All Theology is Biography

Our Stories Shape Our Faith

There's a phrase I return to from time to time: all theology is biography.

It suggests something both simple and profound—that everything we go through, everything that layers into our story, quietly shapes the way we talk about and think about God. Our triumphs and our traumas, our joy and our suffering, all of it colors our theology.

And if we look closely, we can even see that same dynamic at play in scripture.

Take, for instance, the letter of James.

James: A Brother's Perspective

Church history tells us that the letter of James was likely written by the brother of Jesus. Now, that’s not something we can say with absolute certainty. But it’s more than plausible. There are references in the Gospels to Jesus having a brother named James, and a number of factors suggest this could be his work.

But regardless of the historical debates, what stands out is the theology James offers. Unlike Paul, whose writing tends to stretch toward the philosophical and abstract, James is grounded. His concerns are practical—how we treat people, how we understand our privilege, how we live out love in the real world.

Could that be because he grew up watching Jesus? Perhaps sharing a bedroom. Watching their family navigate life in a single-parent home. Wrestling with the loss of their father. Maybe even resisting and rejecting Jesus for a time, only to eventually come around.

That kind of proximity changes you.

Theology on the Ground

James isn’t interested in speculative theology. There’s no deep dive into the metaphysics of incarnation here. Instead, he focuses on our speech, our care for the vulnerable, and our resistance to favoritism.

At one point, James even says that pure religion is about looking after orphans and widows—not waxing eloquent about God.

And look, I love theology. I love the books, the lectures, the endless wondering about God. But I also know that when I’m gone, it’s not my words that will last. It’s the way I loved—the grace I gave, the kindness I shared—that will echo beyond me.

That’s what matters. That’s what lasts.

The Importance of Proximity

This is why our spaces matter so much. Why being close to one another—physically, emotionally, spiritually—is vital. Paul did extraordinary work helping us make sense of Jesus. But James knew Jesus. Grew up with him. Laughed with him. Maybe fought with him. And ultimately, was too close to forget him.

Our origins, our relationships, our stories—these shape us more than we often admit.

A Story Like Ours

We don’t know much about Jesus’ childhood. But the gaps themselves are telling. We know his father was there at his birth and during his early years. Then... he’s gone. And what remains is Mary, the mother, and the siblings. A single-parent family. A shared struggle.

Imagine James growing up in that. Watching his mom grieve. Watching his brother serve. Trying to make sense of it all.

And then eventually—slowly, maybe painfully—coming to see that the love he saw in Jesus was the way to live.

That’s theology born of biography.

Becoming Who We’re Becoming

Our stories—yours and mine—become us over time. And while we can grow, evolve, even transcend aspects of our past, we can’t erase it. It’s part of us. Like the homes we grew up in. The bedrooms we once called ours. The people who raised us, or didn’t.

And James? His theology is rooted in those very places. The places we share too.

So maybe the invitation here isn’t just to think better thoughts about God. Maybe it’s to pay closer attention to the people we’re becoming. And the ways we’re turning our stories toward Jesus.

Because in the end, what transforms us isn’t just our thinking. It’s our being. Our nearness. Our presence with each other.

And for that, I’m thankful James stuck around long enough to show us the way.