Developing a Functional Theology

If there was ever a season when the whole world groaned for God in one collective, audible wail, it is the year of our Lord 2026. Political tensions, immigration conflicts, violence, and suffering have swept the world as usual—but this year, they seem tinged with a sharper intention stirring increasing fear and chaos. I have personally listened to hours of deep lament and faced unanswerable, painful questions this season. I am quite sure that as you reflect, so have you.

Our deepest groaning is a desperate desire for God to show Himself where despair seems to have the last word. The most agonizing travails of our souls are always rooted in one foundational question: “Where are you, God?”

“Where are you, God, in this hopelessly complex conflict on my team?”

“Where are you, God, in this endless, silent distance in my marriage?”

“Where are you, God, in this heavy cloud of depression and the sharp anxiety lacing my nights?”

“Where are you, God, when our deepest nightmares are met with corrupt leaders?”

“Where are you, God, in a life that looks so completely different from the one I would have chosen?”

We hear a lot about God on Sunday mornings and at focused conferences. We read a lot about Him in wonderful books written by beautiful people. But you and I both know that in the dark night of the soul, we need a theology with boots on. We need a God we can touch, taste, and feel. We need Emmanuel—God with us. Evil has real fingers and feet; it leaves a lasting, holistic impression on the bodies and minds of people everywhere. To counter it, we need a God we can experience with all our senses.

Jesus knew this deeply. He came straight down into our chaos and said simply, “Come, follow me.”

Our functional theology is revealed in the way God looks on us. It is found in how we reflect the nature and heart of the Divine through our distinct masculinity and femininity. In his book Fully Alive, Dr. Larry Crabb writes that the most masculine men move toward intimate relationships, imaging God’s pursuit in their closest connections. Meanwhile, the most fully alive women reveal something about the character of God to the people who see them up close.

I jokingly told my sisters recently that I am initiating a new leaders’ training track where I follow men into their daily lives and give them star stickers for tender acts of kindness to women and children. I can see a lot about what men believe about God in the way they touch their children and listen to their wives. It is part of their functional theology.

My functional theology is what a non-believer would say about God after living close to me long enough to see me in the pendulums of stress, fear, joy, and celebration. My functional theology is what my children see about God on a common Monday. It is what my spouse sees in a sharp conflict.

My functional theology is a clear representation of what I truly believe about God.

Some believers are platformed and applauded for their intellectual theology. They speak well, write well, and say a lot of wonderful truths. However, what they think is true about God does not translate into the fruit of their daily relationships. It is easy to be a good-looking Sunday believer with a side of Monday resentment, Tuesday unforgiveness, and Wednesday pride. It doesn’t take much to be full of charisma, but it takes a lot of humility to truly image God.

Ian Simpson says, “It’s possible to believe all the right things and slowly become the wrong sort of person.” It is possible to be very articulate in discerning what is wrong with everything and everyone—and to be completely right in our discernment—yet utterly wrong in how we image God to the ones closest to us. He also writes, “Distance makes us capable of things proximity makes unbearable.” When we are close to complex suffering we are much less confident about simple answers and much more humble about needing to learn. It is easy to say a lot of right things loudly when we aren’t face to face with complex pain.

For this reason, I believe the deep cry for community, friendship, and connection that I hear everywhere is actually a deeper groan to know God up close. It is a deep desire to rely on each other in a way that represents Trinitarian unity and love. It is far deeper than pretty dinners, backyard barbecues, and small groups; it is a groping and grasping for the real God in every part of who we are.

This is good news for mothers wondering how to contribute to disciple-making, for businessmen longing to make an impact, and for pastors discouraged with their Sunday sermons. The real God makes Himself known in our Mondays and Tuesdays as we wash, wipe, settle, loan, study, and organize. The way you know Him surfaces right in the nitty-gritty of your most ordinary days.

“Come, follow me,” Jesus said. “Come see how I walk, talk, invite, touch, eat, and sleep.”

I was reading the first chapter of a book recently called Contagious Disciple Making by David and Paul Watson. The author details an encounter with a dedicated Buddhist who declared he would never give up the Buddhism he practiced daily to become like the Christians he knew who only practiced their faith on Sunday. Though his perception was likely partially inaccurate, we all know the Christianity we have grown accustomed to is more “come to church” than “come follow me.”

Good ideas do not automatically change us or the world. Organized Bible studies are important, but they are not the most formative part of disciple-making. Jesus didn’t pop into the synagogue for a few hours to teach everyone and then disappear to prepare His next sermon. He was proximal to every reality, weeping and laughing with real people every day of the week. He knew that it is not only a sermon that changes a heart, but an intimate and trusting relationship. He knew that what people saw in Him would lead them to trust in God.

He left us with the Holy Spirit to show every single individual we encounter that God is alive because we are full of peace, joy, and love. What you believe about God is what your closest relationships see. Your functional theology is not represented by articulate words, but by the presence you bring to the room. You don’t have to say it all right; just follow the right person and learn from Him. You don’t have to teach it all right and curate perfect sermons and discipleship material; just invite people to follow you and learn from what you have seen in God.

The fruit of the Spirit is not well-written pieces and well-discerned truth, but life-altering love and soul-stirring peace. It is the beauty of God carved onto the souls of those of us who follow Him.

Take a deep breath, bearer of the divine. You are not expected to do it all perfectly. Just invite people to follow you, to sit with you, and to set your table. Let people in close enough to hear your wrestling laments and deepest joys. Let them see what God does with your imperfections. Do it on a common Monday, maybe even while you’re folding laundry. Doing that looks a lot like Jesus.

Last night, my Rafael was praying before bed. “Plug your ears, Mom,” he instructed.

I pretended to plug one ear.

“Thank you for Legos,” he started, “and BLESS that I don’t pee!” he finished quickly, looking sheepishly in my direction.

I affirmed his prayer, after which he wailed in embarrassment that I had heard. After a quick reflection, he asked, “Mom, we can talk to God about PEE?!”

“Yes, son. God cares that you want to learn to stay dry all night and win a new Lego set from Daddy.”

I think my little disciple learned a little bit about how God comes into every part of every single day, every challenge, every pain, and every single joy. I think he learned a little bit about the character of God from the way I responded. That is discipleship. That is teaching him about God. What I showed him was my functional theology—the real way I represent a real God.

It is not enough to be a Sunday Christian in a world experiencing the devil all week. The devil throws arrows on Monday, evokes despair on Tuesday, and throws in a little temptation for unforgiveness on Wednesday. He is active and present in the world.

You and I counter his tactics with the presence of God all week. We are comforted and taught in the presence of God, that’s why we have the Holy Spirit dwelling inside us.

God can move as you fold your laundry. He can speak in that conversation with an annoying client. He can show Himself in the throes of your Monday cleaning. If we think of discipleship in this way, I am quite certain we can change the world, because the devil cannot tolerate ordinary and humble disciple-makers who love really well in their closest relationships or fully masculine men moving in tenderness with their wives. He runs from the beauty of a feminine woman touching children with compassion because she looks too much like God.

What if our most important warfare is not only how we pray and what we teach, but what we show and present to the most vulnerable relationships in our lives? What if the deepest truth about your theology represents itself in your deepest conflicts? What if your team could see something about the true God in your next work meeting? What if what is true about God could manifest in every way you interact in your closest relationships?

And what if, church of Jesus, that is how we change the world?

Less frenzied sermon study and more gentle encounters. Less stage hype and more candles flickering on laden tables at twilight. Less glory in crowds and audiences, more faithful movement with one or two. Less projects and programs, more prayer and repentance. Less focus on perfect articulation and charisma, more gentle movement towards imaging a perfectly loving God in perfect union with eachother in our weakest places. Less fast food, more beautifully created feasts of abundance.

Tonight I cut a beautiful sunripened September tomato fresh from the farmer’s market. I arranged it on a plate and sliced some soft motzerella for the top with a sprig of parsley and some fresh ground pepper and salt. God is a master creator of intricate design and I like to show the world about that when I serve food.

It’s as simple as that. Showing something about God in all our little ordinary routines so we can develop a functional theology that makes our whole life look a lot like Jesus.

Photo by Kate Laine on Unsplash