A Glorious Dark: Finding Hope In The Tension Between Belief And Experience

by A.J. Swoboda

On Thursday as they ate the Passover meal with Jesus, the disciples believed that the kingdom was coming and they were on the front end of a revolution. Then came the tragedy of Friday and, somehow even worse, the silence of Saturday. They ran. They doubted. They despaired. Yet, within the grave, God's power was still flowing like a mighty river beneath the ice of winter. And then there was Sunday morning.
Real, raw, and achingly honest, "A Glorious Dark" meets readers in the ambiguity, doubt, and uncertainty we feel when our beliefs about the world don't match up to reality. Tackling tough questions like "Why is faith so hard? Why do I doubt? Why does God allow me to suffer?" and "Is God really with me in the midst of my pain?" A. J. Swoboda puts into sharp focus a faith that is greater than our personal comfort or fulfilment. He invites readers to develop a faith that embraces the tension between what we believe and what we experience, showing that the very tension we seek to eliminate is where God meets us.

Genres: Christian, Nonfiction, Christian Living, Theology, Christianity, Faith, Book Club

240 pages, Paperback

First published January 27, 2015

About the author

A. J. Swoboda (PhD, University of Birmingham) pastors Theophilus Church in urban Portland, Oregon. He is executive director of the Seminary Stewardship Alliance, a consortium of Christian higher education institutions dedicated to reconnecting Christians with the biblical call to care for God's creation. Swoboda also teaches biblical studies, theology, and church history at Portland Seminary and Fuller Theological Seminary, among others. He is an award-winning author or editor of nine books and speaks regularly at conferences, retreats, churches, and seminars. Visit his website and blog at www.ajswoboda.com.

Reviews

[Daunavan Buyer · Rating 5 out of 5]

This book is phenomenal. Along with everything else I’ve read by AJ Swoboda, it deals honestly and truthfully with some very hard realities. This book is a reflection on Easter, specifically the movement from Good Friday to Holy Saturday, ending with resurrection Sunday. The book roots it’s reflection in one of those days, drawing the reader into self reflection as well as hope/faith in the midst of whatever trials they may be facing. This book is great, it doesn’t shy away from tough questions and keeps fundamental conviction and gospel truth central.

[Norman Falk · Rating 2 out of 5]

Reading this book felt like reading a collection of sermons.

Sure, some things are beautifully put, but the overall tone was too aggressive, too preachy.

To expreses old cliches in a new, “creative” way didn’t help either

[Gina LeBlanc · Rating 5 out of 5]

For anyone who has been left hopeless and mentally abused in a church. This book is for you. It helped me move forward in my healing process.

[Bob · Rating 5 out of 5]

Summary: An exploration of living in the tension of the glorious hope of Christian faith and the dark, unsettling realities of our lives through reflections grouped around the Friday, Saturday, and Sunday of the Triduum of Holy Week. A great book to read reflectively during Holy Week.

A. J. Swoboda opens this book with the image of a frozen river, apparently dead and still on the surface, but beneath the ice, flowing and alive–“a glorious dark”, he calls it, which he sees as an image for our faith, lived in the tension between our surprising and glorious hope and the struggles and questions and failures of our own lives.

The book is organized around the three days of the Triduum: Good Friday, Saturday, and Easter Sunday. Friday is the time when we are faced with the reality that “the monster at the end of the book” (reprising his childhood hero Scooby Doo is us. He explores our struggles with God’s “Fatherhood” and how Jesus discloses something of the kind of Father we have in God. He explores how God journeys with us in life, making the map as we go. Perhaps the most striking chapter in the Friday section is titled “Numb” where he describes his own struggle with alcoholism and the striking moment where Jesus refuses to numb the pain of the cross with alcohol and myrrh. And he concludes with the striking moment where God seems to forsake God on the cross.

Saturday is about waiting in uncertainty. We want to move right from suffering to triumph. In some sense, our whole lives right now are lived between Good Friday and Easter in Holy Saturday and it is there we must sit. Saturday tells us we can’t pick and choose our life in some kind of “faith boutique”. We must learn to rest in this day which for the Jews is “sabbath” before the Sunday of new creation.

And then there is Sunday–beginning for Swoboda with the amazing vindication of Mother Mary in the Resurrection–the woman who as a pregnant teen, claimed she was yet a virgin, visited only by an angel of the Lord. If resurrection is true, then all the other incredible things in the narratives of Jesus beginning with this virgin conception make sense and Mary can say, “told you so!” It confronts us with surprise, a different kind of super-hero, and gives us a community that eats together, even as Jesus ate with his disciples on the shore of Galilee before being taken from them.

What I so appreciated about Swoboda was his ability to “tell it slant” (in the words of Emily Dickinson)–to help us see afresh the surprising and wonderful character of the Christian story as it breaks into our flawed and sometimes dark existence. In place of stories that have become routine and seem not to have the power to keep us awake let alone raise the dead and transform life, his writing helps capture the startling character of what we call “the good news”. One example of this comes early in the book when he writes:

“Certainly God is holy–holy beyond all perceivable knowledge, wisdom, and understanding. But Hosea throws us a curveball in our understanding of how a holy God deals with unholiness. Perhaps in other religions the deities deal with evil through finger-pointing, shouting matches, or even the silencing of a perpetrator. But in Hosea, God not only looks upon evil–God takes evil on a honeymoon. How does God deal with evil?

He puts a ring on it” (pp. 19-20).

I found myself pausing again and again in thankful wonder at the glory that pierces our darkness that Swoboda explores in these reflections. It has helped prepare my heart for Holy Week and I wanted to post this review today so that others might find this resource for their own Holy Week reflections.

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Disclosure of Material Connection: I received this book free from the publisher. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255 : “Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.”

[James · Rating 5 out of 5]

A. J. Swoboda wrote A Glorious Dark about three days. The Friday we call good when Jesus died on the cross, Sunday when Jesus surprised everyone by refusing to be dead and the Saturday in between ( 'awkward Saturday')--a day of silence when defeat appears complete and we are full of doubt and questions. The fancy-shmancy word for these days is Triduum,the last three days of Holy Week. Many denominations and spiritualities major in one of these three days. Friday people enter into suffering and loss. Saturday people allow space for doubt, questions and deconstruction. Sunday people are the clappy,happy people who emphasize blessing. Swoboda sees a problem when Christians treating any one day as though it is the total Christian vision and experience, "We need both Friday and Sunday, not just one or the other. Some want to suffer with Jesus; others want to be resurrected with Jesus. Few Desire both. We can't prefer one day and reject the rest" (5).

So instead Swoboda takes these three days, the last three days of Holy Week, and treats them as a comprehensive vision (though not exhaustive) of Christian spirituality. The book's fifteen chapters are organized under the broad headings of the days (Friday, Saturday, Sunday), each giving a 'glimpse of that day.' On Friday, we reflect on Christ's cross and in it see both God's great love for us, and our own need with greater clarity. The cross confronts our sinfulness, our personal need for a Father, our addictions and apathy. In its place we see God's lavish love and welcome. We also see Jesus so identify with the struggles of humanity that for the briefest of moments on the cross, he looks like an atheist. Awkward Saturday is a day of silence and rest and questioning. It is a day for 'sitting, waiting and hoping.' On that day what Jesus built on earth and what we've done ourselves for God, seems very insignificant. There are reasons to question everything. Yet the questions and doubts are part of the waiting, so in the tomb we wait.Sunday is a day of surprises The same Jesus who came born of a sixteen-year-old Virgin, shocked everyone by coming out the tomb. Through Jesus' resurrection over the grave he secured for us the victory over every power and strong hold that held us captive and He invites us to share in his life, becoming part of his resurrection community.

Swoboda weaves his theological reflections with personal narrative, pop-cultural references, and stories from his church. He is a pastor of an urban church in Portland and talks about his vocation and context throughout. He is also funny, bookish and insightful. I enjoyed these reflections and think they are appropriate not only for Holy Week (which is when I read this book), but throughout the Christian year. We are Easter people and the truths that Swoboda explores are constantly relevant. While this book is organized around the three-day-theme, it is also more like a conversation than a tightly written treatise. The conversational tone makes it an engaging read but it also occasional made me impatient for 'the point' of a chapter (or kept me wondering how it related to the overall theme). But I'm not sure I'd like a pared down version of this. Swoboda is engaging (it makes me want to pull his previous book, Messy, off my shelf and actually read it). I give this book 4.5 stars.

Notice of material connection: I revieved this book from Baker Books in exchange for my honest review.

[Kristy · Rating 5 out of 5]

I can't say enough good things about this book. After listening to his new podcast, In Faith and Doubt, and reading this book, Swoboda has become one of my favorite modern theologians.

Here, he tells us that we need to live into all three days of The Paschal Triduum and proceeds to explore what each mean for us today. In his introduction, he says, "For many Christians, Jesus is no longer on the cross, nor should he be. He's resurrected and ascended. We need both Friday and Sunday, not just one or the other. Some want to suffer with Jesus; others want to be resurrected with Jesus. Few desire both. We can't prefer one day and reject the rest. Christianity isn't a religion of preference. Christianity, in fact, takes our selfish preferences about what elements of faith we desire and what parts we reject and hammers three huge nails in the hands and feet of our preferences and screams, Die, die, die—and please don't rise ever! Jesus is our Lord to the degree our preferences aren't." (p 5)

It had me from the beginning with true statements that just strike at the heart.

Here is just a sampling (some longer than many of his one-line punches):

"Christianity doesn't allow us to externalize darkness. It forces us to deal with the darkness inside our own hearts." (p 15)

"Jesus tried to help his disciples imagine the world in a new way. He still does. So much of the Bible deals in the realm of imagination. ... As a writer, I'm convinced that the Bible's silence on such wonderment is divinely purposed—God desires people to enter his world with their whole self, which includes their imagination. ... Changed imaginations change the world. ... Lewis soon began spending less time writing nonfiction theology, and he began writing imaginative fiction... Lewis spent the final stages of his writing career crafting stories that provoked the human imagination. If someone's imagination could be changed, then the world would be changed." (pp 23-24)

"The apostle John aptly describes God's love as 'lavish.' Not frugal. Not chintzy. Not cheap. Lavish. Legalism and religiosity make God's love frugal—you're always on the verge of being abandoned by God because you've stepped over the line. You're always in trouble over one tiny little mistake you made last Friday night. Lavish love, however, is too much love. It is an over-the-top kind of love. And that kind of love utterly destroys you. That is, if we let it hit us." (pp 47-48)

"The Celtic Christians used the word gyrovagus or 'ceaseless pilgrimage,' as a way to describe the life of Christian faith. Faith is a journey that won't ever cease this side of heaven; that means we'll need to keep seeking, knocking, asking until we stop breathing. Without question, the single hardest and most painful pilgrimage we will make is our attempt to find that pilgrimage, to find that thing we are made to do. I think God doesn't always tell us in advance what that will look like. And God does that for a reason. If God clearly spoke to us, if we knew without a shadow of a doubt what God wanted us to do, if we had an answer, you know what would happen? It's simple. If we had the answers, we wouldn't need Jesus anymore. We'd have a map but no tour guide, a destination without someone to go with. I think of it like this. God's will is like Lewis and Clark going across America to find the other side of the country. They didn't go with a map. The made the map as they went. In fact, when you look at their maps as they went, you can tell they had absolutely no idea whatsoever where they were going most of the time. They just went. It was only after they go back from their journey that they figured out what the map should look like. Discerning God's will is like that—the map isn't clear until the journey is finished. Then we can look back and see God was walking ever step of it with us. Most maps are written as we walk. If we embrace the fact that following Jesus is a gyrovagus, a ceaseless pilgrimage, we can embrace the excruciating silence. It's more godly to look for God than it is to have God's answer but not be looking for God." (pp 51-52)

"Following Jesus means enduring the pain of existence by actually being present, not numb." (p 66)

"Christianity, true Christianity, will always be inconvenient." (p 116)

"It's not our job to save God. It's our job to follow God. Glory has not fallen and does not need our help getting up. Which means our profundity isn't God's key to having a comeback tour in his created world." (p 124)

"In America, humanity rests after work. In Eden, humanity worked after rest." (p 125)

One of my favorite excerpts of which, here, I will quote just a sentence: "God is over history creating it, and he is under history carrying it, caring for it, and sustaining it." (p 213)

Referring to his son dunking the bread into the communion cup, he says, "It's unsanitary, but so are community and the process of salvation. Adults are too sanitary. God is in human history the way my son drowns communion bread and his whole hand in the blood of Jesus. God not only drenches every crack of human history in his grace but is so invested in history that he himself enters into it through his own son. God enters the cracks of all of history yet remains huge enough to stand tall above it. He saves it by entering it. He's in it but above it." (p 214)

"Resurrection pretty much opens the doors to anything impossible." (p 215)

And his last line: "It is only in the darkest of nights that we can see the brightest of stars." (p 219)

[Laurie · Rating 5 out of 5]

Meaning-packed and prose-delightful. I enjoyed the intellectual and spiritual experience of reading Swoboda's look at the powerful implications of the events and pauses during three day: Good Friday through Resurrection Sunday.

Key quotes:

The religious system of Christianity or church is not the only way to God. Jesus Christ himself is the only way to God. I’m not a keeper of the way; I’m just a journeyer on the

Another struggle people have with Christian faith is the guilt associated with it. Guilt is viewed in our culture as the antithesis of good and mature spirituality, and having guilt is seen as nothing more than the burden of religious authoritarianism and oppression. I was quickly overwhelmed by a great deal of guilt over my sin—the death in the marrow of my bones—after becoming a Christian. It was, in fact, the first time I felt real guilt.

Because it’s inclined to reject any form of guilt, our culture has gone to great lengths to try to stop all forms of judging. But we can’t do that. By condemning and judging all forms of judgment, we undermine our authority to speak boldly against murder, poverty, rape, or greed. Jesus said that you’d be judged as you judge.2 Jesus judged and permitted judgment, although he judged with great grace. I think people today reject all expressions of judgment because if they make a judgment, they would themselves have to be judged. You can only judge if your own hands are clean. And because none of our hands are clean, we’ve ceased and banned all judgment. But that isn’t good. We need judgment.

The Bible nails it. I agree that Christianity assumes a rather dark view of humanity—that we’re sinners, hopeless in and of ourselves. That we are, well, powerless. But boy do we need that kind of honesty. In the end, we need that dose of reality. Perhaps the Bible is simply trying to do what nobody else down here wants to do—be honest about who we really are.

Lewis soon began spending less time writing nonfiction theology, and he began writing imaginative fiction, books like the Chronicles of Narnia and Perelandra. Why a change? Many Lewis scholars have theorized that he eventually came to believe that the primary way to change a person was not by changing their beliefs alone but by changing their imagination. In a telling letter to a magazine, Lewis explains why he shifted to writing fictional accounts in his later years: My thought and talent (such as they are) now flow in different . . . channels, and I do not think I am at all likely to write more directly theological pieces. The last work of that sort which I attempted had to be abandoned. If I am now good for anything it is for catching the reader unaware—thro’ fiction and symbol. I have done what I could in the way of frontal attacks . . . now [I] feel quite sure those days are over.4

Repentance is a word meaning to change one’s mind. Repentance is a kind of “good grief” that occurs when we’ve drawn near to God, to borrow from the prophet Charlie Brown. It’s a deep and lasting change within our minds, hearts, and imaginations when we touch God’s terribly deep mercy. Be careful: repentance is not what some religious people have supposed. Repentance does not, as they suggest, bring us closer to God. Rather, repentance is a by-product of being drawn near to God.

No human opinion, my own included, carries the knowledge or authority to populate heaven or hell.

One literary scholar by the name of Erving Goffman gave his life to studying the complex dynamics of drama, theater, and acting. At the time, his ideas were quite radical. His most widely read work was a book entitled The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life. Goffman theorized that people essentially live as actors in front of a world that they believe is watching them as an audience. Goffman believed we all perceive the world around us as one big audience that either boos or applauds all we do. And because the audience can often be quite fickle—booing, clapping, bravoing—we’ll be naturally inclined to cover over our insecurities and fears and replace them with costumes and masks as an actor would. In life, we’ll present ourselves with particular behaviors, patterns, and attitudes in order to make impressions of success and confidence upon others to protect our true inner brokenness. Goffman’s nerded-out academic title for this theory was “the dramaturgical conception of self.”14 We live as actors, not as we actually are. Turns out, Goffman was a bit of a prophet. Modern people often pantomime their way through their insecurities and fears, painting on a smiley façade, keeping their audience believing they know their lines and everything is fine.

All the sin, and shame, and narcissism in the world are wrapped up in the next verse in the Bible—“They realized they were naked; so they sewed fig leaves together and made coverings for themselves.”16 The human response to sin is to put something on. Their first action was not to go to God their Father; it was to put something on. They covered themselves. Now, you don’t have to be a Christian or Jew to get what is going on here. The atheist existentialist philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre once wrote on this moment in human history. He said, “Adam and Eve realized after the fall that they were naked because the naked body symbolized our brute objectivity.”17 This brute objectivity, Sartre said, is that moment when we realize who we really, really, really are inside. And we’ll do anything to hide ourselves from it. If Luther could see God in the grain, we can learn to see God in our broken lives.

What did Jesus have that we don’t? Jesus was fulfilled in the sheer love of God. Concluding his most brilliant book, Orthodoxy, G. K. Chesterton briefly discusses what Jesus did when he went to the wilderness with God early in the morning.20 In the wilderness, Jesus prayed to his Father. We might often imagine Jesus going into the wilderness sort of white-knuckling his relationship with the Father. How, before coffee, Jesus begrudgingly went up to force himself to pray. But, Chesterton says, that’s not what it would’ve been like if we saw Jesus up in the wilderness praying. Chesterton says that if we could have hid behind a tree and watched Jesus in the wilderness with his Father, we would’ve seen something that would surprise us all. We would have seen Jesus laughing as he danced through the trees.

Therein lies the importance of the Bible and the church. In the Bible, we find a book reporting to us the things God has spoken in the past to others. And since God does not go back on what he’s said, we can compare all we think to those words because of God’s faithfulness. This is exactly why discerning God’s voice is best done in the context of a community holding its feet to the Bible, a book that has the ability to tell us if we’re being idiots or not.

There’s a kind of holiness, of redemption, in not receiving everything we ask for in prayer. Even Jesus knew what it was like not to get what he wanted. I’m reminded of C. S. Lewis’s words: “If God had granted all the silly prayers I’ve made in my life, where should I be now?”

The fact that Jesus had been captured caused a disciple to run in fear. In the brilliant words of New Testament scholar Raymond Brown, “Those who had left everything to follow him have now left everything to get away from him.”9 It was in his death that even his disciples distanced themselves from him. Jesus was killed as a lonely madman.

It’s interesting to consider all the hands involved in Jesus’s death: those at his trial, the crowds, a giant mob. It’s even more fascinating to consider who did nothing to stop his crucifixion. The theologians stood by and approved.

I don’t want to be premature, but could it be possible that God doesn’t just speak in red lights and green lights but with yellow lights too? And by that I mean that God sometimes says yes, other times no, but sometimes remains silent. When God is silent, he isn’t saying nothing; he’s saying everything—kind of like, “Hey, I’m with you. I’ll go with you where you go.”

Discerning God’s will is like that—the map isn’t clear until the journey is finished. Then we can look back and see God was walking every step of it with us. Most maps are written as we walk. If we embrace the fact that following Jesus is a gyrovagus, a ceaseless pilgrimage, we can embrace the excruciating silence.

Immaturity sometimes shows itself in needing a personal word every day. One sign of maturity, however, is learning to be faithful to God without a constant call, to be faithful with tireless passion to the few words God seems to have spoken.

Because God knows that if we walk in our darkness long enough, we’ll have to trip into his arms.

He’s got a tough gig. Jesus, the one we worship, was a man acquainted with sorrows.4 It must be virtually impossible to keep the attention of your followers when they’re a people acquainted with adrenaline and lights and smoke machines and a desire to be endlessly entertained. How hard it must be to sell the cross to a people who sit there, popcorn in hand, wanting to be entertained by God.

the geography of the Old Testament is full of places with really honest names—God Judged, Israel Sinned, We Wept Bitterly. What a unique precedent. The Jewish people wrote the details of their mistakes—drew their tragedies—on their maps.

Our maps are more pristine than those of the ancients in the Bible. But parents being honest with their kids about their sin is a gift.

The Trinity is confusing because it’s truthful. If you are looking for something to make sense, then stop believing in the Trinity. The Trinity is truth. It isn’t rational. And truth is like a flower whose beauty isn’t improved by dissection.3

A Christ-follower is like that. We choose to let our hurts and pains make us more generous and gracious than mean and malevolent. Jesus was like that. When Jesus hung on the cross dying at the end of a period of deep suffering, he offered forgiveness. Next to him were two unnamed criminals. One of those criminals hung on his cross only to hurl biting insults upon the God of the universe. Jesus offered him paradise. Just before his death, that was what came out of him. Which is what we’re called to do to those who have truly hurt us. Reconciliation isn’t extra credit—it’s the whole course.

Fishing is faith. Faith, the kind exemplified by the star-studded cast of Scripture, is the holy act of casting one’s line in the water for the millionth time even if the past nine hundred ninety-nine thousand nine hundred ninety-nine times before turned up nothing. Faith is standing at the river’s edge, waiting, trusting, and hoping something will bite. Still, we misunderstand what faith is. Faith isn’t effort. Faith isn’t what makes Jesus rise from the grave. Faith is what postures us to catch fish, to see the empty tomb, to receive what’s hidden below. Faith and waiting are bedmates. Faith practices the stubborn optimism and persistence that fly-fishermen endure anytime they walk to the river. Again and again, Jesus’s disciples throw the line of their lives in the water no matter how long they’ve stood there—keeping at it, over and over, day after day, year after year, eternally hoping for a divine nibble. Jesus called us to be fishers of men. That means that following Christ requires us to be as endlessly hopeful about what God’s kingdom is doing in others as we are about what God is doing in us. Fishers of men wait, try, and are stubbornly optimistic about the oft tiny and indiscernible work of God in the most un-Christlike of people. A fisher of men chooses to enter into hard, broken, even painful relationships over and over and over again in hopes of the potential of grace. It’s only in the daring act of loving those who don’t act like Jesus that we can hope to look like Jesus ourselves.

God is best understood by those who’ve experienced the death of their greatest desire. Every other view is from the back row. God is so close to those who know what loss is like. I once heard someone say that the pope was not God’s primary representative on earth—the poor were.4 I think that the poor can see God from the front row because they literally, every day, every moment, rely on God’s love for their next breath.

The Bible does not distinguish between believing and trying. They’re the same thing. Biblical belief implies a kind of trying. And if this is true, then many hold dear a catastrophic misunderstanding of the nature of faith. Many envision faith as a kind of hall pass for laziness, excusing them from a life of action, doing, and working hard. Faith like this lulls one to passively recline, let go, and let God do everything. While admiring anyone’s intention to take a deep breath and relax, I fear that this false view of faith lets us off the responsibility of life, making us believe that we don’t have to apply for that job, don’t have to work hard in that marriage, don’t have to pay those bills—all these in the name of “faith.” That’s not faith; that’s entitlement. Faith isn’t letting go and letting God. Faith is grabbing hold and letting God. Faith is working one’s heart out yet leaning on grace the whole time for the miracle. Faith is running to the tomb only to find Jesus has already been resurrected. How dangerous false faith can be! Our God-given responsibility to act in this life should never be undermined by our view of a powerful God. It is that powerful God who gives us his power to act. If life were simply about God populating heaven, then why would God have us do the whole life part? Why not just create us in heaven? God creates us to live life. And living requires faith. Life is that place here and now where we freely risk what God has given us in love for him. The philosopher Pascal once said that faith is like gambling. A disciple bets their whole life—all their action, all their work—on the resurrected Jesus. Faith is a risk. Faith is doing something with the life God gave you and letting God worry about the results. Action, therefore, is an essential part of faith.

Faith, rather, is a radical response to God’s love. What if we lived as if we believe that? That would mean that faith and belief are not some sacrifice we throw before God to make him love us. That would mean that faith and belief are our response to God’s already promised present love in Jesus.

The precise moment Jesus was affirmed by his Father is of utmost importance. It wasn’t after three years of healings, after feeding the poor, after preaching sermons, after he died on the cross. Look at when Jesus was affirmed. Jesus was loved before any of those good and powerful acts. I think had God affirmed Jesus after he’d died on the cross, then we’d all believe God only affirms us after we’ve done a life of great stuff. But that isn’t how real love works. God’s love is ascribed, never achieved.

Martin Luther once said that when a Christian wakes up in the morning, they should wash their face and remember their baptism. I get what Luther meant. Salvation is having all our history, all our stories, all our mistakes swept up in the free-flowing river of grace that we were once dunked in. The waters still flow. I haven’t stopped sinning, but it’s on my list of things to do. I want to be done. Until then, I rely on grace. And there’s little chance anything will change soon. Faith is drowning in a torrent of God’s love.

Martin Luther said Saturday was the day that God himself lay cold in the grave. Friday was death, Sunday was hope, but Saturday was that seemingly ignored middle day between them when God occupied a dirty grave in a little garden outside Jerusalem. Saturday is about waiting, about uncertainty, about not knowing what’ll happen. Saturday is ambiguity. It’s about, as one theologian put it, “muddling through” when the future isn’t clear.2 So much of Christian faith is Saturday faith.

faith is something that you cling to when understanding and reason lay dead. We don’t believe once we understand it—we believe in order to understand it. Saturday’s like that: offering a day of waiting, a day of ambiguity, a day when God is sovereign even if our ideas and theologies and expectations about him are not. It is the day that our ignorance is our witness and our proclamation. Truth is, our intellect will always be one step behind in our love of God. We don’t love God once we understand him; we love God in order to understand him.

Our modern world feeds on what I call self-selected content—what we want when we want it. Our music is self-selected—we listen to what we want to listen to when we want to (and skip to the next track when we’re unhappy). This didn’t used to be the case. Gone are the days we’d listen to the radio for that off chance of hearing our favorite tune. Driving down the road, running, studying, we click on the self-selected music in our self-selected locations on our self-selected computers. We watch self-selected shows, read self-selected books, have self-selected friends. Through the process of self-selection, we rarely if ever are forced to encounter individuals, groups, things, or ideas we’re not into. Because in this therapeutic, feel-good culture of ours, we’re used to having the things we want to medicate the boredom of now. We believe self-selected ideas. We surround ourselves with what we want to hear, reading books we agree with, taking classes we want, having friends who tell us what we want them to, embracing forms of spirituality that make us feel better about ourselves and tell us what we want to hear about what we already believe. Truth and reality must cater to our own individual needs and wants. Which makes me extremely uncomfortable. Because if we’re telling ourselves only the things we want to hear and believe only the things we want to believe, what if we’re all wrong? Self-selected living is killing us.

In a self-selected world, we dictate where we’re willing to receive truth. Which is why I’m increasingly suspicious of people who claim they don’t need church to find God. These people can find God in the woods with the birds and the animals and the moss. Listen, I love the God of the woods. Walking through the lush Oregon coniferous forests with the sun beaming on my face between tall trees, I know God’s there. But I find the parts of God that I want out there—the Creator God, the beautiful God. If I want all of God, then I’ve got to embrace the parts of God I don’t like, not just the parts I do. Sitting my stubborn backside down in an uncomfortable church pew alongside really cantankerous religious folks on Sunday forces me to face the parts of God that I don’t like. For the person who says that church is useless and they can worship going on a hike, frankly, why not just replace church with going to a movie, a trip to Hawaii, or hot-tubbing? Say what it is. That’s not us trying to find truth—that’s us trying to find a convenient God whose sole purpose is our happiness.

I was talking to a Jewish friend about that story of the guy who tried to keep the ark from falling and was killed by God. I asked her what Jews say about that story. She said that God took the man’s life for one simple reason: to set a precedent. God did that, she said, so people would never again begin to think that they could save God from falling, or losing, or becoming irrelevant. God doesn’t need us to save him. We need God to save us. God is okay. We’re not. It’s not our job to save God. It’s our job to follow God. Glory has not fallen and does not need our help getting up. Which means our profundity isn’t God’s key to having a comeback tour in his created world. We can learn something from that. We should probably be wary of trying to be too profound, because God came as a baby.

Reading the Bible is really hard without knowing the Voice behind it.

...and many more!

[D.J. Lang · Rating 3 out of 5]

3 stars but treat it like a 4 star review if what I write here fits how you like books. I would give it 4 stars (it is going to live at my house), but its 2014 publication shows (and Swoboda's young age also shows).

How I came to read books by A.J.Swoboda: I heard a talk he gave in the autumn of 2023. His first book, Messy (2012) was, well, messy organization wise and after all these years, I would hope that he has grown both as a writer and a person. Enter this book written in 2014. Same. Ironically, I am now reading his book written in 2016, and I miss the messy, random, "squirrel" moments of this book and his first book. Lol.

The timing for me reading this book was perfect. Grief and Easter came at the same time. I did not realize this book was going to be tied to Good Friday, Holy Saturday, Resurrection Sunday (loosely). I did figure from the title of the book A Glorious Dark and Swoboda might have something to say to me about living out sadness and sorrow.

What I loved: Holy Saturday (also called Awkward Saturday in the book) is given attention that it doesn't normally get (no one I know does anything on Holy Saturday). Even Swoboda mentions in his 2016 book how this, his 2014 book, has a section on Awkward Saturday (so this section stands out to him as well). In A Glorious Dark, Swoboda truly brings to mind how the first followers of Jesus could not have known Sunday was coming. On that Friday and Saturday, Jesus' body was decaying in the tomb. I felt it as I read this book.

Also, I loved the parts in the book where the dark is glorious. Still, Swoboda often fell into the overused cliche metaphor of the dark as bad. I'm going to keep harping on this as long as I keep finding authors using the dark as the bad, the "dark side", evil, etc. From the standpoint of overused metaphors, it is way past its prime. From the standpoint that it is harmful, it not only is harmful, it also prevents writers from being specific. It's like people using euphemisms because they either think a specific word would be too blunt or because they simply are falling into a lazy pattern: "Let's just use dark side or dark this or dark that." We do have other words in our language that would be more real, authentic, genuine, specific, true, descriptive... Okay, off of my soapbox now.

Would my mom read it? How long have you been reading my reviews? If you have been reading any of them, you will know that my mom doesn't read anything that's not totally linear (so no messy), and rarely does she read non-fiction.

[Aaron West · Rating 2 out of 5]

In A Glorious Dark, A.J. Swoboda—Portland pastor and evangelical ecotheologist—creates a framework that unpacks many common experiences in life around the three weekend days of Holy Week: death on Good Friday, waiting on Holy Saturday, and belief on Resurrection Sunday.

The book was harmless, and Swoboda strikes me as an eager, genuine writer. However, between the rambling nature of his writing and the almost slightly dated feel of the points he makes, the feeling that this was a glorified collection of tepid blog entries was hard to shake. It's as if he was repeating different points and once-novel, maybe even once-edgy concepts he had collected and heard from others over the course of his career, but tried to beef them up by making them more relatable or seemingly profound. At points Swoboda is a tad too conciliatory and apologetic for his ideas, at others he slightly falls for the temptation of tapping into the oft-too-prevalent persecution complex and almost conspiratorial "complain-about-the-world-and-the-way-things-are" culture that woos evangelicalism.

This is not to say the book doesn't have some gold nuggets—I really enjoyed several of the points randomly thrown in with the rest of his musings. Searching them out is another task altogether.

[Shelby Lau · Rating 4 out of 5]

A truly beautiful book! The premise is that there are 3 types of faith: Friday, Saturday, Sunday. Friday faith is the kind of faith that expects to suffer. For the Friday Christian, suffering and sacrifice are at the root of an authentic and true relationship with God. On the other hand, Sunday faith is rooted in the victory of the resurrection. Sunday Christians see God's provision and blessings as a sign of true relationship with God. Somewhere in between the two is Saturday faith. Saturday faith is rooted in the silence and questioning that surrounds the day Jesus lay in the tomb. Saturday Christians get familiar with the uncomfortable questions of faith. They sit in the dark grave with Jesus in order to get answers and find direction.

The book spends a portion of time digging into each of these branches of faith and explains, through stories and reasoning why each is important where each can be dangerous. Each believer out to find a balance between the three. May we be willing to sacrifice, quick to rejoice, and ready to sit in the glorious dark that comes with our questionings!

[Chelsi · Rating 2 out of 5]

There were definitely some parts of this book that were quite good. For instance, the portion about how we must wait in the tomb on Saturday, hopeless and scared. There were other bits that I quite liked as well.
But, the overwhelming majority of the book seemed like it was unfocused thoughts that were pieced together from blogs or sermons. I had trouble relating ideas back to the point of the chapter or section. The tone was also somewhat irritating, although I don't fault the author for his personality.
I think this book had potential but could have been largely improved with a great deal more editing.

[Amy · Rating 4 out of 5]

This book will make you think

I really enjoyed the beginning of this book. The breakdown of the three days of Jesus’ death, burial and resurrection wasn’t something I’d spent a lot of time thinking through before.

What lost it for me was the last few chapters of the book. They seemed to lose the focus of the first two parts. They were more disjointed and the ideas did not always seem to flow together.

[Olivia Cook · Rating 4 out of 5]

Overall, I really liked this book. I don’t agree with every single thing he said, but the beauty of it is that I began trust A.J.‘s words and character enough that hearing things I disagree with was okay and respectable. I love the whole idea of taking faith as the 3 days of the holy weekend, on repeat our whole lives. I know I have been living in my Awkward Saturday for a while now, it was so encouraging to be validated in that and also held with the acknowledgment of other days.

[Jon Nutter · Rating 4 out of 5]

Beautifully and Lyrically Written

A.J. paint beautiful and provocative pictures exploring the tension of our beliefs and experience. I was both challenged and comforted. Made for fantastic devotional reading during Lent and provided some great quotes. I also noted several sources for further reading.

[Danielw · Rating 4 out of 5]

Swoboda writes well and makes many solid points along the way. He helps you look at things in ways you may have never considered which will, more than likely, having you agree with him on some points and disagree on other points. We need books like this and more open and charitable conversations being had by Christians of different beliefs.

[Doug Rumbold · Rating 4 out of 5]

Swoboda uses Good Friday to Resurrection Sunday to help the reader along the path of faith in Christ. Ultimately God is WITH us in the confusing in-between. The Last Supper’s promise of His presence is shown in the First Breakfast (fish on the seashore in John 21) - the confusion and doubt we feel may not be bad… it may be just what’s needed to bolster our faith!

[Trae · Rating 5 out of 5]

Not sure I’ve underlined or marked up a book more than I did in this book. Love AJ’s prose and style of writing. I really enjoyed Saturday but felt he focused a bit too much on Friday, yet worth your time if you can get a chance to read.

[Roman Purshaga · Rating 5 out of 5]

I enjoyed this book for two simple reasons. It’s theologically provocative and devotionally nurturing. I would def recommend this book to anyone who is taking a course on philosophy and worldviews. Keeps you grounded in the Christian narrative while allowing to ask valid questions.

[Ruthline Ignacio-Capriles · Rating 5 out of 5]

This gave me much peace!

So honest and real! Bold! He says what he thinks and feels. Few people can do this. It helps tremendously.

[Lauren · Rating 5 out of 5]

Swoboda feels like the theologian our souls need right now.

[Natalie Judson · Rating 4 out of 5]

An enjoyable read. Anecdotal with profound biblical insights peppered throughout each chapter

[Caitlyn Monks · Rating 3 out of 5]

Other reviewers thoughts that it seemed like a collection of blog posts seems the most accurate description

[Paul Herriott · Rating 5 out of 5]

Swoboda has a great writing ability for integrating his stories and the Biblical story together. The chapters are easy to digest, but still ample for thought.

[Sandra Lium · Rating 1 out of 5]

Pastor Arron recommended. I just could not get into it.

[Travis Heystek · Rating 3 out of 5]

I’ll start by saying that A Glorious Dark wasn’t what I expected it to be. That turns out to be both good and bad. But first I want to talk about the layout a bit briefly.

The cover design is both engaging and consistent with the theme of the book, one that enticed me to read the book in the first place. The books layout is smooth and easy to follow. There are very few subtitles, which can be a breath of fresh air, as each chapter seems to flow seamlessly from start to finish. On the other hand there natural break points throughout each chapter which makes this a book that is easy to set down and pick back up again, making it easy to read among the business of many of our modern schedules.

That being said, I do have some complaints. The questions the poses on its back cover are; Why is faith so hard? Why do I doubt? Why does God allow me to suffer? Is God really with me in the midst of my pain? I didn’t feel that the book did a great job adequately addressing each of those questions. This could be because of the very personal narrative style of the book or it could be due to the lack of scriptural backing. As a pastor reading a pastor’s work I expected there to be deep exposition and high scripture content in order to delve into some of life’s toughest questions, but instead got an experience based answer. Although I don’t disagree whole-heartedly with anything the author says, the lack of scripture also provides what I consider to be the book’s lack of authority. I can tell that many of the conclusions the author comes to are based on scripture. Even the overall layout of the book (following the death and resurrection of Jesus; Friday-Sunday) speaks to that of scriptural knowledge. There was also support in the notes at the end of the book so show support for a minimal use of scripture, but due to the lack of exposition and explanations within each chapter, as a reader I’m forced to take what the author says at face-value rather than being able to explore the topic for myself. For someone at an entry level Christian “maturity” this may be ok, but for someone who is wrestling with questions and wants to answer them for him/herself, it becomes very difficult to read this book with conviction. My one other complaint, and this is minimal, is his use of the work “ass” instead of donkey/colt. I understand that “ass” is word that grabs your attention, however because of the connotation it carries in the English language, donkey or colt would be more appropriate.

Those were my primary negatives/concerns about the book, but I also think there were some positives to the book.

A.J. Swoboda seems to speak with a strong conviction based on personal experience, which makes things very believable. He doesn’t come from the stereotypical “I grew up in the church, and struggled to figure out who I was” mind set. He came from a background in which all-paths or no-paths led to eternal life. Finding and admitting to one path was something that cost him. He has also experienced deep pains in life and, from my own experience, the more experience you have with a topic the better you get at speaking to it. He doesn’t seem to speak with too much anger or withheld emotion. He seems to be a “you get what you see” type of person. I especially appreciated the way he spoke of the shootings in Portland. He made you feel as if you were there experiencing it with him. He had no problem pulling me in.

He was also very quotable. I found myself underlining and taking notes as I read, indicating that it was thought provoking and convicting. I’m sure that the reading of this book will contribute to the way I approach Holy Week this year, especially preparation for our Good Friday service.

Overall, I would rate this book well. At first I was inclined to give it a mediocre rating like 2.5. This book didn’t directly address me as a person, where I am in my walk with Christ. However, I can see how it would speak into the lives of others. With his smooth style and provocative use of the English language the book is engaging. Because it doesn’t have a lot of visible biblical support I can’t give it higher than a four. So I’m going to give this book a 3.0-3.5 out of 5. It isn’t a book that I will read annually or recommend to everyone looking to read a good Christian book, but I would recommend based on someone’s life circumstances.

This book was provided by Baker Book Bloggers, and the review is written in accordance with their regulations. Visit www.BakerBooks.com/BakerBooksBloggers for more information in how you can be involved.

[Michele Morin · Rating 5 out of 5]

For years I celebrated Easter as if it were a stand-alone holiday, singing “Up from the Grave He Arose” without giving much thought to the horror of the Dying or the silence of the Dead. Providentially, my early efforts to incarnate and to enliven an invisible God in the hearts of four sweet boys found a way into the obtuse heart of their mother as well. Therefore, this Lenten season, I will be re-reading A Glorious Dark, a book about believing which confronts the loss and defeat of Friday and the awkward silence of Saturday with Sunday morning resurrection truth. Where memoir meets theological pondering, author A.J. Swoboda’s story winds through his faith journey, with the bonus of startling spotlight quotes which he aims at himself and at all of us who say that we believe. Here’s one of the dozen or more: “Many envision faith as a kind of hall pass for laziness, excusing them from a life of action, doing, and working hard.” Ouch and amen.

What we believe about one weekend in history, the three days’ journey from Golgotha to the garden tomb, impacts our whole experience of the Christian life. A Glorious Dark challenges the reader to enter into Friday, to “own up to our part of the evil in the world.” This involves trusting for the lavish grace to have our emptiness filled, our requests denied, and our fatherlessness remedied by the Father. On Friday, we turn our faces away from our “sponge” of choice and embrace our identity as pilgrims, lifelong seekers of the will and the voice of God.

With candor, Swoboda describes the bleak-hearted rising of post-crucifixion Saturday, and because much of the Christian life is lived under Saturday-like conditions, it is helpful to hear that we must “sit in Saturday;” we must “squat in the tomb” in order to enter into the grief and disappointment of the original disciples. Saturday is our opportunity to remember our own mortality, to remember that we live with Jesus in his death. On Saturday, we evict ourselves from the center of the universe by “embracing the gift of waiting,” and by mourning our failure to see others and their grief.

Resurrection Sunday not only verifies all that Jesus claimed, but it points to his future coming, the ultimate surprise which will serve to further verify all that we hold true. As the church meets to celebrate the resurrection every Sunday, we also reenact the resurrection, celebrating the mystery with “people we normally wouldn’t love, [who] breathe down our necks, [but who] hold our feet to the fire of our beliefs.” Sunday faith perseveres when my theology cannot account for the chaos I see around me.

A Glorious Dark reveals a God who “stand[s] tall” above human history and invites (rather than scorns) the questioning heart. After all, of the thirty-one questions Jesus posed in the Gospels, He answered only three. When God does not break into history to rectify the list of problems set forth in my latest memorandum/prayer, it will be helpful to remember the messy way in which that one weekend in history played out for those who were on the scene. Once again, the life of Jesus will be made manifest, a glorious life emerging from a glorious dark.

This book was provided by Baker Books, a division of Baker Publishing Group, in exchange for my unbiased review.

[Jennifer Pickwell · Rating 4 out of 5]

It wasn’t until I was well into the first chapter…somewhere around Scooby-Doo…that I realized it wasn’t an old theologian speaking, but a young man’s voice I was reading. Author A. J. Swoboda is a Pastor and Professor from Portland, Oregon who was unknown to me before I read A Glorious Dark. The title and cover piqued my interest as I am someone who sometimes struggles with, “…the tension between belief and experience.”

From the back cover:

On Thursday as they ate the Passover meal with Jesus, the disciples believed that the kingdom was coming and they were on the front end of a revolution. Then came the tragedy of Friday and the silence of Saturday. They ran. They doubted. They disappeared. From their perspective, all was lost.
Yet, within the grave, God’s power was still flowing like a mighty river beneath the ice of winter. And there was a Sunday morning.

In A Glorious Dark, Swoboda reflects on three Holy Days and how Christians walk out their faith in reference to each day. In Part I, he speaks to Friday Christianity which he describes as the, “…religion of those who’ve chosen to find their identity in a spirituality of defeat, death, and loss.” Swoboda addresses the Saturday Christian in Part II. He suggests this is, “for those of us who’ve come to consider doubt and ambiguity as final destination rather than conduits through which we actually enter into resurrection.” Lastly, in Part !!!, Swoboda address Sunday Christianity. This is a very popular Christian walk at this moment in time. It is the victory and prosperity walk.

I have lived a little as a Friday Christian as I walked through a similar situation with infertility as Swoboda shares in Part !. My husband and I had to go to great lengths to have children and it was a dark time in our lives. Although it has been many years, reading his account brought back memories of how miserable life can be.

I also enjoyed Swoboda’s thoughts on “resurrection community,” and the need for Christians to belong to a body of believers. With so many churches offering online service opportunities, many people opt to watch from home and never attend in person and in turn, miss out on becoming part of a community of believers.

In the end, I appreciate the overall message of this book. The idea that the Christian life is meant to be lived in and through all three Holy Days. This is a book I will pass along to a friend with confidence it will be enjoyed, dog-eared, and highlighted. I was given a complimentary copy of this book by its publisher in exchange for an honest review. All opinions are my own and I have not been compensated.

[Rebekah · Rating 5 out of 5]

When I read a book, be it fiction or nonfiction, and I come across something that strikes me—a turn of phrase or an important point—I fold the corner of the page over, marking that spot. Then, when I’m finished with the book, I go back to that page, reread it, and see if something strikes me again. If it does, I must have really meant it, and I underline it.

In A Glorious Dark, I had 23 pages folded over. In a 15-chapter book. And I almost skipped the folding over and went straight to the underlining.

A.J. Swoboda has a way with words. He mixes humor with heartfelt vulnerability and thought-provoking seriousness, and he does it all against a backdrop of Good Friday, Easter Sunday, and the in-between Saturday.

It has been said, “It’s Friday, but Sunday is coming.” That is almost always spoken to move us quickly from the trauma, the sadness, the fear of Jesus’ death and into the celebration of His resurrection. And Swoboda does start with Good Friday. He starts with Jesus’ death, and he asks us to sit there in the numbness of it. But then he doesn’t rush from that into the joy and celebration. He calls us to pause and fully enter in to Saturday first. Saturday, when Jesus had been killed and was dead in the tomb. Saturday, when nobody knew Sunday was coming. Saturday, when it seems like my life is falling apart, and I can’t even find a friend let alone God. Saturday, where we live a good portion of our lives. Saturday, where Jesus may have lain dead in a tomb but, just like a river in the winter, there is a glorious dark underneath.

I have truly never read a book like this. It is with regret that I can only recommend A Glorious Dark to anyone who reads this review, and I can’t actually go out and buy a copy for every one of my friends, my family members, and people I don’t even know very well.

Disclosure: I received this book free from Baker Books through the Baker Books Bloggers www.bakerbooks.com/bakerbooksbloggers program. The opinions I have expressed are my own, and I was not required to write a positive review. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255 http://www.access.gpo.gov/nara/cfr/wa....

[Blue North · Rating 4 out of 5]

t's almost Easter. It is the most Holy time of the year. It is the day when Jesus Christ rose from the dead. Some people call it Resurrection Sunday. However, according to A. J. Swoboda, Friday and Saturday are just as important. So, there is Good Friday, Saturday and Easter Sunday. Good Friday and Saturday typify a time of heavy darkness: On Friday, Jesus is crucified. On Saturday, there is deadly silence. In A Glorious Dark, the author beams his light on to darkness proving that in darkness there is hope, and in darkness there is change. In our darkest periods, is the light at the end of our tomb. In our dark times, there is no reason to give up.

There is no shame in having a Messiah whom some people might think of as a Fallen hero because He laid in a dark grave. There are also answers in our most silent periods. Those lonely times can lead us into our community. The strength of the book A Glorious Dark by A.J. Swoboda is that the author is able to take the full Holy period, with its dark days, and make those days sing with personal commitment and hope. A. J. Swoboda does bridge the wide gap of darkness and light. This is the time of seed growth, light after darkness.

A. J. Swoboda's thoughts about Communion gave me pause. Yes, Communion is a way for a community to enter into relationship with God during, after and before Holy Week. Communion is indeed a celebration of Divine love. The broken are accepted. Those living in a perplexed dark are accepted. Nonetheless, my mind pondered this question. Who should or should not take part in such a Holy ceremony? Are there boundaries to be observed within the community? If we choose, all of us are able to receive the gift of a risen Savior on the third day, Easter. Perhaps, therein lies the answers to the ritual of Communion.
http://ajswoboda.com/

[Create With Joy · Rating 4 out of 5]

If you are a Christian, what happens when your intellectual and experiential faith don’t quite align?

What happens when your beliefs about life and the world around you seem to be at odds?

How do you reconcile darkness and light, goodness and evil, death and life?

These are deep theological questions – and some of things you’ll find yourself contemplating as you work your way through the pages of A Glorious Dark by A.J. Swoboda.

A Glorious Dark – Finding Hope In The Tension Between Belief And Experience is a fascinating book that explores Good Friday, Holy Saturday and Easter Sunday as a metaphor for the Christian faith.

A.J. believes that Christians tend to live out their faith focusing on one of three aspects of Christianity which he correlates with the spiritual themes of Holy Week.

A.J. writes that this approach to faith is problematic, however, because:

We can’t prefer one day and reject the rest. Christianity isn't a religion of preference… Christian faith is the whole weekend and (we) must enter all days…

Jesus is our Lord to the degree our preferences aren't.

A Glorious Dark is a beautifully written book that challenges you to think about your beliefs and how you live out your Christian life. It’s a book to highlight – to ponder over – to discuss with your friends.

To read this review in its entirety, visit Create With Joy.

Disclosure: I received a copy of this book from the publisher for review purposes. However, the opinions expressed in this review are entirely my own.