A year before Julia and I retired from the Baptist Ministry and returned to Bewdley, Worcestershire, we spent a weekend in the town to reacquaint ourselves with the area. One evening at a local pub a small group of fellow customers, on discovering that we were ordained Baptist Ministers, began to regale us with theological questions. Notably, their concerns differed from those discussed by the Church;. For example, although ‘gay marriage’ was a major topic in many churches in Reading (where we lived) at the time, it wasn’t mentioned that night, as the group saw it as a settled issue in society.

Instead, rather than focusing on issues that dominate church debates (such as ‘gay marriage’) we discovered that people in the pub were wrestling with much more personal and universally human questions. They wanted to know whether life has meaning or purpose, how to cope with loss and suffering, what forgiveness really looks like in everyday life, and how to build a sense of belonging and community. There was genuine curiosity about what happens after death, how to live ethically in a complex world, and even whether faith remains relevant in modern society. These conversations revealed that, for many, the ‘big questions’ are less about doctrine and more about daily living, relationships, and the hope for something deeper beneath the surface of ordinary existence. We came away enlightened and challenged… and with a real conviction that this was the environment where ‘theology’ needed to be discussed, explained, questioned, clarified, ‘pub theology’ if you like, and perhaps where we ourselves really needed to be.

But surely linking a word like ‘theology’ to what otherwise promises to be a potentially interesting discussion group is to kill the whole thing stone dead before it has even started? Well, yes it could… if those facilitating the group adopt a dogmatic, draconian approach. But no it won’t if the group is based on openness, curiosity, possibility, and maintains a ‘level playing field’ when it comes to participation.  The word ‘theology’ comes from two Greek words ‘theos’ (God) and ‘logos’ (word, discourse or reason), and simply means reflecting on questions about the nature of God, the meaning of life, and how our beliefs shape the way we live. As Chris Shannahan rightly suggests, ‘theology can be a force for liberating social change’ (Life on the Breadline: Theology, Poverty and Politics in an Age of Austerity).

Jesus came to change society not simply bring personal salvation. Jesus didn’t arrive merely to rescue isolated souls; he inaugurated a new reality – a public, social, world‑reordering Kingdom, a ‘social revolution’ if you like. Jesus’ announcement: ‘The Kingdom of God is at hand’ (Mark 1:14) wasn’t a private spiritual whisper. It was a public declaration that God’s reign was breaking into the world, confronting the powers, healing what was broken, and reconstituting a new kind of community. The ‘Sermon on the Mount’ (Matthew 5:1-7:29) isn’t a private piety manual. It’s a constitution for a new society – a people shaped by mercy, justice, reconciliation, and love for one’s enemies. His table fellowship created a new social reality. Jesus didn’t just save individuals; he formed a community that crossed boundaries of ethnicity, class, gender, and perceived purity. This is why the early church looked so strange to the Roman world. His confrontation with the powers was political (though not partisan). Crucifixion was a Roman punishment for those who threatened the social order. Jesus wasn’t executed for offering private forgiveness; he was executed because his Kingdom challenged the world’s kingdoms. Personal salvation is part of the story, but not the whole story. The New Testament never pits personal transformation against societal transformation. Instead, it insists that personal salvation is the doorway into a new communal and cosmic reality. N.T. Wright puts it well: ‘Salvation is not about escaping earth for heaven, but about heaven transforming earth – starting with people, but never ending with them’ (Surprised by Hope). Jesus didn’t come to offer a private spirituality but to inaugurate God’s public, world‑renewing Kingdom – a transformation that reshapes people and the society we inhabit.

At its heart, ‘doing theology’ is all about trying to make sense of God, the world, and our place within it. Every one of us, whether we realise it or not, already engages in theological thinking. The only question is whether our conclusions are wise, and life‑giving, or just inherited, and possibly harmful. We all ‘do theology’ far more often than we realise. Theology isn’t something reserved for academics, clergy, or people with shelves full of religious books. It’s something every human being engages in simply by trying to make sense of life, meaning, and what it means to be human. 

We do theology whenever we interpret our experiences. Every time we says things like, ‘Everything happens for a reason!’ ‘Life is unfair!’ or ‘I feel like someone’s watching over me!’ we are making theological claims. We are interpreting the world through assumptions about God, purpose, justice, or the lack of them.  Even the atheist in his/her denial of God is expressing a theological statement.

We do theology when we make moral decisions.   Ethics is theology in motion.  Whenever we ask ourselves,  ‘What’s the right thing to do?’ or   ‘How should we treat people?’ or   ‘What kind of community do we want to be? We are drawing on some subliminal understanding of what is ‘true, honourable, right, pure, lovely, and admirable’ (Philippians 4:8). That’s theology, even if it’s not labelled as such.

We do theology through the stories we tell.  People make sense of their lives when they say things like, ‘This is who I am!’ or ‘This is where I’m going!’ or ‘This is what matters to me!’  Theologically everyone is living out some version of a ‘gospel’ – a story about what will save them and what will give them life.

We do theology when we ask the big questions. Even the most committed secularists ask themselves questions such as: ‘Why is there suffering?’  ‘What is a good life?’  ‘What happens when we die?’  ‘What does it mean to be human?’  These are theological questions at their core.  They’re about ultimate reality, purpose, and hope.

We do theology when we use our imaginations. Art, music, poetry, humour, even the way we dream dreams about the future – all of these express a vision of what is real and what is possible. 

We do theology in community.  Every family, workplace, pub, or neighbourhood tends to have its own ‘liturgy.’ What it celebrates.  What it condemns.  What it values. What it fears. These shared patterns shape people’s beliefs about what matters.  Here in Bewdley, for example, the recent contextual research and neighbourhood plan consultations (conducted by the Wyre Forest District Council between 2023 and 2024) raised a number of concerns. Ensuing conversations about an ageing population; an imbalance in housing needs; the scarcity of local employment opportunities; the social, economic, and wellbeing pressures on young people; the inadequacy of the current shop landscape favouring tourists rather than residents; or environmental resilience are not just policy questions. They’re theological questions about what kind of world we believe is possible and what kind of people we want to become.

We do theology simply by living. Ultimately, theology isn’t just what we think, it’s what we embody. Our habits, spending, relationships, anxieties, hopes… all reveal what we truly believe about God, life, the universe, ourselves, everything. 

If everyone is already ‘doing theology’ then the task of the church isn’t to ‘introduce’ theology but to help ‘shape’ the way people make use of theology. To help people see the world truthfully, to connect their everyday instincts with God and his Kingdom, and to create spaces (such as pub theology gatherings) where people can articulate what they believe and discover where it leads.

Pub theology is one of those wonderfully simple ideas that ends up opening big doors. At its core, it is the practice of gathering in a pub (or any relaxed, third‑space environment) to talk about faith, life, meaning, justice, doubt, and community – without the pressure, formality, or hierarchy that often comes with traditional church settings. Essentially it offers ‘a table not a pulpit’. Everyone sits as equals. No one is ‘teaching’ unless the group wants that. It offers ‘open conversation’. People bring questions, stories, disagreements, and things they are simply curious about. It offers a ‘hospitable space’. The pub becomes a modern-day version of Jesus’ table fellowship – open, messy, human. The pub is also a ‘bridge for those who won’t walk into a church.’ Many people who feel allergic to institutional religion will happily talk about God over a pint.

The idea of engaging in meaningful conversations about faith and life outside formal religious settings is hardly a novel concept. Throughout history, pubs, cafés, and public houses have served as gathering places where people from all walks of life have debated philosophy, theology, and the pressing issues of their day. From the lively discussions in eighteenth-century coffee houses to the fireside chats in traditional British pubs, the tradition of exploring big questions over a drink is woven into the cultural fabric of many communities.

The informal setting of a pub often enables people to be more honest and vulnerable than they might be in a church environment. There’s less fear of judgement and more room for authentic dialogue, allowing doubts and differing perspectives to be voiced without anxiety. Over a shared drink, barriers break down and conversations flow more naturally, fostering genuine connections that often transcend mere theological debate. Such encounters remind us that grappling with questions about faith and meaning is not just an academic exercise, but an invitation to journey together in the messiness and beauty of real life.

Pub theology is not a replacement for what goes in within the Church as we know it. It is more like a pressure valve or bridge or doorway. So church theology and pub theology can be juxtaposed thus: structured, liturgical, communal worship as against open, conversational, exploratory; clear roles (Priest, Pastor, congregation) as against a flat structure where everyone contributes; a focus on proclamation as against a focus on dialogue; sacred space as against ordinary space made sacred by presence and conversation; insider‑friendly as against intentionally outsider‑friendly. The two can complement each other beautifully. Pub theology often becomes a place where people process faith before they’re ready for formal community or where long‑time believers rediscover curiosity.

So, what makes for a good pub theology gathering? I would suggest: a simple prompt or question (e.g., ‘What does hope look like in 2026?); a facilitator who guides without dominating; a commitment to listening; a mix of perspectives – believers, doubters, atheists, the spiritually curious; a willingness to let the conversation go where it needs to. In addition I would also suggest that pub theology fosters trust in casual settings, encourages open faith conversations, connects people within a community, and reveals the Kingdom of God as an inclusive table. It’s one of the most accessible ways to embody the church’s mission without the baggage of ‘churchiness.’

Pub theology is championed by those who recognise the value of open, informal conversations about faith, life, and meaning beyond the confines of traditional religious settings. It appeals to individuals who may feel uncomfortable or disconnected from institutional religion, yet are eager to explore questions of belief in a relaxed, hospitable environment. These advocates include people from all walks of life – believers, doubters, atheists, and the spiritually curious – who appreciate the equal footing that pub theology offers, where everyone’s voice is welcome and no one assumes the role of teacher unless invited by the group.

The real challenge for us is ‘Where do we go from here?’ with all this. For a small town (population c.9.25k) Bewdley has a good number of churches, each contributing to the spiritual life of the community and reflecting its rich heritage. Yet, the town is also home to even more pubs than churches – a testament to its history as a Georgian river port and its longstanding role as a gateway to the surrounding region. The abundance of churches and pubs in Bewdley highlights the dual threads of tradition and social gathering that run through its local culture, offering spaces for both formal worship and informal conversation. Despite their respective useful contributions to the local community none of the churches in Bewdley are numerically large, indeed most are slowly declining with the majority of their members being over 70. I suspect that this picture could be duplicated in many places across the UK. It is therefore vital that we engage in new forms of outreach that ‘scratch where people itch’ such as pub theology.

I agree with John Franke (reflecting on Bryan Berghoef’s intriguing book on Pub Theology) that ‘Some of the best theological conversations happen over a beer at the pub’ which he attributes to ‘something of the relaxed and relational dynamic that makes these discussions so pleasurable while at the same time wrestling with serious theological questions.’ Currently there is no single national Pub Theology Network in the UK, although a growing number of UK churches and communities are facilitating pub theology style gatherings that share the same ethos of open, hospitable conversation. A quick search of the internet may reveal one near you if you are intrigued by the concept or interested in ‘joining the revolution’.  But (and it is a big challenge for some of us) if you can’t find such a group near you… why not step out of your comfort zone and start a group yourself? I’m sure your ‘local’ would welcome the extra trade!

Jim Binney