Predestination Shmedestination

If the book we are reading does not wake us, as with a fist hammering on our skulls, then why do we read it? Kafka

If your pastor asks you to lead a Theology on Tap (God conversations at the local bar with fellow church members), don’t chose predestination. Trust me on this. When I saw it on the list of possible topics I thought: “Well, why not? It’s fascinating and profoundly unsettling and just kinda gnarly. And nobody likes to talk about it.” I thought it would be fun-ish. I should have paused when beautiful Idaho gal, she who feigns interest in (almost) all my ruminations asked, “Really? . . . Do I have to go?” (She found something else to do that evening.) Stubbornly, I spent a week or two wallowing in commentaries and creeds and Calvin’s Institutes. I figured I could make Predestination winsome. (Really.) And truthfully, it just didn’t work. At all. There were furrowed brows and sighs and about 15 minutes into the conversation I wondered about the etiquette of shotgunning beers while leading “Theology on Tap.”  (Then I remembered it was a Presbyterian gathering, so no problem.)

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