Bonhoeffer as a model for an integrated Christian life

This month at the theology reading group, we are discussing a recent book by our leader.

 In the Shadow of a Rugged Cross: Reflections on the Spirituality of Dietrich Bonhoeffer by Charles R. Ringma

Like most of Charles' books, this one is best read as a devotional book. There are ten chapters, each of which has six sections of about two pages in length. Each section begins with a Bible verse and ends with a short prayer. Most of the prayers are taken from the Celtic Daily Prayer book from the Northumbria Community or Liturgies from Below: Praying with People at the End of the World by Claudio Carvalhaes. Each section has a reflection on a specific topic, drawing on multiple short quotations from Bonhoeffer.

The book helped me appreciate how Bonhoeffer's Christian life was integrated in two senses. Bonhoeffer did not compartmentalise or over-emphasise one dimension of the Christian life.

First, in both his theology and his life, for Bonhoeffer, there was no separation or isolation of head, heart, and hands. They all matter. What we believe, what we love and worship, and how we serve are intertwined. 

Second, living as a Christian is not just an individual or private spiritual experience. It is intertwined with our relationships with family, church, society, and nation. On the one hand, the church is distinct from society and should not conform to its values, ethics, and priorities. On the other hand, the church is to be salt and light in society, loving and serving the marginalised, and speaking truth to power.

Most importantly, Bonhoeffer was Christ-centric. On any matter, in the end, he went back to the life, teaching, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. This meant the Bible, and particularly the Gospel narratives, were central to his theology and ethics. He wrestled, both intellectually and in prayer, to understand his life and context, what they meant in light of Scripture, and how to move forward in faith and obedience.

Here are a few quotations from Charles' book that I found helpful and challenging.

    "When we embrace the great gift of the Holy Spirit, we need to be discerning, what is most precious can be easily distorted.

If the Spirit we are following is not binding us to the Word and the person and work of Christ, we can be led into the side-alleys of subjectivism. We can make all sorts of claims that the Spirit "told" us to say or to do something, when in fact we are over-riding the ever-gentle Spirit, or letting our own imagination run rife."

page 63 

    "Prophetic spirituality has nothing to do with iron clad certainties. It is birthed in the contested space of discernment. It is the place of struggle – do I really understand what is happening in our society when so many seem to think that everything is good? Have I really “heard” the voice of God? And are my actions of proclamation and resistance consistent with my beliefs? And will there be good outcomes?"

page 120

Charles begins Chapter 9, "Celebrating the Good in our World," stating

 "I have been around radical Christians for much of my life. There is much to admire: their vision for a better world, their willingness to practice the good they hope for, their courage to proclaim truth to power, and their willingness to embrace suffering.

But radical Christians are often overly idealistic, unfairly critical of others, and over time, their projects can run out of steam. Another difficulty is that radical Christians don’t give much attention to the “ordinary” realities and structures of life. 

What is surprising is that the radical Bonhoeffer is different. He practices radical alternatives, while at the same time maintaining a vision for the continuance of the more ordinary realities of life – family, work, church, governance, among other themes. This is both refreshing and challenging. And importantly, this calls us to live a more dynamic dialectic. Church, yes. But also, community. Word, yes. But also, Spirit. Prophecy, yes. But also, maintenance."

page 146 

Memorial statue of Bonhoeffer in Westminster Abbey.

The cost and fruit of advocacy for the marginalised

In his wonderful book, In the Midst of Much-Doing, Charles Ringma recounts his involvement with the marginalised in Brisbane during the 1970s.

To give an example from our ministry with troubled youth, drug addicts, and men and women in prostitution, we had no difficulty gaining support from churches, the general community, or the business world in our counselling work, drug prevention programs, rehabilitation, and training for meaningful employment. However, we were living in a city with a corrupt police drug squad, and we knew many people who had their doors bashed down at 5 am, been dragged out of bed, herded into a room, and guarded while other police searched the place and “found” guns, money, and loads of drugs, leading to an impressive arrest for the police force. Yet in many cases, the police had planted the drugs, as they were some of the key drug dealers in the community. Each police “success” put people we knew behind bars for several decades. As we learned of these unjust practices, we began to support our friends with legal help. 

But as soon as we raised the issue of police corruption, the churches and community sent us a clear message: heal, but don’t advocate; evangelize, but don’t work for justice; counsel people, but don’t engage political issues. In other words, we should try to “save people from their personal sins,” but we shouldn’t engage their oppression and victimization.

I worked for twenty years with drug addicts, men and women in prostitution, and delinquent youth. In this journey, I learned a most painful lesson. In a nutshell, the church, community-based organizations, and even big business were all willing to support a ministry of drug counselling, rehabilitation, prevention, prison work, and vocational training so that those who had been scarred by drugs could regain a more productive life. Even the secular businesses that supported us did not mind when people became Christians. But over time, it became apparent that the police drug-squad in our city of Brisbane were falsely arresting street people and under-reporting drug seizures. Thus, the police were corrupt and acting as drug pushers. 

We felt that we had to do something, and so our first move was to get assistance from lawyers, who helped falsely accused street people get off or receive lighter sentences. Our second move was to see the government minister responsible for the police and inform him of what we knew. He said he would look into the matter — and then did nothing. 

Some time later, we went to see the Premier of our state, who was a professed Christian. He also said he would look into it, but nothing happened. Months went by, and the false arrests and the sale of illegal drugs by the police continued unabated. For our final move (after praying a lot), we went to the media to expose what was happening. All hell broke loose. The police denied everything. The Premier publicly condemned us as communists. The churches withdrew all their financial support. On our knees, we were all but destroyed. 

Advocacy comes at a price.

But a seed was sown, and others sowed seeds. And eventually, several years later, a Commission of Inquiry into police corruption was set up, headed up by Tony Fitzgerald, QC. In light of the Commission findings, numerous police, four ministers of the government, and the Police Commissioner were found guilty and imprisoned, and the Premier was charged for perjury but was acquitted due to a hung jury. 

In telling this event, I am practically illustrating what the Lausanne documents call us to do. As the Manila Manifesto (1989) states, “we must demonstrate God’s love visibly by caring for those who are deprived of justice,” and our Christian service “demands the denunciation of all injustice and oppression.”

This shows the cost of advocacy for the marginalised. But, it also shows the fruit. Seeds can be sown. Not only did many of the marginalised benefit. Today, those of us living in Brisbane, benefit from not having corrupt police, unjust courts, or government by cronyism. 

A personal reflection on Christian spirituality

This is a personal reflection on the first hundred pages of the book

In the Midst of Much-Doing: Cultivating a Missional Spirituality, by Charles Ringma (Langham, 2023)

I have some reservations about "Christian Spirituality" that are slowly being eroded. One reservation is the fear of subjectivism that neglects objective and universal truths stated concretely (albeit imperfectly) by Orthodox creeds and doctrine, based on Biblical revelation. A second reservation is the fear of spirituality and meditation leading to self-absorption, introspection, individualism, and a self-legitimation of consumerist desires and aspirations. Finally, I have a prejudice to choose activism over contemplation. This book does much to address my concerns and invites me to a balanced Christian spirituality. The following statement in the Preface resonates with me.

the genesis for this book was formed in the midst of my own unsustainable evangelical activism, which was further complicated by my somewhat compulsive personality. My search for a more sustainable spirituality was also influenced by some unhealthy theological concepts that I inherited from my Reformed tradition—particularly its election anxiety and paramount focus on personal piety, with little attention to nurturing liturgical and communal spiritual practices. 

My focus on personal activism was also unwittingly reinforced by naïve Western notions about our capacity to change the world because we presume that God is “on our side.” When we take on a calling that is well beyond our capabilities and resources, we may boldly set out to try to make things better in our society while treating God as an onlooker, a boss we are seeking to please, or someone who is there simply to cheer us on.  (page xxv)

If “Reformed tradition” is replaced with some of the churches and organisations I have been involved with over the past four decades this reflects my own experience. I have had three major burnouts, each accompanied by mental illness. In all cases, they were precipitated by unsustainable activism, driven by wrong thinking and distorted theology. 

Only over the past few years have I come to appreciate, and even celebrate(!), my uniqueness as an introvert, a scientist, and a Christian intellectual. I am easily drained by social interactions, uncertainty, noise, crowds, rush, .. but am energised by time alone, reflection, reading, planning, rest, Sabbath…

Central to the book is the “trialectic paradigm of the head (theological formation), heart (spiritual formation), and hand (missional formation).” These cannot be separated, isolated, or given relative priority. We need to engage all of them and integrate them into our lives.

“the fundamental theme that runs through this book, … is that mission is not just a task but a way of life… our missional calling is: to join and cooperate with God’s redemptive, healing, and transformative activity in bringing all things into the new creation.” (page 21)

What is Christian spirituality? It is a relief to learn that it is quite different to forms that I encounter and resist. In particular, it is Trinitarian. The Spirit is not some vague source of mysticism that will affirm our own fantasies and desires but rather the presence of the Father and the Son, bringing to mind the teaching of the Son.

Christian spirituality is motivated and shaped by a life devoted to following Christ in the power of the Holy Spirit. (page 25)

key definition…: a missional Christian spirituality is a way of life in Christ through the Spirit that animates our love and service to others. (page 26)

Ringma identifies seven marks of Christian spirituality: a way of life, cruciform, sustained by the Spirit, communal, spiritual disciplines (Sabbath and self-care), for the life of the world, and being sent. 

Evelyn Underhill said that Christian spirituality has “everything to do with the political” (page 33). I found this surprising as I tended to think of her as a mystic who was disengaged from the “real” world.

Underhill also strikes a helpful note of realism, reminding us that in the grand purposes of God—the restoration of all things in the new creation already begun in Christ—we are “to take our small place in the vast operations of His Spirit.” In this, she highlights the importance of knowing our particular calling and giftedness so that we can function out of who we are and what we have already received. Thus, our missional spirituality does not depend on us alone, but has everything to do with the ways in which we have been gifted and called. This implies that we will need to embrace both our calling and our limitations. As a consequence, ministry is not a “grinding” activity, but rather joyful and purposeful service—which is also costly. (page 35)

This is amazing for me to read. It is liberating. I wish I had internalised this forty years ago. Being a low-energy academic introvert is not a flaw, curse, disability, distraction, or self-indulgence. It is part of my calling and giftedness. This includes my privileged family and academic background, education, and professional experience. This includes my love for learning, science, and nature. As well as my passion for justice and concern for the marginalised.

As a Christian intellectual, I enjoy reflecting on the world (politics, economics, science, technology, culture, and education) and trying to understand it through multiple lenses including theology. I enjoy sharing those reflections through writing, teaching, blogging, and my work with the Logos and Cosmos Initiative, within the International Fellowship of Evangelical Students. I receive positive feedback and affirmation from others for these activities. Thus, I find the passage below helpful and encouraging to put my efforts in the broader context of missional spirituality.

In contemplating the face of God through prayer, solitude, reading, and reflecting on

Scripture and our world, we cultivate friendship with God and we seek God’s will for our time. This will involve a hermeneutics of both text and context. Understanding our world will also involve the work of exegesis, theology, and the historical and social sciences. In our contemplation of the world through the cycle of action and reflection, we seek to understand both the goodness of God in our social fabric and institutions as well as the idolatries of our society and culture. Amidst this interplay, we seek to discern how God is inviting us to participate in God’s passion for the healing and reconciling of all things through Christ. (page 83)

Henri Nouwen notes how time with God is not inward looking and selfish, but rather gives us fresh eyes to wonder at those we love and care for.

Following the desert father, Evagrius Ponticus, Nouwen says that contemplation is about seeing “things for what they really are” and moving from “opaqueness to transparency.” Thus, the “contemplative life is a life of vision.” This new way of seeing involves seeing all things bathed in “the Creator’s love” and in the light of “the hand of God with us” in all that we are and do. However, this way of seeing life and the world is not based on a few extraordinary moments, but a whole way of life that is possible when the “God within us recognizes God in the world.” Nouwen observes that when we see “ordinary life with its daily routines and responsibilities with a ‘deeper vision of life,’” it has consequences for how we see others. He writes, “our time of being with God gives us new eyes to see the beauty and gifts in those for whom we care.”

Contemplation is not escapism from our struggles or from the suffering in the world, but actually the path to a deeper engagement with the world.

A key summary of Nouwen’s understanding of contemplation is that “the movement from loneliness to solitude is not a movement of growing withdrawal, but instead a movement toward a deeper engagement in the burning issues of our time.” (page 104)

Thomas Merton has a similar perspective. Contemplative prayer enables us to see the world as it is, in all its created beauty and the ugliness of human sin and idolatry.

Merton makes it very clear that contemplative prayer is not simply for monks, and he further emphasizes that it is not a way of escaping from life’s realities. In fact, the contemplative is always “searching . . . his [her] own heart” while at the same time plunging “deep into the heart of the world.” This form of prayer and reflection “does not blind us to the world, but . . transforms our vision of the world,” so that we can see the love of God upholding our world and gain insight into the “falsity and illusion” of much of life, along with “exposure to what the world ignores about itself—both good and evil.” (page 106)

I had the completely wrong idea about Teresa of Avila. My views were coloured by the discussion about her “ecstatic” experiences. However, she was actually a very practical person, being influential in "the Catholic reform movement, with Teresa of Avila’s emphasis on the “journey to spiritual marriage” and its outworking in “growth in love of neighbor,” " (page 115)

Ringma’s summary puts things in perspective. 

While it is possible for the Christian mystic to get marooned in the eddies of one’s own spiritual experiences, this is not the hallmark of the Christian mystical tradition. Rather, its orientation is rooted in the inextricable connection between the love of God and the love of neighbour. As such, there is a direct link between mysticism and ministry, (page 116)

Mysticism (contemplative prayer) focuses on internalising God’s love for us. But a genuine experience of that love through the Spirit cannot but overflow into a love of others, particularly those whose God’s heart breaks for, the lost and the marginalised.

Finally, I love the following quote:

The Jesuit philosopher and spiritual director, Father Thomas Green, while emphasizing the transcendence and otherness of God, notes that “God is really the most sensible person that I know” (Prayer and Common Sense, 9). What he means by this is not a denial of the mystery of God in the life of faith, but that living the Christian life is also about responding to and living normal life realities. He notes that “this world—and our human experience—is not a dream, to be rejected as illusory or unreal. Rather, we are called to see it from a new vantage point, in a new light” 

This book has already had a profound impact on me. I commend it to you.

Note: I received a complimentary copy of the book from the author, who is a fellow "holy" scribbler. 

Cultivating a heart like God

What should the life of a Christian be like? Is there a "normal" Christian life? How does one balance prayer, contemplation, and action? Over the past two thousand years, many have wrestled with these questions, both theoretically and practically, and provided diverse answers. My friend and fellow "Holy" Scribbler, Charles Ringma, reflects on his own struggles, in A Fragile Hope: Cultivating a Hermitage of the Heart. In 2016, he took a six-month sabbatical and spent much of the time in a hermitage in the Australian bush, and published his reflections in Sabbath Time: A Hermitage Journey of Retreat, Return and Communion.

A Fragile Hope is the reflections of Charles motivated by feelings that on returning to a "normal" life, filled with responsibilities and distractions, he has struggled to re-create some of the special time at the hermitage. He provides a helpful summary of this book in the Afterword (page 103). 

...the Christian life is about entering into a transformative relationship with God through Christ in the Spirit. This relationship reorients us to become more and more like Christ and more and more engaged in gods concern for our world. 

But living this way is a huge challenge, for it calls us to ongoing conversion away from stubborn self-determination and futile self-sufficiency and towards greater humility, dependence on God's provision, sustanence, and direction for our lives. This means that we are called into a constant relationship with and attentiveness to the God who both nurtures us and sends us into the world. 

This journey has nothing to do with progress or status, but rather an ongoing encounter with the One who is the very source of life, who is everywhere present in our world, and calls us to intimacy and service.

This call invites us to build a hermitage of the heart. Such a hermitage is not a place, but a disposition. It is a tapestry of existence, a fabric of life, a way of being. It is who we are in both the inner recesses of our being and our engagement with others and the world. 

Such a hermitage is both a gift and a task. It is a gift from the ever-brooding Spirit, who brings to us the riches of Christ, and it is a task that we shepherd and steward as we engage those around us. 

Charles is vulnerable in the book, humbly and honestly sharing his struggles. He is eighty years old, has spent his adult life following Jesus, and by "worldly" standards, has had a "successful" Christian life. He started Teen Challenge in Australia, completed a Ph.D., has published many books, and taught in leading seminaries in Asia and in Canada. But, here you see some of his discouragements, doubts, despairs, struggles, and failings. He wrestles with his own inner turmoil, his own sin, and with God, particularly his feeling that God fails to act to reform the church and to create a more just world.

Charles shares how he has benefitted from a diversity of voices from the past two thousand years, including the spirituality of the Desert Fathers and Mothers (Chapter 5), Francis (21), Ignatius (26), Benedict (14), the Celtic monks (9), and the Anabaptists (18). These brief engagements help put our twenty-first century struggles in historical context and may whet the appetite to engage more with some of these diverse and ancient traditions. 

The limitations of some metaphors for the life journey of a Christian, particularly the medieval ladder and pilgrimage are pointed out. But there should be movement: upward, inward, and outward. The journey involves moving toward God, nurturing our inner being (soul), and towards others.

There are many dimensions to the hermitage of the heart. Here are a few.

"Liminality is experiential, a sort of no man's land, where previous certainties have collapsed, and new certainties have not yet swum into view." (page 86).

Be a God botherer; not about personal circumstances, but bother God about the state of our world, and why God does not act in our world. There is a beautiful and heartfelt, song of lament, by Charles on pages 18-19.

Engage the ordinary and seek God in the ordinary.

Life is messy. Engage it but do not be consumed by it.

Hermitages are places where hermits lived. A hermitage has come to symbolise a special place where an individual may withdraw from the world and possibly encounter God. Although advocating a "hermitage of the heart", Charles still advocates for the spirituality of place. The purpose of "sacred" places "is not to contain God in some way, but to focus ourselves in relation to God" (page 32). 

Monk's Hermitage in a Cave 

How did the book challenge me personally? Unlike Charles, I am reluctant to reduce my activism and spend more time praying. I still have the naivety and hubris to think I can make a real difference.

The book is brief and could be read in a single setting. It is easy to read but deep and dense. It is better to read it slowly and return to it. There are 28 chapters in one hundred pages. Just reading a chapter a day is a good approach.

Aside: I was intrigued to know the genealogy of the "hermitage of the heart" metaphor. I discovered that at the same time last year  Hermitage of the Heart: 40 Days to Peace, Prayer, and the Presence of God by John Michael Talbot was published.

 I thank Charles for the gift of a copy of the book. Last month we discussed it at our theology reading group, with Charles present.