Confessions of a tired theologian

How spiritual exhaustion made space for something sacred

Despite two theology degrees, I still don’t know the difference between pre-trib and post-trib. I just know the world feels like it’s ending at least twice a week.

I’m a theologian. Those words are hard to write, even when I’ve spent almost a decade studying the Bible and Theology. When I think of a theologian, I picture a man in a sweater vest, surrounded by towering books, hunched over a desk writing ecstatically. I don’t picture a woman in sweats, typing on her laptop at her clean desk with a fresh vase of flowers.

The man in the sweater vest could probably tell you the difference between pre-trib and post-trib by heart. I would still have to look them up. Former-me would feel guilty about not keeping up with my theological aptitudes. Current-me realizes I just don’t care enough. Much of our theological doctrines and convictions have caused more harm than I care to admit. I mean, churches have literally split because they disagree about whether or not Christians disappear out of their clothes before the chaos starts. So I began to wonder: What kind of God needs us to get everything right before we’re welcomed at the table?

There was a season when I was armed and ready to debate. I was deeply passionate about people thinking “right” about God. I knew chapter and verse. Quoted famous teachers. Gleefully offering anyone a theological smackdown when needed. I remember feeling like the smartest person in the room, which at first brought a sense of safety but in reality, I felt alone. I haven’t cracked a theology book in years, not because I’ve lost my faith, but because somewhere along the way the answers I once prized no longer brought me peace.

My very dusty (and significantly pared down) bookshelf with books from Fleming Rutledge to Greek Grammar, with Glennon Doyle for some healthy balance.

I still enjoy teachings from theologians I admire, and occasionally crack open my Greek text. I can offer a watered-down version of the different levels of inerrancy or explain atonement theories but don’t ask me to cite my sources. I’d have to scour my bookshelf for that (which needs a good dusting).

This fading of intellectual certainty wasn’t a loss so much as a reckoning. During my theological training, I grew tired. Not tired of God but tired of my attempt to understand God. I felt bloated with knowledge, sluggish, accompanied by a haunting suspicion of my own ignorance. Because the more you know, the more you realize how little you actually know. I began Seminary with a surety as fortified as Fort Knox and left like a vulnerable snail crossing a busy street.

Yet I don’t regret the years I spent studying theology. In fact, I blame my teachers (lovingly) for offering me a more spacious faith. Maybe it started when I sat cross-legged in a Buddhist temple during a World Religions class, listening with more curiosity than judgment. Or when I walked out of my Gender and Sexuality course without a single definitive answer but with a heart cracked open. Or when I began to understand how the winding path of church history continues to shape the churches we see today. My questions got bigger. So did God.

I’m still a theologian, but not one hunched over a book. Instead, I’m walking through the woods. I no longer have my Fort Knox of knowledge but a cozy cottage stocked with plenty of coffee supplies: The door is always open. There’s no password to get in, no doctrinal quiz to pass. Just a welcome mat that reads, “Come as you are and maybe bring cake.” I’m no longer haunted by ignorance; instead, I have chosen it freely. I will gladly boast of my unknowing, counting all my knowledge as rubbish compared to knowing Christ.¹ Being a tired theologian doesn’t mean being faithless. I’ve simply traded conviction for complexity, systems for silence, and precepts for Presence.²

For those of you still recovering from your days of knowing, gatekeeping, or debating - I see you. You may feel disoriented, like your spiritual compass is broken. It’s not. Spiritual maturity feels more like surrender than getting an “A” on your dissertation. Turns out that faith is less about having all the answers and more about awe. Many of you who are reading this hold theological degrees, but that does not mean you need to spew out theological propositions on demand. It just means you took the time to study. This also applies to those who don’t have degrees. Either way, give yourself permission to relate differently to theology.

Theology doesn’t have to be worked out with a hammer.

It can be as tender as hands in the soil.

Or as sacred as the silence between two people who’ve stopped pretending to have all the answers.

Still tired, still theological.

1. Philippians 3:8-10

2. See? I was paying attention in homiletics, just in case anyone wondered.