Leonard Hjalmarson, DMin

Geography is simply a visible form of theology. (Levenson 1985, 116)

How do we get to know our cities? How do we identify the spirit of a place? What theological and social frameworks will contribute to our understanding? I began to sketch these in my first post on July 27. Our theological frames are likely to be diverse, shaped by the contexts and traditions which shape us, and so the complexity of our analysis becomes uniquely dialogical and contextual. As we began writing The Soul of the City, I realized that we were writing at the intersection of phenomenology, human geography, urban ethnography and theology. Who is adequate for such a task?

It turns out we are all ethnographers, and all theologians. These reflective tasks belong naturally in the church. We began by reflecting on our cities in terms of what we call the spiritual geography, extending the theological task into an exploration of how context impacts faith. We use the word “context” to describe a particular environment, including, but not limited to, the physical dimensions. We include the historical, economic, social and cultural factors. Not only does context impact belief but also it provides a window (perhaps, an “imaginary”) through which one may relate to God. Moreover, the rise of virtual and networked space complicates context. The authors of Networked Theology remind us that “geography becomes irrelevant as time-space barriers dissolve.” (Campbell & Garner, 2016, 89)

When we extend the theological task to discern the spiritual geography of a place, we highlight the interweave of attitudes and environment, postures and politics, and the ways this interweave calls to the spirit or denigrates it. These things are commonly felt as intangibles, and are difficult to identify and articulate. Theology is a reflective task because it asks questions and makes statements it cannot understand. It’s the nature of the craft. But our work helps us evaluate the human environment at levels that are more than merely phenomenological. It contributes to the richness of a spiritual vocabulary rooted in the rough and tumble of life, “sails and ships and ceiling wax” (Carroll, 1872). It is not just holy places which inspire us, but places which inspire us to become holy: they transform our human journey into a pilgrimage.
Continue reading “The Soul of the City, 2” →