They say never judge a book by its cover, and Heart, Tears, Fruits: The Search for a Feminine Theology edited by Lucinda M. Vardey reminds us that size is pretty irrelevant too. Coming in at just 68 pages plus introduction, the book punches well above its weight. Collating the contributions of eleven authors and a further ten guest contributors, the text is divided into three chapters corresponding to the three components of the title. Each chapter is divided into clearly-headed subsections, and closes with a summary table of the main points covered. Despite this, since the argument is often more meditative than linear, the discernible path of an over-arching argument is not always easy to trace. This is not necessarily problematic (except to the most linear of thinkers!), but requires a willingness to be led into deeper pondering, rather than yielding to the desire for a quick conclusion or definitive solution to the question of what might constitute a feminine theology. 

In this respect, relinquishing the desire for an outcome fits well with the authors’ own experiences, that the work of discerning a feminine theology requires as much unlearning as learning (p. xi). One of the real strengths of the book is, therefore, that it reads as a theological endeavour in progress, arising as it did initially from a parish-based initiative in Toronto, followed by a series of international seminars held in Rome and conducted under the faithful patronage of St Catherine of Siena. These origins and methodology ensure that the text is thoroughly synodal in tone, with contributions attributed (via bracketed initials) to individual participants. This gives the text a discursive quality, with the sense of a feminine theology – or at least the issues and difficulties surrounding it – emerging from a dialogical process. This, of course, is precisely the kind of enterprise that Pope Francis is currently encouraging the Church to adopt in all its thinking and, as such, it is an informative and inspiring experience to see the process crystallised in black and white. 

The book, then, is all about the process of developing or discerning a feminine theology, rather than the postulating of a fully-fledged proposition. As such, the text rightly raises more questions than it answers and very successfully presents some of the complexities, conundrums and challenges involved. Reading Heart, Fruits, Tears, one is repeatedly confronted with questions which perplex more than they enlighten. For example, how useful is it to think of any theology as particularly gendered? What exactly is a feminine theology: is it a theology done by women, or founded on feminine experience, or confronting issues and experiences specific to women? How helpful is it, anyway, to consider any one issue as specifically feminine and not simply part of wider and more universal human experience? For example, the final chapter considers, among other things, issues around gestation, birthing and nurturing. While clearly specific – in a biological sense – to women, these experiences are far from common to all women. If then, they are to be privileged in a feminine theology, where does that leave those women for whom childbirth and motherhood are not part of their life experience? Do they cease to be stakeholders in the theological project? Similarly, what does it mean to suggest that issues of nurturing and protection – and even gestation – are not part of masculine experience and should not therefore be incorporated into every theology, gendered or otherwise? I found myself constantly aware of the perils of a binary approach to masculine and feminine experience, and wondering whether the theology we need is not better termed as ‘human’ or ‘incarnated’ or ‘embodied’; and then, of course, how that mode of theology would be distinguished from all theological enquiry conducted by humanity. 

Another issue raised explicitly by the text concerns the use of vocabulary which has typically appeared in the Church’s discourse around women, and how this can be reclaimed and used both authentically and fruitfully without endorsing the negative implications accrued over the centuries. As the discussion rightfully points out, words such as ‘humility’ and ‘service’ need redeeming and purifying from the misogynistic abuses with which they have frequently been associated (p. 48). How this is to be accomplished remains to be seen. 

The absence of any clear resolution to such issues should not be seen as a failure on the part of text. Rather, this little book very successfully exposes something of the complexity of the task at hand and nudges towards further reflection of the issues at stake. Heart, Tears, Fruits presents not only a window onto the theological process and issues involved, but highlights both the importance and urgency of responding to the Pope Francis’ call to develop our Christian thinking in this area.