Making Space for Omnipotence
an appeal to open and relational theologians
Here are some things people have in mind whey they say that God is all-powerful.
- Trusting Surrender:
"No matter what happens in my life, I trust that God’s power is working for my good. Even in my suffering, I am held in divine love." - Healing and Restoration:
"God’s power is the power to heal—not just my body, but my heart, my wounds, my brokenness. Love itself is the greatest force in the universe." - Guiding Presence:
"God is all-powerful because God never stops calling me toward what is beautiful, good, and true. No matter how lost I feel, I am never without direction." - Transformative Love:
"God’s power is not domination but transformation—the power to take even the worst things and weave them into something meaningful, something whole." - Unbreakable Compassion:
"If God is all-powerful, it means that nothing—not even death, despair, or my deepest failures—can separate me from the love that holds me in existence." - Hope Beyond the Present:
"God’s power is not about controlling everything but about never giving up on anything. No life, no story, no world is beyond redemption." - Ultimate Trust:
"Whatever happens, I know that everything is in God's hands. I may not understand it all, but I believe that divine love holds and guides the entire universe—including my life."
All of these make good sense - very good sense - from the point of view of open and relational (process) theology. Which makes it odd that so many open and relational theologians speak of the idea of omnipotence as utterly contemptible, as it were the devil.
The first saying above comes from Janet, a member of my church. Janet has terminal cancer. She finds comfort in the belief that the universe is embraced by a loving God who is all-powerful, holding her in divine arms.
She knows there is a growing movement in contemporary theology that rejects the idea of God's omnipotence. At her local church, a class is studying The Death of Omnipotence and the Birth of Amipotence by Thomas Jay Oord. Some members enthusiastically insist, along with Oord, that omnipotence must be abandoned in favor of a vision of God as all-loving but not all-powerful.
Janet is troubled by the evangelical zeal with which they assert Oord’s perspective and dismiss her own as “bad” theology. Their fervor feels too sharp, their certainty too rigid. “They are too ferocious in their condemnations,” she says. “Let there be different points of view, none final. Let them make space for omnipotence.”
I sympathize with Janet. I, too, am troubled by the evangelical zeal of open and relational theologians who summarily dismiss the idea that God is all-powerful. What they don’t realize, it seems to me, is that people mean different things when they say “God is all-powerful,” many of which have nothing to do with whether or not God contravenes the laws of nature or unilaterally determines outcomes.
Moreover, all of the meanings above are consonant with the image of God one gets from open and relational theologies, including process theologies. Janet is right. "No matter what happens in my life, I trust that God’s power is working for my good. Even in my suffering, I am held in divine love." This holds true for all of us.
Here's hoping that open and relational theologians take a more generous attitude toward the idea omnipotence. Let them make space for it - that we might generously respond to Gijsbert van den Brink's critique below.
Critiquing Amipotence
Van Den Brink's Challenge to Open and Relational Theologians
Gijsbert van den Brink, Professor of Theology & Science at Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam and an Extraordinary Researcher at the Faculty of Theology, North-West University, South Africa. He begins his critique of Oord's in Amipotence: Support and Criticism, as follows:
"Two months ago my brother-in-law, 58 years old and a father of five, was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. That message came out of the blue. Until the time he went to his doctor because of abdominal pains, he was doing well. But pancreatic cancer is usually incurable, and as I write, the decision has been taken to stop treatment as he doesn’t stand its side effects. A committed Christian, my brother-in-law, is remarkably steadfast in his faith. 'I hope and pray to recover,' he told us. 'But if not, I entrust myself in the hands of the Lord. He stands above everything and will take care of me, whatever happens.' I was moved by the purity of these words and by the exemplary way in which he showed us what it means to be a Christian in such dire times. Although he believes God to be sovereign, he does not blame God for his fate; rather, God’s sovereignty is a source of solace to him. In fact, he does what millions of theistic believers throughout the centuries have done in such situations, commending themselves into the hands of God and trusting God to take care of them even beyond death."
Van den Brink’s words resonate with the lived experience of countless believers who find comfort in divine sovereignty, even in the face of profound suffering. While process theology emphasizes a non-coercive God who works through persuasion rather than unilateral control, it is essential to acknowledge the deep existential and pastoral significance of a more traditional view of divine omnipotence for many faithful individuals. His critique of Oord's position reminds us that theological discourse should remain attentive to the full range of ways in which people experience and articulate their trust in God, especially in moments of vulnerability.
Van den Brink continues his critique, not only questioning Oord’s theological conclusions but also expressing deep concern over the rhetorical framing of his argument:
"Let me be upfront: speaking from a Christian perspective, I think my brother-in-law is right and Oord is wrong. But before I point out why I think so, let me first state what worries me most in Oord’s discourse. That is the language. Oord deliberately uses forceful (not to say violent) language when evaluating the ideas of those with whom he disagrees—the language of death, killing, and burial. 'It’s time to commit dictiocide: to kill ‘omnipotence’' (74). Omnipotence should be 'dead to us,' and its 'corpse' should be buried 'for good' (115). Theists should instead turn to 'legitimate' ways to understand God’s power (115). I find such language disturbing. History has shown that branding ideas as illegitimate and worthy to be killed can easily become the first step on a road that ends with branding the people who hold such ideas as illegitimate—and worse. Ironically, such language is even at cross-purposes with the view of God as 'uncontrolling love' that Oord propagates. For there is no more efficient way to unilaterally control something than by killing it. But if God is supposed not to exercise unilateral control, why does Oord want us to do so with regard to ideas with which he disagrees? In a rare sentence in his book, Oord admits that his solution to the problem of evil is 'tentative, speculative, and provisional' (105). Yet, that awareness does not lead him to show some generosity to those who prefer other solutions."
(Brown, Brandon; Young, James. Amipotence: Support & Criticism (pp. 443-444), SacraSage Press, Kindle Edition.)
Van den Brink raises an important issue about the nature of theological debate itself. While strong convictions are inevitable in discussions about God’s power, the way those convictions are expressed matters. The language of "dictiocide" and the burial of alternative perspectives can undermine the very spirit of openness and relationality that Oord’s theology seeks to promote. If divine love is genuinely uncontrolling, then a theological discourse shaped by love should resist rhetorical coercion and allow for the coexistence of diverse understandings of God's power.
For my part, as a process theologian, I want to offer a word about how a process understanding of propositions as "lures for feeling" lends support to Van den Brink’s proposal that open and relational theologians, Thomas Oord included, tone down the rhetoric and avoid violent imagery.
In Alfred North Whitehead’s philosophy, propositions are not merely conveyors of abstract information; they are invitations to feel and respond. They include subjective forms—emotional tones that shape how ideas are received and acted upon. The language we use in theology does more than communicate intellectual positions; it evokes moods, inspires commitments, and forms communities. In this light, Oord’s metaphor of "killing omnipotence" and burying its "corpse" is not neutral. It is a proposition charged with an emotional tenor—one that frames theological disagreement in combative, even annihilative, terms.
If process thought teaches us anything, it is that ideas do not stand in isolation from the feelings they generate. Theologians, especially those who embrace a vision of God as uncontrolling love, might do well to recognize that rhetoric of violence—even metaphorical—can contradict the very relational and non-coercive vision they seek to promote. The problem is not simply about civility in discourse; it is about remaining faithful to the kind of world we hope to help bring about.
To be sure, theological debates are not free from passion, nor should they be. But if theology is, in part, about shaping the affective contours of our shared life, then an invitation to gentler and more generous rhetoric is not merely about tone—it is about the substance of our theological commitments. In this sense, Van den Brink’s concern is not just a critique of Oord’s language but a deeper invitation to reimagine how we engage in theological persuasion itself.
In the end, the question is not just about whether God is omnipotent, but about how we engage one another in seeking the truth. Van den Brink’s call for a more generous theological discourse—one that allows for differences without dismissing them as “illegitimate” or “dead”—is a call worth heeding.
"Two months ago my brother-in-law, 58 years old and a father of five, was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. That message came out of the blue. Until the time he went to his doctor because of abdominal pains, he was doing well. But pancreatic cancer is usually incurable, and as I write, the decision has been taken to stop treatment as he doesn’t stand its side effects. A committed Christian, my brother-in-law, is remarkably steadfast in his faith. 'I hope and pray to recover,' he told us. 'But if not, I entrust myself in the hands of the Lord. He stands above everything and will take care of me, whatever happens.' I was moved by the purity of these words and by the exemplary way in which he showed us what it means to be a Christian in such dire times. Although he believes God to be sovereign, he does not blame God for his fate; rather, God’s sovereignty is a source of solace to him. In fact, he does what millions of theistic believers throughout the centuries have done in such situations, commending themselves into the hands of God and trusting God to take care of them even beyond death."
Van den Brink’s words resonate with the lived experience of countless believers who find comfort in divine sovereignty, even in the face of profound suffering. While process theology emphasizes a non-coercive God who works through persuasion rather than unilateral control, it is essential to acknowledge the deep existential and pastoral significance of a more traditional view of divine omnipotence for many faithful individuals. His critique of Oord's position reminds us that theological discourse should remain attentive to the full range of ways in which people experience and articulate their trust in God, especially in moments of vulnerability.
Van den Brink continues his critique, not only questioning Oord’s theological conclusions but also expressing deep concern over the rhetorical framing of his argument:
"Let me be upfront: speaking from a Christian perspective, I think my brother-in-law is right and Oord is wrong. But before I point out why I think so, let me first state what worries me most in Oord’s discourse. That is the language. Oord deliberately uses forceful (not to say violent) language when evaluating the ideas of those with whom he disagrees—the language of death, killing, and burial. 'It’s time to commit dictiocide: to kill ‘omnipotence’' (74). Omnipotence should be 'dead to us,' and its 'corpse' should be buried 'for good' (115). Theists should instead turn to 'legitimate' ways to understand God’s power (115). I find such language disturbing. History has shown that branding ideas as illegitimate and worthy to be killed can easily become the first step on a road that ends with branding the people who hold such ideas as illegitimate—and worse. Ironically, such language is even at cross-purposes with the view of God as 'uncontrolling love' that Oord propagates. For there is no more efficient way to unilaterally control something than by killing it. But if God is supposed not to exercise unilateral control, why does Oord want us to do so with regard to ideas with which he disagrees? In a rare sentence in his book, Oord admits that his solution to the problem of evil is 'tentative, speculative, and provisional' (105). Yet, that awareness does not lead him to show some generosity to those who prefer other solutions."
(Brown, Brandon; Young, James. Amipotence: Support & Criticism (pp. 443-444), SacraSage Press, Kindle Edition.)
Van den Brink raises an important issue about the nature of theological debate itself. While strong convictions are inevitable in discussions about God’s power, the way those convictions are expressed matters. The language of "dictiocide" and the burial of alternative perspectives can undermine the very spirit of openness and relationality that Oord’s theology seeks to promote. If divine love is genuinely uncontrolling, then a theological discourse shaped by love should resist rhetorical coercion and allow for the coexistence of diverse understandings of God's power.
For my part, as a process theologian, I want to offer a word about how a process understanding of propositions as "lures for feeling" lends support to Van den Brink’s proposal that open and relational theologians, Thomas Oord included, tone down the rhetoric and avoid violent imagery.
In Alfred North Whitehead’s philosophy, propositions are not merely conveyors of abstract information; they are invitations to feel and respond. They include subjective forms—emotional tones that shape how ideas are received and acted upon. The language we use in theology does more than communicate intellectual positions; it evokes moods, inspires commitments, and forms communities. In this light, Oord’s metaphor of "killing omnipotence" and burying its "corpse" is not neutral. It is a proposition charged with an emotional tenor—one that frames theological disagreement in combative, even annihilative, terms.
If process thought teaches us anything, it is that ideas do not stand in isolation from the feelings they generate. Theologians, especially those who embrace a vision of God as uncontrolling love, might do well to recognize that rhetoric of violence—even metaphorical—can contradict the very relational and non-coercive vision they seek to promote. The problem is not simply about civility in discourse; it is about remaining faithful to the kind of world we hope to help bring about.
To be sure, theological debates are not free from passion, nor should they be. But if theology is, in part, about shaping the affective contours of our shared life, then an invitation to gentler and more generous rhetoric is not merely about tone—it is about the substance of our theological commitments. In this sense, Van den Brink’s concern is not just a critique of Oord’s language but a deeper invitation to reimagine how we engage in theological persuasion itself.
In the end, the question is not just about whether God is omnipotent, but about how we engage one another in seeking the truth. Van den Brink’s call for a more generous theological discourse—one that allows for differences without dismissing them as “illegitimate” or “dead”—is a call worth heeding.