Two years ago, I attended a church conference designed to help church leaders rebuild after the pandemic. Like many pastors there, I was likely experiencing burnout, though I hadn’t recognized or acknowledged it at the time. One of the seminars, led by Elizabeth Oldfield, focused on faith deconstruction. It stood out as refreshingly honest, helpful, and liberating. During lunch, some mutual friends briefly introduced us. I hadn’t heard of her before, and it wasn’t until a few months later that I started listening to her podcast, Sacred. Looking back, one of my biggest regrets is not realising who she was at the time. If I had known, I would have eagerly engaged in deeper conversations with her rather than making small talk about the buffet!
Fast forward two years, and I’ve gained invaluable spiritual and emotional insights from her podcast. Now, she’s released a book titled Fully Alive: Tending to the Soul in Turbulent Times. It’s part memoir, part philosophy, and part theology, aimed at burnt-out, cynical millennials who sense that the answers we’re searching for might be found, if not in the Church, at least in the spiritual realm.
Cards on the table, both the author and I are Christians. However, this book isn’t about arguing for Christianity or providing a rigorous intellectual defense of the faith. Instead, it offers a perspective, a lens, to help make sense of the turbulent times we’re living through, shedding light on the sources of our disconnection. Traditionally, Christianity has pointed to “sin” as the cause, and Oldfield reiterates this. However, drawing from one of her influences, Francis Spufford, she suggests that sin is best understood as the human tendency to mess things up, rather than as shame or a legalistic problem. Each chapter is built around one of the seven deadly sins, exploring how these manifest in our lives and society, preventing us from being fully alive.
Throughout the book, Oldfield candidly shares her own struggles with disconnection, both personally and in her community and relationships. Her vulnerability is a powerful testament to the kind of Christianity she advocates. The memoir-like sections are the strongest and most engaging, whereas the parts where she quotes various philosophers, theologians, and sociologists can feel less compelling. I often found myself skimming those sections. The book would have been even richer if she had shared more of her personal story—her experiences of disconnection and reconnection with the sacred are far more impactful than yet another quote from Blaise Pascal.
The writing is eloquent, so much so that, as someone for whom English is not a first language, I occasionally needed a dictionary to fully grasp some passages. It’s evident that the book is written by a highly educated, middle-class Londoner, primarily for a similar audience. This might make it challenging for some readers to relate to her perspective and experiences.
Nevertheless, Fully Alive is a timely and valuable book. It reframes the Christian story and practice in a way that might challenge some Christians, but Oldfield does so gently and with the best of intentions because she believes that the teachings of a first-century carpenter still have relevance in today’s turbulent times.