There is something really strange about the theological task. To begin with it's an impossible task. I mean, if all we had to do was talk about gods in a pantheon, that would be hard enough, but not impossible. The "God" (and that's already a hopelessly empty term going into this work) of the gospel is at once unspeakably exalted and unspeakably abased and unspeakably fleetingly alive. If the task were to nail this God down with clever phrasing, it would be useless. The task, however, is to unsay everything that is said, to end every utterance with a "nevertheless, not as I will, but your will be done." That is, the task is to end everything in doxology, a doxology that doesn't forget lament or petition or thanksgiving or metanoia or intercession. The task is to think what cannot be thought and say what cannot be said—and to wait.