Mutual Flourishing
Shakespeare, Pope Francis, and Bruce Epperly
Given the political tensions of our time, I find myself wondering what a politics of love might look like. It doesn't look like the politics of Shakespeare's Richard III, who manipulates, betrays, and destroys in his relentless quest for power, leaving a trail of broken lives and fractured alliances. But it might well look like what Bruce Epperly in his way, and Pope Francis in his way, call the politics of love—a politics rooted in humility, compassion, and the recognition that true power lies not in domination but in relationality and shared flourishing.
Epperly’s vision of an amipotent God—a God whose power is expressed through love, persuasion, and creativity—offers a compelling framework for reimagining politics. It aligns with Pope Francis’s call for a culture of encounter, where leaders and citizens alike seek dialogue, prioritize the common good, and extend care to the most vulnerable. This kind of politics rejects the zero-sum game of winners and losers in favor of collaboration and mutual empowerment, where the goal is not merely to wield power but to use it to build a just and compassionate society.
Such a politics might feel almost unimaginable in a world dominated by ambition, division, and fear, but it begins in small, everyday choices: listening with an open heart, seeking common ground, and embracing vulnerability as a strength rather than a weakness. It challenges leaders to rethink their priorities, not as rulers imposing their will, but as partners in a collective journey toward justice and healing. In these politically fraught times, perhaps this vision—a politics of love—is the hope we most need.
Epperly’s vision of an amipotent God—a God whose power is expressed through love, persuasion, and creativity—offers a compelling framework for reimagining politics. It aligns with Pope Francis’s call for a culture of encounter, where leaders and citizens alike seek dialogue, prioritize the common good, and extend care to the most vulnerable. This kind of politics rejects the zero-sum game of winners and losers in favor of collaboration and mutual empowerment, where the goal is not merely to wield power but to use it to build a just and compassionate society.
Such a politics might feel almost unimaginable in a world dominated by ambition, division, and fear, but it begins in small, everyday choices: listening with an open heart, seeking common ground, and embracing vulnerability as a strength rather than a weakness. It challenges leaders to rethink their priorities, not as rulers imposing their will, but as partners in a collective journey toward justice and healing. In these politically fraught times, perhaps this vision—a politics of love—is the hope we most need.
Mutual Transformation
The Ambition and Fall of Richard III
Imagine a political leader who is cunning, ambitious, ruthless, charismatic, deceptive, bitter, manipulative, amoral, self-aware, paranoid, eloquent, cynical, and relentless—a man whose drive for power knows no bounds and whose charm masks a heart devoid of scruples. He wants desperately to rule the land and receive the acclaim accorded rulers, basking in the glory of power. He can turn on the charm at a moment's notice, disarming those around him with wit and eloquence while plotting their downfall.
I am talking, of course, about Richard III in Shakespeare's play by that name, which chronicles the rise and fall of the infamous Duke of Gloucester during the Wars of the Roses in 15th-century England. The story does not end well for Richard III because his unchecked ambition, ruthless tactics, and inability to build genuine alliances ultimately lead to his downfall. Richard’s rise to power is built on manipulation, betrayal, and murder, alienating even those who initially support him. His relentless pursuit of the throne isolates him, and his paranoia ensures he trusts no one, leaving him without loyal allies when he needs them most. As his tyranny grows, resistance against him strengthens, culminating in the Battle of Bosworth Field, where Richard faces Henry Tudor (later King Henry VII).
Richard’s story ends poorly because his insatiable lust for power and disregard for morality ultimately destroy him. Shakespeare’s play serves as a cautionary tale about the consequences of unchecked ambition, the fragility of power gained through treachery, and the inevitability of justice, whether delivered by human hands or divine forces.
Parallels to Modern Politics
Many nations do not have kings today, but they do have politicians who would like to be kings, and they have citizens who, in times of difficulty, prefer kings—strong men—to what they consider weak leaders. These leaders, like Richard III, are often cunning, ambitious, ruthless, charismatic, and manipulative, promising bold action and decisive leadership in the face of uncertainty. They rise to power by exploiting fear, resentment, and the desire for stability, convincing others that their singular vision and strength are what the nation needs. And there are always citizens who, like some of Richard III's early followers, believe such leaders are divinely chosen to bring about the necessary changes—whether by restoring order, revitalizing the economy, or defeating perceived enemies.
So take this story forward into the 21st century and imagine one such political leader, someone with Richard’s personality, who seeks power and acclaim at any cost. He manipulates the system, wins over followers with charm and promises, and positions himself as the only one capable of saving the nation. For a time, his rise seems unstoppable. His followers, fueled by loyalty and a shared sense of grievance, interpret his ruthlessness as strength and his cunning as wisdom. To them, his actions—no matter how morally questionable—are justified by the results they hope he will deliver. His power grows as he silences dissent and eliminates rivals, and he becomes increasingly isolated, distrusting even those closest to him.
Redemption of the Strong Man
And yet, amid his relentless pursuit of power, imagine this leader encountering an unexpected challenge—not from a political rival, but from a trusted friend., He has advisors who are Christian, and one of them is deeply influenced by open and relational theology, particularly the idea that God is a loving presence throughout the universe and that Jesus is a revelation of this God’s love. With the help of this spiritual friend, something begins to change in him, He begins to see God, not as a ruler of coercive might but as a being of relational love, whose power is expressed through persuasion, creativity, and shared flourishing. His friend speaks of this way of thinking about God as more genuinely Christian than the more combative vision of God that he, the leader, had typically held.
At first, the strong man dismisses these ideas, scoffing at the notion of power that does not dominate or control. To him, such notions seem weak and naïve, entirely unsuited to the brutal realities of politics. But something about the vision stays with him—a quiet, persistent challenge to the worldview he has built his life upon. Slowly, the ideas begin to take root. He starts to imagine a different kind of power—one not rooted in domination but in humility, collaboration, and compassion. He sees that his cunning and charisma, once used to manipulate and destroy, could be redirected toward healing and uniting.
His transformation is gradual and fraught with internal struggle. He is haunted by his past and the temptation to fall back into old patterns, but he also feels the persistent lure of love and justice calling him to something greater. Vulnerability becomes his strength as he acknowledges his mistakes and seeks to make amends. He begins to advocate for policies that prioritize the well-being of all, rather than just his own glory. He invites dialogue, listens to dissenting voices, and works to rebuild trust with those he had once manipulated.
The Politics of Amipotence
This story draws inspiration from Bruce Epperly’s essay in Amipotence (Vol. 2) titled The Politics of Amipotence. I have tried to imagine what might happen is ideas such as Epperly's found their way into halls of power. Epperly writes:
"The Amipotent vision of God inspires a relational, interactive, and democratic vision of revelation, decision-making, and politics in contrast to the authoritarian relationships and politics inspired by authoritarian, all-powerful, and unilateral visions of God."
Epperly believes, along with many open and relational theologians, that images of an omnipotent and all-controlling God go hand in hand with authoritarian politics, the inner impulses of leaders who seek to be kings in the manner of Richard III, and the people who seek "strong men" to rule their lives. But what if leaders and their followers embraced a vision of God not as an authoritarian ruler but as a relational, participatory force of love, inviting partnership in the creative advance into new possibilities?
Such a transformation, though rare, would probably begin, not only with advice froma trusted friend, but with a moment of deep vulnerability—perhaps a national tragedy that no amount of political maneuvering can fix. This awakening might lead to a reorientation of values, where the pursuit of power gives way to a commitment to justice, empathy, and the well-being of others. It would require humility and a reimagining of power not as domination but as persuasion, collaboration, and shared flourishing. It would mean loving, not hating, one’s enemies—a nearly unimaginable shift, but one that could point humanity toward a new kind of politics, inspired by the relational love of an amipotent God.
Epperly provides a description of what a politics of amipotence might look like in terms of policies. It would avoid binaries of "us" versus "them" when possible and seek the well-being of each and all.
I am talking, of course, about Richard III in Shakespeare's play by that name, which chronicles the rise and fall of the infamous Duke of Gloucester during the Wars of the Roses in 15th-century England. The story does not end well for Richard III because his unchecked ambition, ruthless tactics, and inability to build genuine alliances ultimately lead to his downfall. Richard’s rise to power is built on manipulation, betrayal, and murder, alienating even those who initially support him. His relentless pursuit of the throne isolates him, and his paranoia ensures he trusts no one, leaving him without loyal allies when he needs them most. As his tyranny grows, resistance against him strengthens, culminating in the Battle of Bosworth Field, where Richard faces Henry Tudor (later King Henry VII).
Richard’s story ends poorly because his insatiable lust for power and disregard for morality ultimately destroy him. Shakespeare’s play serves as a cautionary tale about the consequences of unchecked ambition, the fragility of power gained through treachery, and the inevitability of justice, whether delivered by human hands or divine forces.
Parallels to Modern Politics
Many nations do not have kings today, but they do have politicians who would like to be kings, and they have citizens who, in times of difficulty, prefer kings—strong men—to what they consider weak leaders. These leaders, like Richard III, are often cunning, ambitious, ruthless, charismatic, and manipulative, promising bold action and decisive leadership in the face of uncertainty. They rise to power by exploiting fear, resentment, and the desire for stability, convincing others that their singular vision and strength are what the nation needs. And there are always citizens who, like some of Richard III's early followers, believe such leaders are divinely chosen to bring about the necessary changes—whether by restoring order, revitalizing the economy, or defeating perceived enemies.
So take this story forward into the 21st century and imagine one such political leader, someone with Richard’s personality, who seeks power and acclaim at any cost. He manipulates the system, wins over followers with charm and promises, and positions himself as the only one capable of saving the nation. For a time, his rise seems unstoppable. His followers, fueled by loyalty and a shared sense of grievance, interpret his ruthlessness as strength and his cunning as wisdom. To them, his actions—no matter how morally questionable—are justified by the results they hope he will deliver. His power grows as he silences dissent and eliminates rivals, and he becomes increasingly isolated, distrusting even those closest to him.
Redemption of the Strong Man
And yet, amid his relentless pursuit of power, imagine this leader encountering an unexpected challenge—not from a political rival, but from a trusted friend., He has advisors who are Christian, and one of them is deeply influenced by open and relational theology, particularly the idea that God is a loving presence throughout the universe and that Jesus is a revelation of this God’s love. With the help of this spiritual friend, something begins to change in him, He begins to see God, not as a ruler of coercive might but as a being of relational love, whose power is expressed through persuasion, creativity, and shared flourishing. His friend speaks of this way of thinking about God as more genuinely Christian than the more combative vision of God that he, the leader, had typically held.
At first, the strong man dismisses these ideas, scoffing at the notion of power that does not dominate or control. To him, such notions seem weak and naïve, entirely unsuited to the brutal realities of politics. But something about the vision stays with him—a quiet, persistent challenge to the worldview he has built his life upon. Slowly, the ideas begin to take root. He starts to imagine a different kind of power—one not rooted in domination but in humility, collaboration, and compassion. He sees that his cunning and charisma, once used to manipulate and destroy, could be redirected toward healing and uniting.
His transformation is gradual and fraught with internal struggle. He is haunted by his past and the temptation to fall back into old patterns, but he also feels the persistent lure of love and justice calling him to something greater. Vulnerability becomes his strength as he acknowledges his mistakes and seeks to make amends. He begins to advocate for policies that prioritize the well-being of all, rather than just his own glory. He invites dialogue, listens to dissenting voices, and works to rebuild trust with those he had once manipulated.
The Politics of Amipotence
This story draws inspiration from Bruce Epperly’s essay in Amipotence (Vol. 2) titled The Politics of Amipotence. I have tried to imagine what might happen is ideas such as Epperly's found their way into halls of power. Epperly writes:
"The Amipotent vision of God inspires a relational, interactive, and democratic vision of revelation, decision-making, and politics in contrast to the authoritarian relationships and politics inspired by authoritarian, all-powerful, and unilateral visions of God."
Epperly believes, along with many open and relational theologians, that images of an omnipotent and all-controlling God go hand in hand with authoritarian politics, the inner impulses of leaders who seek to be kings in the manner of Richard III, and the people who seek "strong men" to rule their lives. But what if leaders and their followers embraced a vision of God not as an authoritarian ruler but as a relational, participatory force of love, inviting partnership in the creative advance into new possibilities?
Such a transformation, though rare, would probably begin, not only with advice froma trusted friend, but with a moment of deep vulnerability—perhaps a national tragedy that no amount of political maneuvering can fix. This awakening might lead to a reorientation of values, where the pursuit of power gives way to a commitment to justice, empathy, and the well-being of others. It would require humility and a reimagining of power not as domination but as persuasion, collaboration, and shared flourishing. It would mean loving, not hating, one’s enemies—a nearly unimaginable shift, but one that could point humanity toward a new kind of politics, inspired by the relational love of an amipotent God.
Epperly provides a description of what a politics of amipotence might look like in terms of policies. It would avoid binaries of "us" versus "them" when possible and seek the well-being of each and all.
"Trusting that God is at work persuasively in the moral arc of history, we honor a variety of paths to the “more perfect union.” We look...for the truth in our neighbor’s falsehood and the falsehood, or limitation, of our own truth. We can affirm, on the one hand, fiscal conservativism and, on the other hand, compassion in providing a broad spectrum of health care and promoting a universal economic safety net. Persons who support reproductive freedom and those who affirm the holiness of fetal life can meet in good faith to reduce the number of abortions, support male responsibility for fetuses and children, promote women’s equality, provide positive role models for women, affirm universal child and pregnancy care, and high-quality education and opportunity for all people. The amipotent God encourages the search for common ground rather than binary and polarizing win-lose solutions. The amipotent God embraces, provides spiritual guidance, and seeks the salvation of everyone. Those who disagree with us are not demonized, silenced, or polarized, but seen as the “loyal opposition,” a term regularly invoked by politicians of earlier era, who assumed the good faith and patriotism of those with whom they differed. Accordingly, a politics of amipotence embraces diversity and pluralism, looks for wisdom in all quarters, and seeks well-being for all persons across our nation and across the globe.
Politics as a Theatre of Possibility
The story of such a transformation would not be one of easy resolutions or instant success. It would be a process—a gradual, improvisational unfolding in which both leader and followers learn to co-create a political and social order rooted in the principles of relationality, openness, and love. It would be a story of redemption, not through unilateral power but through the shared courage to imagine and enact a different way of being in the world.
In this vision, politics itself becomes a theater of possibility—a stage where the tragic and the beautiful are woven together, where suffering is acknowledged, and where hope emerges through the cracks of ambition’s downfall. It is, in Whitehead’s terms, a process of weaving tragic beauty from the chaos of human striving, trusting that even in the darkest moments, there is the possibility of transformation through the divine lure toward love, justice, and community.
In the Meantime
But I must be honest. Nice as it would be, I do not see this kind of transformation occurring today, at least on the scale just imagined. The powers of authoritarianism and the lures of ambition are just too powerful, and I haven’t a sense as I write this that any change will take place.
Does this matter? Certainly at some level it does, insofar as lives are harmed by the politics of conflict and hatred. But what also matters is that people with vision carry the dream of a politics of amipotence in their hearts and move forward, if only in constructive and loving resistance, as best they can. Perhaps it is in the act of loving resistance itself, in the refusal to bow to the allure of power and coercion, that a deeper kind of transformation quietly unfolds. It may not topple empires, but it nurtures communities of love and hope.
Mutual Transformation
The danger is that the "meantime" people fall into the very traps they so often foist on the other side, whatever it may be, The transformation of a strong man like Richard III is not just about his own journey; it also calls for a change in those who despise him and his followers. Many who oppose such leaders often view their followers with contempt, seeing them as gullible, complicit, or morally bankrupt. This deepens divisions, entrench hostility, and reinforce the very dynamics of polarization that allow strong men to thrive. Just as the strong man is invited to embrace a vision of power rooted in relational love, those who oppose him must also undergo their own transformation, guided by humility, empathy, and a commitment to understanding.
Opponents of such a leader must resist the temptation to demonize his supporters. It is easy to reduce these followers to stereotypes or dismiss them as lost causes, but doing so only perpetuates cycles of alienation and resentment. Instead, the transformation begins with a willingness to listen—truly listen—to the grievances, fears, and hopes that drive people to rally behind authoritarian figures. This does not mean condoning harmful actions or beliefs but recognizing the humanity of those who hold them.
A Future for All
This shift requires moving beyond moral superiority and embracing the vulnerability of engaging with others in dialogue. It involves cultivating a relational imagination, where opponents see even the most ardent supporters of the strong man as potential partners in a shared journey toward justice and flourishing. It also requires recognizing that the forces fueling strong-man politics—fear, inequality, and the longing for security—often stem from systemic issues that must be addressed collectively, not from individual failings alone.
For those who despise the strong man, transformation also entails confronting their own reliance on coercive power and exclusionary tactics. Opposition to authoritarianism cannot itself become authoritarian, wielding shame or derision as weapons. Instead, it must model the very relational and participatory values it seeks to promote. This means engaging in nonviolent resistance, fostering inclusive coalitions, and imagining a future where even former adversaries can be collaborators.
Ultimately, the transformation of those who oppose the strong man is rooted in the same amipotent vision of God—a God who does not coerce but invites, who loves enemies as well as friends, and who seeks the flourishing of all. Just as the strong man must learn to wield power as a force for healing rather than domination, his opponents must learn to see their struggle not as a battle to destroy but as an opportunity to rebuild relationships, repair communities, and create a shared future.
In this way, the redemption of the strong man and the transformation of his opponents are deeply interconnected. Both require a shift from division to connection, from hostility to understanding, and from power over others to power with others. Together, these transformations embody the hope of an amipotent God: a politics of love, justice, and shared flourishing that leaves no one behind.
The story of such a transformation would not be one of easy resolutions or instant success. It would be a process—a gradual, improvisational unfolding in which both leader and followers learn to co-create a political and social order rooted in the principles of relationality, openness, and love. It would be a story of redemption, not through unilateral power but through the shared courage to imagine and enact a different way of being in the world.
In this vision, politics itself becomes a theater of possibility—a stage where the tragic and the beautiful are woven together, where suffering is acknowledged, and where hope emerges through the cracks of ambition’s downfall. It is, in Whitehead’s terms, a process of weaving tragic beauty from the chaos of human striving, trusting that even in the darkest moments, there is the possibility of transformation through the divine lure toward love, justice, and community.
In the Meantime
But I must be honest. Nice as it would be, I do not see this kind of transformation occurring today, at least on the scale just imagined. The powers of authoritarianism and the lures of ambition are just too powerful, and I haven’t a sense as I write this that any change will take place.
Does this matter? Certainly at some level it does, insofar as lives are harmed by the politics of conflict and hatred. But what also matters is that people with vision carry the dream of a politics of amipotence in their hearts and move forward, if only in constructive and loving resistance, as best they can. Perhaps it is in the act of loving resistance itself, in the refusal to bow to the allure of power and coercion, that a deeper kind of transformation quietly unfolds. It may not topple empires, but it nurtures communities of love and hope.
Mutual Transformation
The danger is that the "meantime" people fall into the very traps they so often foist on the other side, whatever it may be, The transformation of a strong man like Richard III is not just about his own journey; it also calls for a change in those who despise him and his followers. Many who oppose such leaders often view their followers with contempt, seeing them as gullible, complicit, or morally bankrupt. This deepens divisions, entrench hostility, and reinforce the very dynamics of polarization that allow strong men to thrive. Just as the strong man is invited to embrace a vision of power rooted in relational love, those who oppose him must also undergo their own transformation, guided by humility, empathy, and a commitment to understanding.
Opponents of such a leader must resist the temptation to demonize his supporters. It is easy to reduce these followers to stereotypes or dismiss them as lost causes, but doing so only perpetuates cycles of alienation and resentment. Instead, the transformation begins with a willingness to listen—truly listen—to the grievances, fears, and hopes that drive people to rally behind authoritarian figures. This does not mean condoning harmful actions or beliefs but recognizing the humanity of those who hold them.
A Future for All
This shift requires moving beyond moral superiority and embracing the vulnerability of engaging with others in dialogue. It involves cultivating a relational imagination, where opponents see even the most ardent supporters of the strong man as potential partners in a shared journey toward justice and flourishing. It also requires recognizing that the forces fueling strong-man politics—fear, inequality, and the longing for security—often stem from systemic issues that must be addressed collectively, not from individual failings alone.
For those who despise the strong man, transformation also entails confronting their own reliance on coercive power and exclusionary tactics. Opposition to authoritarianism cannot itself become authoritarian, wielding shame or derision as weapons. Instead, it must model the very relational and participatory values it seeks to promote. This means engaging in nonviolent resistance, fostering inclusive coalitions, and imagining a future where even former adversaries can be collaborators.
Ultimately, the transformation of those who oppose the strong man is rooted in the same amipotent vision of God—a God who does not coerce but invites, who loves enemies as well as friends, and who seeks the flourishing of all. Just as the strong man must learn to wield power as a force for healing rather than domination, his opponents must learn to see their struggle not as a battle to destroy but as an opportunity to rebuild relationships, repair communities, and create a shared future.
In this way, the redemption of the strong man and the transformation of his opponents are deeply interconnected. Both require a shift from division to connection, from hostility to understanding, and from power over others to power with others. Together, these transformations embody the hope of an amipotent God: a politics of love, justice, and shared flourishing that leaves no one behind.
What a Politics of Love Looks Like
Pope Francis in Fratelli Tutti
A Politics of Love seeks changes of heart, attitude, and lifestyles
Everything, then, depends on our ability to see the need for a change of heart, attitudes and lifestyles. Otherwise, political propaganda, the media and the shapers of public opinion will continue to promote an individualistic and uncritical culture subservient to unregulated economic interests and societal institutions at the service of those who already enjoy too much power. The best way to dominate and gain control over people is to spread despair and discouragement, even under the guise of defending certain values. Today, in many countries, hyperbole, extremism and polarization have become political tools.
Employing a strategy of ridicule, suspicion and relentless criticism, in a variety of ways one denies the right of others to exist or to have an opinion. Their share of the truth and their values are rejected and, as a result, the life of society is impoverished and subjected to the hubris of the powerful.
Political life no longer has to do with healthy debates about long-term plans to improve people’s lives and to advance the common good, but only with slick marketing techniques primarily aimed at discrediting others. In this craven exchange of charges and counter-charges, debate degenerates into a permanent state of disagreement and confrontation.
- Pope Francis, Fratelli Tutti
Seeks forms of social friendship that include everyone, including people of other parties. Welcomes differences and the priority of the diginity of every human being. Avoids fanaticism, closed-mindedness, and the fostering of social and cultural fragmentation. Appreciates business but sees business as in service to community not personal greed. Measures the spiritual stature of his or her own life, not in terms of power and flattery, but in terms of love. Appreciates local culture and local loyalty, but emphasizes communities of care and love, where all are included. |
Sees love or charity as the spiritual heart of politics. Has a preferential option for those in greatest need. Avoids seeing everything in terms of market freedom and efficiency. Recognizes that private property is secondary to the common use of created goods for the whole of society. Critiques the cult of individualism |
With his gift for making Scripture and theology clear and very relevant, Dr. Bruce Epperly looks at the Sermon on the Mount and suggests to us what Jesus might be saying about our own politics and social ethics. Point by point he brings the topics Jesus covered home to a modern audience, especially in America.
With topics such as "all-embracing love," intercessory prayer," and "bringing the light," almost anyone will find something here to think about. Perhaps God is asking something more of us in the social and political sphere than we might have imagined. Are we called to be Jesus in public forums and the halls of government?
The book closes with a series of conversation starters, several for each chapter, which makes this an ideal book for a small group study. It can also be read individually, and will perhaps give you both the impetus and some of the ideas that will help you change our world.
With topics such as "all-embracing love," intercessory prayer," and "bringing the light," almost anyone will find something here to think about. Perhaps God is asking something more of us in the social and political sphere than we might have imagined. Are we called to be Jesus in public forums and the halls of government?
The book closes with a series of conversation starters, several for each chapter, which makes this an ideal book for a small group study. It can also be read individually, and will perhaps give you both the impetus and some of the ideas that will help you change our world.
In this short book, Bruce Epperly says that it has much to say, and can shape not just the ethics and policies of a better world, but also the way in which we debate and decide those policies. Process theology invites discussion and even guides us toward acceptable and positive community resolutions.
No major political issue of the western world is excluded from this discussion. From immigration to criminal justice, from abortion to reproductive health, from the environment to economic development, process thinking can help guide examination, shaping, and implementation of solutions for a troubled world.
This book is suitable for individual reading by anyone who wants to take a fresh look at policy from an open-minded, progressive or moderate point of view. It can also be helpful in group studies for those who want to study how to apply prophetic proclamation to daily living.
No major political issue of the western world is excluded from this discussion. From immigration to criminal justice, from abortion to reproductive health, from the environment to economic development, process thinking can help guide examination, shaping, and implementation of solutions for a troubled world.
This book is suitable for individual reading by anyone who wants to take a fresh look at policy from an open-minded, progressive or moderate point of view. It can also be helpful in group studies for those who want to study how to apply prophetic proclamation to daily living.