Congratulations, You're Postmodern
About two years ago I was at one of Savannah’s softball games. At the time she was a freshman at a very conservative private Christian school in Columbus, OH, nestled affectionately in the lap of a very large Nazarene church. As a freshman she didn’t play much – except to pinch run from time to time – so, as I often did, I brought a book. On this particular day it was James K.A. Smith’s, Who’s Afraid of Post-Modernism?
At one point Savannah skipped over from the dugout and sat next to me for a few minutes so we could make fun of the other team. After a pause she snatched my book and looked over the cover.
Wrinkling her brow, she said, “What’s Postmodernism?”
“It’s a loose school of philosophy reacting against the underpinnings of the Enlightenment,” I deadpanned.
“What’s ‘underpinnings?’”
“Basic principles.”
“Ooh, Ooh,” she popped with sudden excitement, “I know what the Enlightenment is!”
“Oh?” I said, raising an eyebrow expectantly.
“It’s that period in history when science said we couldn’t trust Jesus ‘n stuff.”
“Riiiiiight,” I trailed off, seemingly unsure, “Reason against faith and all that, huh?”
“Yup,” she quipped confidently. Then, after a short pause, “So, am I Postmodern?”
I examined her for a second and said, “Well, how do you know what’s true?”
“Ugh,” she grunted wearily, “I don’t know.”
“Well then, you’re Postmodern.”
“Yessss!!” she erupted, skipping happily back to the dugout.
I laughed out loud and went back to my book.
Forty-five minutes later as the game was wrapping up one of Savannah’s teammates scrambled over to me from amid the chaotic melee of kids and parents, calling out, “Mr Coker! Mr. Coker! Am I Postmodern?
I blinked at her questioningly.
“I want to be Postmodern too! Savannah said to have you ask me a question.”
It occurred to me this could get out of control, so I froze for a long moment trying to figure how to let her down politely. Then I gave up: “Okay, how do you know what’s true?”
Horror crept over her face as she realized she didn’t have the slightest clue. Instantly downcast, she said, “Oh, um, I don’t know.”
“Congratulations, you’re Postmodern.”
“Yes!” She ran off, pumping her fist in the air, “Savannah! I’m Postmodern too!”
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