What do you think?
Rate this book
Proverbs of Ashes: Violence, Redemptive Suffering, and the Search for What Saves Us
Rebecca Parker was a young minister in Seattle when a woman walked into her church and asked if God really wanted her to accept her husband's beatings and bear them gladly, as Jesus bore the cross. Parker knew, at that moment, that if she were to answer the woman's question truthfully she would have to rethink her theology. And she would have to think hard about some of the choices she was making in her own life.
When Rita Nakashima Brock was a young child growing up in Kansas, kids taunted her viciously, calling her names like "Chink" or "Jap." She learned to pretend that she did not feel the sting of scorn and the humiliation of contempt. The solitude and silence of her suffering-decreed by both her mother's Japanese culture and her father's Christian heritage-kept the wound alive.
It was the gap between knowledge born of personal experience and traditional theology that led Rita Brock and Rebecca Parker to write this emotionally gripping and intellectually rich exploration of the doctrine of the atonement. Using an unusual combination of memoir and theology in the tradition of Augustine's Confessions, they lament the inadequacy of how Christian tradition has interpreted the violence that happened to Jesus. Ultimately, they argue, the idea that the death of Jesus on the cross saves us reveals a sanctioning of violence at the heart of Christianity.
Brock and Parker draw on a wide array of intimate stories about family violence, the sexual abuse of children, racism, homophobia, and war to reveal how they came to understand the widespread damage being done by this theology. But the authors also undertake their own arduous and unexpected journeys to recover from violence and to assist others to do so. On these journeys they discover communities that begin to give them the strength to question the destructive ideas they have internalized, and the strength to seek out an alternative vision of Christianity, one based on healing and love. Proverbs of Ashes is both a condemnation of bad theology and a passionate search for what truly saves us.
When Rita Nakashima Brock was a young child growing up in Kansas, kids taunted her viciously, calling her names like "Chink" or "Jap." She learned to pretend that she did not feel the sting of scorn and the humiliation of contempt. The solitude and silence of her suffering-decreed by both her mother's Japanese culture and her father's Christian heritage-kept the wound alive.
It was the gap between knowledge born of personal experience and traditional theology that led Rita Brock and Rebecca Parker to write this emotionally gripping and intellectually rich exploration of the doctrine of the atonement. Using an unusual combination of memoir and theology in the tradition of Augustine's Confessions, they lament the inadequacy of how Christian tradition has interpreted the violence that happened to Jesus. Ultimately, they argue, the idea that the death of Jesus on the cross saves us reveals a sanctioning of violence at the heart of Christianity.
Brock and Parker draw on a wide array of intimate stories about family violence, the sexual abuse of children, racism, homophobia, and war to reveal how they came to understand the widespread damage being done by this theology. But the authors also undertake their own arduous and unexpected journeys to recover from violence and to assist others to do so. On these journeys they discover communities that begin to give them the strength to question the destructive ideas they have internalized, and the strength to seek out an alternative vision of Christianity, one based on healing and love. Proverbs of Ashes is both a condemnation of bad theology and a passionate search for what truly saves us.
257 pages, Paperback
Published January 1, 2001
23 people are currently reading
748 people want to read
About the author
Rita Nakashima Brock
16 books11 followersRita Nakashima Brock is a theologian and co-author with Rebecca Ann Parker of Proverbs of Ashes: Violence, Redemptive Suffering, and the Search for What Saves Us (Beacon Press, 2001) and Saving Paradise: How Christianity Traded Love of This World for Crucifixion and Empire (Beacon Press, 2008). Brock is currently a director of Faith Voices for the Common Good.
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 30 of 60 reviews
September 13, 2008
This amazing book makes a move towards a theology that actually makes sense. Compellingly honest, bold, and beautifully told, the story of these two women is remarkable.
A must-read, even if you aren't 'religious'.
Warning: This book may make you consider becoming a liberal Methodist. Just sayin.
A must-read, even if you aren't 'religious'.
Warning: This book may make you consider becoming a liberal Methodist. Just sayin.
June 25, 2011
This was recommended by one of my theology professors, responding to my reflections about the redemptive value of suffering, the doctrine of atonement and patriarchal hierarchies/God-talk -- all of which leave me feeling estranged from mainstream church thinking.
Rita Nakashima Brock and Rebecca Ann Parker raise the same troubling questions, out of their experiences of suffering.
"We were convinced Christianity could not promise healing for victims of intimate violence as long as its central image was a divine parent who required the death of his child. We wanted theology to redefine salvation."
"Neither Jesus' death on the cross nor our own acts of self-sacrifice had saved us. But something had."
"At the center of western Christianity is the story of the cross, which claims God the Father required the death of his Son to save the world. We believe the theological claim sanctions violence."
"Was ministry the art of standing by, while the world exposes its violent hands?"
"Women need to construct alternative religious ideas that allow for women's lives to be resurrected from the scourges of violence and abuse."
"Christianity had taught me that sacrifice is the way of life. ... What if the consequence of sacrifice is simply pain, the diminishment of life, fragmentation of the soul, abasement, shame?"
"To say that Jesus' executioners did what was historically necessary for salvation is to say that state terrorism is a good thing, that torture and murder are the will of God. ... Atonement theology takes an act of state violence and redefines it as intimate violence, a private spiritual transaction between God the Father and God the Son. ... This redefinition replaces state violence with intimate violence and makes intimate violence holy and salvific."
"Tradition has isolated Jesus as a singular savior, alone in his private relationship with God. ... To be saved, I was supposed to have an isolated relationship with him, to need him when he did not need me. ... There is no grace in such isolation. Isolating Jesus from mutual relationships carried forward the trauma of violence without healing it."
Parker touches on the healing offered by music and ritual, but without acknowledging that the theology of Christian music and ritual reinforce the concepts she's rejecting. I can't sing "Faith of Our Fathers." I'd like to sing "Faith of Our Sisters."
Both authors articulate their dilemmas well, but dodge the logical next question: If you can't believe Jesus had to die for you, why stay in the Christian mainstream? Since they're writing from their experiences, maybe they can't address the question until their experiences lead them there. Nor can they write to the inevitably different experiences of their readers. But it strikes me as a major shortcoming of an otherwise fine book.
Rita Nakashima Brock and Rebecca Ann Parker raise the same troubling questions, out of their experiences of suffering.
"We were convinced Christianity could not promise healing for victims of intimate violence as long as its central image was a divine parent who required the death of his child. We wanted theology to redefine salvation."
"Neither Jesus' death on the cross nor our own acts of self-sacrifice had saved us. But something had."
"At the center of western Christianity is the story of the cross, which claims God the Father required the death of his Son to save the world. We believe the theological claim sanctions violence."
"Was ministry the art of standing by, while the world exposes its violent hands?"
"Women need to construct alternative religious ideas that allow for women's lives to be resurrected from the scourges of violence and abuse."
"Christianity had taught me that sacrifice is the way of life. ... What if the consequence of sacrifice is simply pain, the diminishment of life, fragmentation of the soul, abasement, shame?"
"To say that Jesus' executioners did what was historically necessary for salvation is to say that state terrorism is a good thing, that torture and murder are the will of God. ... Atonement theology takes an act of state violence and redefines it as intimate violence, a private spiritual transaction between God the Father and God the Son. ... This redefinition replaces state violence with intimate violence and makes intimate violence holy and salvific."
"Tradition has isolated Jesus as a singular savior, alone in his private relationship with God. ... To be saved, I was supposed to have an isolated relationship with him, to need him when he did not need me. ... There is no grace in such isolation. Isolating Jesus from mutual relationships carried forward the trauma of violence without healing it."
Parker touches on the healing offered by music and ritual, but without acknowledging that the theology of Christian music and ritual reinforce the concepts she's rejecting. I can't sing "Faith of Our Fathers." I'd like to sing "Faith of Our Sisters."
Both authors articulate their dilemmas well, but dodge the logical next question: If you can't believe Jesus had to die for you, why stay in the Christian mainstream? Since they're writing from their experiences, maybe they can't address the question until their experiences lead them there. Nor can they write to the inevitably different experiences of their readers. But it strikes me as a major shortcoming of an otherwise fine book.
June 23, 2007
What is fantastic about Proverb of Ashes is that while it is a theological work, it is theology written out of women's experiences. It's a truly feminist work in that the authors bring to light questions with traditional conceptions of redemption(e.g. that our suffering is what brings us closer to God) by reflecting on their own life's sufferings. It's about 2 faith journeys written with a theological lens. The introspective work both the women put into the book is phenomenal. Truly recommended for anyone who isn't satisfied with answer to the question of "why do we suffer" as being "because it's what it means to be Christian" or "that's a cross we all have to bear." It's a great look at feminist, liberation theology.
February 28, 2020
Warning: This review contains a recounting of child-sexual abuse in the spoiler section.
This work of experiential theology was quite moving in many ways. The authors attempt to develop and present their theology of suffering and redemption in light of their own lives. Trying to reconcile the so-called "traditional" view of atonement theology with their actual experiences of physical and sexual abuse, abandonment, abortion, and other tragedies they endured.
Ultimately, the authors reject the view of sotieriology that Christ suffered and died at the hands of the Father to save us by substitutionary atonement. What they replace the theology with isn't entirely clear, but you catch glimpses of it in the following passage:
This Theology shows a co-suffering God who saves us by suffering with us, not for us. By suffering at the hands of unjust aggressors, not at the hands of a Father who demands satisfaction for offenses.
Although there are certainly many holes throughout the text regarding especially omnipotence and christian anthropology, some of the insights are truly valuable offerings for victims of suffering to relate to Christ not as an other who saves sinners, but a brother who saves victims.
Recommended for: Christians already well-grounded in orthodox theology who are able to separate the wheat from the chaff.
This work of experiential theology was quite moving in many ways. The authors attempt to develop and present their theology of suffering and redemption in light of their own lives. Trying to reconcile the so-called "traditional" view of atonement theology with their actual experiences of physical and sexual abuse, abandonment, abortion, and other tragedies they endured.
Ultimately, the authors reject the view of sotieriology that Christ suffered and died at the hands of the Father to save us by substitutionary atonement. What they replace the theology with isn't entirely clear, but you catch glimpses of it in the following passage:
This Theology shows a co-suffering God who saves us by suffering with us, not for us. By suffering at the hands of unjust aggressors, not at the hands of a Father who demands satisfaction for offenses.
Although there are certainly many holes throughout the text regarding especially omnipotence and christian anthropology, some of the insights are truly valuable offerings for victims of suffering to relate to Christ not as an other who saves sinners, but a brother who saves victims.
Recommended for: Christians already well-grounded in orthodox theology who are able to separate the wheat from the chaff.
March 27, 2024
I’m not quite sure how to review this one: I disagree with the authors’ presuppositions about Christian doctrine. But I think they’re absolutely right that far too many churches present the Atonement as divinely-sanctioned violence that thus both legitimizes violence and discourages people from responding in any way besides passive suffering. These authors’ response, rooted in their own stories of suffering and in the suffering they encounter in others, forces us to really look at the impact of our theologies — and even if I don’t fully accept their conclusions, I am grateful to be forced to ask these questions and consider healthier ways of understanding the Atonement.
February 9, 2021
4.5 stars. This book was mostly really heart-wrenching memoir, and makes a really important connection to bad theology, and its implications (namely those that come out of penal atonement). The writing was very good, and it raised so many important issues and questions. The work of these two writers is so important.
January 19, 2015
For me, personally, this is probably the most important book I've read in the last five years.
Some will say that absolute obedience to God doesn't carry danger, because God is good and does not ask us to be violent. But this defense requires us to be certain that we are always right in understanding what God asks of us. We are fallible. The Bible, some argue, provides an infallible revelation of the will of God. But the Bible is a complex, multi-voiced document. Its teachings can be harmonized only by imposing onto the Bible a uniformity that is not in the text itself. There is no simple revelation of God's will. We have to accept responsibility for our interpretations. Obedience is not a virtue. It is an evasion of our responsibility. Religion must engage us in the exercise of our responsibility, not teach us to deny the power that is ours...A God who punishes disobedience will teach us to obey and endure when it would be holy to protest and righteous to refuse to cooperate (p. 31).
'...Moral influence' theology makes acceptance of violence a strategy to move perpetrators of violence to repentance. ...This makes the repentance of the perpetrator more important than the suffering of the victim...This theology will leave an abused child or a battered spouse defenseless.... (p. 41-42).
Atonement theology takes an act of state violence and redefines it as intimate violence, a private spiritual transaction between God the Father and God the Son. Atonement theology then says this intimate violence saves life. This redefinition replaces state violence with intimate violence and makes intimate violence holy and salvific. Intimate violence ends sin. Behind the holy mask of intimate violence, state violence disappears (p. 49).
Christianity presents God as the benevolent, all-powerful father, and human beings as sinful and helpless, replicating the model of the parent who is good, the child who is bad. We are supposed to be grateful for divine forgiveness and protection in the face of human disobedience and powerlessness. This gratefulness carries relief from the threat of horrible punishment which lurks behind God's benevolent image. When divine power is defined as control of sinfulness and evil, the response of many faithful people is to deny the tragedy of what happens to them, looking for a reason that God allows it. This system reinforces belief in the need for control and obedience, and fosters responses of guilt, relief, and schadenfreude. I could not see how these doctrines empowered people to affirm their own agency, to resist abuse, to take responsibility for ethical discernment, and to work for justice...Defining love and relationship as obedience and sacrifice structures them in the terms of power and abuse (p. 156).
...My unconscious was Christian. I sensed it might take a lifetime to work out the way my soul had been configured, for better or for worse, within a Christian culture (p. 193).
Empathetic connection to another is not necessarily life-giving or life-saving. The empathetic bond can hold a human being captive to another's unjust demand. Our ability to feel for another can become an unholy bond in which the other's obligation to feel for [their own] self is ignored (p. 197).
A dedicated life must be both a life of active participation in the world and sustained attention to the inner soul-work necessary to become as free as possible from internalized violence. We said to one another that to live is to be haunted by presence, presence that will not let us rest easy with violence...To be present to life is to be transparent to life-giving grace in many forms, within and surrounding us, even when we are faced with life-threatening violence (p. 211).
I like to think God might be like this: a presence whom we have never seen--perhaps do not know exists--but who has loved us from the beginning (p. 233).
...Western Christianity claims we are saved by the execution, that violence and terror reveal the grace of God. This claim isolates Jesus as violence isolates its victims....[and] the power of violence remains. Jesus' death was not unique. The torture inflicted on Jesus had been visited on many. It continues in the world, masked by the words "virtuous suffering" and "self-sacrificing love." We cannot say what would have happened if Jesus had not been murdered, but unjust, violent death is traumatizing. His community retained the scars and limitations of those who survive violence. Christianity bears the marks of unresolved trauma. Jesus' resurrection and the continuation of his movement are not triumphs, but a glimpse of the power of survival, of the embers that survive the deluge. Salvation begins with the courage of witnesses whose gaze is steady...Steady witnesses end the hidden life of violence by bringing it to public attention. They help to restore souls fragmented by violence. They accompany the journey to healing (p. 249-250).
Love encompasses life...Let us say that this is enough...for us to stand against violence, enough for us to hold each other in benediction and blessing (p. 252).
Some will say that absolute obedience to God doesn't carry danger, because God is good and does not ask us to be violent. But this defense requires us to be certain that we are always right in understanding what God asks of us. We are fallible. The Bible, some argue, provides an infallible revelation of the will of God. But the Bible is a complex, multi-voiced document. Its teachings can be harmonized only by imposing onto the Bible a uniformity that is not in the text itself. There is no simple revelation of God's will. We have to accept responsibility for our interpretations. Obedience is not a virtue. It is an evasion of our responsibility. Religion must engage us in the exercise of our responsibility, not teach us to deny the power that is ours...A God who punishes disobedience will teach us to obey and endure when it would be holy to protest and righteous to refuse to cooperate (p. 31).
'...Moral influence' theology makes acceptance of violence a strategy to move perpetrators of violence to repentance. ...This makes the repentance of the perpetrator more important than the suffering of the victim...This theology will leave an abused child or a battered spouse defenseless.... (p. 41-42).
Atonement theology takes an act of state violence and redefines it as intimate violence, a private spiritual transaction between God the Father and God the Son. Atonement theology then says this intimate violence saves life. This redefinition replaces state violence with intimate violence and makes intimate violence holy and salvific. Intimate violence ends sin. Behind the holy mask of intimate violence, state violence disappears (p. 49).
Christianity presents God as the benevolent, all-powerful father, and human beings as sinful and helpless, replicating the model of the parent who is good, the child who is bad. We are supposed to be grateful for divine forgiveness and protection in the face of human disobedience and powerlessness. This gratefulness carries relief from the threat of horrible punishment which lurks behind God's benevolent image. When divine power is defined as control of sinfulness and evil, the response of many faithful people is to deny the tragedy of what happens to them, looking for a reason that God allows it. This system reinforces belief in the need for control and obedience, and fosters responses of guilt, relief, and schadenfreude. I could not see how these doctrines empowered people to affirm their own agency, to resist abuse, to take responsibility for ethical discernment, and to work for justice...Defining love and relationship as obedience and sacrifice structures them in the terms of power and abuse (p. 156).
...My unconscious was Christian. I sensed it might take a lifetime to work out the way my soul had been configured, for better or for worse, within a Christian culture (p. 193).
Empathetic connection to another is not necessarily life-giving or life-saving. The empathetic bond can hold a human being captive to another's unjust demand. Our ability to feel for another can become an unholy bond in which the other's obligation to feel for [their own] self is ignored (p. 197).
A dedicated life must be both a life of active participation in the world and sustained attention to the inner soul-work necessary to become as free as possible from internalized violence. We said to one another that to live is to be haunted by presence, presence that will not let us rest easy with violence...To be present to life is to be transparent to life-giving grace in many forms, within and surrounding us, even when we are faced with life-threatening violence (p. 211).
I like to think God might be like this: a presence whom we have never seen--perhaps do not know exists--but who has loved us from the beginning (p. 233).
...Western Christianity claims we are saved by the execution, that violence and terror reveal the grace of God. This claim isolates Jesus as violence isolates its victims....[and] the power of violence remains. Jesus' death was not unique. The torture inflicted on Jesus had been visited on many. It continues in the world, masked by the words "virtuous suffering" and "self-sacrificing love." We cannot say what would have happened if Jesus had not been murdered, but unjust, violent death is traumatizing. His community retained the scars and limitations of those who survive violence. Christianity bears the marks of unresolved trauma. Jesus' resurrection and the continuation of his movement are not triumphs, but a glimpse of the power of survival, of the embers that survive the deluge. Salvation begins with the courage of witnesses whose gaze is steady...Steady witnesses end the hidden life of violence by bringing it to public attention. They help to restore souls fragmented by violence. They accompany the journey to healing (p. 249-250).
Love encompasses life...Let us say that this is enough...for us to stand against violence, enough for us to hold each other in benediction and blessing (p. 252).
May 17, 2017
This is not at all the book I expected it to be, and in a lot of ways I think it was actually much better. I went into it expecting a pretty distinctly academic, scholarly examination of the various atonement theologies that exist, a subsequent critique of them, and then the presentation of one that works. It sounds as though the co-authors also began this project with similar intentions, before realizing that in doing so they would be sucking the life out from what they hoped to create, and also fail to honor their lived experiences that catalyzed the project in the first place. What we have instead, then, is essentially two interwoven memoirs that are laced with gorgeously written theological musings throughout, which made for an unexpectedly moving and intimate read for someone going in anticipating purely scholastic theology!
The first section of the memoir, Rebecca's initial chapter, does somewhat provide the "presentation and takedown" I was expecting of other atonement theologies via her sermon series, which works well as an introduction to their discussion and a framing device for her chapter...but not necessarily as a fair introduction to those understandings of what occurred on the Cross. I was especially frustrated by the lack of nuance or articulation in the presentation of a liberation theology reading as well as Moltmann's "God on the Cross" understanding (which, as an aside, I still have trouble differentiating from her own take even after she explicitly denounces his later on). And from there I would say the book honestly does lose focus somewhat, focusing in on the unique and compelling lives of the co-authors rather than continuing to remain fixed on the stated intention.
While this could be seen as a fair criticism, it just worked really well. Because suffering is such a human experience and really only makes sense within that context, it wouldn't have worked to just read their musings on it as a theoretical concept - that already exists in abundance, primarily from straight white men. One could say this is the practice of feminist scholarship at its finest, prioritizing the lived experiences of women as the primary material and allowing insights and ideas and conclusions to be drawn directly from that. Although I will admit that I found Rebecca's story more immediately relevant to their theological exploration, I was still really interested in following Rita's narrative given my interests in theological academia.
As other reviewers have commented, it would have been nice to be left with a more satisfying, concrete conclusion - a formulaic theology of atonement to hold up against the ones they critiqued. The women themselves named at various points that they were tearing everything apart and feared there would be nothing new to build in its place, and to some degree that seems to be the case. From what I recall, they never walked us through an explicit interpretation of what occurred on the Cross and what its relevance is to Christians today and their understanding of salvation and suffering.
Definitively, they rebuked more conservative theologies (esp penal substation), exposing the God inherent to them to be a a cruel child abuser and rejecting the insidious ways they encourage suffering as a badge of honor or test of ones faith as counter-effective to the call to life all humans have. However, this only works for those experiencing avoidable suffering, and we are left wondering what those in a different context should consider? I felt frustration here, empathizing with the importance of avoiding an encouragement to suffer when it can be avoided but feeling as though the ways God identifies with and connects to those in suffering was being undermined. Rebecca herself, sandwiched in between her rejection of the idea that God uses suffering to encounter us, names that her encounter with God was at her moment of greatest earlier suffering. So I don't know what to make of that entirely.
From what I surmised, however, I think it's fair to suggest they came to a conclusion in line with a Process theology reading of Moltmann that insists God was immanently and intimately present on the Cross and NOT in control of or desiring that to happen. They certainly affirmed in much clearer terms the power of Presence in the face of suffering as the source of healing and growth, and also critically named the need for mourning and lamenting suffering rather than glorifying it as a sacrificial action of honor. And I can dig that.
The first section of the memoir, Rebecca's initial chapter, does somewhat provide the "presentation and takedown" I was expecting of other atonement theologies via her sermon series, which works well as an introduction to their discussion and a framing device for her chapter...but not necessarily as a fair introduction to those understandings of what occurred on the Cross. I was especially frustrated by the lack of nuance or articulation in the presentation of a liberation theology reading as well as Moltmann's "God on the Cross" understanding (which, as an aside, I still have trouble differentiating from her own take even after she explicitly denounces his later on). And from there I would say the book honestly does lose focus somewhat, focusing in on the unique and compelling lives of the co-authors rather than continuing to remain fixed on the stated intention.
While this could be seen as a fair criticism, it just worked really well. Because suffering is such a human experience and really only makes sense within that context, it wouldn't have worked to just read their musings on it as a theoretical concept - that already exists in abundance, primarily from straight white men. One could say this is the practice of feminist scholarship at its finest, prioritizing the lived experiences of women as the primary material and allowing insights and ideas and conclusions to be drawn directly from that. Although I will admit that I found Rebecca's story more immediately relevant to their theological exploration, I was still really interested in following Rita's narrative given my interests in theological academia.
As other reviewers have commented, it would have been nice to be left with a more satisfying, concrete conclusion - a formulaic theology of atonement to hold up against the ones they critiqued. The women themselves named at various points that they were tearing everything apart and feared there would be nothing new to build in its place, and to some degree that seems to be the case. From what I recall, they never walked us through an explicit interpretation of what occurred on the Cross and what its relevance is to Christians today and their understanding of salvation and suffering.
Definitively, they rebuked more conservative theologies (esp penal substation), exposing the God inherent to them to be a a cruel child abuser and rejecting the insidious ways they encourage suffering as a badge of honor or test of ones faith as counter-effective to the call to life all humans have. However, this only works for those experiencing avoidable suffering, and we are left wondering what those in a different context should consider? I felt frustration here, empathizing with the importance of avoiding an encouragement to suffer when it can be avoided but feeling as though the ways God identifies with and connects to those in suffering was being undermined. Rebecca herself, sandwiched in between her rejection of the idea that God uses suffering to encounter us, names that her encounter with God was at her moment of greatest earlier suffering. So I don't know what to make of that entirely.
From what I surmised, however, I think it's fair to suggest they came to a conclusion in line with a Process theology reading of Moltmann that insists God was immanently and intimately present on the Cross and NOT in control of or desiring that to happen. They certainly affirmed in much clearer terms the power of Presence in the face of suffering as the source of healing and growth, and also critically named the need for mourning and lamenting suffering rather than glorifying it as a sacrificial action of honor. And I can dig that.
January 30, 2012
I neglected to post a review of this book when I first finished it because my feelings about it were so conflicted. Two weeks later, I'm no better off, which I guess means something.
On the one hand, I want to congratulate the authors for what they accomplish with this book. Through their unflinching honesty about their own lives, loves and the damage done to them, they expose a number of serious problems, not only about society in general but also about the Christian subculture and the pivotal theology of the atonement. As long as our understanding of the mission of Christ is mixed up with divine violence and redemptive suffering, we run the risk of promoting violence and encouraging the abused to be passive rather than finding non-violent ways of resistance.
On the other hand, I sometimes felt while reading this book as if the authors were forcing their readers to take the place of their therapists. After a time, I became inured to their pain and it started to sound like whining. More importantly however, I felt as if they never arrived at, or at least never shared, any kind of solutions to the question of healthy atonement theory. Such material exists from other authors -- could these two not at least have pointed to those more helpful works?
All in all, not a book I can recommend.
On the one hand, I want to congratulate the authors for what they accomplish with this book. Through their unflinching honesty about their own lives, loves and the damage done to them, they expose a number of serious problems, not only about society in general but also about the Christian subculture and the pivotal theology of the atonement. As long as our understanding of the mission of Christ is mixed up with divine violence and redemptive suffering, we run the risk of promoting violence and encouraging the abused to be passive rather than finding non-violent ways of resistance.
On the other hand, I sometimes felt while reading this book as if the authors were forcing their readers to take the place of their therapists. After a time, I became inured to their pain and it started to sound like whining. More importantly however, I felt as if they never arrived at, or at least never shared, any kind of solutions to the question of healthy atonement theory. Such material exists from other authors -- could these two not at least have pointed to those more helpful works?
All in all, not a book I can recommend.
January 18, 2015
I could not recommend this highly enough. These two women turn everything about pain, suffering, Christ, and the the cross on its head in the best way possible. It is the autobiographical tale of both authors, but anyone who has experienced pain or loss, abuse or trauma, can find themselves within the stories of Nakashima-Brock and Parker. I'd like to give a copy of this to every single person I know and two copies to every pastor and seminary student.
November 26, 2011
This book is so important for anyone whose ministry involves those who have suffered abuse (which really is anyone who encounters other human beings). I think it's a perspective we badly need to consider (although I don't come to precisely the same conclusion as the authors).
May 20, 2013
A truly remarkable book although emotionally wrenching to read.
August 31, 2019
If I were to create a list of my top ten books on theology, there's simply no question that "Proverbs of Ashes" would be on that list.
Simultaneously intellectually satisfying and emotionally resonant, "Proverbs of Ashes" exists squarely on the liberal end of theology. The sub-heading, perhaps, is the best guide for what the book is truly about - "Violence, Redemptive Suffering, and the Search for What Saves Us." Indeed, "Proverbs of Ashes" is a condemnation of bad theology and a passionate search for what truly saves us.
To be fair, there was little doubt I would resonate with the book's subject matter. As both a survivor of trauma and someone with a ministry background, "Proverbs of Ashes" drew my attention and I had a feeling I would, at minimum, appreciate it.
However, I must confess I never expected to fall in love with it as much as I did. From beginning to end, I found myself immersed and genuinely frustrated when life got in the way of my reading. Fortunately, I started a vacation this weekend and was able to devote much of this cloudy Saturday in Indy to having a quiet meal and finishing up the book.
"Proverbs of Ashes" is remarkable theological writing, yet it is also remarkably and brilliantly personal without ever having that personal side disrupt the theological flow. They complement each other beautifully and it would be difficult to describe how much of the material I've simply been unable to forget.
There were times I found myself looking up resources in the book, while other times I found myself shedding tears both with their experiences and in recalling the ways in which their writing touches my own life and the ways in which I've experienced my own sense of being stuck emotionally, physically, and spiritually by accepting a theology that simply doesn't make sense.
This? This makes sense and it's backed up beautifully.
"Proverbs of Ashes" is wonderfully written and framed in such a way that you get a nice balance of theological reflection and personal experiences. While the experiences are emotionally challenging, the book is written in such a way that they never become victimizing.
Quite simply, I loved everything about this book and it's easily one of my favorite theological reads of all-time and one of my favorite books I've read this year!
Simultaneously intellectually satisfying and emotionally resonant, "Proverbs of Ashes" exists squarely on the liberal end of theology. The sub-heading, perhaps, is the best guide for what the book is truly about - "Violence, Redemptive Suffering, and the Search for What Saves Us." Indeed, "Proverbs of Ashes" is a condemnation of bad theology and a passionate search for what truly saves us.
To be fair, there was little doubt I would resonate with the book's subject matter. As both a survivor of trauma and someone with a ministry background, "Proverbs of Ashes" drew my attention and I had a feeling I would, at minimum, appreciate it.
However, I must confess I never expected to fall in love with it as much as I did. From beginning to end, I found myself immersed and genuinely frustrated when life got in the way of my reading. Fortunately, I started a vacation this weekend and was able to devote much of this cloudy Saturday in Indy to having a quiet meal and finishing up the book.
"Proverbs of Ashes" is remarkable theological writing, yet it is also remarkably and brilliantly personal without ever having that personal side disrupt the theological flow. They complement each other beautifully and it would be difficult to describe how much of the material I've simply been unable to forget.
There were times I found myself looking up resources in the book, while other times I found myself shedding tears both with their experiences and in recalling the ways in which their writing touches my own life and the ways in which I've experienced my own sense of being stuck emotionally, physically, and spiritually by accepting a theology that simply doesn't make sense.
This? This makes sense and it's backed up beautifully.
"Proverbs of Ashes" is wonderfully written and framed in such a way that you get a nice balance of theological reflection and personal experiences. While the experiences are emotionally challenging, the book is written in such a way that they never become victimizing.
Quite simply, I loved everything about this book and it's easily one of my favorite theological reads of all-time and one of my favorite books I've read this year!
April 25, 2018
This is a fascinating read in the wake of the #MeToo movement, March for our Lives and the 45 US President's administration. As a health care provider, what some would call a progressive Christian and an Anthroposophist, the concept of redemptive violence has haunted me my entire adult life. I have found that even the mention of the words are not comprehended by most people. To be honest, I was hoping for more context of this perplexing issue and what I read instead was a gripping, extremely painful yet educational pair of memoirs of clergy women struggling to mesh their materialistic paternalistic cultural Christianity with their own pain and the pain of their parishoners. This is not a book to read before bed or casually on the light rail to work. It requires dedication, and hopefully a good feminist book club to help digest the many issues raised throughout it's pages. There are numerous gems scattered throughout the wrenching biographies. I found Nakashima Brocks's description of her experience of racism deeply instructive and a much needed contribution to the American discourse in our current age of ripping off scabs of cultural racism. I also enjoyed reading about both author's educational journeys. What I came away from this read was a deep appreciation for both author's life journeys, how they chose to transform their wounds and be of service. I would be curious to hear more from them on the subject now that so many years have passed since the writing of this book, which was in 2001. Since America has been wracked in experience random acts of terror, involved in numerous wars throughout the globe, and seems dedicated to slaughtering it's own citizens in the name of freedom and "law and order," the Proverbs of Ashes deserves a sequel, it left me wanting more.
August 6, 2019
That this book intentionally defies genre is part of what makes it so good. Rita Nakashima Brock and Rebecca Ann Parker alternate writing chapters, choosing to write this book together not because their professions or scholarship have so closely aligned, but because the personal and theological reflections in this book emerged out of their supportive friendship.
This book is not a memoir (or two), but it does reveal the intimacies of two women's lives. This book is not a novel, but it is captivating. This book is not a work of theology or sociology in the clinical sense, but it does tackle Christian theologies of salvation and sacrifice head on, along with violence and sexual violence, race and racism (beyond the black-white binary), family and belonging, sexism and feminism.
Because the authors take us through their personal journeys, this book feels like one of companionship and discovery. Though it was written in 2001, it never felt outdated to me -- I never felt wanting to jump in and say, "oh, we've solved that now" -- in part because we haven't, in part because I was along for the ride with them, eager to learn about their worlds of the second half of the 20th century.
This book is not a memoir (or two), but it does reveal the intimacies of two women's lives. This book is not a novel, but it is captivating. This book is not a work of theology or sociology in the clinical sense, but it does tackle Christian theologies of salvation and sacrifice head on, along with violence and sexual violence, race and racism (beyond the black-white binary), family and belonging, sexism and feminism.
Because the authors take us through their personal journeys, this book feels like one of companionship and discovery. Though it was written in 2001, it never felt outdated to me -- I never felt wanting to jump in and say, "oh, we've solved that now" -- in part because we haven't, in part because I was along for the ride with them, eager to learn about their worlds of the second half of the 20th century.
August 28, 2023
I first picked this book up in Seminary during a class on Feminist and Womanist Theologies. At the time, I just read the introduction and the theology laid out within it fundamentally changed the way I believed in God.
After Seminary, I picked the book up again with a commitment to read the book all the way through as inspiration for my own book I wanted to write.
As someone who grew up Catholic and has spent the entire time post high school searching for understanding and spaces of belonging, this book really helped me rebuild a faith that I had torn apart and deconstructed as I studied for my masters.
The two authors, Rita Nakashima Brock and Rebecca Parker, have a conversation with each other throughout the book, weaving their stories together in a skillful and beautiful way. I really enjoyed knowing who was speaking and whose story I was reading.
“Our religious heritage gives us the imperative to confront it when it fails to foster life or advocate for justice.”
After Seminary, I picked the book up again with a commitment to read the book all the way through as inspiration for my own book I wanted to write.
As someone who grew up Catholic and has spent the entire time post high school searching for understanding and spaces of belonging, this book really helped me rebuild a faith that I had torn apart and deconstructed as I studied for my masters.
The two authors, Rita Nakashima Brock and Rebecca Parker, have a conversation with each other throughout the book, weaving their stories together in a skillful and beautiful way. I really enjoyed knowing who was speaking and whose story I was reading.
“Our religious heritage gives us the imperative to confront it when it fails to foster life or advocate for justice.”
February 10, 2025
A very powerful book of theology. Lots of content warnings for the traumatic topics covered. This book was clearly a labor of love for both authors who were so vulnerable and courageous to share their personal stories.
However, I think this book might be worth receiving an updated/revised edition for modern readers. As the authors mention, they worked on this book over the course of many years. As a reader in 2025, I was caught off guard by how detailed some of the descriptions of abuse were, in various sections. There were several places where the overall point was not furthered by the graphic depictions of abuse.
However, I think this book might be worth receiving an updated/revised edition for modern readers. As the authors mention, they worked on this book over the course of many years. As a reader in 2025, I was caught off guard by how detailed some of the descriptions of abuse were, in various sections. There were several places where the overall point was not furthered by the graphic depictions of abuse.
November 17, 2019
I liked that this book was a combination of theological reflection and personal memoir. I particularly enjoyed Rita Nakashima Brock's description of the differences between Western and Japanese spirituality, as I travel frequently to Japan and am interested in how our cultures differ.
Some of the book was very difficult to read, particularly the parts about child abuse. This is not something I would normally choose to read. Still, I am glad that I did, because I heard the story of someone who has experienced early childhood trauma, and its physiological and psychological impact. We never know what the people around us are carrying with them.
Although I was a little disappointed at first that the authors did not offer a clear alternative to atonement theology, on further reflection, I think the lesson they offer is that suffering, obedience and silence are not virtues. The very political nature of Jesus' death should inspire us to challenge authority and speak up about the things that divide and oppress us. This is a message that is particularly important for church women to hear. We have been brought up to be quiet, to be good, and to hide those things that are shameful (whether they stem from our own behaviour or from that of others). This book is a challenge to reject from such lessons - they do not stem from the life of Christ, and are not Christian virtues. It has made me question some of my own behaviours, as I seem to be becoming less outspoken as I get older.
Some of the book was very difficult to read, particularly the parts about child abuse. This is not something I would normally choose to read. Still, I am glad that I did, because I heard the story of someone who has experienced early childhood trauma, and its physiological and psychological impact. We never know what the people around us are carrying with them.
Although I was a little disappointed at first that the authors did not offer a clear alternative to atonement theology, on further reflection, I think the lesson they offer is that suffering, obedience and silence are not virtues. The very political nature of Jesus' death should inspire us to challenge authority and speak up about the things that divide and oppress us. This is a message that is particularly important for church women to hear. We have been brought up to be quiet, to be good, and to hide those things that are shameful (whether they stem from our own behaviour or from that of others). This book is a challenge to reject from such lessons - they do not stem from the life of Christ, and are not Christian virtues. It has made me question some of my own behaviours, as I seem to be becoming less outspoken as I get older.
March 21, 2019
Well written memoir of personal theology
Well written memoir of personal theology by two Christian feminist theologians. If you are interested in feminist and multicultural Christian theology you will find it interesting.
Well written memoir of personal theology by two Christian feminist theologians. If you are interested in feminist and multicultural Christian theology you will find it interesting.
January 12, 2022
I read this years ago and loved it. Connecting art, history and theology helped explain a lot of the Christianity we've inherited. I have many times pulled it out to reflect on, and recently pulled it out to use in a class on the mission of the church.
January 16, 2026
Really really tough conversations and questions about violence and how this fits into Christianity… this book left me with a lot of questions but also feeling comforted in the power of Presence and community to address our deep wounds!
September 10, 2018
Good story but it felt like I was slogging through it.
April 13, 2025
This was the best book I have read about atonement theory and how it can lead to increased harm when someone is being abused.
June 5, 2025
An interest account of the researcher's experiences and their approach. I wanted a bit more in terms of reflection on epistemological issues.
January 15, 2012
This book blew me away. This is theology that STARTS from the stories of people's lives and draws spiritual meaning out of that, rather than starting from abstract principles. You go, feminist theology practice! I was really moved by the authors' courage and compassion (toward themselves and others) as they explored some difficult questions. Also, it helps that the book is really well written (I could not put it down! didn't expect a theology book to be such a page-turner).
I didn't expect to identify so much with this book, as I was raised Christian but follow a different spiritual path now. But I really did identify with it - from my Christian upbringing, from my work as a therapist with Christian clients, and also just as a human being struggling with the existential problem of evil. I think this book would be of interest to all people interested in spirituality or in harm, repair, trauma, communities, and healing.
I ultimately felt the book fell a little bit short in the area of "What is the next step?" The end of the book really took us through the rest of the authors' journeys but didn't carry through with answering the question: If Christianity is not about how suffering is redemptive... what is it about? The authors said that it is about love and compassionate presence, and gave some examples, but didn't fully articulate what the theology of that would be. I kind of wanted them to explicitly adopt a restorative justice framework, which seemed like the logical extension of what they were proposing... maybe in the next book.
Some quotes that really spoke to me:
"Christianity is haunted by the ghost of Jesus. His death was an unjust act of violence that needed resolution. Such deaths haunt us. Rather than address the horror and anguish of his death, Christianity has tried to make it a triumph. Rather than understand and face directly into the pain of his death so his spirit can be released, we keep claiming he is alive. . . . This haunting has erupted into violence in the name of Jesus: the Crusades, the Inquisition, the Holocaust - the need for punishment, for judgment of the unredeemed, as if the infliction of more pain on others could cure our own." (p. 60)
"It wasn't the willingness to bear pain, or carry the burdens of others that transformed life in the places where life had been harmed by violence. It was strong relationships among human beings who offered their presence to one another. I began to understand that violence is resisted by those who reverence the sacred presence of human beings and themselves embody such presence in the world." (p. 110)
"In an essay on anger, Audre Lorde writes of the work of learning to train one's anger - to hone its energy to be used for life not against it. I believe the same must be done with compassion. One must hone the capacity to feel another's need for release from pain and not turn from that feeling but offer one's presence to the other. Empathic connection to another is not necessarily life-giving or life-saving. The empathetic bond can hold a human being captive to another's unjust demand. Our ability to feel for another can become an unholy bond in which the other's obligation to feel for himself, or feel for herself, is ignored. . . . Both our capacity for connection and our capacity for separation have to be cultivated into responses that are life-giving and life-sustaining. The power to hold and the power to let go, to connect and to disconnect, each of these powers can be used for good or for ill." (p. 197)
I didn't expect to identify so much with this book, as I was raised Christian but follow a different spiritual path now. But I really did identify with it - from my Christian upbringing, from my work as a therapist with Christian clients, and also just as a human being struggling with the existential problem of evil. I think this book would be of interest to all people interested in spirituality or in harm, repair, trauma, communities, and healing.
I ultimately felt the book fell a little bit short in the area of "What is the next step?" The end of the book really took us through the rest of the authors' journeys but didn't carry through with answering the question: If Christianity is not about how suffering is redemptive... what is it about? The authors said that it is about love and compassionate presence, and gave some examples, but didn't fully articulate what the theology of that would be. I kind of wanted them to explicitly adopt a restorative justice framework, which seemed like the logical extension of what they were proposing... maybe in the next book.
Some quotes that really spoke to me:
"Christianity is haunted by the ghost of Jesus. His death was an unjust act of violence that needed resolution. Such deaths haunt us. Rather than address the horror and anguish of his death, Christianity has tried to make it a triumph. Rather than understand and face directly into the pain of his death so his spirit can be released, we keep claiming he is alive. . . . This haunting has erupted into violence in the name of Jesus: the Crusades, the Inquisition, the Holocaust - the need for punishment, for judgment of the unredeemed, as if the infliction of more pain on others could cure our own." (p. 60)
"It wasn't the willingness to bear pain, or carry the burdens of others that transformed life in the places where life had been harmed by violence. It was strong relationships among human beings who offered their presence to one another. I began to understand that violence is resisted by those who reverence the sacred presence of human beings and themselves embody such presence in the world." (p. 110)
"In an essay on anger, Audre Lorde writes of the work of learning to train one's anger - to hone its energy to be used for life not against it. I believe the same must be done with compassion. One must hone the capacity to feel another's need for release from pain and not turn from that feeling but offer one's presence to the other. Empathic connection to another is not necessarily life-giving or life-saving. The empathetic bond can hold a human being captive to another's unjust demand. Our ability to feel for another can become an unholy bond in which the other's obligation to feel for himself, or feel for herself, is ignored. . . . Both our capacity for connection and our capacity for separation have to be cultivated into responses that are life-giving and life-sustaining. The power to hold and the power to let go, to connect and to disconnect, each of these powers can be used for good or for ill." (p. 197)
February 22, 2017
"Sometimes salvation is possible."
December 9, 2013
This is a difficult one to rate. This was not an easy read. Drawing on a wide range of intimate stories the abuse recounted is horrendous to read. But thankfully it goes beyond that too. This is a feminist book looking critically at the concept/theology of atonement and other theological issues through the lens of the real violence experienced in this world.
Messages of redemptive violence/suffering are not helpful to people stuck in the middle of violence affecting them. This book was a real eye-opener for me about what damage some of the liturgy and practises of the Church might do, and I really am looking at the words I'm saying again. The strength of this book is making me sit with the uncomfortableness of this all. And uncomfortable it is in so many ways.
I have such respect for the authors for writing this book in the way they have. The personal stories take us through it as we hear from both women in alternating chapters. It's poignant and powerful. Sometimes it is important to lament with Jeremiah (9:1):
Oh, that my head were a spring of water
and my eyes a fountain of tears!
I would weep day and night
for the slain of my people.
And yet there is something more too, that presence which saves us.
Messages of redemptive violence/suffering are not helpful to people stuck in the middle of violence affecting them. This book was a real eye-opener for me about what damage some of the liturgy and practises of the Church might do, and I really am looking at the words I'm saying again. The strength of this book is making me sit with the uncomfortableness of this all. And uncomfortable it is in so many ways.
I have such respect for the authors for writing this book in the way they have. The personal stories take us through it as we hear from both women in alternating chapters. It's poignant and powerful. Sometimes it is important to lament with Jeremiah (9:1):
Oh, that my head were a spring of water
and my eyes a fountain of tears!
I would weep day and night
for the slain of my people.
And yet there is something more too, that presence which saves us.
December 12, 2014
Very Simply Saved My Life. Or began the process of making me see I had to save my own life. Judeo-Christian tradition teaches us, and perhaps especially women, that suffering, and suffering in silence, is redemptive; it's what "good" people do. See the best in people, forgive people. Don't make too much of a fuss if you're treated badly. And that all may be true to a point. However, there comes a time when you MUST see that your continued suffering is NOT redemptive, that you've lost chunks of your life, your memory, you've lost dreams, hopes, wishes. All good things are deferred. Whatever hasn't killed you, HAS NOT MADE YOU STRONGER. You must save yourself. And you do this by throwing off completely the idea of redemptive suffering. You break this idea in your mind. You toss it in the fireplace. Burn it to ash. And rebuild. Remembering that living with suffering is a choice that NO ONE has to choose. Remembering that you don't need redemption now and you never did. Maybe someone does, but you don't. You need peace and sanity and kindness to be given and to be received. Rebecca Ann Parker, you're my wonder woman.
January 24, 2012
A few years ago I was working on a Lenten sermon series when my friend Kathy McCallie loaned me her copy of this book. I skimmed through it pretty quickly, but it had a deep impact and kept sending me back to basics on key issues of salvation and atonement. This is one of those books that when many people read it, it changed their views.
I was glad to finally read carefully through my own copy. It is a profound book and a type of theology that we should see more of. Rita Nakashima Brock and Rebecca Parker write of their own experiences of love, pain, abuse, violence, and ministry and then reflect theologically upon it, leaving no room for traditional Christian theological categories by which humanity is saved by an act of violence.
I was glad to finally read carefully through my own copy. It is a profound book and a type of theology that we should see more of. Rita Nakashima Brock and Rebecca Parker write of their own experiences of love, pain, abuse, violence, and ministry and then reflect theologically upon it, leaving no room for traditional Christian theological categories by which humanity is saved by an act of violence.
April 25, 2016
This is one of those books that came along at exactly the right time in my life. Nakashima Brock and Parker are unflinching and deeply personal in their examination of violence and Christianity. While I find their theological conclusions incomplete, I love their honesty and vulnerability in revealing the ways they've experienced faith as deeply bound up in violence against women and children and also in healing from it. Granted I'm probably unusual in how much time I spend thinking about Christianity and trauma (I was finishing up my divinity degree when I finally started grappling with my own longstanding PTSD), but if you are someone who spends any time with trauma recovery or Christianity you should absolutely read this!
Displaying 1 - 30 of 60 reviews