The study and engagement of Christian spiritual formation is the most sacrificial thing we can do for others. If we are truly on the narrow path of Jesus, then we will increasingly deny ourselves, take up our cross, and follow him (Matt 16:24). The denial of and death to self is the only way to wholeheartedly perceive the needs of others above our own. And once we see others’ needs in that manner, we will be compelled by love to reach out to those in greatest need who we are best-positioned to help.
In his book The Disappearance of Moral Knowledge, Dallas Willard describes “good persons” as:
individuals who are intent upon advancing the various goods of human life with which they are effectively in contact, in a manner that respects the relative degrees of importance of those goods and the extent to which their actions can actually promote the existence and maintenance of those goods.Dallas Willard, Disappearance of Moral Knowledge, 359.
Willard goes on to write that the saint is “one who to a significant degree chooses to forego or to risk foregoing enjoyment of goods which it would not be wrong for them to enjoy, for the sake of advancing other goods, usually goods to be enjoyed by others, but sometimes abstract goods such as truth or justice or beauty.”Willard, Disappearance of Moral Knowledge, 359–360.
As usual, Willard’s words deserve some attention. For our purposes, he is saying that the truly good person is a person pervaded with agape love.Dallas Willard, Knowing Christ Today, 53. Such persons stand ready to forego their own good to advance the good of others.
In Jesus’s economy, it is not the one who dies with the most toys who wins. Rather, it is the one who dies before they die who wins. “For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it” (Matt 16: 25). True, abundant, eternal life, Jesus teaches, is found as we entrust our life to his Father’s loving reign. Willard writes, “out of the abundance of such a kingdom life, we bring love to all with whom we have meaningful contact.”Willard, Knowing Christ Today, 53. The richness of loving God with all one’s heart, mind, soul, and strength “naturally flows into the human scene.”Willard, Knowing Christ Today, 53. To die to self—to lose one’s life—turns out to be the best life for us and for those around us. “Die before you die. There is no chance after.”C. S. Lewis, Till We Have Faces: A Myth Retold.
Of course, as A. W. Tozer observed, “It is never fun to die.”A. W. Tozer, The Pursuit of God, 29. This is where the study and engagement of Christian spiritual formation—hearing and doing the words of Jesus (Matt 7:24)—is essential. Rich Villodas writes, “The narrow path is not about the number of people who will end up in heaven; it’s about the number of people who will allow themselves to be formed by the subversive and, ultimately, redemptive way of Jesus.”Rich Villodas, The Narrow Path: How the Subversive Way of Jesus Satisfies Our Souls, 16. Knowledge of Jesus and his transformational, narrow way puts us on the hook. When we don’t have knowledge of spiritual growth, we can easily meander, wander, take our time, stop at interesting sites along the journey. We are more like tourists or consumers than disciples or students.For reflections on the Christian life lived as tourists instead of disciples, see Eugene Peterson, A Long Obedience in the Same Direction: Discipleship in an Instant Society, 15–18. Without knowledge, we not only do not know how to get there, we don’t even know where we are trying to get. That sort of trip is not very intentional. There is no basis on which to be intentional since there is no informed understanding of the way.
But when we know how to make progress (the way), where we need to go (the truth), and why we need to get there (the life), we are on the hook. In the “fierce urgency of now,” if we meander, wander, take our time, stop at interesting sites along the way, we are being irresponsible to what we know. That is, we are being irresponsible, if part of what we know is that there is something at stake.
In the essay that follows, I argue that the study of Christian spiritual formation is a life and death matter. I particularly have in mind the academic or scholarly study of Christian spirituality and formation. I have that in mind, in particular, because academic work is often thought to be the most abstract and the least applicable. Perhaps partly because of that reputation, our academic cultures often perpetuate a sort of meandering, wandering, taking our time, stopping at interesting sites, or perhaps just having fun. But while I particularly have in mind the academy and scholars of spirituality, the “fierce urgency of now” applies to all of us who follow Jesus on his narrow path.
“Why do you write like you’re running out of time?” So repeats the chorus to Alexander Hamilton in the award-winning “Hamilton: An American Musical.”“Non-Stop” from Hamilton: An American Musical, music and lyrics by Lin-Manuel Miranda, directed by Thomas Kail, Richard Rodgers Theatre, New York, NY, February 2, 2016. For Hamilton, the American republic was at stake and he judged his ideas to be essential to its survival. To whatever degree his judgment was accurate, Hamilton worked as though it were. His tireless and strategic efforts were those of one who believed much was at stake. While the arc of the musical applauds Hamilton’s dedication, it simultaneously highlights how our commitments to a good cause can result in our neglecting other goods that are also at stake. In Hamilton’s case, the great goods of his wife and son.
Depending on our judgment of what’s at stake in our theological pursuits and the comparative value of other goods that are also at stake, our theological work takes a different shape. Not just how hard we work, but the ends for which we work and the means toward those ends are pulled along by what we believe to be at stake. When it comes to the theological task and, in particular, the task of studying Christian spiritual life, do we pursue our work like we’re running out of time? I am not here recommending a practice of memento mori. Though, certainly if something significant hangs in the balance, then the brevity of our lives should also bring a kind of clarity to our theological labors. But my central query lies in another direction. Do scholars, pastors, practitioners, and students pursue the theological investigation of Christian spirituality as if extremely important truths are at stake?
I often think about the field of oncology as a domain of study energized and sharpened by a vision of what is at stake. The truth about whether a certain cancer is best treated one way rather than another is, oftentimes, a matter of life and death. While there are no doubt many motivations for doing cancer research and developing effective treatments, we would imagine that one of the most deep-seated and potent is to save human lives. This motivation not only drives forward research, but it ruthlessly refines the most reliable methodologies for research. We do cancer research like we are running out of time because life and death are at stake.
But is it the same in theology?
One of the first theology conferences I attended as a graduate student, over twenty-five years ago, had a rather odd theme. I don’t remember it in precise detail nor do I want to expose the organizers to any critique, but the stated theme was an unusual combination of two areas of theological discourse that seemingly had no real connection. Something like “The Doctrine of Creation and the Authorship of the Book of Jude.” While my fictitious example is hyperbolic, the conference theme seemed conceptually strained in a similar way. The organizers’ description of the theme didn’t help in that it suggested the unusual combination of topics was partly chosen to generate novel and creative paper proposals. Of course, I didn’t know then what I know now which is that many papers at academic conferences do not have much, if any, relation to the stated theme.
Nevertheless, the conference’s singular plenary presentation was meant to connect to the theme and the plenary presenter was a well-known theologian who had a prestigious academic appointment. The majority of the conference attendees showed up for the plenary address in which the presenter announced their title. While the title was an obvious attempt to address the stated theme, the presenter went on to describe a methodological approach that was something like free association. Not free association as a tenuous but creative road to truth, but free association for the sake of generativity or innovation understood as an end in itself.
As the esteemed presenter announced this topic and method, I first thought it might be a joke. Or, if not a joke, that the audience would display some signs of dissent. Instead, I got the distinct impression from some “oohs,” “ahs,” and hums of approval that the audience, which included many well-established theologians, was impressed with the presenter’s plan to offer obscure associations to an already obscure topic. I might add that the fodder for the free association was not merely the already conceptually disjointed conference theme, but the presenter added a third influence which was a series of technical terms from a completely disconnected discipline. In other words, it was something like “Here are the three things that came to my mind as I thought about the doctrine of creation and the authorship of the book of Jude using three terms from quantum physics.” Again, while hyperbolic, my fictitious example is in the ballpark of this plenary address. After the address, there was a question-and-answer time, and many in the audience offered thoughts that came to their minds as they listened. A generative session indeed.
I am not claiming that what transpired at this conference is typical of what goes on in biblical, systematic, historical, or practical theology, whether Catholic, Protestant, or Orthodox. The conference took place at a time when fairly radical postmodern theories pressured theological discourse in antirealist directions.By theological antirealism, I have in mind the view that theological discourse is not attempting to accurately describe mind-independent realities. Instead, theological claims are constructs meant to serve some purpose other than accurate description of religious reality. See, for instance, Roger Trigg, “Theological realism and antirealism,” in A Companion to Philosophy of Religion(Malden, MA: Wiley-Blackwell, 2010): 649-658. But while mine is an atypical example of theological method, I worry that at times our work in spirituality can get trapped in something like “language games.”The concept of “language games” stems from the philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein. In a language game, the conceptual moves that are allowed and incentivized have less to do with approximating the truth and more to do with other goals. Perhaps the attempt to appear profound or clever, remain aligned with my tradition, or offer something novel that seemingly moves the field “forward.” Research in the sociology of knowledge on motivated reasoning, ideological epistemology, groupthink, and other social pressures suggests that the nature and content of our scholarship and teaching can be influenced by what is deemed acceptable, preferable, and laudable in our academic fields. In such social settings, it can be difficult to determine whether I am choosing my research topic because my colleagues might “ooh” and “ah” or because the conclusions on the matter make a significant difference in the life, witness, and service of Christians in the troubled world wherein we live today. Is my choice of subject matter and readings for my classes due to my research interests as an attempt to further my career? Or is it due to my desire to get at the truth about matters of life and death for myself and my students?
The late theologian, Dorothee Sölle, offers a reflection of what is at stake in her book Death By Bread Alone.Dorothee Sölle, Death By Bread Alone: Texts and Reflections on Religious Experience, trans. By David L. Scheidt (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1978). As her book title suggests, Sölle’s reflection is rooted in Jesus’s response to the Devil, “Man does not live by bread alone, but by every word that proceeds from the mouth of God” (Mt 4:4; cf. Lk 4:4). Sölle affirms:
“Man does not live by bread alone.” In fact, bread alone kills us. To live by bread alone is to die a slow and dreadful death in which all human relationships are mutilated and strangled. Of course, such a death by bread alone does not mean that we cease to exist. Our bodies still function. We still go about the chores and routines of life; we accomplish things; we breathe; we produce and consume and excrete; we come, go, and speak. Yet we do not really live. In Samuel Beckett’s play Happy Days there is a character by the name of Winnie, a woman of about fifty. In the first act Winnie is buried in sand up to her waist; nonetheless she chatters away, brushes her teeth, rummages about in her handbag, and feels sorry for her husband. In the second act she is buried up to her chin and can no longer move her head. All relationships are severed, but that stream of idle chatter, in which she takes herself so seriously, flows on and on. That is a kind of death; that is what hell is like, being buried in sand, unable to change things and yet without pain, content to while away the time. “Abandon all hope all ye who enter here”; this is the living death by bread alone.Sölle, 3.
In Sölle, I hear an echo of C. S. Lewis:
What cannot be admired—what must only exist as an undefeated but daily resisted enemy—is the idea of something that is “our own,” some area in which we are to be “out of school,” on which God has no claim. For He claims all, because He is love and must bless. He cannot bless us unless He has us. When we try to keep within us an area that is our own, we try to keep an area of death. Therefore, in love, He claims all. There’s no bargaining with Him.C. S. Lewis, The Weight of Glory.
Sadly, our stubborn attempt at bargaining persists. We try to keep areas of death. Cling to our little kingdoms. We attempt to serve two masters. Such resistance comes at great cost to ourselves and to those around us. Sölle continues:
This is what the Bible means when it speaks of death. Death is what takes place within us when we look upon others not as gift, blessing, or stimulus but as threat, danger, competition. It is the death that comes to all who try to live by bread alone. This is the death that the Bible fears and gives us good reason to fear. It is not the final departure we usually think of when we speak of death; it is that purposeless, empty existence devoid of genuine human relationships and filled with anxiety, silence, and loneliness.Sölle, 4.
With Sölle’s sobering description of spiritual death and its consequences ringing in our ears, it is impossible not to admit that when it comes to the study and teaching of Christian spiritual life much is at stake. Death by bread alone and its counteracting agent in the world, namely, the Bread of life, is at stake. If there is a reality to spiritual formation in Christ via the sanctifying Spirit, and if that reality is meant to be understood so that we can help one another to the Bread of Life who offers his life in abundance, then indeed the study, teaching, practice, and learning of Christian spiritual formation is a matter of life and death. A spiritual life and spiritual death that is ultimately of more significance than our physical survival. To help illumine the narrow way of Jesus that leads to life is of vital importance here and now as much as it is for the life to come.
I think of Thomas Merton’s Life and Holiness.Thomas Merton, Life and Holiness (New York, NY: Image, 1995). Like many before and after, Merton treats the active life of service to others as grounded in, flowing from, and interdependent on the inner, holy life of contemplating the active love of God. Merton writes:
Holiness is not and never has been a mere escape from responsibility and from participation in the fundamental task of man to live justly and productively in community with his fellow man. . . . Christian holiness in our age means more than ever the awareness of our common responsibility to cooperate with the mysterious designs of God for the human race. This awareness will be illusory unless it is enlightened by divine grace, strengthened by generous effort, and sought in collaboration not only with the authorities of the Church but with all men of goodwill who are sincerely working for the temporal and spiritual good of the human race.Merton, Life and Holiness, x–xi. Merton later defines a holy person as “one who is sanctified by the presence and action of God in him” (13).
Presumably, most scholars, teachers, leaders, and students of Christian spirituality are drawn to the field by their sense of the life-and-death importance of the work. Gwendolen Greene, Friedrich von Hügel’s niece, quotes and then describes von Hügel this way, “‘To sanctify is the biggest thing out.’ These words . . . express what he was, what he meant, what he wished most to do. His whole life lies in them. He tried to find truth, to teach us God, to sanctify our lives. He loved, and he wanted to teach us to love.”As quoted in Robyn Wrigley-Carr, “History and Spiritual Formation: Baron Friedrich von Hügel’s Spiritual Nurture,” Church History 92 (2023), 42. Akin to von Hügel, we try to understand the nature of Christian spirituality so that we and others might increasingly develop a holiness of life that not only empowers but lovingly convicts us of our responsibility to work alongside other co-workers for “the temporal and spiritual good of the human race.” We love, and we want to teach others to love.
As we study, write, teach, and read in the field of Christian spirituality and formation, how do we keep this clarifying sense of what’s at stake forefront in our minds? How do we write or read or teach or learn like we are running out of time while at the same time valuing the many other goods that surround us? As we struggle to do this, how do we, unlike Samuel Beckett’s Winnie, not take ourselves too seriously? We take the work seriously, but not ourselves. As von Hügel reminds, “To sanctify is the biggest thing out.” And yet, a finger pointing at the moon is not the moon itself.
Prayerful awareness of the desperate needs of so many in the world today can help us remain diligent. When we pray “Give us this day our daily bread” we don’t have to think metaphorically. Instead, we pray on behalf of far too many brothers and sisters for whom daily sustenance is not guaranteed. I find Martin Luther King Jr.’s phrase, “the fierce urgency of now,” helps orient me. King writes, “We are now faced with the fact that tomorrow is today. We are confronted with the fierce urgency of now. In this unfolding conundrum of life and history, there ‘is’ such a thing as being too late. This is no time for apathy or complacency. This is a time for vigorous and positive action.” Martin Luther King, Jr., “I Have A Dream.” As long as we see the deep connection between formation in Christ and mission for Christ, studying and practicing Christian spiritual formation is the most sacrificial thing we can do for others. As Jesus put it, “Therefore everyone who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice is like a wise person who built their house on the rock” (Matt 7:24). We need more persons today who are building their lives by listening to Jesus and practicing what he says. Could we ever have too many?