Can unsafe questions lead the broken to God?

Brenna Blain talks about those things that you don’t mention in “polite company,” but the saints must talk about in holy company. Her popular podcast “Can I Say That?” grew into a book by the same name, and it delivers, but perhaps more like a difficult and painful pregnancy delivers rather than in the ways you’d typically look for from a book. 

Can I Say That?: How Unsafe Questions Lead Us to the Real God covers the darkest sides of life. Written as part memoir, part theological treatise, and part apologetic, Blain relates her testimony with no holds barred. 

I’m reminded of Joshua Porter’s Death to Deconstruction, which approaches apologetics through personal testimony, taking readers through his journey from his racist church to his punk rock band to becoming a pastor in Portland. 

More than Porter, Blain’s testimony hinges on her mental health struggles and particularly twisted upbringing. Can I Say That? is like a crown of thorns, with each chapter twisting a new bitter vine together—all to be placed on Jesus’ head and redeemed.  

Strength in weakness 

Can I Say That? is the book that’s written when someone particularly afflicted in life really, truly believes 2 Corinthians 6:19 and can say alongside Paul,

But he [God] said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong.

Blain covers many thorns, from her struggling with same-sex attraction, to being molested as a child, to her porn addiction, to her miscarriage, to her eating disorder, to her diagnosis with bipolar disorder, to her suicidality—all the way to the final pages, where she discusses her recent hospitalization (as of writing the book). 

Here is someone whose weakness is her strength. I’ve never read such an honest—and harshly beautiful—account of someone’s personal challenges, with such a powerful turn to the light and hope. She is theologically sound, articulate, and brutally truthful about what it’s like to live with a serious mental health disorder. 

A powerful testimony

Can I Say That? fills an important niche. Too many Christian books focus on one personal sin issue, difficult season, or string of temptations. For example, “I used to struggle with X,” or “I went through dark night of the soul Y.” Such accounts are honest and important, but perhaps a touch too safe. 

The movie Jesus Revolution, for example, recounts how the hippie evangelist Lonnie Frisbee helped lead a massive revival in America. The film shows Frisbee’s charismatic preaching and genuine miracles, but also his struggling marriage and wrestling with pride. So, yes, it presents Frisbee as a flawed person who eventually splits from the movement. 

However, if I can level a critique at the film, it’s that it doesn’t go far enough. Frisbee was also gay and almost certainly engaging in homosexual relationships during his time as a revivalist preacher. This film doesn’t address that at all. If Blain were to have written this movie, let’s just say that would’ve stayed in. 

It’s unlikely that, after reading this book, anyone could say, “Okay, but God doesn’t love me—his grace couldn’t be sufficient for my life.” And that’s a powerful testimony. 

A harshly beautiful, raw, testimony 

Blain treads an intentional line. She doesn’t hold back on the details of her mental illness. She also doesn’t go into gratuitous detail about sin; she does not glorify it either. Blain does not wallow in the darkness. 

Instead, she shows how talking about the really, really hard things in life can lead us to press into our relationship with God. She makes the moving point that those with deep hurts and pain should not retreat from God, but draw closer. 

Through her testimony and theology, she makes a compelling case that churches should have more open discussions about the most difficult things in life. After all, the Bible does. And she brings the Scripture to bear on all of these dark areas.

Notable Quotes

• “God asks us not to hide in shame, but to bring all our ‘stuff,’ our realities, to Him. All the dirty laundry we could ever pile into mounds of baggage, all the bricks we could carry on our backs. And with a great gesture of gentleness, He asks if He can have it.” (48) 
• “What do you do when you’re filled with agony but you can’t even kill yourself anymore? When there’s nothing to take your life and no one to acknowledge your humanity? When not even the gates of hell will open to you, yet you’re chained just outside . . . what in the world do you do? . . . With a stomach full of anxiety, I wept through the only words I could gather up. ‘Jesus, You haven’t healed me. But would You at least be here with me now?’” (60) 

• “All people—Republicans and Democrats, MDivs and high school dropouts, single dads and trophy wives, fast-food workers and CEOs, sex workers and health-care workers, pastors and prisoners—all have fallen short. The best and kindest person you know is just as sinful as the person in your life who has hurt you the most. There is no hierarchy where sin is concerned. It levels all of us.” (71)

• “What really gets me is the detail that Jesus wept. Jesus, who could have prevented the death, who knew He was about to raise Lazarus from the dead, stopped on the way to the grave and mourned a life that wouldn’t be dead for long. 

Why? My entire life is littered with why. Why was I molested? Why did they walk away from their faith? Why can’t my friend have more children? Why did they hurt the people around them? Why won’t God heal my brain? Why can’t they apologize? Why does longing feel like it’s stuck deep inside my bones? Why do I still wrestle with same-sex attraction? Why did You save someone else and not them? Why did I lose this baby? 

And why, Jesus, would You take time to weep over Lazarus’s death when You knew what would happen next? When You could have prevented the sorrow in the first place? 

Might it be that our God is not a God of quick fixes or one who ignores our humanity?” (176)