We live in a fear-filled world. Much of fuel for the generalized angst and break-neck pace of our culture is a product of a disabling fear that lurks both in the known and unknown parts of our heart. Over time we can begin to limp through our days carrying either a numb indifference or a bone-weary anxiety. Fortunately, I’ve found a dear friend who¾in the time it takes to deliver just a few precious, stuttering words¾can open up a universe of heart-lifting, peace-giving, awe-inspiring, truth-revealing realities that soothingly revive my doubt-worn soul. That friend is Dieter Zander. 

Dieter is a pioneer. As a young Southern California pastor, he received a vision to plant new kind of Christian community that would become New Song, the first “Gen X” church in the US. After several wonderful years at New Song, Dieter accepted a position as a teaching pastor at the world-renowned Willow Creek megachurch in the suburbs of Chicago. There he designed an innovative church-within-a-church model called Axis. Next, Dieter co-founded another groundbreaking ministry. Using his well-worn copy of Dallas Willard’s Divine Conspiracy as a guide, Dieter began to reimagine how to incarnate the gospel to the postmodern, multi-ethnic, multi-cultural, and spiritually diverse urban setting of San Francisco. By the time he entered the early years of the twenty-first century, Dieter had established himself as a world-class musician, 

international speaker, author,¾and perhaps most importantly,¾a key visionary for an emerging generation of evangelical pastors searching for guidance and courage as they traversed the tumultuous evolution into a post-Christian world.  

Then suddenly, with no forewarning, on the Monday morning following the 2008 Superbowl, Dieter suffered a massive stroke in the left hemisphere of his brain. The stroke put him in a coma for six days and nearly ended in total disaster. In the years that have followed, Dieter’s life and career have been turned upside down. Extensive therapy has allowed him to regain much of his physical abilities expect for the use of his right hand. Tragically, the stroke erased his nearly unequaled skills at the piano. Yet, the greater disability is his continuing struggle with a common communication disorder called aphasia. This condition frustrates and significantly limits his ability to write, speak, sing, plan, think, and express his very creative, intelligent, wise, and insightful mind.  

About a year after his stroke a mutual friend who knew of my doctoral research on Willard’s theology introduced us. A meeting was arranged at Peet’s coffee in Marin County California. Our meeting started pleasant enough. It was early in the morning but Dieter had already been up for hours taking his dog and best friend Chessie on a multi-mile walk. To an outsider he looked like the picture of health. He was tanned, lean, athletically strong, and nimble. He sported a closely cropped goatee and sun-bleached hair. His eyes sparkled. His grin and laughter were wide and loud. We exchanged greetings. I talked about my research. He listened intensively. From our initial exchange it seemed impossible such an overtly vibrant, middle-aged man carried a significant neurological disability. Not to mention one debilitating enough to silence one of Christianity’s most innovative and insightful voices.  

Then I asked him a question.  

Having never engaged in a conversation with a stroke victim suffering from aphasia, I did not know what lay in store. Perhaps the best way to describe the “level” or type of communication that was occurring between us is to use an analogy. Imagine speaking with someone from a far distant land practicing his or her newfound English with you for the first time. One quickly encounters the limits of vocabulary. There are often long pauses while the memory is taxed to find elusive words and phrases. There is no “flow” to the conversation. It starts, and stops, repeatedly. In short order both parties realize there are ideas, feelings, and experience that will not, that cannot be conveyed¾not out of lack of desire or effort¾but simply due to the sizable limits of the linguistic skills at hand. As a result smiles are traded, a lot of nodding and polite encouragement is offered, but confusion remains.  

I witnessed Dieter struggle to find the place in his mind where his ideas and words could connect on the same neurological pathway to his mouth. His face and lips twisted and contorted as he labored to form the vowels and consonants of single words. It was painful to watch him exert such strained effort. It seemed tactless to keep asking more questions. As a “hail Mary” attempt to save our time together, I tried in vain to finish Dieter’s sentences and guess at his intentions. He was getting frustrated. I was totally lost. I looked at my watch. We’d only been together fifteen minutes and I was exhausted. I remember searching for a polite way to thank him for his time, wish him well, and escape from the very uncomfortable and uneasy feeling of despair growing in my throat.  

Fortunately for me that moment of escape never came. Just when I was about to write Dieter off with my unwelcomed, condescending pity, he boldly and clearly said, “Stop! Stop………. Inter….rupting……Listen….Li…sten.” 

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01.  Learning to Listen

Those simple, strained words proved to be the most pointed and powerful lesson I was to receive over the entirety of my theological education. In the years since that first meeting, Dieter has never ceased making profound, poignant impacts on my life. He regularly provides me with unparalleled insights into how to extinguish worry through knowingly placing my confidence in Jesus and his kingdom ways.  

There are countless contemporary Christians like me who love reading the likes of Brother Lawrence. We often drink from the deep well of Lawrence’s contemplations and wax eloquent about what such a life might bring. Yet precious few of us actually resolve to live that kind of life. Dieter does. Every day. It’s stunningly simple, really. Every morning, like Lawrence, Dieter expectantly walks in God’s presence while he shoulders his humble, pre-dawn janitorial duties at a local grocery store. And just like Lawrence, at every turn, Dieter reports being daily ravished by God’s love, joy, grace, and peace. As a result he almost effortlessly displays, enjoys, and offers those around him the fruits of such a life.  

Yet Dieter’s journey is as tragic as it is beautiful. He carries both a sparkle of joy and a forlorn reserve in his eyes. His stroke produced long, agonizing months, even years, of a crushing existential isolation from all others . . . save Jesus. He has experienced, and bears witness to great pain and loss. Such suffering has allowed him to venture deep into the hollows of his soul where few others have dared to tread. Even still, amazingly, by God’s enabling grace, this prolonged solitude¾with Jesus¾has forged a humble radiance, perhaps even a glory, that far outshines the dimming effects of the stroke.  

Thankfully, over the past four years Dieter has taught me how to stop long enough, listen deep enough, and see clearly enough to convey at least some of his grand and inspiring perspectives on the fearless, grace-filled life God has prepared for each of us in his Kingdom of the Heavens. Recently, we sat down together to discuss the inspiration for his poem “Kingdom of Cardboard and Spoils,” which has been published in his recent book Stroke of Grace with LaDonna Witmer, (available at www.etsy.com/shop/DieterZander).  

One more thing to note. For those who may be unfamiliar with the symptoms of aphasia it is important to note that a word-for-word transcript of a conversation with one suffering from aphasia would be largely incomprehensible to a reader. These conversations are routinely full of incomplete sentences, scattered thoughts, and regular repetitions. Those suffering the effects of aphasia often struggle to apply linear reasoning, proper grammar, or common parts of speech such as prepositions, conjunctions or adverbs. Such conversations, similar to what is depicted in this interview, require a form of on-going trial and error, translation and interpretation of all words, ideas, clues and gestures in order to arrive at the intended meaning. Therefore, this interview represents several hours of digital recordings that were “re-woven” into a print-friendly format. To assure accuracy in capturing his original intents and purposes, the final version of the article was read back to Mr. Zander and received his personal approval.  

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02.  In Conversation with Dieter Zander

Gary Black, Jr.: When you look back at your life before the stroke compared to your life after the stroke which do you prefer? Or stated another way—if you made a list of the things you lost because of the stroke compared to the things you gained from the stroke which list would be longer? 

Dieter Zander: I say in the book that my aphasia means that I am alone. After weeks, months, years of wearisome interactions, few people have the patience to stay with me long enough to hear what I have to say. I’ve lost old friendships, and new connections are nearly impossible to make. But, in my alone-ness, I discovered God. 

(After a long and thoughtful pause.) I think about all of this like it’s a journey on a path. There is a “before” and an “after” the stroke. But this is really about being on a path. I liked my life before. There were some good things about that life. But now I’m not on that part of the path anymore because it’s behind me and I can’t go back. It’s gone. And I’m on a new part of the path and this part is very good. I love my stroke. It is a significant part of my path that has brought me to where I am today and I love where I am today.  

I love my stroke. But I know that that is hard on my friends and family to understand. They see all that has happened, all I have lost and they struggle with that and I understand why. It’s hard. They find it hard to understand God’s role in all of this. There are many unanswered questions that even I don’t know. They see how many good things I was able to do before like leading, teaching, singing, playing the piano—things they loved and I loved—and they are sad and confused about how these things were lost.  

But my stroke is precious to me. It is hard on those who love me to hear that. But it is precious to me and I wouldn’t trade it.  

My family watches me and they think I’m brave in how I’m handling this. But that’s not it. I’m not brave because I don’t have to be brave. Every day early in the morning I get up before I go to work at 4:30 am and I talk with God. I am his sheep and he is my shepherd. And I know he is going to take care of me. I know this. Every day, every day, God gives me everything. Everything. EVERY . . . THING! I’m not brave. It’s not me. I just live in the reality of God as my shepherd in his world where he is king. I’m not brave. I’m a sheep following God. That’s all. It’s simple really. I’m on a path that I don’t know what tomorrow holds. But I know . . . I know . . . I KNOW . . . God is good to me. And I can rest. I am at rest that tomorrow will be good, no matter what, because God is with me. It’s very simple. I’m very simple now. Simple is good. But it’s real. It’s very, very real.  

 

GB: How do you help other people who love you to overcome what has happened to you?  

DZ: I don’t know, I don’t know. It’s hard.  

 

GB: The title of your book is Stroke of Grace. Why or how was the stroke an act of grace?  

DZ: It allowed me to get out of the prison of performance. There was a time after the stroke I was living in a friend’s little shack in his back yard for a month and I was alone and I realized my family is suffering, my job is never coming back, my ability to work and earn is gone, I can’t lead, sing, teach, or pastor and I’m thinking “I’m done. I want to die.” Suicide starts to run through my mind. I am done. Totally drained. I can’t talk with people. They don’t understand me. I’m so very lonely. Everything I thought was important and essential for my life is stripped away and I am left totally bare. 

And in that shack God speaks to me and says, “Dieter, I love you.” 

And I realize it’s not my leadership, or my singing or my performance that God loves. Even when all that is gone God tells me—just as I am, all alone with nothing—I am loved. That is re-birth. I know God knows me as I am, with none of my performances and all of my failures. God loves just me. That is grace.  

After that God said to me, “Dieter, come play with me. Play with me.” It’s not work, work, work. That German thing in me, the need to work and earn. Now it’s practicing to play. That’s grace. I didn’t know if I would ever speak again, or if people would ever be able to understand me or if I would even be able to say my son’s names. I had no way to communicate at all. Yet I found out that I had a new start. A chance at re-birth to re-learn everything all over again. That’s a gift. That’s grace. I had to learn everything, all over. That is grace. The stroke stripped me of all the things that I used to hope and dream for. Now I live a different dream.  

(He then pulls out his iPhone and shows me a cut and pasted quote from Oswald Chambers.) 

It’s that. (He points.) It’s that.  

 

We all have many dreams and aspirations when we are young, but sooner or later we realize we have no power to accomplish them. We cannot do the things we long to do, so our tendency is to think of our dreams and aspirations as dead. But God comes and says to us, “Arise from the dead. . . .” When God sends His inspiration, it comes to us with such miraculous power that we are able to “arise from the dead” and do the impossible.i    

 

See? The stroke took away my pride and fear. That’s grace.  

 

GB: Over the years, in many of our conversations, you have consistently used the phrase, “God talks with me.” How do you hear God’s voice? Is it different now than before the stroke? 

DZ: Before the stroke, many years ago, when I first planted New Song (church), God gave me a vision (he flails his arms in the air dramatically and laughs) that was very bright, and loud, and lights, and it was very dramatic. It’s funny. Then later, when we were praying about going to Willow Creek, I knew God was nudging me, prodding us to go. Then later, when we were thinking about leaving Willow and coming to San Francisco, I knew God was giving us a choice. We had a choice and coming to San Francisco was one of maybe many choices that would have been good for us.  

But after the stroke there was a long time when I couldn’t talk and I didn’t know if I would ever talk again. I didn’t know. Saying my own name was very hard. Nothing was coming out. I was stuck in my own mind. But even though I couldn’t talk to anyone God was talking to me, and I was talking to him. We were talking a lot. And now, just like I know your voice on the phone, I know his voice. I know when it’s God that’s talking to me. And it’s not the loud, bright, flashing lights. It’s just God’s voice talking with me. I look forward to that every single morning. It is the best part of my day. That is one part of my practice I do now for the past five years.  

My other practice is to take Psalm 23 every day and I read one verse a day for six days Monday through Saturday and on Sunday I read it all. So on Monday, I read, “the Lord is my shepherd. I have everything I need.” And that’s true. And I experience that. It’s real. And some days like today, I was thinking about meeting with you and talking with God about us meeting, and today is Friday and today is “the feast.” God prepares a table for me. And here we are eating good food, and it’s good, and wine is good. My cup is full. And it’s real. 

And there are days where I am walking in shadows of the valley. But God is there to take care of me. It’s real. It’s not about bravery or even faith. I know God is doing these things in my life every day. And the rod is good because God uses it to push and prod me back onto the path if I’m starting to stray. The rod helps me. Because God loves me and wants me to stay in the green grass and on the right path.  

Before the stroke I was always afraid. Now I’m not. I am not afraid. Because I dwell in God’s house. His world, this world is his house and I’m safe because goodness follows me everywhere I go in God’s house. It’s not faith. It’s not bravery. It’s knowledge. God knows me and I know him.  

 

GB: Let’s go back and tell me more about what that prison of performance was like. Tell me more about that. You mention in the book the idea that you were a “rock star.”  

DZ: I loved the people I was pastoring. And people loved me and they loved what I could do. I did, too. They loved how good I was at teaching and singing. But now that product is gone. It’s just gone. It’s hard. But it’s good, too.  

Years ago I used to perform because I needed to be accepted and it felt good to have other people admire what I did. It was all solo. Just me. Not with others. It was all me speaking, singing, playing the piano. It was like I was out, performing all over the place, and God was sitting back and watching me perform—and as I danced around he sat and watched. I was performing for God and working hard to earn my worth from others and I needed that. And it was fine. But I was very lonely. I didn’t know it . . . but I was lonely.  

But now it is God and me, together. Now every day, everything I do is worship. I see God everywhere in everything. When I work, when I do the trash, and cut up the cardboard, and clean, and stock the shelves, when I talk to people, I am worshipping. I see God there. I am a student in class with God every day. I am learning all the time about everything in life. My spirit is weak but God’s spirit is strong, and he is showing me how to see the world like he sees it with love and grace. I learn how to live and do my work like he wants. And what happens is, I love what I learn, it’s so good. I learn about what God cares about and what he can and can’t do. And every day I have some testimony, some story of what God is doing.  

The other day there was this lady at the store who was in a motorized cart at the meat counter. And she looks at me and asks me to trade her salted butter for an unsalted organic butter, which is three aisles over. I realize it’s busy and crowded. It’s crazy. People are bumping into each other and there are kids everywhere. It was after my shift and I was tired, and the store was full and crazy. I wanted to go home. But I realized she needed help. So I told her to stay put and I would go change her butter. So when I got her the butter she wanted, she looked at me and said she loves my store because of the way in which my staff treat her. That’s my kingdom. God has given me that kingdom. I go home and I realize that I am loving people every day in my little kingdom of cardboard and spoils. And it’s magnificent. It’s not about service. It’s just magnificent. In that moment I’m a saint. I’m giving God’s grace in that moment. I used to perform. Now I love and serve and play every day. 

Performing is earning. Now I play with God, and I love my staff and my job and my customers. No more performing. At the end of the day, I look back and I see what God has done. But I don’t have to perform. Every day I have a testimony. It’s great. He is my shepherd, he anoints my head with oil to keep the bugs off, he protects me, he guides me, goodness follows me even when there is trouble. I’m no longer afraid. It’s good. It’s beautiful. I’m a sinner. But I’m a saint, too. It’s both.  

My store where I work as a janitor is my kingdom that God has given me to play in.  

(His words and expressions are filled with passion. He is obviously proud of his work and basks in the fruits of his labors.) 

 

GB: I know that over the years some people have tried to tell you that the stroke was somehow a blessing from God—or even punishment from God. Do you think God had a hand in your stroke? Have you asked him about that?  

DZ: No. Not yet. We will have that talk face to face.  

(He pulls out his iPhone again and shows me notes for a sermon he and his close friend Mike Davis are preparing to give at his home church in the near future. He takes the passage from 1 Kings 19:11 where Yahweh reveals himself to Elijah. Dieter is using the story as a metaphor for his own experience. In the story, Elijah goes out on a mountain and encounters a fierce wind, an earthquake, and a fire. God is in none of these demonstrations of power. After all the bluster and destruction, God manifests himself to Elijah in a gentle whisper. Dieter says in his life the wind was his stroke that swept away his talents. The earthquake represents the shaking of his family and the loss of his ability to earn a living and provide. The fire represents the stubborn determination of his ego to overcome the stroke and become who he was before. When I finished reading through his notes I look up and he smiles gently.)  

You see? God was not in the stroke. God is the gentle voice of love that gave me new birth, a second life. After it all, God loves and knows me. And now—I know—that God knows me and he loves me. He knows my name. I’m a sinner. And I’m a saint. And his cross and his thorns are my salvation and my sufferings as I follow him toward grace. Grace. Grace. Grace. It’s all grace.  

 

Dieter’s pioneering continues. This new path is rough and steep among the lonely piles of cardboard, spoils, and stains of life. His journey reminds me that in light of God’s immeasurable love all worldly fears vanish like the imaginary ghosts of my childhood. Dieter’s life testifies to how very, very simple and strong God’s love can be, while at the same time remaining so immeasurable, unfathomably, and gloriously real. 

 

To see a short free video that illustrates some of the effects of aphasia has on Dieter go to http://vimeo.com/16044957 (accessed 23 January 2023). This free video was produced by Dieter’s close friend Eric Herron at http://www.clayfiremedia.com