Acres of Oak is shorthand for the empty pews so common to church sanctuaries these days—and what it will take to make them less ubiquitous.

From ghosts to palace intrigue, from maternity wards to graveyards, from ideas that have used me to ideas I wish I had used, from acres of oak to Acres of Oak there’s something for—if not about—most everyone in my memoir.

Among the imponderables that warrant a great deal of my attention are what I call the Big Three, key, critical questions the mainline churches must have the courage, wisdom, and language to tackle if they have any hope of addressing the occupants of the 21^st century. They are:

·      The nature of God, by which I mean not whether God exists but why God matters even if God does exist and whether we’re all functional atheists in the end anyway;

·      The problem of suffering and evil, or why are there earthquakes and what does it mean when bad things happen to good people;

·      The challenge of pluralism, or whether it matters what we believe so long as we believe something (unless, as some say, humankind would be better off believing nothing and thereby solving the challenge, if not some unintended consequences, of pluralism).

Here’s the thing the most provocative chapter in my memoir asks, if the missiles go up, they will come down, and whose fault will it be?

One of my favorite themes in the memoir is wrestling with Jesus’ own question, Who do you say that I am?—the picture is at once as fascinating in its scope as it is uncomfortable in its implications.

In the last half century, unprecedented levels of change have transformed the American social and cultural landscape, leaving a deep and lasting imprint on all manner of its institutions. This includes organized religion, perhaps none more than the churches of  mainstream Protestantism. Standing firmly within both the social and religious center of cities and towns in the middle decades of the last century, today these churches find themselves increasingly marginalized in a culture largely indifferent to its mission and unmoved by its language. To some extent, the same might be said of large swaths of its own members. My book is a memoir reflecting fifty years of pastoral ministry navigating a pathway for just such a church.

What accounts for this tectonic shift in the religious life of the nation? Historically, these churches are theologically moderate to liberal and have enjoyed a comfortable relationship with modernity for more than a century. Most see no conflict between science and religion and neither an increase in secularism nor the emerging relativism of a post-modern world pose a necessary threat to their spiritual integrity. Such churches would seemly be well positioned to address the traditional existential and ethical concerns humankind routinely asks of religion.

When it comes to addressing those concerns, however, the traditional language of much of Christendom, embodied in but not limited to its historic creeds and doctrines, does not connect with how many people experience and make sense of the world around them. This includes people in and out of the church. Further, its language inadequate, the mission and purpose of the church lacks clarity. At issue is not just what the church believes, its faith, but what its own people are to do, their faithfulness, as a result. Little wonder we see its marginalization under such circumstances.

Even so, weaving its way throughout is the underlying conviction that faith communities and their people matter greatly—no surprise there! The reason they matter may come as something of a surprise, though, because as it turns out, the people’s faithfulness, specifically, their living toward the future described by Jesus, actually changes the shape of that future accordingly.

The power to shape the future by the choices we make underscores the freedom inherent in human being itself. In effect, God invites humankind to serve as co-creators with God in the ongoing drama of creation. So seriously does God accept humanity’s role in shaping the future that in one provocative chapter, I note that if the missiles go up, they will come down and not even God overrules the consequences. How to keep the missiles in the ground ….

Its mission and purpose clarified, the work of the church and its various ministries now begins, for the shape of the next chapter in the drama—its themes and their development, the parts that become greater than the whole—remains unknown to Creator and co-creator alike pending a review of choices made and consequences noted.

The challenges only too obvious, Acres of Oak gives shape to a transformative theology of hope for individuals and society alike.