The God
Who Smokes: Scandalous Meditations on Faith by Timothy J. Stoner (NavPress, 2008)
I have to
confess I wanted to read a book about a God who smokes – literally smokes,
drawing contentedly on a long stemmed pipe or even a Marlboro. It’s not too
much to ask and given the provocative image of the lit match on this book's
cover and its promise of "scandalous" (yes scandalous)
meditations, I was sure this vision couldn't be far off. But after only a few
pages, I realized that the title of Timothy Stoner’s book is misleading at best and
offers instead a very conservative, even fundamentalist response to questions
raised in contemporary circles.
The vast majority of The God Who Smokes consists of Stoner's anecdotal
reflection on these basic theological questions -- Not the type of questions
grappled with in strict theological academia but rather those encountered in recent
Christian literature or everyday discourse where emotional impact often
overrules anything systemically derived. This is not to suggest, however, that
Stoner's answers are not systematically derived, for they are. He is
quick to point out that he is coming from a staunchly Calvinistic,
fundamentalist stance. That Stoner lays his theological cards on the table so
quickly to his readers is laudable. I wish, however, that this same
forthrightness had been employed in the book's presentation of itself. Rather
than suggesting "scandalous meditations" of a “smoking God”, although
attention grabbing, a more honest description would have undoubtedly been a
Calvinistic response to questions butting up against Christian fundamentalism.
My qualm with The God Who Smokes does not stem from its consistently fundamentalist
answers but from its presentation and treatment of its questions. Take
for example the first argument presented in the book. In the chapter entitled
“Velvet Rembrandt” (Chapter 2) Stoner takes issue with an oft heard question recently (re)posed
by author Rob Bell in the book Velvet
Jesus. In essence,
This is in
fact a very important question which brings into focus the role and potential
limitation of any systematic theology, orthodox or otherwise. In the question
above, “Virgin Birth” can be replaced with any myriad of topics cited in
historical creeds and theological declarations. Questions of biblical authorship
or the nature of Jesus Christ are of the same type and equally important. (Must
one believe John wrote his gospel in order to be saved?; Is one excluded from
salvation if one believes Christ had two natures, one human and one divine,
rather than one unique nature?; etc.)
Stoner
spends seventeen pages dealing with this question, the first third of which
records his internal dismay over Bell’s question prior to his having read Bell’s book. But after having finally read
“A teacher needs to tread very cautiously in such matters,
lest his broad, open-ended questions confuse not just his friends but a lot of
listeners too. The usual effect of a host of interrogatories is to weaken
rather than support the brief indicative that follows them.” (41)
In other
words, Stoner’s proposed solution to
This is all
fine and good but far from satisfying or even meaningful for anyone remotely interested
in the original question, since the line of reasoning presented here seems to
proceed from an emotional over-simplification to an out-right ducking of the
question. Yet Stoner considers this to be one of the “scandalous meditations”
so promisingly advertised in the book’s title. He deems this response scandalous
in that it counter-intuitively suggests rigorous adherence to theological tradition must supplant
human curiosity or intellectual inquiry. In other words, Stoner deems this "scandalous" to the contemporary intellect.
Needless to
say I found this to be far from scandalous and far closer to false
advertisement. For had Stoner truly wished to be scandalous within his own
system of belief, he could have said outright
that (a) You must assent in the Virgin Birth to be saved; (b) To ask this
question is a sign of wavering, unhealthy faith, and (c) Those entertaining the
question are clearly in the hinterlands of the Christian Church. But no such
explicitly scandalous statements are made, and Stoner leaves us with only
verbose implications that these are what he truly believes.
Despite its
lack of scandal, Stoner’s book does provide a consistent approach to the
questions he raises, an approach he explicitly labels both fundamentalist and
Calvinist. Through an amalgam of personal anecdote, reflection and scriptural
passages he returns the reader time and again to what he sees as the
pre-eminent role of Apostolic Tradition and the statements of classic orthodox
theology built thereon.
The title
of Stoner’s book, The God Who Smokes,
derives from a chapter of the same name wherein he discusses briefly the wrath
of God. The heart of this discussion amounts to a very brief word study of
eight Hebrew terms used to describe God’s anger. Stoner notes how many of these
Hebrew terms connote “fire, heat, and smoke” and that this connotation carries
over into New Testament usages. Thus we are talking about a God who “smokes”
and smolders out of righteous anger.
Stoner
juxtaposes this obviously scriptural view of a wrathful God with what he
considers the predominant contemporary view which he labels the “Auntie God” --
a politically correct, non-offensive deity filled with love and hugs for
all. Although Stoner is careful to
ultimately segue this discussion of divine wrath into one of God’s love, he
nevertheless fully intends to leave this imagery of a fiery God at the
forefront of readers’ minds (hence the book’s title). His purpose for doing so
is obvious, hoping that his readers might understand that theological
imagination is not a win-win game, that there are rules set down by an angry,
fiery God who means business. Stoner’s core position is that contemporary
theological imaginations amount to nothing if they stray from the statements of
Scripture and orthodox theology.
Sound
simple? It isn’t. Take for example the conundrum Stoner’s own project ultimately
leaves readers with. Stoner seeks to place front and center the biblical imagery
of an angry, wrathful and “smoking” God while at the same time consistently
arguing for the priority of orthodox theology and Apostolic Tradition over
contemporary theological inquiry. But it is often easily shown that Scriptural
statements and the declarations of orthodox theology are at odds when taken at
face value. Consider the following passage from Calvin, the author of Stoner’s
preferred strand of theology. Speaking specifically of Scriptural passages
which mention God’s “anger”, Calvin writes:
God is described to us humanly. Because our weakness cannot
reach his height, any description which we receive of him must be lowered to
our capacity in order to be intelligible. And the mode of lowering is to represent him not as he really is, but as
we conceive of him. Though he is incapable of every feeling of
perturbation, he declares that he is angry with the wicked. Wherefore, as when
we hear that God is angry, we ought not to imagine that there is any emotion in
him, but ought rather to consider the
mode of speech accommodated to our sense. (Institutes, 1:
So on the
one hand we have Scripture describing an angry God, and on the other we have
Calvin, building on Aristotle, Augustine and Aquinas, saying that such
descriptions are simply accommodations to our lowered conceptions and do not in
fact represent God as he really is. Scripture
on the one hand, orthodox theology on the other.
Without
opening this particular theological can of worms, our observation does beg the
question of why Stoner decides to
prioritize the imagery of an angry, wrathful God when he is undoubtedly aware
(via his Calvinism) that such language is deemed purely anthropomorphic by the
pillars and authors of orthodox theology. Is it because he believes such
linguistic accommodation is more educational and convincing than descriptions
of what God really is? Or does he
perhaps believe that despite their philosophical commitment to immutability,
the classic theologians may not be entirely correct in their visions of a
never-moving, fully actualized God?
Stoner does
not answer this question either, but it does bring into focus the inadequacy
with which he dismissively deals with Bell’s question as to whether one must believe in the
virgin birth to be saved. We know that the historical creeds suggest that this
must be believed. But does Scripture say something different from the
theologians here as well?
The Gospel
of John records an interesting event wherein Jesus is privately speaking to his
twelve disciples and sees how they are unable to wrap their heads around what
he is saying. Rather than belittle them for their lack of faith or require they
cognitively assent before following him any further, he simply urges them to at
least believe what they have seen with their own eyes (John 14:11).
So here’s a
pop quiz for you. If someone cannot honestly wrap their head around the virgin
birth, can that person still be saved? To answer this question you may consult
Scripture or orthodox theology, but apparently not both.
