by Sam DuRegger
ISBN: 979-8-9995428-2-3
A collection of essays written in the early years of ministry and theological study, between 2006 and 2012—revisited in 2025 and edited through the lens of a hopeful agnostic who no longer claims such youthful certainty. What emerges is not a systematic theology but a human one: a doctrine of God traced through silence, suffering, presence, and hope—still meaningful, amidst the mystery.
I've always had a love/hate relationship with the word theology, mainly rooted in the cumbersome baggage associated with the label. As I've delved into Scripture over the last forty-plus years, I have become acutely aware of the vast amount of mystery found in the book(s). In my feeble attempt to understand the ambiguity, I've become a collector of theological interpretations. This essay explores the messy, beautiful terrain of theology—traced from the unplanned chaos of Pentecost to the centuries of dogma, doctrine, and debate that followed. Written by a hopeful agnostic who spent decades collecting theological interpretations before stepping outside the structure, it explores God not as a system to defend but as mystery to live within. It critiques fundamentalism's weaponized certainty, eschatology's obsession with escape, and relativism's subjective retreat—offering instead a theology shaped by story, fellowship, and the slow work of the Spirit.
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An exploration of God's tension between divine transcendence and personal intimacy. From imagining God playing poker to wrestling with Scripture's portrayal of an infinite, eternal being who walks in gardens and speaks face-to-face with Moses, this essay examines the paradox of God's 'otherness.' It navigates the masculine and feminine imagery of God, critiques our tendency to flatten the divine into cultural projections, and wrestles with how those wounded by earthly fathers and mothers can relate to God as parent. Drawing on Buechner, Peterson, and Rohr, it offers a vision of God revealed not in essence, but in action—steadfast, relational, and as close as breath itself.
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Can the mystery of the Trinity inform how we move through the world, or is it only a doctrine to be revered from afar? This essay explores the Trinity not as theological diagram but as living encounter—the God who sees us (Father), knows us (Spirit), and saves us (Son). Drawing on Karl Barth's assertion that the Trinity is THE doctrine of God, it examines Jesus as fully human and fully divine, and traces Paul's blessing in 2 Corinthians 13:14 as template for living: grace, love, and fellowship. Through Lewis's image of divine dance (perichoresis) and Chesterton's embrace of paradox, it invites us into the relational reality of a God who is not static, but dynamic—not distant, but near.
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Written in 2012 while living in Dutch Reformed Pella, Iowa, this essay navigates the theological divide between total depravity and inherited brokenness. It traces Augustine's doctrine of original sin through its Manichaean and Neo-Platonic roots, examines Calvin's assertion that human nature is wholly corrupted, and contrasts Western inherited guilt with the Eastern Orthodox view of inherited mortality. Drawing on Fred Craddock's pastoral wisdom, Jordan Peterson's reframing of sin as 'missing the mark,' and the metaphor of Christian's burdens in Pilgrim's Progress, it challenges the doctrine of total depravity while acknowledging the reality of human brokenness. The conclusion: we are not born condemned, but called—invited to reorient toward Christ not through fear or shame, but through surrender and mercy.
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A soteriological exploration contrasting Jesus' relational, embodied approach to salvation in the Synoptic Gospels with Paul's more formulaic doctrine in his epistles. While both are Christo-centric, Jesus met people in their specific idolatries—Nicodemus in his religiosity, the rich young ruler in his wealth, the woman at the well in her isolation. His call to belief was not theoretical assent but embodied trust, a lived-out transformation. Paul, by contrast, constructed a systematic framework rooted in total depravity, predestination, and legal justification. Drawing on N.T. Wright, Frederick Buechner, and Wendell Berry, this essay challenges fear-based salvation tactics and TULIP theology, arguing that Jesus didn't offer an escape clause from Hell but an invitation to life—life to the full. Salvation is not a transaction; it is presence, encounter, and the experience of being truly seen.
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God's Spirit at work in prophecy against the norm and in hope of things to come. Through Isaiah's unflinching poetry—a shoot from Jesse's stump, righteousness rising from ruins—this essay explores the dangerous work of prophets who speak from the edge, not the center. Drawing on Brueggemann's call to 'evoke a consciousness alternative to the dominant culture,' it contrasts true prophecy (Jeremiah in the pit, Elijah fleeing for his life) with safe court flattery. It reframes the sword of truth not as weapon but as word—the Beatitudes that bless the poor, the grieving, the meek. The Kingdom of God is not a future mansion but present participation: grace unfolding at kitchen tables, mercy extended in neighborhoods, hope breaking into our wounds. Using The Walking Dead's metaphor of lifeless pews versus a holistic hospital, it argues for orthodoxy that creates orthopraxy—an active, Spirit-filled engagement with the suffering and hope of the world.
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A personal reckoning with the question: does eschatology (our view of the end times) determine ecclesiology (how we do church)? Sparked by a grad school conversation on Dispensationalism, this essay explores how different end-times frameworks—Dispensational, Post-Millennial, Amillennial—shape radically different church practices. It challenges the 'not our world' mentality that justifies apathy toward present suffering and environmental neglect. Drawing on N.T. Wright's assertion that apocalyptic empowers a faithful present (not predicts a distant future) and Jesus' parables of the Kingdom as mustard seed and yeast (already here, already fermenting), it contrasts two options: evangelism focused on future escape versus embodied service in the now. Through stories from a women's recovery home—both triumph and heartbreak—it argues that Kingdom work is not building heavenly mansions but being salt and light: washing feet, welcoming outcasts, bearing the largest burden you can carry. Eschatology affects ecclesiology, and the hope is to hear, 'Well done, good and faithful servant.'
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Pilate's ancient question to Jesus echoes into our present moment, where a Barna survey reveals 66% of Americans believe there is no absolute truth. This essay explores the charged encounter between Jesus and Pilate—was Pilate's question rhetorical relativism ('many truths under Roman rule') or genuine curiosity about power-wielding truth? Drawing on N.T. Wright's observation that Jesus' silence was 'kingdom-announcement by other means' and Buechner's insight that 'God's silence is presence that will not be turned into words,' it argues that Jesus himself—bloodied and resolute—was the answer. Against the Church's tendency to weaponize truth into transactional slogans ('accept Jesus, get eternal life'), this essay reclaims truth as story, mystery, and relationship. Citing Brueggemann and Barth, it concludes: the truth is not a proposition to defend but a person to follow. The truth is Jesus. Absolutely.
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If the last word is the cross—the empty cross that liberates us from sin and reconciles us to God—then the first word must be a stride of love. Written as prose in March 2011, this meditation argues that we too quickly preach Christ crucified, overshadowing the birth and life of our Savior. In focusing only on His death, we miss the forest for the trees: His prophetic announcement, miraculous birth, incarnational life, sacrificial death, momentous resurrection, and supernatural ascension. His atonement was driven by love for the Father, manifested in love for neighbor, friend, and enemy—the Greatest Commandment. The Gospel message is not found in repeating a prayer but in feeding the poor, seeking justice, being a peacemaker. The empty cross is the last word. The next word starts anew in our hearts with a response of love.
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The epilogue wrestles with the question that returns most often in the middle of the night: Where is God in our suffering? Through a reexamination of Job—not as a model of silent endurance, but as a prophet of dissent whose holy confrontation God honors—this essay challenges the misuse of suffering as divine pedagogy. Drawing on Walter Brueggemann's assertion that 'lament is resistance' and Carl Jung's provocative reading in Answer to Job (that Job's protest forces God toward Incarnation), it explores whether God instigates trials or merely observes the natural waves and troughs of life. Written from the posture of a hopeful agnostic shaped by therapy, EMDR, and late diagnoses of ADHD and PTSD, it refuses tidy answers. Instead, it offers Karl Barth's wisdom: knowledge of God is not escape into pure ideas, but entry into the suffering of the present world. Suffering is not inheritance from the Fall but reality we navigate—not by avoidance, but by faithful presence within the pain.
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