In this collection of essays, Sarah Coakley ruminates on the theme of brokenness ‘in all its ambiguity and richness’ (p. 9), in connection with her signature interest in apophatic Christology. This long-planned volume is intended to accompany her ongoing project of systematic theology (the first volume God, Sexuality, and the Self: An Essay ‘On the Trinity’ published in 2013, and the second volume Sin, Racism, and Divine Darkness: An Essay ‘On Human Nature’ forthcoming in 2025).

From the title, potential readers might surmise that Coakley will focus on the broken body of Christ on the cross and in the eucharist, and on the broken relationship between Christianity and Judaism. This initial presumption is not wrong; indeed, the volume is divided into three parts, focusing on Christ, the relationship of Judaism and Christianity, and the eucharist, respectively. Each part includes four essays that investigate the theme of brokenness with particular attention to the specific theme of that section (e.g. Part I: ‘Seeking the Identity of Christ’), though the various dimensions interweave and overlap throughout the entire collection.

Coakley’s interest in brokenness, however, is both more integrative and more extensive than these three themes, summoning Christian readers to the very limits of knowledge and speech. One of the most luminous parts of the book is the prologue, which concludes with a summary of six referents for ‘brokenness’, offering a helpful lens for seeing the book as a whole, rather than as a collection of disparate pieces. The italicised terms below correspond to her listing of six dimensions of brokenness:

1. 1) The primary sense of brokenness, which Coakley calls the ‘metaphysical ballast’ (p. 37) of the whole exploration, is the body of Christ broken on the cross, manifesting salvific and sacrificial divine/human brokenness. The essays in part 1 focus on this christological core.

2. 2) Second, she insists on the need for epistemological breaking; that is, ordinary forms of human knowing need to be broken open to apophatic consciousness, or as she also puts it, our hearts need to be broken open to the mystery of Christ’s risen presence. This means that ‘knowing’ is not just an intellectual exercise, but is shaped by practice and contemplation, enabling us to encounter Christ in eucharistic worship and in ‘the faces of the poor and the suffering’ (p. xxxix). While I celebrate Coakley’s attention to divine mystery and the need to ‘break’ narrow Enlightenment projects of knowing, I will raise some concerns below about her connection of this knowing to ‘the poor’.

3. 3) To know Christ in this way, we need ways of speaking that involve linguistic breaking. Though this point stretches the metaphor of ‘brokenness’, it is clear what Coakley is after: exploring strategies of theological speech that acknowledge the limits of human language, seeking to avoid ‘improper idolatry or hubris’ (p. xl) in our God-talk. On this point, I find particularly powerful chapter 4 ‘What Does Chalcedon Solve and What Does it Not?’, in which Coakley offers an apophatic reading of the Chalcedonian definition that recognizes this formulation as an effort to say ‘no’ to misguided formulations of Christology.

4. 4) The fourth sense of brokenness, which Coakley explores in the second section of the volume, has to do with the relationship of Christology and Judaism. As she notes, Judaism and Christianity have been broken apart by certain core issues, including especially monotheism and interpretations of Messiah. Coakley seeks in each case both to recognize the breakage and to ‘break open’ the misunderstandings to disclose shared theological insight. So, for instance, in chapter 5, ‘“Broken” Monotheism? Intra-Divine Complexity and the Origins of the Doctrine of the Trinity’, she discerns in certain Jewish texts a kind of ‘proto-trinitarianism’ in which monotheism is retained yet ‘broken open’ to Messianic presence.

5. 5) As already acknowledged, Coakley is intensely interested in the eucharistic meaning of the broken body of Christ, her focus in part 3 of the volume. To participate in Christ’s broken eucharistic body is part of the process of sanctification, by which sin itself is broken, and human desire is broken open to divine desire.

6. 6) Finally, Coakley acknowledges ecclesial brokenness, and she hopes for its healing. As she notes, ‘It follows that the Christic “broken body” (again, when rightly and discerningly understood) is the only broken body that is simultaneously mystically uniting of its followers and at the same time mystically healing of their wounds.’ (p. xxxvi).

In addition to the dimensions of brokenness she enumerates in the prologue, Coakley also seeks to ‘break’ patriarchal forms of both Christianity and Judaism. For instance, one of her most provocative essays, ‘In Defence of Sacrifice’ (on the akedah, the ‘binding of Isaac’), offers a constructive feminist interpretation of sacrifice, arguing that ‘only sacrifice, rightly understood, can account for a feminist transformation of the self that is radically “theonomous”, rooted and sustained in God.’ (171) This essay ends with two bold proposals regarding sexuality and gender, based on her reading of the akedah: 1) sexuality establishes us outside of ourselves—and in God, and 2) the occurrence of divine interruption in sacrifice disturbs any fixed binary in gender. So too in the essay ‘In Persona Christi: Who, or Where, is Christ at the Altar?’, Coakley takes up a traditional Christian theme (here, the argument that a priest presiding at eucharist stands ‘in the person of Christ’) and breaks it open to offer surprising challenge to ‘traditional’ views of sex and gender.

Sarah Coakley gives us a rich feast of theological meditations here, whetting the appetite for her forthcoming systematic volume. I offer just two concerns. The first relates to her depiction of ‘the poor’ in chapters 1 and 11. In both places, I appreciate her intention to reinterpret recognition of the risen Jesus as a lifelong task developed through particular practices, including recognition of Jesus in the faces of people who are poor. My concern is simply that she describes ‘the poor’ as definitively other than the speaker/writer; for instance, by referring to ‘what is given back to us by the poor whom we serve’ (p. 22), both writer and reader are included in the ‘us’ who are distinct from ‘the poor’. Other people are poor, and ‘we’ need to see Christ in them. I wonder how Coakley might reconsider this subtle othering to deepen her point that we all seek the risen Christ in one another, particularly in and with those of us who are economically vulnerable.

My second concern arises from the fact that, as Coakley herself acknowledges, all the essays except for the prologue and chapter 10 appeared in earlier publications dating from 2002-2016, and for the most part, they have not been substantively revised for this collection. As a result, several essays do not engage more recent relevant literature. For instance, her sharp critique of Kendall Soulen’s work in chapter 5 ‘“Broken’ Monotheism?” refers only to his book from 1996, without mention of his substantial subsequent theological work on trinitarian theology in light of Christian-Jewish relations (most recently, his 2022 volume Irrevocable). Even in her new chapter 10, ‘Sacrifice Revisited’, I am puzzled that she pays no attention to important social and liturgical history on eucharistic origins, which has been plentiful in recent years (see, e.g., the work of Paul Bradshaw, Robert Daly, Andrew McGowan).

Despite these concerns, this volume offers much delightful provocation, especially for theologians interested in wedding sharp christological reflection with contemplative practice. After all, Coakley’s dizzying exploration of brokenness is not for the sake of brokenness itself. She is driven by a desire to know Christ crucified and risen, and to instill this same desire in her readers. How do we know Christ? How do we express what we know? How do we live out this belief? Her relentless investigation of these questions drives toward the mystery that only in brokenness is the world made whole.