These days, I’m pondering the nature of theological reflection in light of my interactions with my sixteen month old grandson. Every day he learns more words and repeats his favorite words over and over again. In the spirit of liturgical language and congregational litanies, he repeats the words “monkey,” “moon,” “star,” “car,” “truck,” and “clock” as many as hundred times a day. I am sure that some of his repetition, especially in the first few minutes of the day, is a recitation and reminder of what he knows. But, more than that, I believe he is creating the song lines that define his world whenever he brightens, smiles, and shouts out “flag” when he sees a flag or “star” or “moon” when he is out at night or “monkey” when he is looking for the consolation and company of his favorite stuffed toys. Of course, in the spirit of Jesus’ “abba,” he repeats “mama” and “dada” when he hears familiar voices or wants reassurance. Sometimes, I am sure, he is not fully certain about what he is invoking as he repeats his favorite words, but these words shape the way he frames his day and focus his attention.
Theological reflection is similar to toddler talk. We sing words we don’t fully understand and repeat affirmations over and over that stretch our imaginations, shape our interpretation, and create the song lines that guide our pathway from day to day. Even our doctrines push us beyond our known worlds.
I like the comparison of theology, toddler talk, and song lines to describe how we frame our worlds spiritually. In the language of the aboriginal people of Australia, songs (song lines) describe the landmarks by which we orient ourselves and find direction in lives. Our songs help us navigate familiar landscapes and give us guidance as we explore new frontiers. When we are lost, they help us find our way home.
Toddler talk is always evolving and growing in meaning. It is never complete, nor does it need to be. It provides enough orientation for today’s needs, but will continue to develop as we have new adventures. It doesn’t claim to be all-encompassing, but provides enough light for where we are today. If you observe a toddler, you will notice that new meaningful words are constantly emerging and with each new word comes a new way of looking at the world. Surely, that is a good model for theological reflection: in a dynamic world of 125 billion (and more) galaxies, evolving over 14 billion years, we have a lot to learn. New words for God constantly emerge and we should welcome them, even as we remember the limitations of our words and experiences.
In the weeks ahead, I will reflect on emerging theology from a variety of perspectives. Next week, I will begin with apophatic (without concepts and images) and kataphatic (incarnational) theologies and then consider themes related to God, Christ, healing, Spirit, history, and afterlife. But, I will be guided by the wisdom of my toddler grandson. He grows in experience and language every day. He grasps at novelty and reaches to new possibilities moment by moment, propelled by an inner energy and eros. He is not content with standing still but is moving forward in every way. I am sure that’s the way God works in his life, luring him forward in every encounter. Tragically, theologians as well as laypeople often quit learning, scorn novelty, and fear change. We need, as Jesus asserts, to become like toddlers, like children, to live fully in God’s realm. If it’s good enough for Jesus, then it’s surely good enough for me – and moreover every theologian.
So, consider your own theological toddler talk – repeat your words for God and embrace new words as they emerge in your experience. Like my toddler grandson, never stand still, but grow constantly in your openness to God’s movements in your life and the world and always embrace new and life-giving words and images for which is always more than we can fully fathom.