Staring at a blank page
Today, I'm staring at a blank page.
Writing is such a funny thing for me. Anyone who knows me knows that I'm no conversationalist, but when it comes to words on a page, sometimes they just come tumbling out of me. Who knows why?
Once my spring semester was over, I turned back to working on overdue and half-baked writing projects. I've finally put the finishing touches on a paper that I've been working on for more than two years. It's grown to more than 500 pages with the appendix, so it's not like I was just dawdling that whole time. Still, I'm glad to see this thing out the door. I've also worked on a project on Genesis that I think I might have mentioned here one time or another.
Then I've been working pretty hard on a completely new book project (because apparently I don't have enough to do) that is intended to be a much bigger look at the creation model as a whole. That massive technical article has been agony to write, but my creativity on this new book has been off the charts. I've probably generated 5-6 different outlines as my collaborators and I work out exactly what the book ought to be. Once again, I find the words just tumbling out of me.
While I'm doing all that, I've also been reading other people's books on creation, and I've been thinking a lot about what it means to write such a book. As I've stood back to look at the Core Academy library, I've begun to wonder what kind of ego goes into writing a book. From my own perspective, I've never really stopped to think about who reads what I write. I've just used writing as a way of communicating what's in my head, of stating very precisely (and sometimes recklessly) what I think about this or that. As I think about it, I suspect my writing is more for me than for anyone else, and yet, I keep putting it out there for other people to read. What's up with that?
Looking at the array of books in the Core Academy library, they fall into two vague categories. One sort of book is written to fellow professionals, members of our academic guilds. These are people who have studied the sorts of questions that we study. We see them at conferences. We read their papers in our professional journals. All those guild members know how the field works and what sorts of questions are interesting and worth pursuing. The guild usually has a paradigm that determines what sorts of answers are acceptable. Guild books can be written to any audience. What sets them apart is the approach to the subject: Guild books only care about what other guild members think about the subject. The only time a guild book will address outside ideas is when they correct them, like a book that debunks some erroneous folklore.
The other sort of book I see is the tribal book. I distinguish tribes here by their allegiance to certain points of belief rather than certain sorts of credentials. A guild usually has gatekeepers and possibly even licensure (of which the Ph.D. is just one form), but you can be part of a tribe just by confessing your agreement with that tribe's philosophy. So tribes are much more diverse than guilds, and tribes are more tolerant of books of dubious quality, as long as they toe the ideological line.
Books can be both of course. I find a lot of anticreationist books fall into both categories. They explain the guild's position on conventional geology or paleontology, but they also have to maintain those tribal dogmas against creationism, even if those dogmas don't apply to modern creationists. That makes for really weird reading. They talk about something called "creationists," but I don't recognize myself in their depiction.
So here's the question for the day, as I sit staring at this blank page: What if I wrote a book for the church? What if I tried to push aside the usual pressures of guild and tribe and instead just tried to meet people where they are and point them to the Creator? Jesus told Peter to "Feed my sheep." How can I do that writing a book about young-age creationism?
Now that's a difficult thing. The easy answer would be to diagnose the church's problems or misconceptions and try to correct them. That would be the guild at work, and it would produce a perfectly adequate and mediocre book. The other easy answer would be to simply declare our membership in the creationist tribe and repeat the talking points of young-age creationism in a slightly different package. I find that even less attractive, mostly because at best it would be hard to stand out from literally dozens of other books in our library.
Let me redirect my question then: What does the church need? The first thing that comes to my mind is God's grace and guidance, the same thing everyone needs. Then loving God and loving neighbor, the great commandments. We need to be sanctified into the image of Jesus. The third thing that comes to mind is courage. The American evangelical church in particular seems beset with fear over issues of politics, abuse, gender and sexuality, and racism. In fact, the fear is nearly a frenzy this week as the SBC meets just over the mountain in Nashville. It almost seems irresponsible not to loudly stake a claim on these matters, and yet I can't shake the feeling that God has not given us a spirit of fear. Probably because it's a Bible verse I memorized as a kid.
Back to that empty page I'm staring at. What would a creationist book look like that first ministered God's grace to the reader before trying to convince the reader of anything? Honestly, that sounds nearly impossible for a book that will stake out a position that inevitably alienates a lot of readers. If you listen to certain voices in the culture, you'd conclude that I and my co-authors are delusional, liars, or enemies of God and humanity. I wish I were exaggerating.
Still, these voices are the strident stakeholders. There remains a much larger part of the body of Christ that is not so committed to their views on creation. Some are confused. What should we think about the science? Is it really true that there's only one way to think about origins? Why are some Christians so aggressive about this subject? Others are uncertain because they perceive fault on all sides or value on all sides. The one who states his case first seems right, until the other comes and examines him. How can we decide?
I'm coming back to some big themes in my recent work. Themes like
- Think for yourself. Don't be bullied or intimidated by prominent and strident voices.
- "Answers" and "theories" are ephemeral. We're constantly learning new things. What seems like obvious dogma today can be obvious error tomorrow. Don't place your faith in scientific models. They'll be different ten years from now.
- God can take care of you even if you know nothing about creation. God's answer to anxiety and uncertainty is Jesus, not logic or rationality or science.
- Be faithful with what God has given you, and don't be ashamed or afraid of your ignorance. Jesus didn't call us to understand everything. He just called us to follow him.
- Love your enemies. No excuses. And don't pretend like you don't have any. (I'm still struggling with this one.)
Does the church need another guild book advocating some position about creation? Maybe. Maybe not. I can personally see a need for the sort of book we're planning, but I admit that I only see darkly. But I know the church always needs more grace and courage and Jesus, and that sounds like an interesting challenge. Can we write a guild book that ministers far beyond the guild?
Thanks for reading. Writing this has helped me sort through a lot of thoughts today.
Now let's see if I can fill up that blank page.
Have you read my book? You should check that out too!
