Something has gone wrong with the way we see. Not with our eyesight — with our vision. The Western world has built what philosopher Charles Taylor calls an "immanent frame" — a closed ceiling of perception that makes transcendence seem optional, primitive, or simply unreal. Within the immanent frame, the cosmos is flat. The sacred is quarantined to private life and Sunday mornings. And God, if he exists at all, is a hypothesis at the edge of things — not the one in whom we live and move and have our being. This is not a neutral development. It is a catastrophic distortion of reality — one so pervasive that we have stopped noticing it. We have been breathing it for so long it feels like air.
The church, far from naming and resisting this frame, has largely accommodated it. We preach a gospel that saves souls while leaving the rest of life — work, money, politics, beauty, science, sexuality — to the management of secular frameworks. We have conceded the field before the game has begun. Before we can turn (Metanoia), before we can act (mDNA), we must first see clearly. Reframation is the first portal because perception precedes action. If your frame is too small, your mission will be too small.
Reframation — a portmanteau of "re-formation" and "reframing" — is the deliberate renewal of perception. The book of that name, by Alan Hirsch and Mark Nelson, draws on Taylor's work and on a broader theological tradition to ask: what would it mean to see the world as it actually is? Gerard Manley Hopkins caught it in a single line: "The world is charged with the grandeur of God." That is not sentimentality. It is theology. Abraham Kuyper placed a stone in the road: "There is not a square inch in the whole domain of human existence over which Christ does not cry: Mine!" And Lesslie Newbigin pressed the same claim: the Gospel is public truth, not private comfort. The resurrection is not an event in one's interior life. It is the turning point of cosmic history.
Reframation is the practice of recovering the eyes to see this. Not through argument alone, though argument has its place. Through wonder, attentiveness, prayerful presence, communal formation, and what Newbigin called "plausibility structures" — the embodied life of a community that actually lives as if Jesus is Lord of all. This pathway is an invitation to have the ceiling opened — and to discover that the world is far larger, far more charged with meaning, and far more claimed by the risen King than the immanent frame allowed us to see.