions parishioners felt my presence to be a support to them when they were sick, or troubled, or depressed, or mixed up, or whatever. To the degree that I lightened the load for some fellow travelers, I’m glad. 

 

• As an evangelical minister, I did other things—imperfectly. I preached a certain kind of morality—one that was more accepting and less rigid than was common among evangelicals. I worked, over time, for the full inclusion of gay people and women into the church’s life. I tried to encourage churches to be healthy communities where members could find friendship, support when needed, and kindness all about. I wrote often about the need to make churches safe places for children and women.

 

• My last caveat is the best. I spent my last nine years as a minister in a congregation that was okay with my being agnostic. I was overwhelmed by the freedom that gave me to explore new sources of meaning and new motivations to love neighbor. You will find the kernels of some of those sermons elsewhere in my blog.

 

       Still, I wish I had done something else with my life. True, I enjoyed myself, mostly. Along the way (less as I aged) I felt fulfilled. I climbed the ecclesiastical ladder with some success. My congregations were mostly happy places where I and my family were liked and appreciated. 

 

These days, though, looking back, much of my career seems like a long, wasted effort in the interest of a poor cause.  So how do I ultimately make peace with all that—leaving aside the caveats, above? 

 

Well, sometimes I think about my great grandfather Willem and his son, my grandfather Jan. Willem made a living selling groceries out of a dog cart. When that dried up, he went to work in a local cement factory. He died in his early forties of silicosis of the lungs. He didn’t have a choice. He did what he could to support his family—at least, until he couldn’t, anymore.

Dog Cart Grocery

As a result of his father’s death, my grandfather, Jan Suk, had to get a job with a farmer before finishing grade six. Of course he had to. There was no welfare in those days. His fatherless family was poverty stricken and survival was far from guaranteed. Years later, after immigrating to Canada, in the mid-fifties, his first job was loading beer trucks. Soon after and for the rest of his life he worked as a hospital janitor. 

 

Frederick Buechner famously defined “calling,” that is, what you should do, career-wise, as the intersection of two things: “The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep need meet.” Well, that’s a very modern and privileged notion, one that became an option for many people only because of the years of amazing economic growth and resulting prosperity that defined the fifties and sixties. 

 

The truth is, for most of human history, until not long ago, when it came to one’s life work, there was little “deep gladness,” and far too much “deep need.” Until recently, the vast majority of people had no choice. They didn’t have careers, they had work—often physically punishing, at poverty wages, and with little opportunity to move up ladders. I have learned to think of my career through that lens. Whatever I may think about the value of my sermons, I have had it infinitely better than all my grands going as far back as I can document.

 

I did not live a life defined by poverty, intellectual want, and difficult labor. Unlike my ancestors, I had privileged choices with respect to what I would do with my life, and even if I made mistakes, I really gave it a whirl. I also found a perfect partner. Our family was mostly (and still is) very happy. These days, I’m working hard to recognize and appreciate all the good things in my life that my ancestors could hardly have imagined.

 

I get that this might not sound like much to people who live life according to the rubrics, visions, and teachings of their churches. There is no great overarching vision here for the meaning of life, and no myth to support a hope for heaven or the kingdom come. I just do not believe in those things anymore. All my many years of theological study, my mastery of “Reformed, Christian” perspectives on sex or politics or the environment, all my life promoting Christianity, and especially my sermons—it is mostly dust to me.

 

And, to be honest, I am sad about that. Very sad. Looking back on sermons that no longer speak to me isn’t much fun. When I write about this stuff, or go on my daily walks, or remember how it used to be—I get depressed.

 

But as a child of privilege, at least I was free to change my mind. My ancestors never could, and they made the best of that in spite of tragedy and drudgery and poverty. Now, I am trying to make the best of it too. And it shouldn’t be too hard, given that my life was full of more opportunity, choice and ease than my ancestors could ever have imagined.

 

The freedom and opportunity to change one’s mind. It’s something we can actually do, these days. It’s a great gift, if we could only stop to examine it for what it is. And embrace it.

 

Great Reads From 2025

I’ve read fewer books this year compared to most. And many of them were about ancient Jewish religious evolution—not generally the sort of topic most people are interested in. But never fear, there were some other fascinating books in my reading this past year. Here’s ten of them! The first three, by the way, are all old classics well worth the effort of finding in a used bookstore or ordering online. 

A Wizard of Earthsea. (Ursula LeGuin): This is science-fiction classic first published over fifty years ago. A young wizard, over time, learns all about wisdom and his own personal demons. The emphasis is on how much he had to learn. Along the way, besides describing the world of Earthsea, Le Guin explores racism, ambition, and (I’d say, though it wasn’t a thing when she wrote it) systemic evil. The story moves at a fast pace, is written with great clarity—and best of all, invites the reader to fall in love with its hero, Ged. 

Doctor Glas. (Hjalmar Soderberg): I picked this one up in Sweden, visiting a cousin who pointed out that, “yes, there is great Swedish literature.” And well, this is a fine book. In it, a rather jaded doctor is moved by the tragic marriage of a female patient. And ultimately, he solves this lady’s problems—in the most unexpected manner. It’s a study of life’s meaning, medical ethics, and abusive relationships. The church doesn’t come in for any accolades here, either. I’d especially recommend it for doctors and people interested in denominational politics. 

A Lost Lady. (Willa Cather): Here’s another oldie but goodie. The lady in question is a study in contrasts. I couldn’t help but think of The Great Gatsby as I read it. Marian attracts many suiters, but some-how I don’t think that she finds what she is looking for in any of them. Its setting is the West just after the transcontinental railroad was finished. She’s surrounded by wealthy old men who have made their money cashing in on America’s manifest destiny. Tightly written, stylistically amazing, and a case study in why you should never presume that the answers of the day are necessarily the answers that will make the world, or you, a better person. 

James. (Percival Everett): Everyone seems to agree that this is one of the best books of 2025. I wouldn’t disagree. What if Huck Finn’s story had been told by Jim? It would be both the same and completely different. Twain was an early advocate for Black equality. And yet, his ideas are dated by his era and social milieu. James, however, gets what it means to be Black from the inside—and perseveres. 

Blitzed: Drugs in Nazi Germany. (Norman Ohler): This is a book about the war on drugs—that is, how the Nazis fought WWII on drugs. Not a new book, but for me it was a new window into both Nazi Germany and Hitler. The Nazi’s massive use of drugs to bolster both the troops and the Fuehrer isn’t exactly old news. However, Ohler tells a riveting story that adds both color (not nice ones) and a deeper understanding of the depth of Nazi folly. A page turner. 

The Story of Evolution in 25 Discoveries. (Donald Prothero): I’ve been fascinated by evolution ever since I served as a student member on the Calvin Center for Christian Scholarship in 1984-85. Our topic was Creation and Cosmogony. We set out to understand how current scholarship would deepen our understanding of Biblical texts. Our focus was on cosmic evolution, but one of my assignments was to read and review several new commentaries on Genesis 1-11 and Psalm 104. That meant thinking hard about my presuppositions about Adam and Eve. I finished the year with a life-long habit of staying current on all kinds of evolution. This book, told in an entertaining voice, was a real pleasure to read. Perfect for anyone who wants a sense of why, if evolution is a theory, it’s a theory only to the degree gravity is a theory too. 

Proto: How One Ancient Language Went Global. (Laura Spinney): Here’s a history of the Indo-European language from ancient (proto) times to the present. Spinney is a good writer, and when you’re done, you will have a deeper understanding of how (for example) we came to speak English, and where it and many other languages came from. Her research is up to date on the many factors that influence language change through time and space, the archaeological evidence, and the genetic evidence. It does get a bit dense sometimes, but the characters, civilizations, and turning-points you encounter along the way are fascinating. 

An African History of Africa: From the Dawn of Humanity to Independence. (Zeinab Badawi): In spite of knowing better, a lot of us still think of Africa as a dark continent lost in problems of its own making. The truth is quite different. Badawi explores the rise and fall of Africa’s great civilizations, the horrific toll of Western violence through colonialism, empire building, racism, sexism, the clash of religions, and of course, the slave trade. Badawi is optimistic about Africa’s future, though cautious. My only wish is that she might have spent more time on Bantu expansion. But her book is a tonic for those of us schooled in the old missionary stories about bringing the gospel to (so-called) savages. A welcome historical paradigm change. 

Who Really Wrote the Bible: The Story of the Scribes. (William M. Schniedewind): So, one of my current projects is to understand the evolution of Judah’s and Israel’s religion, and particularly the evolution of their ideas about God (or, more usually, the gods). Schniedewind, like most current scholars, believes that Deuteronomy (or at least an early version) came together near the end of the Judean monarchy, and that the rest of the Hebrew Scriptures followed. The stories, myths, and ancient written records that comprise those scriptures were curated for hundreds of years by scribes—in Samaria, the countryside, and in Jerusalem itself. This book explores who they were, what they did, and how different historical events such as the destruction of the temple, exile, and return from exile all impacted the process. I would have wished for more background on the ur-myths, stories, and how they were first brought into the scribal process. Still, it’s a book packed full of information—even if the writing is a bit dull sometimes. 

Inyoni and the Pale Man (John Suk): Okay, so this is a book I’ve written myself. It’s a historical novel set during the Boer (Anglo, African) War in Southern Africa. Pieter Ryken is a young Dutch teacher who wants to be a good man, but isn’t sure that it is possible. The novel moves from rural Netherlands to the brothels of Cape Town to Boer farmsteads in Transvaal, to the Siege of Mafeking. Along the way readers are invited to reflect on sexual violence, racism, orthodox religion, and how one deals—or doesn’t—with moral temptation. Okay, it’s the best book in this list. A real page turner! You can order it from my publisher, Archway Publishers, a subsidiary of Simon and Schuster; or, you can get it from Amazon.ca (or .com) or Indigo. Would love it if you left a review on Goodreads or any of the platforms mentioned.

My Agnosticism: Longing and Thirst

 

         In 2012 I interviewed for the position of minister at Lawrence Park Community Church (LPCC). Along the way one of the search committee members asked me if I believed in God. Belief in God had become a talking point at LPCC since the previous minister had been a post-theist. That is, he thought that at a minimum God’s time in the church was up, and that this was a good thing. He leaned to thinking there was no God at all.

         I answered the committee that I wasn’t really sure.

         LPCC hired me. I served that congregation for nine years—the richest years of my career. It was a big-tent church. We were made up of people who liked the community but maybe not orthodoxy tests, people who did and didn’t believe in God, and people who just were not sure. We tried to think of theology as a playground rather than a battlefield. We tried, together, to figure out what a good life was, how we might live such a life, and how we might spread our privilege around by doing good works and seeking justice. All of us were impressed by the example of Jesus.

         And I was their minister. When pressed—and sometimes when not—I admitted to my congregants that I did not know whether or not there was a God. I was agnostic.

         What did that mean? Well, ironically, the person who best summed the matter up for me was someone trying to explain his (mostly) Christian and (partly) Jewish faith—the New York Times columnist David Brooks. He described what William James called moments of “an ineffable joy and exultation,” numinous experiences in the mountains, and on subway trains, that ultimately convinced him that there was a God. (See “The Shock of Faith: It’s Nothing Like I Thought It Would Be.” Dec. 22, 2024). 

         I have not had such experiences, something that I have written about in my book, Not Sure: A Pastor’s Journey from Faith to Doubt, and in articles published in Christian Century and other journals. I do not doubt that Brooks was deeply moved by such experiences to change his ideas about faith. But I can’t personally identify with them myself, in spite of having sought them for years at silent retreats, through searching of scripture, in worship, and by practicing spiritual disciplines such as prayer and fasting. 

         So, over all, I do not identify with Brooks’ personal story. However, along the way, Brooks makes one claim that resonated with me. “The most surprising thing I’ve learned since then is that ‘faith’ is the wrong word for faith as I experience it. The word ‘faith’ implies possession of something, whereas I experience faith as a yearning for something beautiful that I can sense but not fully grasp. For me faith is more about longing and thirsting than knowing and possessing.”

         And that is exactly what agnosticism is for me—that longing and thirsting to understand what I cannot fully grasp—love, or beauty, or the meaning of life. But whereas Brooks a turns to religion as the explanation for what he cannot grasp, I have learned that what is just beyond the rim our understanding is mostly what scientists are working on, with quite a bit of success.  There is no God of the gaps, no God of the numinous, for me. 

         From here on, however, as much as I respect Brooks, I think he gets faith, spirituality and religion mostly wrong. He quotes Rabbi David Wolpe, who denigrates spirituality and celebrates religion: “Spirituality is an emotion. Religion is an obligation. Spirituality soothes. Religion mobilizes. Spirituality is satisfied with itself. Religion is dissatisfied with the world.” 

         Such broad generalizations not grounded in evidence. Spirituality is an emotion? So what? Are emotions somehow less valuable or beneficial than religious obligations? Do emotions require less work to understand and integrate into your life? And is spirituality just an emotion? Is it not far more complex, emotions being just one facet? And as for religion being obligation, yes, we’ve all heard of Calvinistic or Fundamentalistic legalism, of women’s so-called obligation to obey their husbands, or gays’ obligation to never love. Remember Julian Barnes’ warning. “Religion tends to authoritarianism as capitalism tends to monopoly.” Sure, religion is obligation, but the obligations are often horribly misplaced. 

         To continue, does spirituality merely soothe while religion mobilizes? Do not both religion and spirituality both sometimes soothe, or sometimes not? To suggest soothing is bad, or that it belongs primarily to spirituality but not religion, or that spirituality can’t mobilize while religion can—well, all of these ideas are just silly and not borne out by experience. And as long as we’re talking mobilization and religion, let’s not forget the Evangelicals and MAGA and Christian nationalism, or the Southern Baptists and Presbyterians and slavery, or the role religion has played in harassing gay people, women, or promoting the worst kinds of colonial empire building. And all these are just for starters. Mobilization can be good or bad.

         And why would anyone say that spirituality is merely a matter of self-satisfaction? Again, this is a claim without any justification, and self-evidently false if you think about it. Whether Ghandi or Einstein, Seimone Weil or my one-time neighbour, Sarah . . . there are plenty of spiritual people who are not satisfied with the status quo, who seek justice, who engage in (sometimes at great personal cost) uncomfortable and self-sacrificial acts. And yes, religious people are often dissatisfied with the world, which might explain the crusades, or 100-year religious wars in Europe, or the inquisition, or the persecution of Jews (who have always been scapegoats for all sorts of worldly dissatisfactions). 

         So, what of Brooks’ former agnosticism? I will not claim that it is the best option or only option. But for me, personally, agnosticism baptizes my longing to know more, to seek out strange new truths and let go of unconvincing myths. In most religious people’s eyes, agnosticism might make for a poor spirituality and religion both. But it is what I’ve got.

I suppose, at this point, I could write a tome about how matters such as the evolution of the God Yawheh from an ancient tribal God to the one and only God of the universe, in Judaism left me doubting that this is the one and only God. (For more on this, see the Aug 18 and Oct 15, 2022 posts in this blog.) Or, I could explain why the problem of evil leaves me doubting that possibility of a good God. And there is even a little part of me that argues I should go back and reread some of Nick Wolterstorff’s or Alvin Plantinga’s books. I admired them a great deal, so shouldn’t I give them another chance? And then there is my personal agnosticism abyss—the many joys and comforts I have foregone now that I have left behind not only God, but the church I grew up in, its community, and my place in it. Changing one’s mind isn’t always easy or cozy.

As a half-way measure, by way of avoiding agnosticism, I’ve even tried on different kinds of Christian religion, ones that would give me room to embrace God while not being tied down to some narrow dogmatic confession about who this God is or what the actual truth about this God is. I went from mainline theologians like Douglas John Hall or Walter Pannenberg to more radical theologians such as Richard Kearny, John Caputo, or Catherine Keller. However, I found much in their works to be so complex, so full of “just so” arguments when it came to unique descriptions of God, as to be both unappealing and unconvincing.

In the end, I was reminded of something Malcom Muggeridge once said. "One of the peculiar sins of the twentieth century which we've developed to a very high level is the sin of credulity. It has been said that when human beings stop believing in God, they believe in nothing. The truth is much worse; they believe in anything." Perhaps so, at least sometimes. But in light of a fantastic variety of Christian sects and radical theologians, it is worth asking why Muggeridge didn’t think Christians are the credulous who will believe anything. Now, my old religion seems to me to be much like a very impressive cell phone without reception. It was always in airplane mode, if you will. The infrastructure, coding, icons, and algorithms and are all there, but there is no signal to enliven it all.

Ultimately, agnosticism is a refusal to be credulous. It is an attempt to keep an open and searching mind. Agnosticism is not doubt, which, after all, belongs to faith. Agnostics simply admit a truth they may not much like, namely that they, even after much effort, do not know. I am agnostic.

          This is not decision by indecision. It is, rather, the difficult decision to admit to one’s own limitations. My agnosticism creates a longing and thirst to explore life’s mysteries rather than a belief that I can know and can possess ultimate truth.

My Five (or Maybe Six, or Seven) Best Reads from 2024

 

Make sure to read the big reveal about my book at the end of this post!
 
I read many fewer books in 2024 than I usually do. This was on account of my wife’s illness with glioblastoma, and her death in May. I didn’t read a single book that entire six-month period. Since then, slowly at first, but eventually often, and with pleasure, I began to read again. Here—from my shorter than usual 2024 list are five of my favorites from 2024, rather than the ten I usually offer. Though I couldn’t help but sneak a few more in on the fringes.
 
ONE: I’ve been reading and rereading many books about the history of Yahweh, the God of Israel, and about the history of Judaism and monotheism. I’ve come to the conclusion—widely shared in scholarly circles—that although monotheism is written “back” into the Hebrew Bible, it was actually a late invention. While monotheism might have been a minority view at the time Judah went into exile, it did not win broad support until just before or during the Hasmonean era.
 Last year Yonatan Adler’s The Origins of Judaism: An Archaeological-Historical Reappraisal, made my list, and I would still recommend it as a must read for all ministers and interested lay people. I read it again in 2024 just for the pleasure of it.
 
I also reread Jurgen van Oorschot and Markus Witte (eds) The Origins of Yahwism. It brings together many scholars, each with a slightly different take on where and when Yahweh became a god (one among many) in Israel’s orbit. But all the scholars agree that somewhere along the line, a tribal god became Israel’s special God, and eventually the seed out of which Jewish monotheism evolved. Even though both books were 2024 rereads, they were still two of the two most engaging books I read this year. 

TWO: Science fiction is my go-to, get-away-from-it-all, escape reading. I’ve enjoyed Jame’s Corey’s Expanse series, though after about five books I tired of it. Now Corey comes out with a new series, titled “The Captive’s War.” The first book, The Mercy of Gods, was fabulous. Great character development, great plotting, and even some Hebrew Bible memes related especially to exile. Very intelligent. 
I have a runner up in this category. Riley August’s The Last Gifts of the Universe, is a lively, often silly, fun take on staring down an apocalypse. You will encounter spaceships and ancient artifacts, a dark, dark enemy and a very nice cat. This book doesn't take itself too seriously, doesn't engage in tons of speculative description of tech or engage in long, boring descriptions of battles. And yet . . . the end is coming. 

THREE: My kids buy me books sometimes. Usually, I think they do so in order to expand my reading beyond my favorite niches. The last such book was Torrey Peters’ Detransition, Baby. It wasn’t really a fun read—the subculture Peters describes definitely has its “downs,” along with its highs. But it was a compelling story, well-told, and it invited me to see things from something other than my cis-liberal comfort zone.

FOUR: My fourth book is Dave Warnock’s Childish Things: A Memoir. Warnock details his life as a minister in a very conservative evangelical church. He also explains why he eventually left the ministry and lost his faith. I liked this one for the insight it gave me about a kind of evangelicalism I had little experience with as an evangelical minister myself. In fact, it was very difficult for me to identify with nearly anything in Warnock’s tradition—including the fact that he became a minister without any formal training. However, Warnock’s struggles with faith, with a God who could but does not answer prayers, with children enmeshed in toxic churches, and with abusive ministers—all of it was fascinating and illuminating.

 
FIVE: Finally, are looking for a book about something that you never thought much about? Perhaps a book full of fascinating insights about a time long ago? Try Richard Manning’s, Against the Grain: How Agriculture Has Hijacked Civilization. It is a review of the layered and complex interaction between Hunter-Gatherer cultures and Agricultural cultures in our ancient past, and how those interactions still influence our lives today. 

 
AND DON’T MISS: The best book of 2025 will my new novel, Inyoni and the Pale Man, to be published by Archway Press, an imprint of Simon and Schuster. This historical novel tells the story of Pieter, a young Dutch schoolteacher who gets mixed up with Boers, girls, and Africans on the eve of the Boer-Anglo-African War. Pieter wants to be a good man, but discovers this is impossible. Look here—and on my Facebook page—for more information. I’ll keep you informed!

Irene Oudyk-Suk Obituary

Over the past six months I have not written anything for my blog. This is because Irene, my spouse and  beloved, was diagnosed in late November, 2023 with glioblastoma, an incurable type of brain cancer. I have spent the past six months nursing Irene. This week, Irene died. Her obituary follows.

Irene Oudyk-Suk passed away peacefully by MAID* on Thursday, May 9, with family and friends gathered around at her lakeside patio.

 

Irene is survived by John, her loving husband of nearly 45 years, and her children, William (Gillian Kupakuwana-Suk) of Kingston and David (Kate Benham-Suk) of Oakland, CA. She loved her grandchildren and was deeply involved in their lives: Dela, Tapiwa, Benjamin, Phoebe, and Linden. She loved Dela’s mother, Mariya.

 

Irene is also survived by her brothers John and George. She was predeceased by her father, John Oudyk; her mother Diane Flim; her stepmother Alice Broenink; and her brother Richard.

 

Irene’s parents were post-war Dutch immigrants who settled in Whitby, Ontario. Irene received a B.Ed. from Calvin College in Grand Rapids, MI and an MSW from the University of Michigan. 

 

Irene was intensely aware of what a great difference intentional, loving, emotionally rich and open childrearing can make. She poured much of her life into raising her boys, and then welcoming others into the shelter of her home and family.

 

For the past twenty years Irene owned a very successful couples and sex therapy practice, Couples In Step. As a therapist, retreat leader, colleague, and mentor Irene was always in demand. Irene changed many lives for the better.

 

Irene was always happily involved with the church communities she was a part of. In Grand Rapids, she was the first woman in the Christian Reformed Church to chair a Classis meeting of regional churches. After moving to Kingston, she often spoke of how much she missed Lawrence Park Community Church (United), “her,” church.

 

After her glioblastoma diagnosis, a “Farewell Irene,” service was held at Lawrence Park Community Church, on January 20, 2024. The recording can be viewed on YouTube at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nfdud41Ttc8. The family will gather for a private interment ceremony at Fallis Cemetery, near Bethany, Ontario, this summer. 

*********

*MAID: Medical assistance in dying.

My Favorite Books for 2023: From Ancient Canaan to Galaxies Far Away

Here are ten of my favorite reads from 2023. They’ll take you from ancient Canaan to galaxy’s far away and long ago. Five of these books are fiction, and five are non-fiction. There is an emphasis on ancient religion in the latter—but ancient religion is fascinating, especially when many of us claim to still follow its “unchanging” truths in the present. Anyway, here’s my list.

Fiction

 

David Copperfield (Charles Dickens) and Demon Copperhead (Barbara Kingsolver). Irene and I listened to these two books on our winter drive from Kingston, Ontario to Florida and then California. Demon Copperhead was inspired by Dickens, so we listened to an abridged version of that first. And then Kingsolver’s book. 

Both were fantastic. The narrative voice in Demon Copperhead, in particular, is unforgettable. Demon is a character you will fall in love with as he falls in and out of trouble—but never drowns.

The Promise (Damon Gadget). I’ve read several books, both fiction and nonfiction, about South Africa this year, partly because I’m writing my own novel set there (be patient; it’s coming!). 

This one, full of the rusty sepia tones of my own ethnic and religious upbringing, was remarkable for . . . well, the promise and one person’s insistence that it mattered. Without making it the core of the story, this novel also illuminates the multiple realities of contemporary South Africa.

 

Americanah (Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie). So, you think moving from Nigeria to the West would be just the thing? Why? What really matters in life? Do we have it here? Among the topics Adichie explores are race (especially what it is to discover you’re black), class, education, poverty, corruption, and family. The heroine, Ifemelu, is especially lovely—smart but vulnerable. She’s always in search of love and connection in ways that are universal to us all. 

 

The Left Hand of Darkness (Ursula Le Guin). Published over fifty years ago, this novel is still relevant to and insightful to for today’s sexual mores and politics. It’s especially pertinent when it comes to gender. But it transcends the narrow focus of on “issue,” to embrace many others, especially commitment and friendship. An interesting look at the cultural functions of shame and status as well. It’s a great adventure story as well, set in a far-away, icy world is beautifully described. I’m going to reread more of Le Guin’s books!

 

Leviathan Wakes (James Corey, an alias for two other guys). Well, it isn’t great literature; it’s a space opera. Science-fiction is my go-to escape place—I read about a dozen of these a year. This is a really good one. It’s also the basis for the hit television series, “The Expanse.” Corey is especially good at English. It isn’t high art, but it’s coherent and sometimes evocative. The writing is fine, the pacing is about right, and (surprising for lots of sci-fi) the characters jump off the page. This is the first in a series of about a dozen books. I’ve read four this past month!

Non-Fiction

 

Legacy of Violence: A History of the British Empire (Caroline Elkins). I grew up with maps of the British Empire (“our” territory marked in pink) hanging in my classroom. The teacher described the Empire as a noble endeavor, a civilizing force, and a bulwark against pagan religions and “bad” European powers. In fact, the British Empire, like every Empire before or since, was a violent enterprise run for the profit of a very select few, always in the national interest and never in the interest of those ruled. Elkins manages to tell this story without becoming preachy. She has a light touch in spite of the massive amount of material that she covers. Her book is especially good on the Belfour Declaration and the many ways in which Britain played a major role in messing up the Middle East today. The book is worth reading for that reason alone.

 

The Origins of Judaism (Yonatan Adler). Adler makes the case that some of the characteristic practices of Torah-Judaism should have left archeological and literary evidence in the record if they were practiced. So, for example, if ancient Jews didn’t eat pork, we shouldn’t find pork bones in ancient Jewish settlements. (He did). Besides pork remains, Adler examines ancient Judea’s synagogues, other dietary remains, art, tefillin and so on to determine their history in ancient Israel’s life. He concludes that there is very little evidence in the archeological record for anything like Judaism defined as awareness of and respect for the Torah until the second century BC, during the Hasmonean era. Loved it. Clarity, depth of scholarship, wide research--it's all here.

Yahweh Before Israel (Daniel Fleming) and The Origin and Character of God (Theodore Lewis). There is a lot of ferment in contemporary studies of the history of ancient Judah, Israel, and Canaan. A lot of it centers on the question, “What is the history of contemporary Judaism’s Yahweh?”  

The emerging consensus is that he was a Canaanite god (maybe from the South, maybe from the foothills in the North-East) who was worshipped as one of many such gods. But sometime late in Judah’s monarchy, Yahweh was adopted as Judah’s “special” god (among the many others). And after the exile, this adoption slowly evolved into the monotheistic religions of today. Certainly not the Evangelical take! Companion books to Adler’s (see above). Compelling, probably right, and to the degree it is, the occasion to rethink modern monotheisms, including their plausibility, from the bottom up.

 

The Crucible of Faith: The Ancient Revolution that Made Our Modern Religious World (Philip Jenkins). Jenkins is almost always gold. This examination of what we used to call the Inter-testamentary era is a fascinating look at the diverse movements, scriptures, and people who made both modern Judaism and Christianity, in all their current and past variants, what they are today. 

A bit dense at the beginning as he lays out his argument and main players, but it gets more and more interesting as the book winds to its end. I wish I had something like this to read while I was in seminary! We’ve come a long way since John Bright.

 

How God Becomes Real (T.M. Luhrman).  In the past, I've written articles for Christian Century, The Banner, and a Christianity Today blog that argued one cannot have a personal relationship with God or Jesus--at least not in the common grammatical sense of such words. We can't share a glass of wine, or phone or email God, and then expect a similar response. We can't go to a church and hear Jesus preach and then ask questions after. We can’t shake hands.

 

People responded to these articles not by arguing the logic, but by describing their experiences of a personal relationships with the divine. In this book, Luhrmann explains the social practices, the settings, the psychology, the spiritual kindling and attunement that allows people to put their trust in these experiences regardless of whether or not there really is a god in that relationship. 

Whether or not you think you can have a personal relationship with God or Jesus, describing that relationship from below, as Luhrman does, makes any pastor a wiser, more thoughtful spiritual leader.

 

Bonus Book (for Tweeners and Younger)

 

Space Boy (Stephen McCranie). I read this graphic novel aloud with my eight-year-old grandson. It's not anime, though influenced by it, I think. He loved it. 

I appreciated how it wasn't about battles and death. No rough language. It’s a story about a girl's emotions and trials as she tries to fit into earth culture after moving to earth from a galaxy far away. 

She misses her old friends. She is lonely. She wants to fit in. She meets people, makes her way, becomes aware of how her preconceptions about earth culture were wrong. She shows empathy for people who, like her, don't seem to fit in. 

 

The tension in the book is real, keeps you on the edge of your seat, but doesn't overwhelm. It's a great opportunity to talk with about issues of friendship, loneliness, beauty, adventure, and otherness. The drawings are well done--cartoonish with a realistic bent. If you want to talk with your Tween about stuff that matters, try this!