From The Fourth R Volume 35, Issue 1 January– February 2022

In order to breathe some life into a moribund, a more and more unbelievable church, Jack Spong found himself constantly relearning and reframing the Christian traditions thereby attempting to prevent the “zombiefication” of the church. His learning was a lifelong labor of love.

Jack’s death, therefore, should not bring an end to this fearless effort. He gave himself away time and time again. Retirement could not restrain him, his writing, lecturing and online presence increased until he was physically unable to continue.

Allow me to ask: Where would Spong go? One of the leading metaphors anchoring his thought was Tillich’s “ground of being.” This notion allowed Spong to reframe the question of transcendence. Since the heavens were no longer the imagined highway into the realm of spirit, there was a decided need for a deep metaphor that would give us some capacity to maneuver for meaning.

I wonder, however, if that metaphor is adequate for our contemporary situation. Both the worldwide Covid pandemic and the enveloping climate crisis increasingly bring home that we do not exist in a vacuum. Our recent frustrations with Zooming underscore our need for human contact. We have been forced to recognize how much we need one another to speak and to listen, how wonderful it is to take a breath beside another and to touch.

Jack’s death, therefore, should not bring an end to this fearless effort. He gave himself away time and time again. Retirement could not restrain him, his writing, lecturing and online presence increased until he was physically unable to continue.

Allow me to ask: Where would Spong go? One of the leading metaphors anchoring his thought was Tillich’s “ground of being.” This notion allowed Spong to reframe the question of transcendence. Since the heavens were no longer the imagined highway into the realm of spirit, there was a decided need for a deep metaphor that would give us some capacity to maneuver for meaning.

I wonder, however, if that metaphor is adequate for our contemporary situation. Both the worldwide Covid pandemic and the enveloping climate crisis increasingly bring home that we do not exist in a vacuum. Our recent frustrations with Zooming underscore our need for human contact. We have been forced to recognize how much we need one another to speak and to listen, how wonderful it is to take a breath beside another and to touch.

So, to avoid a hardening of our metaphors by simply doubling down on “the ground of being,” let us look around and look up, breathe in deeply and breathe out. Are there other metaphors that open things up, that allow us to see more than meets the eye?

Jack Spong contended that in death Jesus stepped out of the way to let the depth of meaning in (Eternal Life, p.183). I suggest that Spong can step beyond even his leading metaphor to accompany us “into the blue.”

In the ancient world the skies opened and divine benefits flowed down. The baptism of Jesus in the Gospel of Mark is but one example. The above was limitless, the beyond could at any time surprise us, furnish us with ever more. In short, transcendence was possible. But that no longer is our universe. Gods no longer come out of the blue.

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But, the story of the growth of our planet says that we do. To catch a glimpse of this reality just return to the experience of breathing as one meditates. In our breathing out and in, we recognize out mutual interdependence. We depend on those plants that can convert CO 2 and H 2 O to sugar and O 2 . We are thoroughly implicated in this inter-breathing.

Science has learned that the blue surrounding our planet has been a long time coming. Originally formed in the superdense cores of stars, oxygen could be found three billion years ago on the forming Earth . But as yet there was no oxygen in the atmosphere. Ultraviolet radiation from the sun started the process, penetrating, breaking up CO 2 and unleashing oxygen 2.9 billion years ago. Oxygen truly took up residence in the atmosphere around 2.45 billion years ago. Blue-green algae began employing photosynthesis to produce oxygen on a global scale, thus enabling the evolution of complex life, including us. A “boring” billion years later, (1.45 billion years ago) animals emerged with oxygen levels high enough to sustain life with 21 percent O 2 in the atmosphere.

In our cosmology “the blue” surrounds us. And it is this layer of the atmosphere, generated millions of years ago, that we are on the verge of tearing apart.

What happens when we discover that the blue has limits? What do we sense when we realize that we are thoroughly implicated in its fate? Can we still attempt to find meaning in what seems now to be more than a problematic metaphor?

By simply following the science, we begin to see that we are interrelated in surprisingly extensive ways. Through this inspection of “the blue” we make connections through time and space. We recognize that we are endlessly implicated in a cosmic nexus of relationships. Consider that without those long distant relatives—anaerobic bacteria—we would not be here.

Consider also how George Floyd’s dying cry “I can’t breathe” now resounds in this cosmic echo chamber. The unexpected response by millions on this planet to his last breath now carries far beyond the nightly news shows, thereby exposing the lie that each of us dies all alone.

As we continue to explore our atmosphere, we may begin to understand that consciousness is not a solitary affair. As Teilhard de Chardin would say, when consciousness emerged it was a planetary phenomenon. Consciousness is a “knowing-with.” It is inherently social and allows the dust of stars to speak.

We stumble and bump about, fumble with sounds and metaphors, and every so often—out of the blue—we realize that there is more in our midst. We even find infinity in paper Moebius strips. More and more we are astonished that our blue marble is so dear.

Arthur J. Dewey (Th.D., Harvard University) is Professor of Theology at Xavier University in Cincinnati. A distinguished teacher, writer, translator and commentator, he is the author of Inventing the Passion: How the Death of Jesus was Remembered (forthcoming 2017) and co-author of The Complete Gospel Parallels (with Robert J. Miller, 2011) and The Authentic Letters of Paul (with Roy W. Hoover, Lane C. McGaughy, and Daryl D. Schmidt, 2010). Dewey’s poetry has appeared in Christian Century and his poetic perspective aired on the Saturday Morning Edition on Public Radio Station WVXU (91.7) in Cincinnati for more than a dozen years.

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