Bryce Tolpen’s essay is a real achievement. By pairing Genesis’ *tohu wabohu* with Keith Johnstone’s improv lessons, he rescues creation from the tired ex nihilo debate and shows how God works with chaos rather than erasing it. “Derivative justice” is not second-rate but exactly how God repurposes empire’s fragments—mocking Pharaoh’s gods, improvising covenants, turning Roman coercion into a second mile walked in freedom.
The sources come fast—Cassuto, Johnstone, Scott, Wells—but the best moments slow down: Gerrel Jones on a Birmingham porch, Sarah and Abraham laughing, the Syrophoenician woman extending Jesus’ metaphor. These stories embody the overacceptance the essay commends.
I read with special appreciation the citation of Herbert May (a close family friend and a hugely significant influence on “seminary” education), whose work on Egypt and chaos still resonates. I also noticed the absence of David Bentley Hart, who has pressed hard against ex nihilo readings. Tolpen’s improvisational hermeneutic stands in fruitful tension with Hart’s metaphysical case.
If there’s a flaw, it’s the risk of overcrowding the stage. But the deeper accomplishment is clear: the essay holds tragedy and comedy together, insisting that political witness requires both lament and laughter.
Chaos may set the scene, but improv belongs to God.
William, your kind response to my essay is on so high a register that I think my spirit alone can digest it adequately. I’m grateful, and that may speak for all of me. Thank you, and I’m so glad you like it.
Like you, I feel that many responses to today’s political turmoil aren’t accessing some more helpful approaches that our literary, religious, and political traditions might suggest to us. I don’t mean to downplay the tragedy of this historical and political moment in saying this, but the tragedy is opening to me, and I think to many others, new ways of thinking in these traditions. The thinking is often redemptive in its orientation, and the thinking itself seems like an instance of how our tragic politics is in some ways redeemed.
Your family knew Herbert May! I discovered him in an essay anthology edited by L. Michael Morales on the subject of the Bible’s cultic (or “temple”) theology, though the essays taken together reflect less theology, per se, than a century-long conversation among archaeologists, exegetes, and theologians. My copy of Cult and Cosmos: Tilting Toward a Temple-Centered Theology was stamped “DISCARD” by Pepperdine University’s library and on a used book website cost me over $100. There’s redemption for you! And money well spent. :-)
"Chaos may set the scene, but improv belongs to God." Yes!
What a delight to read your reply, Bryce. I’m struck by how you extend your own essay’s theme: tragedy doesn’t just weigh us down, it presses open fresh ways of thinking—and even the thinking itself can be redemptive. That’s a rare insight, and one that resonates deeply. And yes, finding May’s essay tucked into Cult and Cosmos (edited by L. Michael Morales) stamped “DISCARD” and yet paying $100 for it—perfect parable!
Bryce Tolpen’s essay is a real achievement. By pairing Genesis’ *tohu wabohu* with Keith Johnstone’s improv lessons, he rescues creation from the tired ex nihilo debate and shows how God works with chaos rather than erasing it. “Derivative justice” is not second-rate but exactly how God repurposes empire’s fragments—mocking Pharaoh’s gods, improvising covenants, turning Roman coercion into a second mile walked in freedom.
The sources come fast—Cassuto, Johnstone, Scott, Wells—but the best moments slow down: Gerrel Jones on a Birmingham porch, Sarah and Abraham laughing, the Syrophoenician woman extending Jesus’ metaphor. These stories embody the overacceptance the essay commends.
I read with special appreciation the citation of Herbert May (a close family friend and a hugely significant influence on “seminary” education), whose work on Egypt and chaos still resonates. I also noticed the absence of David Bentley Hart, who has pressed hard against ex nihilo readings. Tolpen’s improvisational hermeneutic stands in fruitful tension with Hart’s metaphysical case.
If there’s a flaw, it’s the risk of overcrowding the stage. But the deeper accomplishment is clear: the essay holds tragedy and comedy together, insisting that political witness requires both lament and laughter.
Chaos may set the scene, but improv belongs to God.
William, your kind response to my essay is on so high a register that I think my spirit alone can digest it adequately. I’m grateful, and that may speak for all of me. Thank you, and I’m so glad you like it.
Like you, I feel that many responses to today’s political turmoil aren’t accessing some more helpful approaches that our literary, religious, and political traditions might suggest to us. I don’t mean to downplay the tragedy of this historical and political moment in saying this, but the tragedy is opening to me, and I think to many others, new ways of thinking in these traditions. The thinking is often redemptive in its orientation, and the thinking itself seems like an instance of how our tragic politics is in some ways redeemed.
Your family knew Herbert May! I discovered him in an essay anthology edited by L. Michael Morales on the subject of the Bible’s cultic (or “temple”) theology, though the essays taken together reflect less theology, per se, than a century-long conversation among archaeologists, exegetes, and theologians. My copy of Cult and Cosmos: Tilting Toward a Temple-Centered Theology was stamped “DISCARD” by Pepperdine University’s library and on a used book website cost me over $100. There’s redemption for you! And money well spent. :-)
"Chaos may set the scene, but improv belongs to God." Yes!
What a delight to read your reply, Bryce. I’m struck by how you extend your own essay’s theme: tragedy doesn’t just weigh us down, it presses open fresh ways of thinking—and even the thinking itself can be redemptive. That’s a rare insight, and one that resonates deeply. And yes, finding May’s essay tucked into Cult and Cosmos (edited by L. Michael Morales) stamped “DISCARD” and yet paying $100 for it—perfect parable!