J. A. Kitchens: Pastor & Theologian

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J. A. Kitchens: Pastor & Theologian Pastor of Antioch Baptist Church in Weoka, Alabama. M.Div. student at McAfee School of Theology. Exploring how theology forms us into people who live differently.

Interested in prayer, preaching, and the practices that make us the church.

07/29/2026

A Sermon on Matthew 13:44-46, Romans 8: 31-39

06/14/2026

Every sermon starts as an argument. With myself, with the text, with the entire cloud of witnesses who wrestled with it before me. I wait it out until daybreak and limp away blessed. That’s the joyful thing about it. Every Sunday morning - the Spirit’s somewhere in that wrestling.

06/03/2026

Going to throw this out here, because I used to be confused about it too - and lately both sides of this argument bug me.

One side says the founders were all deists. They weren’t. Of the 56 who signed the Declaration, only two, Franklin and Jefferson, get tagged as deists, and even that’s loose, since both still leaned on a providential, Christian-shaped God. The signers were overwhelmingly Christian.
The other side says that proves we’re a Christian nation.

It doesn’t.

Here’s what everyone misses: those same largely Christian founders are the ones who deliberately built a secular government. The Constitution names no God and bans any religious test for office.

The First Amendment forbids an established church. In 1797 the Senate unanimously ratified the Treaty of Tripoli, signed by my main man John Adams, stating the U.S. government “is not, in any sense, founded on the Christian religion.”

It wasn’t a pack of skeptics who kept the state out of the church. It was a majority-Christian generation that chose not to make this a Christian nation and for explicitly Christian reasons.

05/02/2026

We use the word “mystery” like it means “we don’t know yet.”

Hauerwas won’t let us. Mystery, he says, is what’s open for everyone to see - and still undoes us.
Trinity. Incarnation. We treat these like explanations. Get the math right - three in one, fully God and fully human - and we’ve handled it. Filed it. Moved on.

Rowan Williams catches us in the act. We want the doctrines to be explanations, he says, because we want to believe in something external to us -something that doesn’t require us to reckon with “the profound and frightening differences in the human world they actually refer to.”

If Trinity names God’s own life as communion, then a church that will not gather is denying its own grammar.

If Incarnation names God taking on a body, then bodies are where salvation happens. Not ideas nor sentiments. Bodies.

These doctrines don’t explain anything.

They name what we’d rather not see.

04/28/2026

Reading Genesis for Normal People and I’ve come across this great line
“Stories are not waiting to be molded to fit our experience. They are waiting for us to take the risk of entering their world of the story and be changed by it.”

It cuts against a lot of how Genesis (and scripture in general) gets used. The instinct is almost always to make the text serve us: extract a principle, find ourselves in a character, mine it for application. But that approach keeps us in control of the story. We stay the subject; the text becomes the object.
But as a storyteller — someone steeped in film and theatre — I prefer thinking of how the story has its own integrity. Its own strangeness. The real work is letting the story do something to you rather than the other way around.

Genesis especially resists being domesticated. The patriarchs are morally compromised, God is unsettling, and the narrative refuses to tie things up. If you’re trying to make it fit your experience, you have to flatten it. If you enter it on its own terms, it reshapes what you thought experience even was.

It’s even there at the beginning. With “In the beginning.” In Genesis, that beginning IS in media res.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Blessings.

04/22/2026

Today's daily reading is John 21. Seven disciples are back in Galilee, and Peter says, "I'm going fishing," (because of course he does), and the others go with him.

The direction of travel is what strikes me - away from the upper room, away from Jerusalem, away from the cross. They fish all night. And like me most of the time, they catch nothing.

A former professor of mine, David Gushee, preached a sermon recently on the Emmaus road, where he called it "Jesus incognito" - Jesus showing up hidden, walking alongside people who were walking away. That's John 21, too.

A stranger calls from the shore. "Children, have you any fish?" They don't recognize him. They never do at first. He tells them to cast on the other side. The net fills. And when they drag it in, they find he has already built a fire on the beach.

A charcoal fire, which John uses a specific word for, anthrakia. It appears only one other time in his gospel. The high priest's courtyard. The night Peter stood warming his hands, denying ever knowing him.

Same kind of fire. Different host.

They come ashore, and he gives them bread. Nobody names what everyone remembers. They just eat. And somewhere in the giving of the bread, their eyes open. It is the Lord.

If you are walking away tonight, he has done this before. He walks with those going the wrong direction. He builds fires on the far shore.

And he is already cooking breakfast. Others are already there, eating.

Blessings.

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I enjoy N.T. Wright a great deal. His New Creation Theology is, I think, largely correct - it rightly places Christians ...
04/21/2026

I enjoy N.T. Wright a great deal. His New Creation Theology is, I think, largely correct - it rightly places Christians as stewards of a redemption that is cosmic and material, not merely spiritual. So this isn't a dismissal. It's a friendly disagreement about method.

When Wright describes Adam as possibly a "proto-human" figure or suggests Jonah reads like a folk tale, he's trying to relieve pressure - the pressure modern historiography puts on the biblical narrative. I understand the impulse. But I think it concedes too much, and does so on the wrong terms.

Here's the problem. The impulse to ground theological claims in something external to the story is foundationalism, and it produces two versions we should both find unsatisfying:

The conservative version: Historical fact → Theological truth.

The liberal version: Existential experience → Theological meaning.

These look like opposites, but they're doing the same thing. Both are letting something outside the narrative drive the car - archaeology, or personal experience, or historiographical plausibility. Wright, when he reaches for genre analysis to soften the Adam question, is playing this same game. He's negotiating with modernity's terms, just more elegantly than most.
Post-liberalism, the theological tradition running through Lindbeck and Hauerwas, offers a different path entirely. It says the Christian narrative doesn't need external validation because it isn't making the same kind of claims the historians are making.

The story carries its own authority. It forms its own community. It makes its own kind of truth claims, evaluated from within the tradition's practices and grammar, not from a neutral academic standpoint.

Crucially, this isn't the same as saying the story is just fiction. It's saying the narrative is world-creating, not world-escaping. It describes reality truly, but from the inside out, not the outside in.

Which means Adam's reality isn't established by archaeology. It's witnessed to by a church that actually lives as people who know themselves to be the kind of creatures Adam names - bound together in solidarity, prone to grasping at what isn't ours, in desperate need of rescue.

The church confesses Adam not because it can prove he existed, but because the story describes us truly. That is a different kind of claim than historical reportage, and it doesn't need to be defended on historiography's turf. The story's truth is performed, not demonstrated.

So the problem with calling Adam "probably a folk tale" isn't that it's theologically liberal. It's that it's still playing the historian's game- and losing more gracefully is still losing. You've already let the other side set the rules.

I think the better move, the genuinely post-liberal move, is to refuse that negotiation entirely, and ask a different question: Is the church living in a way that makes this story's truth visible? Are we a community of people who know themselves fallen, who practice confession and repentance, who receive rescue in baptism and eucharist, who live as though new creation is actually coming?

That's the only apologetic post-liberalism actually permits. And it's a harder one than genre criticism, because it demands something of us, not just of the text.

Famed New Testament scholar and Anglican bishop Tom N T Wright says he s not sure whether some of the most famous figures in the Holy Bible actually existed

04/21/2026

Currently reading, “The Cross-Shattered Christ” by Stanley Hauerwas. A little late in my Lenten devotion, but better late than never.

One thing that struck me immediately, the example of Christian de Chergé, the Trappist martyr whose death I studied in Morocco. I was even privileged enough to visit a Trappist monastery.

The martyrdom of de Chergé is not an illustration of the Christ’s death, it is the argument.  De Chergé’s life and death are made possible by Christ’s death. Mind you, not as inspiration, but participation.

“We are made members of a kingdom governed by a politics of forgiveness and redemption.”

This is not a metaphor, my friends. This is the political alternative to the world’s management of enmity and violence. De Chergé was not practicing some heroic individualism by forgiving his killers - this only possible - this ecclesial existence - because the Son asked the Father.

And notice that the killers forgiveness does not predicate their repentance. Make no mistake - this is not therapy, or letting go a hurt to make oneself feel better. There is no forgiveness contract. The Son asks forgiveness for those who don’t know what they’re doing. This is before any acknowledgment, or contrition, or changed behavior. This is prevenient, gratuitous, disruptive grace that cannot be managed.

Blessings,

James Kitchens.

03/01/2026

"...and they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war anymore..." - Isaiah 2:4

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Weoka, AL

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