Theology Archives - Sam Harrelson

Christmas Without Sentiment: Edith Stein and the God Who Enters Finitude

Every year, Christmas arrives already crowded.

Crowded with lights, crowded with music, crowded with Hallmark Channel movies, crowded with memory and expectation. Even those of us who love the feast time often feel a quiet pressure to feel something specific… joy, warmth, reassurance. Christmas often becomes a kind of emotional performance, even in the church.

As much as our modern nativity scenes of the incarnation of Jesus are a harmony of the birth narratives in Matthew and Luke (an ancient practice going back to the beginnings of Christian writings, as we see in Tatian’s Diatessaron discovered at my beloved Dura Europos in modern-day Syria in the 1930s) with shepherds, angels, magi and timber all mixing together in a crowded space, our own performances and expectations are a harmony of these accumulated cultural projections and perceived normative truths.

Edith Stein helps me breathe differently around Christmas.

Not because she writes sweetly about the nativity… she doesn’t. And not because she offers seasonal reflections in the usual sense. What she gives instead is something far more demanding and, to my mind, far more faithful with a way of understanding Christmas as an event of ontological descent… God entering finitude without rescue clauses.

Incarnation as Entry, Not Appearance

In Finite and Eternal Being, Stein’s central concern is the relationship between eternal being and finite being. Creation itself is already a kind of gift, but the Incarnation intensifies that gift to the point of vulnerability. God does not merely touch finitude from above. God enters it from within, accepting its conditions rather than suspending them (Finite and Eternal Being, 352–360).

This matters for how I think about Christmas and how we should engage with this event, individually and culturally (rather than ceding our engagement to capitalist corporate control).

The child in the manger is not a divine exception to creaturely life. The Christ child is not insulated from time, hunger, exposure, or risk as the Gospels make abundantly clear. Christmas, in Stein’s metaphysical imagination, is the moment when eternal being consents to be shaped by the rhythms of finite existence.

God learns time from the inside. That alone should unsettle most of our Christmas instincts.

Christmas Already Contains the Cross

Stein never allows Christmas to float free from Good Friday. In The Science of the Cross, written during the final years of her life, she describes Christ’s entire existence as a single movement of self-giving love that begins with Incarnation and culminates in total surrender (The Science of the Cross, 20–28).

From this perspective, Christmas is not a pause before suffering begins. It is the first step of suffering and ultimately redemption.

The infant’s vulnerability in the Gospels is not symbolic. It is real. Exposure is not delayed until Calvary. It begins in Bethlehem much as it does today, with the birth of Palestinian children facing so many challenges that they are not responsible for nor should have to inherit.

This is why Stein’s Christmas feels so unsentimental to me. There is no divine safety net quietly waiting backstage. God does not visit human life. God commits to it. Instead of asking “Mary Did You Know?” we should be asking “God, Did You Know?”

Empathy Taken All the Way Down

Years earlier, in On the Problem of Empathy, Stein defines empathy as a way of entering another’s experience without collapsing the distinction between self and other (On the Problem of Empathy, 10–18). Empathy is not projection. It is not imagination alone. It is a disciplined openness to being affected by another while remaining oneself, which is often opposed to modern conceptions of empathy.

When Stein later reflects on the Incarnation, it becomes impossible not to see it as empathy radicalized beyond psychology and into ontology itself.

Christmas is not God observing human life with perfect knowledge. It is God living a human life from within finite consciousness. God allows Godself to be addressed by the world.

As someone working through ecological intentionality, I find Stein quietly indispensable here. Christmas is not just about human salvation. It is about divine responsiveness to material reality… to bodies, to limits, to history.

Hiddenness, Not Spectacle

In Stein’s letters from her Carmelite years, Christmas appears quietly, almost in passing. What she emphasizes is not celebration but hiddenness. God enters the world unnoticed and is recognized only by those keeping watch (the magi and the shepherds, in their respective accounts in Matthew and Luke). Recognition requires attentiveness and intentionality rather than announcement.

My own practices of slow noticing by sitting with a black walnut tree in winter and throughout 2025, attending to bark and leaf litter and time without spectacle, have quietly taught me the value of this sort of intentionality.

Christmas, for Stein, is not loud. There is no grand culmination of Handel’s Messiah. Incarnation happens when no one is watching carefully enough.

Christmas After Auschwitz

It is impossible to read Stein’s later work without knowing how her life ends. A Jewish philosopher, a teacher, a Catholic Carmelite, and murdered at Auschwitz with hundreds of others on August 9, 1942. Christmas, read backward through that history, becomes unbearable if we expect it to function as reassurance.

Stein does not let it.

Christmas does not promise escape from historical suffering. It places God inside it. Eternal being does not hover safely above violence and loss. It enters conditions in which love can be rejected, destroyed, or silenced. That is not comforting in any shallow sense. But it is faithful.

Why I Return to Stein at Christmas

I return to Edith Stein in December because she will not let me sentimentalize the Incarnation. She reminds me that Christmas is not about divine power softened for human consumption. It is about divine vulnerability embraced without reserve.

God becomes finite. God becomes dependent. God is exposed to the elements of Creation as well as human frailty, cruelty, joy, and love.

And in doing so, finitude itself is no longer something to be escaped by rapture or an afterlife of harp playing in the clouds. It becomes the place where meaning happens.

Christmas, then, is not a break from the world’s grief. It is God’s decision to dwell within it and to be directly addressed by that grief. That is a hard truth. But it is also, quietly, a hopeful one… if we are willing to sit still long enough to let it speak.

Edith Stein’s The Science of the Cross

I occasionally get asked about my PhD work and why Edith Stein‘s The Science of the Cross (good article here) is such a big factor in my own thinking and research. I wanted to put together a quick overview of this incredibly important but under-read work.

Edith Stein’s Science of the Cross has become essential for my own work on The Ecology of the Cross because Stein refuses to treat the Cross as a mere doctrinal moment or as raw suffering. Instead, she approaches it as a structure of perception, a way of knowing and inhabiting the real. When she calls it a science, she means that the Cross forms a disciplined way of seeing or something that takes root inside a person like a seed and slowly reshapes how they relate to the world (p. xxvi). Reading Stein in this way helped me name what I’ve been experiencing in my own project in that cruciform consciousness isn’t just theological; it’s ecological. It’s a way of perceiving the world that emerges from relationship, participation, and transformation rather than abstraction. Her work gave me language for something I had long sensed, that the Cross can reorient the self toward the world with deeper attentiveness, humility, and openness.

Ecological Consciousness: A Phenomenological Approach

We face a troubled relationship with the Creation. From plastics to pollution to the impacts on our climate, it cannot be argued that we live harmoniously with nature. The very concept of living harmoniously in an ecological system stands in direct conflict with our lived experience of modern conviences and technology. This troubled relationship stems not only from industrial practices or consumption patterns but from a fundamental disconnect in how we perceive and relate to the natural world. The framework of phenomenology, the philosophical study of conscious experience, offers a powerful framework for reimagining this relationship and cultivating an “ecological consciousness” (Merleau-Ponty 1968, 123).

The Embodied Experience of Nature

At the heart of this approach lies Maurice Merleau-Ponty’s concept of embodied consciousness. Our bodies are not separate from the environment but are deeply enmeshed within it. When we walk barefoot through a forest, the sensation of soil beneath our feet, the scent of pine needles, and the filtered sunlight through the leaves are not merely external stimuli—they are part of our lived experience. This embodied understanding challenges the traditional Western view of nature as something “out there” to be observed, analyzed, and controlled. Instead, it redefines our connection to nature as one of reciprocity and participation (Merleau-Ponty 1962, 239).

Living Ecological Consciousness

The Gullah-Geechee communities of the southeastern United States provide a compelling example of this phenomenological approach in practice. Their traditional ecological knowledge demonstrates a lived understanding of environmental interconnectedness (Goodwine 1998, 31). The Gullah people’s relationship with coastal landscapes, from their sustainable fishing practices to their agricultural methods, reflects a deep awareness of natural cycles and an embodied connection to the land. Their traditional practices of root medicine, crop rotation, and seasonal harvesting exemplify a way of knowing that transcends the subject-object divide common in Western thought (Goodwine 1998, 42).

From Theory to Practice

This phenomenological perspective transforms how we might approach environmental stewardship. Instead of seeing trees merely as carbon sinks or resources to be extracted, we begin to experience them as living presences with which we share our world. This shift in consciousness carries practical implications for conservation efforts and environmental policy (Abram 2011, 45).

Consider how Gullah communities design and maintain their living spaces. Gardens aren’t merely decorative or utilitarian—they’re spaces of cultural memory and ecological relationship. Traditional Gullah yard designs incorporate both practical and spiritual elements, creating spaces that nurture both human and non-human life. These practices offer valuable insights for modern urban planning and conservation efforts, serving as examples of how to design public spaces that foster ecological awareness and community cohesion (Goodwine 1998, 57).

Toward an Ecological Future

The development of ecological consciousness requires moving beyond the extractive mindset that sees nature as a mere resource to be managed. By recognizing our fundamental interconnection with the natural world, we open possibilities for more sustainable and harmonious ways of living (Nishida 1990, 63). The Gullah example shows us that this isn’t merely theoretical—it’s a practical, lived reality that can inform everything from personal choices to community environmental initiatives.

Through this phenomenological approach to ecology, we can work toward a cultural transformation that emphasizes interconnectedness and care over domination and extraction. The path forward lies not in abstract environmental policies alone, but in rekindling our embodied relationship with the natural world. Ultimately, ecological consciousness means seeing ourselves as part of the web of life, capable of empathy not only toward our fellow humans but toward all forms of existence (Merleau-Ponty 1968, 149).

References (if you’d like to do some more reading on the subject!):

Abram, David. Becoming Animal: An Earthly Cosmology. New York: Pantheon Books, 2011.

Goodwine, Marquetta L. The Legacy of Ibo Landing: Gullah Roots of African American Culture. Atlanta: Clarity Press, 1998.

Merleau-Ponty, Maurice. Phenomenology of Perception. Translated by Colin Smith. London: Routledge, 1962.

Merleau-Ponty, Maurice. The Visible and the Invisible. Edited by Claude Lefort, translated by Alphonso Lingis. Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 1968.

Nishida, Kitaro. An Inquiry into the Good. Translated by Masao Abe and Christopher Ives. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1990.

Ecological Intentionality and the Unseen Intelligences of the Non-Human World

In the vibrant tapestry of life on Earth, we humans often see ourselves as the central thread… the primary actors in a grand narrative of progress, conflict, and survival. Yet, this perspective risks blinding us to the complex and interwoven intelligences that animate the non-human world. As I delve deeper into the concept of ecological intentionality, I find myself more attuned to the subtle, often overlooked ways in which non-human intelligences… from trees and fungi to rivers and mountains… participate in the unfolding story of our planet.

Ecological Intentionality: Beyond Human Consciousness

At its core, ecological intentionality challenges the anthropocentric view that intentionality… the capacity to have thoughts, desires, or purposes directed toward something… is the exclusive domain of human beings. Traditional phenomenology has long centered on human consciousness and its relationship to the world, but what if we extend the idea of intentionality beyond human minds? What if we imagine a world where other forms of life, and even so-called “inanimate” entities, possess their own kind of intentionality… their own ways of interacting with, responding to, and even shaping their environments?

The Bible offers insights into this broader understanding. In Psalm 96:12, we read, “Let the field exult, and everything in it! Then shall all the trees of the forest sing for joy.” This verse suggests that nature itself is alive with praise and has its own way of celebrating the divine, hinting at a form of intentionality that is beyond human comprehension.

Non-Human Intelligences: Trees, Fungi, and More

Consider the intelligence of a tree. Science increasingly reveals how trees communicate through vast underground networks of fungi, sharing nutrients, warning each other of danger, and even “nurturing” their offspring or neighbors in times of stress. This “Wood Wide Web” of fungal networks suggests a form of collective intentionality… a communal way of being that is responsive and adaptive to the needs of the forest as a whole. The trees do not act in isolation; they are part of an intricate community, continuously engaged in a dance of mutual support, competition, and survival.

In the Old Testament, we see a similar recognition of trees as participants in God’s creation. In Isaiah 55:12, it is written, “For you shall go out in joy and be led back in peace; the mountains and the hills before you shall burst into song, and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands.” Here, the trees are portrayed as beings with their own expression, actively engaging with the divine presence.

Then there are fungi themselves… the ancient, often unseen architects of life. Fungi have existed for over a billion years, long before the first plants emerged on land, and their networks are vast, complex, and purpose-driven. Mycorrhizal fungi form symbiotic relationships with plants, providing essential nutrients in exchange for sugars. This exchange isn’t a simple transaction but rather an ongoing negotiation that changes with the environment, the needs of the plants, and even the health of the entire ecosystem. Here, we see another form of non-human intelligence… an intelligence that is relational, dynamic, and deeply embedded in the fabric of life.

The River’s Mind: Thinking with the Flow

Even rivers can be seen as possessing a form of intentionality. Indigenous cultures around the world have long recognized rivers as sentient beings… entities with purpose, memory, and agency. In a phenomenological sense, a river shapes its surroundings, carves valleys, creates fertile plains, and sustains countless forms of life. Its movements are not random; they are responsive to the lay of the land, the seasonal rhythms, and the larger climate patterns. To think with the river is to understand its agency in shaping the landscape and the ecosystems that depend on it. A river “knows” how to flow, how to adapt to obstacles, and how to find its way to the sea.

The Bible also reflects on the role of water in the natural world as an agent of God’s purpose. In Job 38:25-27, God speaks of His creation, saying, “Who has cut a channel for the torrents of rain, and a way for the thunderbolt, to bring rain on a land where no one lives, on the desert, which is empty of human life, to satisfy the waste and desolate land, and to make the ground put forth grass?” This verse portrays water as having a role in creation that extends beyond human utility… it has a purpose and a life-giving role that is part of a larger divine intention.

A New Perspective: Participatory Awareness

Ecological intentionality invites us to shift from a mindset of domination and control to one of participatory awareness. It encourages us to see ourselves not as masters of nature but as participants in a vast, interconnected web of life, where each entity… human, animal, plant, or mineral… has its own form of agency and intelligence. This perspective has profound implications for how we approach environmental stewardship, conservation, and sustainability. Instead of seeing nature as a resource to be managed or exploited, we begin to recognize it as a community of intelligent beings with whom we share our lives.

The New Testament also echoes this view of interconnectedness. In Romans 8:19-21, Paul writes, “For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the children of God; for the creation was subjected to futility, not of its own will but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to decay and will obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God.” Here, creation is portrayed as having its own yearning, its own purpose that is intertwined with the redemption of humanity.

Re-Envisioning Our Relationships with the Non-Human World

By embracing ecological intentionality, we start to ask different questions… How do we listen to the voices of the non-human intelligences around us? How do we learn from their wisdom, their ways of being, and their modes of communication? How do we honor their agency and recognize their intrinsic value, not just for what they provide to us, but for their own sake?

These questions are not just theoretical; they are urgently practical. In a world facing unprecedented ecological crises, from climate change to species loss, we need to develop a deeper, more respectful relationship with the non-human world. We need to recognize that our survival is intricately linked to the survival of other forms of life and that their intelligences… their ways of knowing and being… have much to teach us about resilience, adaptability, and sustainability.

Toward a More Inclusive Understanding of Intelligence

Ecological intentionality is more than a philosophical concept… it is a call to action. It urges us to expand our understanding of intelligence to include the vast, diverse, and often mysterious intelligences of the non-human world. It challenges us to see the world not as a backdrop to our human drama but as a vibrant, living community in which we are but one member among many.

By opening ourselves to the possibility of non-human intentionalities, we may discover new ways of thinking, new ways of being, and new ways of living in harmony with the world around us. And in doing so, we may just find the wisdom we need to navigate the uncertain waters of the Anthropocene and beyond.

Book Review: John Longhurst’s Can Robots Love God and Be Saved?

As someone with a rich background in the cutting-edge side of marketing and technology (and education) and someone often referred to as a futurist but is fascinated with ethical and theological impacts and contexts, I found John Longhurst’s “Can Robots Love God and Be Saved?” (CMU Press 2024) to be a fascinating exploration of the convergence between cutting-edge technology, ethical considerations, and theological inquiry. This book speaks directly to my passions and professional experiences, offering a unique perspective on the future of faith in a rapidly evolving world where concepts such as artificial intelligence (and AGI) must be considered through both technological and theological lenses.

A seasoned religion reporter in Canada, John Longhurst tackles various topics that bridge faith and modern societal challenges. The book is structured into sections that address different aspects of faith in contemporary life, including mental health, societal obligations, and the intriguing possibilities of artificial intelligence within religious contexts. Those are constructed out of interviews and perspectives from Longhurt’s interviews with a wide variety of cast and characters.

Longhurst discusses the ongoing challenges many face with mental illness and the role faith communities play in providing support. This aligns with my work in consulting and education, emphasizing the need for understanding and empathy in addressing situations such as mental health issues, whether in the classroom or the broader community. He also delves into the discussion on Christians’ duty to pay taxes and support societal welfare, raising essential questions about the practical application of faith from various personas and perspectives. I found this particularly relevant when contemplating the intersection of personal beliefs and civic responsibility, echoing ethical marketing practices and corporate social responsibility principles.

Exploring the deep bonds between humans and their pets, Longhurst touches on the theological implications of animals in heaven. This can be a fascinating topic in environmental science discussions, highlighting the interconnectedness of all life forms and reflecting on how technology (like AI in pets) might change our relationships with animals. The book also delves into ethical concerns about government surveillance from a religious standpoint, providing an excellent case study for understanding the balance between security and privacy rights—a crucial consideration in both marketing and technology sectors where data privacy is paramount.

One of the most thought-provoking sections of the book delves into AI’s potential role in religious practices. Longhurst’s exploration of whether robots can participate in spiritual activities and even achieve salvation is a direct intersection of my interests in technology and ethics. It raises profound questions about the future of faith, challenging traditional theological boundaries and offering a glimpse into future innovations in religious practice.

Longhurst also examines how religious communities can address the loneliness epidemic, which I found particularly engaging. The sense of belonging and support provided by faith groups is mirrored in the need for community in education and the workplace. Technology, mainly social media and AI, can play a role in mitigating loneliness, but it also highlights the need for genuine human connections. That’s also one of my motivators for exploring when setting up a marketing strategy: How does this product/service/technology help establish more genuine human connectivity?

Additionally, the book ponders the existence of extraterrestrial life and its implications for religious beliefs. This speculative yet fascinating topic can engage students in critical thinking about humanity’s place in the universe, much like futuristic marketing strategies encourage us to envision new possibilities and innovations. This is a hot topic, with other books such as American Cosmos making many “must read” lists this year, along with general interest in extraterrestrial / non-human intelligence / Unidentified Aerial Phenomenon (UAP) / Non-Human Intelligence (NHI) very much in cultural conversations these days.

Longhurst’s exploration of AI and its potential spiritual implications is particularly compelling from a marketing and technology perspective. As someone who thrives on being at the cutting edge, this book fuels my imagination about the future intersections of technology and spirituality. The ethical questions raised about AI’s role in religious practices are reminiscent of the debates we have in marketing about the ethical use of AI and data analytics.

The work is a thought-provoking collection that challenges readers to consider the evolving role of faith amidst technological advancements. Longhurst’s ability to tackle complex and often controversial topics with nuance and empathy makes this book a valuable resource for educators, faith leaders, technologists, and marketers alike. It provides a rich tapestry of discussions that can be seamlessly integrated into lessons on environmental science, ethics, technology, and even literature in a succinct and “quick-read” fashion.

“Can Robots Love God and Be Saved?” is a compelling exploration of how faith intersects with some of the most pressing issues of our time. It is a fascinating read for anyone interested in understanding the future of spirituality in a world increasingly shaped by technology based on first-hand considerations rather than a purely academic or “one-sided” perspective. For those of us on the cutting edge, whether in marketing, technology, or education, this book offers a profound and thought-provoking look at the possibilities and challenges ahead.

Good read!

No Simple Highway, a Sermon

I’m was too young to see the Grateful Dead live with Jerry Garcia, but I’ve tried to make up for it over the years by going to shows by Phil Lesh, Bob Weir, and collective groups of the members of the band over the years. I particularly got into the Dead during my time in grad school at Yale in the early ’00s (lots of shows, bumper stickers, doing CD trading of bootlegs and soundboard recordings of old shows on Dead forums, etc).

I’m still listening to their music 20 years later and I’ve always marveled at some of the theology in the words and music that the band and lyricist Robert Hunter have brought into the world.

Particularly, Ripple is a song that exemplifies the human experience and the journey we all might take. It doesn’t have to be a “theological statement” but geez is it a good one if that’s your persuasion and what you hear.

I’ve been going through my own journey as of late, and I feel like I’ve stumbled and had to find my own path. It’s been a difficult season of listening, hearing, and discernment. I’ve been listening to songs like Ripple over the past few months as reflections of my own path and what may lie ahead in the Tarot cards of existing and the harps unstrung. Let there be songs to fill the air.

So when I happened to come across this sermon from 1988 that Elizabeth Greene gave to First Unitarian Church of Oakland about Ripple and her voice certainly came through the music and I held them as my own. What a beautiful hand-me-down.

Regardless of your religious persuasion, I urge you to click play on the video above and open up her sermon from all those years ago while you listen for yourself:

…The “ripple” image took on new meaning for me. It was as though the reaching out, one of us to the other, is what causes that ripple in the wellspring of God. It is our having the courage to ask and the love to respond that lets us partake of the fountain. When we do, we affect each other; when we try to let our voice be heard, we ruffle the water; when we hear each other’s voice, hear them with our hearts, we widen the circle.

My favorite line in this song (along with “no simple highway”) is, “If I knew the way, I would take you home.” I don’t know the way, and you probably don’t either. My path is for my steps alone, and so is yours. But when we truly say, “If I knew the way, I would take you home,” we have so much more than just our separateness.

We have the music. (The final part of the song is simple La-de- da-da-da, sung together in harmony.) We have the fountain, a wellspring of grace as we travel.

We have one another. We have the love that lets us hear each other’s voices, that lets us reach out when our cups are empty– and share when they are full. (I am vastly richer for having finally “heard” some of what my Deadhead friends hear.) We have our common yearning for home, the God-ache we all know in some form or other…

Source: No Simple Highway, by Elizabeth Greene

Just to close the loop because I wanted to know, I did some googling (I didn’t know Elizabeth Greene before stumbling upon this amazing sermon) and the journey she mentions here from First Unitarian Church of Oakland to the Boise Unitarian Universalist Fellowship was beginning. Turns out she pastored in Boise for 25 years and retired in 2013. What a journey. Goes along well with Ripple. Thank you, Rev. Greene.

“Catholic in nature”

In a letter dated May 10, 2018 to Baker, church leaders say the congregation voted 131 to 40 to take down the work because community members view it as “Catholic in nature.” “We understand that this is not a Catholic icon, however, people perceive it in these terms,” the letter said, “As a result, it is bringing into question the theology and core values of Red Bank Baptist Church.”

Source: ‘The removal is between you and God’: Artist fights removal of C – wistv.com – Columbia, South Carolina