God, Us, and Them – Part I: A Case for Exotheology – Christ and Pop Culture

This is the first article in a three-part series.

In the sprawling library of Christian theology, countless old volumes sit gathering dust—books on topics so abstract they’re shelved under “speculative theology,” only revisited when the world changes in a way that makes their subject matter suddenly relevant. Take artificial intelligence, for example. For decades, theologians largely ignored AI. You would be hard pressed to find a section dealing with this topic in the systematic theologies published throughout the twentieth century. The topic existed on the fringes—interesting to futurists, but of little concern to churches or seminaries.

But fast forward to today, with AI writing essays, generating art, and influencing major decisions in business, politics, and education. Now, the question of whether or not ethics apply to non-biological intelligences is no longer being asked by science fiction writers. Suddenly, what once felt abstract or irrelevant is central. Pastors are preaching sermons on it. Christian ethicists and theologians are scrambling to respond.

This is how speculative theology works: it’s easily dismissed until a shift in historical or cultural context transforms it into the most urgent theological task at hand.

So, let’s speculate.

Imagine a Tuesday like any other—coffee, traffic, a mind-numbing meeting. On your commute, the radio jokes about a new signal picked up by SETI. A shrug, a laugh, and you move on. Minutes later, your phone buzzes: your kid texts, “Are you seeing this?” The headlines are breaking: “SETI Confirms Signal Extraterrestrial in Origin.”

All at once, the question of whether we’re alone in the universe has an answer. And even if life goes on mostly unchanged, a boundary in human knowledge has shifted forever. Now consider the reaction. Pastors scramble to address the revelation. Theologians race through dusty corridors looking for anything remotely applicable. Publishers flood the market with hot takes. Everyone starts reverse-engineering aliens into Scripture.

What was once speculative has become practical overnight. To be clear, this hasn’t happened yet. It might never happen. Maybe, in a hundred years, humanity will give up the search and just conclude we’re alone in the universe. But we don’t know—and that uncertainty is precisely why exotheology matters.

I first came across the term exotheology in a 1978 Time magazine article that defined it succinctly as “the theology of outer space.” The article noted that “major religious thinkers have yet to give serious attention to the issues posed by what some call ‘exotheology.’” If we were to resurrect the term for 2025, I would probably define it as the theological reflection on the possibility of extraterrestrial life—specifically, what it would mean for Christian doctrines if intelligent life were discovered beyond Earth. And should that day ever come, it would matter tremendously. The implications for concepts like the image of God, original sin, the incarnation, and redemption would be profound.

Christians have a bad habit of waiting until a crisis emerges before formulating coherent theological responses. Instead of preparing thoughtful, biblically grounded reflections in advance, we often scramble after the fact—reacting, retrofitting, and sometimes twisting Scripture to make it look like we always had answers ready.

The issue isn’t that Christians want to be biblical—that desire is commendable. The issue is a lack of theological preparedness. Too many believers rely on rigid “worldviews” that are often shaped less by careful biblical exegesis and more by modern commentaries, inherited assumptions, and cultural norms—especially those norms established in “Christian culture.” These frameworks can become brittle when faced with unfamiliar questions, like those posed by the prospect of alien life.

If and when we are confronted with evidence of extraterrestrial intelligence, it will be obvious whether or not the Christian theologian has done their homework. And if we haven’t, we’ll be left playing theological catch-up (again), looking unprepared in front of a watching world. Instead of twisting the Bible after the fact to fit new discoveries, it’s far more honest and fruitful to start asking the hard questions before they’re forced on us. Even if intelligent extraterrestrial life is never discovered, the process of thinking theologically about the possibility is worthwhile. It strengthens our interpretive frameworks and prepares us to face uncertainty with clarity and conviction.

Let me clarify where I’m coming from. I consider myself somewhere on the spectrum between “evangelical” and “fundamentalist.” I’m a conservative Christian who has read all seven Harry Potter books, listens to classic rock without burning records in protest, and really, really likes monster movies. More importantly, though, I also interpret the Bible literally—but not in the way many fundamentalists might use that term. I maintain a literary-literal approach. That is, I read the Bible in light of its genre and narrative structure, not just its historical context.

While historical understanding is important (Rome, for instance, ruled Israel during Jesus’ life, and that’s an important detail to know when starting the New Testament), I don’t need a deep dive into sadal styles of first-century Galilee to grasp the meaning of Christ’s teachings. I need to understand the text—its characters, story arcs, and theology. When someone touched the hem of Jesus’s garment and was healed, it’s the literary and biblical context (not the garment’s fabric) that matters. Too often, people try to read the Bible like a history textbook, forgetting it’s also literature—rich, symbolic, and theological. This matters because if we start interpreting something as radical as alien life, our hermeneutic needs to be sharp. If it’s not, we risk twisting Scripture to fit speculative science, or rejecting observable, provable scientific phenomena out of fear.

What this means is that I believe the Bible is ambiguous on many things, and that’s by design. Outside of its central message—the redemptive plan of God through Jesus Christ—it leaves a lot open-ended. The Bible is clear on God’s plan to reconcile humanity to Himself. Paul calls this the “mystery” revealed in Christ in Ephesians. That’s the main plotline: God, through Christ, redeems both Jews and Gentiles, securing eternal life for the faithful and defeating sin and death. Beyond this central truth and the narrative movements required to tell that story, the Bible doesn’t give a lot of specifics. It doesn’t explain the rings of Saturn. It doesn’t map out black holes. It doesn’t describe the molecular structure of Martian soil—or even Earth’s soil, for that matter. Why? Because those things, while fascinating, are simply not the Bible’s focus. That doesn’t mean Christians shouldn’t care about them. The Bible is silent on many things—not because they’re unimportant, but because its purpose is theological, not encyclopedic.

There’s a pervasive fear among Christians when it comes to the unknown. Fear of science. Fear of new discoveries. Fear that asking questions might unravel faith. I get it—I’m conservative, after all. I like order. I don’t want chaos. But I also don’t want to live in a bubble where natural curiosity is forbidden. I’m often baffled by how quickly some Christians panic when science presents something unexpected, and proceed to twist Scripture to accommodate new information that Scripture simply isn’t all that concerned about in the first place. It’s a bit of a dishonest reaction that, regardless of how well-intentioned, does the opposite of preserving the integrity of Scripture or the witness of the Church.

Instead, we must develop the habit of thinking theologically about extra-biblical matters—like exotheology. Not because the Bible tells us what an alien looks like, but because we need a framework rooted in the gospel and a plain reading of Scripture to interpret whatever we may find.

In April 2020, the U.S. Department of Defense officially released three Navy videos of unidentified aerial phenomena (UAP)—what we colloquially call UFOs. These videos had already leaked, but the Pentagon’s confirmation marked a turning point in public acknowledgement of such phenomena. Were these crafts alien in origin? Probably not. But they were unidentified—and that alone was enough to reignite public interest and stir up fresh questions. And not just from the usual conspiracy corners. Scientists, policymakers, and yes, theologians began to take notice. For the first time in decades, mainstream conversation about life beyond Earth inched its way into the cultural foreground.

But what would happen if one day those crafts are identified as extraterrestrial? What would the Church say? Would she fumble for answers, cutting up the Bible to fit alien narratives into Revelation or Ezekiel or Genesis 6, pretending we always knew they were in there? That’s the risk of neglecting speculative theology.

Exotheology isn’t about constructing alien mythologies out of thin air. It’s about preparing ourselves for a real possibility. It’s about asking, “What if?” and having a framework rooted in biblical theology to engage the question honestly. If intelligent life exists elsewhere in the universe, how does that affect doctrines like the “imago dei?” The incarnation? Salvation history? Maybe it doesn’t. Maybe alien life falls into its own distinct category of creation. Maybe God has a different redemptive plan for them. Maybe they don’t even need one.

We don’t know. But if we believe the gospel is the power of God for all creation, we can at least start thinking about what that might mean on a cosmic scale. We don’t need to force alien narratives into Scripture. We do need to preserve the Bible’s redemptive focus while acknowledging that it doesn’t say everything about everything. 

The purpose of this article has been to set forth my presuppositions to establish something of a theological framework—a way of thinking clearly and biblically about the possibility of extraterrestrial life without forcing Scripture to speak where it remains silent. Exotheology, as a field, remains vastly underdeveloped not because it lacks relevance, but because the questions it raises are often treated as hypothetical. But if the moment comes in which they stop being hypothetical, we will wish we had done the work.

To a degree, that work begins here, by recognizing the Bible’s theological and narrative focus, its intentional ambiguity on many scientific and speculative matters, and the Christian’s responsibility to think theologically—not just reactionarily. If we understand exotheology as a thought experiment guided by the redemptive arc of Scripture, we can begin asking, “What if?” without fear, and with integrity.

In the next article, we’ll take a step back from theology and look at the broader cultural phenomenon. We’ll explore how UFOs and alien life became conflated in the public imagination. We’ll examine the emergence of ufology as a pop-cultural movement, charting how government secrecy, science fiction, and Cold War anxiety has shaped the way society thinks about “visitors from beyond.” Then, in the third and final article of this series, we’ll return to theology with a fresh lens—and speculate. Not wildly or irresponsibly, but with care and curiosity. We’ll examine how the framework we’ve built might apply to hypothetical scenarios involving intelligent extraterrestrial life and what a biblically sound Christian response could look like if that Tuesday morning ever arrives.

Until then, we don’t need to invent doctrine where Scripture is silent—but we do need to be ready to respond. Not with fear. Not with frantic proof-texting. But with the same humility and confidence that should characterize all Christian thought. Because if the question ever changes from if we are alone to since we are not, the Church should be ready to say something worth hearing.